The sun had long since sunk beneath the horizon, leaving the world bathed in the quiet glow of moonlight.
Senju Ryota walked unhurriedly along the path toward his home, his steps steady, his mood unusually light. It wasn't just today—recently, his spirits had been consistently high, buoyed by a sense of quiet anticipation.
Within the Senju clan, it had once been customary that children of sufficient talent would be bound by arranged marriages within the family. To some extent, it was a measure meant to preserve the purity and continuity of their bloodline.
But during the era when Senju Tobirama held power in Konoha, such traditions had been dismantled. Not only were they abandoned, but clan members were actively encouraged to choose their own partners—those with whom they would spend their lives.
To Senju Ryota, such a notion had always been incomprehensible.
Though he had outwardly supported Tobirama's decisions, compliance had never meant agreement. In truth, he had never accepted it.
After all, at that time, Tobirama had exercised near-total authority over the Senju clan, and unlike Senju Hashirama, he was not a man inclined toward leniency or compromise.
The Second Hokage's resolve was absolute, his will unyielding. Once he made a decision, dissent was not merely discouraged—it was unthinkable.
Even someone like Ryota had been forced to bow his head, to obey with feigned respect, following Tobirama's vision whether he believed in it or not.
He was not an extremist when it came to clan ideology, but on this matter, his stance had always been firm. In his eyes, such policies risked eroding the very identity of the Senju—until one day, they might forget who they truly were.
And, in the end, reality had unfolded much as he had feared.
With Tobirama's death, and with unseen forces pushing relentlessly forward the policy of "integrating the clan into Konoha," the Senju had, within a mere decade or so, declined into their current diminished state.
Still, not all hope had been lost.
There were those who sought to rebuild—to restore what had been broken.
Senju Shoma was one such man, and for him, Ryota held genuine respect. Without Shoma's efforts, the Senju might have vanished entirely into obscurity. Instead, they had managed to remain hidden, quietly regaining a modest foothold.
It was nothing compared to their former glory, of course—but it was far better than their lowest point.
More importantly, Shoma had nurtured something even more significant.
An ANBU division commander.
Ryota understood all too well the value such a figure represented. In the shadows where power truly moved, a single position like that could tip the balance in ways few could perceive.
And under such circumstances, his ambitions had begun to swell.
Especially when he learned that the fiancée chosen for that ANBU division commander—a promising young man of Konoha—had been selected from within the very district under his own jurisdiction.
And this boy… Ryota mused to himself, a faint gleam in his eyes, not only has he awakened Wood Release, but by all accounts, he is gentle, upright—almost like Lord Hashirama himself.
Wood Release.
ANBU division commander.
Each of those alone was enough to command attention—together, they were irresistible, especially for a clan like the Senju in its current state.
Ryota could not deny it.
He was tempted.
If all were acting in the name of the Senju, then why should Senju Shoma alone hold influence over such a person? Why should that power not also be his?
The revival of the Senju was inevitable—that much, at least, was a belief shared by all those within the clan who still clung to its ideals. And as Natsuhiko's rise became more apparent, that belief only grew stronger.
But belief alone was not enough.
Each of them wished to be the one who would shape that future.
Shoma, however, already occupied an overwhelmingly advantageous position—one that others could scarcely hope to rival.
Others, perhaps.
But not Ryota.
After all… the woman destined to become that young man's wife came from his domain. Among the four ANBU under his command, one was also tied to him. And beyond that—
Their families remained firmly within his grasp.
If I cannot control you directly… then surely I can reach you through those around you—shape you, influence you, until in the end, you become mine.
This had been Senju Ryota's conclusion—and more importantly, his method.
Long before Senju Renge had been sent to Natsuhiko's household, Ryota had already secured leverage. Her mother had fallen under his control without a sound. And she was not the only one. Even the boy who had been placed within the ANBU—his family, too, was firmly within Ryota's grasp.
All that remained was patience.
To wait as one would wait for a fine brew to mature—until the moment came to uncork it and savor the result.
"The moon is especially beautiful tonight…"
He lifted his head, gazing at the pale, luminous glow hanging in the night sky, a faint smile forming on his lips. Then, with an easy motion, he pushed open the door to his home and stepped inside.
And in that very instant, something felt wrong.
Too dark.
No lights had been lit.
Too quiet.
The stillness pressed in unnaturally, suffocating in its completeness.
Ryota was not a man who lived alone. He had a devoted wife, children who greeted him with warmth and respect. Even on quieter evenings, there would always be some sign of life—his wife coming to meet him at the door, his children calling out in welcome.
But tonight, there was nothing.
The absence struck him immediately, cold and sharp.
Something had gone wrong.
Clenching his teeth, he drew a kunai in one swift motion, his steps growing cautious as he advanced deeper into the house. He did not yet know what had happened—but one thing was certain.
He had to protect his family.
Click.
The lights flared on.
And the scene before him tore through his composure like a blade.
His wife—his children—lay collapsed on the ground. Not only them, but even the household servants were sprawled across the floor, motionless.
And seated calmly upon his sofa was a young man, watching him with quiet interest.
Behind him stood four others in a neat line—young, silent, disciplined. Among them, Ryota instantly recognized one face.
The very person he himself had sent into the ANBU.
"You—" Ryota began, his voice tight with anger, only to be cut off at once.
"Shh. Keep your voice down."
The young man raised a finger to his lips, his expression gentle, almost courteous, as though they were meeting under far more civil circumstances. Then he smiled—a soft, disarming smile that did nothing to ease the tension in the air.
"You must be Lord Senju Ryota. It's a pleasure to meet you for the first time."
He paused, as though remembering something, and let out a small, apologetic laugh.
"Ah, how rude of me. I should introduce myself." His eyes curved slightly with that same mild warmth. "My name is Senju Natsuhiko."
Senju… Natsuhiko.
In truth, there had been no need for an introduction. Ryota had already recognized him the moment he saw his face.
But hearing the name spoken aloud still sent a ripple through his chest—unease, sharp and immediate.
Why was he here?
Of course, there were reasons he could imagine—but none of them accounted for this situation.
Have I been betrayed?
The thought surfaced unbidden, and once it took hold, it began to gnaw at him, feeding a rising tide of fear he could scarcely suppress.
No.
He forced himself to steady his breathing.
Nothing had been confirmed yet. Losing control now would only make things worse.
"Natsuhiko… is it?" Ryota said at last, his voice low as he struggled to compose himself. His brows drew tight as he fixed his gaze on the young man. "I know who you are. An ANBU division commander."
A brief pause.
"But Commander… what exactly do you think you're doing?"
"What am I doing?"
Natsuhiko's smile remained unchanged as he regarded him, almost amused. With a casual motion, he produced a kunai, letting it spin lightly between his fingers before settling into a natural grip. His gaze drifted downward—toward the figures lying on the floor.
That small, deliberate gesture made Ryota's heart lurch violently in his chest.
Understanding came in a flash.
And when the blade angled, ever so slightly, toward his son—
"Stop!"
He moved without thinking, lunging forward in a burst of desperation.
But Natsuhiko simply lifted his eyes and looked at him.
That single glance froze him.
A chill crawled over his skin, sharp and immediate—and in the next instant, he felt it.
Cold steel.
A kunai, pressed lightly against his throat.
"I haven't even made my move yet," Natsuhiko said, his voice still gentle, almost amused. "Why is Lord Ryota in such a hurry?"
At that very moment, Natsuhiko's voice drifted from behind him once more—still gentle, still composed, and yet to Senju Ryota it felt as though the ground beneath his feet had vanished, plunging him into a bottomless abyss.
"It seems," Natsuhiko said lightly, "that Lord Ryota is eager to make the decision for me. In that case… why don't you choose?"
"Senju Natsuhiko… what exactly do you mean by this?!"
Ryota's hand trembled uncontrollably. After a long moment, he finally lowered the kunai in his grip. Closing his eyes briefly, as if to steady himself, he forced the question out.
"What do I mean?" Natsuhiko echoed.
He withdrew the kunai from Ryota's throat and stepped around him, coming to stand directly before him. That same faint smile lingered on his lips, as though none of this were anything more than casual conversation.
"My meaning is quite simple. Since Lord Ryota is so fond of employing… indirect methods, it's only natural that I respond in kind."
His tone remained soft, almost apologetic.
"I'm well aware that what I'm doing is neither moral nor kind. But after years in the ANBU, one grows accustomed to certain things."
He paused, his gaze settling steadily on Ryota.
"So, please—make your choice."
A slight movement of his hand drew attention behind him. The kunai in his fingers gleamed coldly in the light, though it was not yet pointed at anyone in particular.
"Would you prefer that my target be your wife… or your child?"
The words fell quietly, almost gently.
And yet, they struck with suffocating weight.
A chill crawled up Ryota's spine, his breath tightening in his chest. In that instant, he understood one thing with absolute clarity—
Natsuhiko had obtained the truth.
There was no other explanation. Only with knowledge in hand would he act so decisively, so precisely.
But how…?
Wasn't he supposed to be gentle? Wasn't he said to resemble the First Hokage—a man like Senju Hashirama, warm and compassionate, someone who inspired trust?
Then why—
Why did the young man standing before him now feel nothing like that?
No… not entirely.
There was one similarity.
That calm, almost tender demeanor—it resembled warmth.
But it was not warmth at all.
It was a mask.
A carefully crafted façade worn to conceal something far colder beneath.
Had everyone been deceived? Ryota wondered, a flicker of dread taking root. Were all those rumors nothing more than an illusion he created himself?
This was no Hashirama.
This was—
No, worse than that.
A man like Senju Tobirama… perhaps even more domineering.
The realization made his body tremble uncontrollably.
He had witnessed Tobirama's methods in his youth. He knew exactly what kind of man the Second Hokage had been. And now, standing before someone who felt eerily similar—perhaps even more ruthless—an unfamiliar sense of despair crept into his heart.
Drawing in a slow breath, Ryota forced himself to remain composed. His eyes lifted, fixing on the young man before him—the same pale hair, the same quiet authority—and after a long silence, he finally spoke.
"We are both of the Senju clan… must it really come to this?"
His voice had softened, the edge of resistance giving way to something closer to resignation. Deep down, he already knew—this situation was slipping beyond his control.
"Yes," Natsuhiko replied with a faint smile, inclining his head slightly. "We are both Senju."
His gaze sharpened just a fraction.
"That is precisely why I stand here as Senju Natsuhiko… not as Konoha's ANBU 'Nightingale.' Otherwise, you wouldn't have had the chance to speak at all. Not from the very beginning."
Not as ANBU… but as Senju Natsuhiko?
Ryōta's eyes flickered with sudden realization.
If he had come in the name of the ANBU, there would have been no conversation—only silence, permanent and absolute.
After all, while the ANBU might not be as notoriously ruthless as Root, that did not mean they were incapable of erasing someone without a trace.
Wasn't it merely a matter of evidence?
To someone like him, it was almost laughably simple. All he needed to do was fabricate a set of sufficiently "convincing" proof—evidence that would justify the killing, brand the victim as problematic, and, with the proper procedures followed in advance, have everything neatly filed away. Once that was done, the dead could be cleanly redefined as rogue ninja.
It was not as though such methods were unheard of. In the early days of the ANBU, things like this had happened more than once—Ryota remembered it all too clearly.
Perhaps it was precisely because of such practices that Senju Tobirama had later sought to preserve the "clean" image of the ANBU, ensuring it did not become an unchecked authority. Perhaps that was why Root had been established—to bear the weight of the shadows others could not.
Natsuhiko was no outsider to these truths. A member of the Senju clan, raised under Senju Shoma, and tempered by years within the ANBU—he would undoubtedly be familiar with its history.
And yet… he had not chosen that path.
Which meant—
There was still room to negotiate.
And how much room remained… would depend entirely on the price Ryota was willing to pay.
Grinding his teeth, he slowly lifted his head. "I understand," he said at last, his voice tight but steady. "May I ask… what it is you want, Natsuhiko-kun?"
"Smart," Natsuhiko replied, his smile deepening ever so slightly.
He lowered the kunai in his hand, tucking it away with an ease that felt almost casual, before speaking again in that same gentle tone.
"Lord Ryota has devoted himself tirelessly to the Senju clan for many years now. You've made more than enough sacrifices."
His gaze softened—at least, on the surface.
"I imagine… you would welcome the chance to rest. To spend more time with your wife and children."
"You—!"
Ryota's expression changed instantly, shock flashing across his face. He opened his mouth to protest, but the moment his eyes met Natsuhiko's smile, the words died in his throat.
That smile…
The more it lingered, the colder it felt.
"Is my lord perhaps concerned," Natsuhiko continued unhurriedly, "that after your departure, there may be no suitable successor to manage your domain?"
He tilted his head slightly, as though the matter were trivial.
"You needn't worry. I'm certain Elder Shoma will make the proper arrangements."
A faint pause.
"As for those who might be… unwilling to let you retire," he added softly, "those troublesome individuals—I will personally pay them a visit."
There was no change in his expression, and yet something in his eyes sharpened, turning almost imperceptibly cold.
"It may even be," he went on, almost thoughtfully, "that among them are those who have already betrayed the Senju clan."
His words were light, but each one carried weight.
"After all, a man who has labored so diligently for so many years deserves his rest. Anyone who would deny you that… must surely harbor ulterior motives."
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
"As a member of the younger generation of the Senju," Natsuhiko said, his voice calm and measured, "it is only natural that I take responsibility for dealing with such… unstable elements. Wouldn't you agree?"
By now, he stood directly before Ryota.
The smile on his lips remained as warm as ever, but his gaze was sharp—cutting, unyielding.
Ryota's face had gone pale, his body trembling despite himself. Yet Natsuhiko showed no trace of pity. His tone never rose, never hardened; it remained as gentle as a passing breeze.
And yet, with each word, it felt as though years were being carved away from Ryota's life.
"This," Natsuhiko concluded softly, "is the suggestion I offer you."
A brief pause.
"What do you think, Lord Ryota?"
...
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