"Elder, this is the matter I came to discuss."
Seated in Senju Shōma's room, Natsuhiko sipped his tea as he spoke, his expression calm and courteous. Yet inwardly, he found the taste somewhat disagreeable. The tea was too bitter—perhaps this was what true tea was meant to taste like, but he still preferred the cup Renge had prepared the night before, softened with a hint of sweetness that lingered pleasantly on the tongue.
His purpose in coming here was simple and unmistakable: someone had overstepped their bounds within his household, and he intended to make that clear. Shōma, for his part, understood perfectly well what this implied, and the grimness settling over his face reflected it.
He had not expected matters to develop in such a direction. Ever since Natsuhiko's rise in rank and the awakening of his Wood Release, certain factions within the clan had begun entertaining thoughts they should never have entertained. The realization stirred a slow-burning anger within him. He had always harbored concerns about Natsuhiko, but recent events—just as he had begun to relax his vigilance—forced that unease sharply back into focus.
Fortunately, Natsuhiko had shown restraint. He had not resorted to excessive measures. Senju Renge was still alive—and more importantly, she had come here herself.
Shōma knew all too well what might have happened otherwise. Had Natsuhiko chosen not to come to him, he could have extracted Senju Ryōta's whereabouts from Renge, killed the girl without hesitation, and then dealt with Ryōta just as cleanly. For an ANBU operative, such things were routine. For someone like Natsuhiko—who wielded the Flying Thunder God Technique with frightening proficiency—it would have been effortless. No trace, no evidence, nothing left behind.
In fact, he would not even have needed to act personally. His subordinates could have carried it out just as efficiently. After all, Natsuhiko was now a division commander within the ANBU.
"I understand, Natsuhiko," Shōma said at last, letting out a quiet breath as he steadied himself. "Thank you for exercising restraint. I will take care of this matter."
"No, Elder."
Natsuhiko shook his head, his tone still gentle, yet firm in a way that left no room for misinterpretation.
"I intend to handle this myself."
For a brief moment, silence filled the room.
Shōma's heart tightened instantly.
An ANBU handling such a matter personally rarely led to anything good.
He understood Natsuhiko's anger—anyone in his position would feel the same—but Senju Ryōta was still a significant figure within the clan. If Natsuhiko chose to resolve this in the manner of the ANBU, the consequences could be catastrophic.
Drawing in a slow breath, Shōma forced himself to remain calm. He could not afford to lose composure here; if he faltered, the situation might spiral beyond control.
And as his thoughts settled, something occurred to him.
Natsuhiko had come here of his own accord.
That alone spoke volumes. It suggested not only restraint, but intention. It implied that he did not plan to act as the ANBU commander known as "Nightingale," but rather as Senju Natsuhiko—as a member of the clan.
Still, assumption was not enough. He needed confirmation. This matter carried the potential to fracture the clan itself.
Yet even so, Shōma already knew where he would stand if it came to that. Natsuhiko was the one he had raised, the one who bore the Wood Release—the key to the Senju clan's resurgence.
He knew, without doubt, which side he would choose.
And yet… if there was any way to resolve this without tearing the clan apart, he would grasp it with both hands.
"Go on," Senju Shōma said at last, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Tell me what you intend to do."
"My plan is quite simple," Natsuhiko replied, meeting his gaze with an easy smile. "This matter must be handled properly. But make no mistake—this is something for Senju Natsuhiko to resolve, not 'Nightingale' of the ANBU. I know where the line is."
"Is that so…"
Only then did Shōma finally relax, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I understand. You've grown, Natsuhiko. So—how do you plan to proceed?"
"I'll pay this particular 'gentleman' a visit," Natsuhiko said lightly, setting his teacup down with deliberate care. The faint smile on his lips did not fade, yet there was something within it now—something that made even Shōma uneasy.
"And while I'm at it, I'll send a message to anyone else who might be entertaining similar ideas."
He paused for a moment, his voice soft but unmistakably firm.
"There's nothing wrong with having ambitions. But everyone should remember one thing—some thoughts may be entertained, yet never acted upon. Once crossed, that line demands a price."
Shōma fell silent, weighing those words carefully before asking in a lower voice, "And what… is that price, in your mind? Natsuhiko, be honest with me—what exactly are you aiming for?"
Natsuhiko's smile deepened, though his tone remained calm. "To make certain people come to their senses, I'll be bringing along some members of the clan currently serving in the ANBU. If they're sensible, they'll understand what to do. If not…"
He paused, almost thoughtfully.
"Well, the casualty rate in the ANBU is notoriously high. I can't guarantee their safety."
The moment those words left his lips, Shōma's pupils shrank.
Perhaps this was not the first time Natsuhiko had revealed his fangs—but it was certainly the most ruthless.
He wasn't striking directly at his own clan, nor did he need to. A few carefully placed words, spoken within the bounds of existing rules, would be enough to send others to their deaths. That alone was the message. The Senju members within the ANBU were not expendable; they were the clan's hidden elite, painstakingly cultivated over time.
If they were to die in large numbers, the blow to the Senju would be devastating.
This was a naked threat—and worse still, Shōma could tell that Natsuhiko meant every word.
Yet just as quickly, Natsuhiko offered a softer note.
"In truth, it's mostly meant to scare them," he added casually. "I wouldn't harm my own subordinates, not without reason. As long as they make the right choice, everything will be fine."
Shōma's brow furrowed as he turned those words over in his mind, and then, all at once, understanding dawned on him.
"You've already spoken to those children… haven't you?"
"Yes, Elder."
Natsuhiko nodded, his smile growing just a shade more pronounced.
"Before any missions, I made one thing clear: whatever their past affiliations, within the ANBU, they answer only to me. Otherwise…"
He left the sentence unfinished, the implication hanging in the air like a blade.
"I don't know what conclusions they've come to yet," he continued lightly, "but this will serve as a rather good test."
Shōma found himself momentarily speechless. For reasons he could not quite explain, as he looked at Natsuhiko now, he thought he saw another figure standing behind him—a faint, overlapping shadow.
A man with the same pale hair.
A figure from the Senju's past.
The Second Hokage, Senju Tobirama.
The same cold precision. The same keen intellect. Even the same methods—and perhaps, the same ruthlessness.
"…Lord Second," Shōma murmured inwardly, lowering his gaze.
Having once served under Tobirama during his youth in the ANBU, he knew that presence all too well. And now, in Natsuhiko, he glimpsed something eerily similar.
If one added Natsuhiko's Wood Release to the equation…
Was he, in some sense, a fusion of both Senju Hashirama and Senju Tobirama?
Steadying his breathing, Shōma gathered his thoughts, a quiet resolve forming within him. At last, he gave a slow, decisive nod.
"Go ahead," Senju Shōma said at last, his voice low but resolute. "I only hope this will lead to a good outcome."
"Everyone hopes for a good outcome," Natsuhiko replied with a faint smile. "But I prefer to prepare for the worst. Still… this time, I'm confident, Elder."
With that, their discussion came to an end. Natsuhiko rose and left the old wooden house, its quiet austerity fading behind him as he made his way toward the ANBU headquarters.
As he walked, his thoughts drifted—not to the matter at hand, but to himself. Somewhere along the way, he had changed.
In the past, he would never have spoken so bluntly, nor adopted such a forceful, almost oppressive approach. He had preferred subtler methods, earning trust, guiding others gently until they arrived at conclusions he had planted long before.
Even with Shōma, he would once have adapted himself to the elder's thinking, carefully aligning with it while quietly steering the conversation toward his own ends.
But now, he no longer bothered with such roundabout tactics. He stated his position plainly, maintaining a calm and measured demeanor as he laid out decisions already made—leaving the other party with no real room to refuse.
"What exactly caused this change in me?"
He brushed his chin thoughtfully, not troubled by the transformation itself. His old methods had been effective—he had no intention of abandoning them entirely—but in hindsight, there had been something lacking in them.
Too soft. Too yielding.
So much so that before he could secure what he wanted, he often found himself in stifling, frustrating positions. And while he had always been someone who cared more for results than process, even he could not ignore the discomfort of enduring such drawn-out constraints.
Now, however, things felt different.
This new approach allowed him not only to achieve his goals but to take a certain satisfaction in the process itself. There was a clarity to it, a directness that he found unexpectedly… liberating.
"Perhaps it's simply because my strength has grown," he mused after a long moment, arriving at the simplest conclusion. "And with it, my mindset has changed as well."
Strength reshaped more than just one's abilities—it altered perspective, confidence, even the manner in which one chose to act. The core methods might remain, but their execution could take many forms.
A faint smile returned to his lips. Strength truly was a remarkable thing.
It was not merely a weapon—though it ensured one's survival and commanded respect—but also a source of quiet confidence. Without it, no matter how unwilling he might be, he would still be forced to tread cautiously, bound by hesitation.
"Still… restraint has its place," he murmured. "Especially when there are things yet unfinished."
Lifting his gaze, he looked ahead at the ANBU division base, then shifted his eyes toward the main headquarters not far in the distance.
That place—sooner or later—would be his domain. A stepping stone to a far greater stage.
With that thought, he quickened his pace and entered the division. The shinobi stationed there all recognized him; it wasn't long before the captains on duty arrived.
In truth, there were only two. One was the man Natsuhiko had already chosen—Kakashi.
The other was Trout.
"Captain Trout, I need to ask a favor of you." Natsuhiko sat behind his desk, his expression calm, his words direct and precise. "Bring in the four Senju hawks. Thank you for your hard work."
The four Senju clan members who had joined the ANBU—codenamed Sparrow Hawk, Red Hawk, Harrier, and Snow Hawk—were well known to Captain Trout. Upon hearing Natsuhiko's command, he nodded immediately, without a single question, and turned to leave the office.
Kakashi remained standing before Natsuhiko, uncertain of what his commander had in mind.
"Kakashi, it looks like you'll be heading out for a while." Natsuhiko's lips curved into a faint smile after Trout departed, his voice slow and measured. "I'm afraid your easy days are over."
"I'm used to it," Kakashi replied with a wry smile, not joking in the slightest. "Without missions, I'd probably feel… restless."
Since returning from the battlefield, Kakashi had kept himself constantly occupied with one mission after another, numbing his mind. The horrors of war still haunted him, and idle moments only allowed the images to creep back in. One of the reasons Minato Namikaze had sent him to the ANBU was precisely because the work was demanding, leaving almost no room for rest.
Though he had recovered somewhat, his time under Natsuhiko's guidance had hardly been leisurely. Promoted now to squad captain, he spent every day sharpening his leadership skills and acclimating to his new subordinates. Even if the adjustment period barely lasted a week, he knew practical experience in the field was far more valuable than training exercises within Konoha.
"This mission… is complicated, and it's important," Natsuhiko said as he rose and walked slowly to Kakashi's side, lowering his voice. "It concerns Pakura."
"That woman?" Kakashi blinked, then nodded. "We're supposed to… eliminate her quietly?"
"Forget that," Natsuhiko said, rolling his eyes at Kakashi's instinctive ANBU-style thinking. "I intend to turn her."
Shaking his head, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a scroll, placing it carefully before Kakashi. "Study this carefully. Once you've read it, you'll understand everything. After your shift, you and I will go meet her. And you know how to handle this, right?"
"Yes, Captain." Kakashi unrolled the scroll with care, nodded respectfully, and quickly stowed it away.
Through experience with Natsuhiko, Kakashi had learned that when a mission was briefed in advance, it was either deceptively simple or deceptively complex. There was no middle ground. This one, he realized, fell firmly into the latter category—and he steeled himself to carry it out flawlessly.
After all, Natsuhiko had personally promoted him to squad captain. Failure now wouldn't just reflect poorly on him; it would be a stain on his teacher's reputation as well.
Natsuhiko patted Kakashi on the shoulder, then returned to his desk with the same calm composure.
At that moment, the four Senju clan members had arrived outside the office.
...
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