Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Sandaime Hokage, allowed himself a rare moment of anonymity as he strolled along the capital’s intricate, cobbled streets. This particular section, the residential quarter, was a haven of quiet wealth and cultivated beauty. He deeply appreciated the constant, tranquil sound of the waterway, a clear, burbling stream that mirrored the sky and ran parallel to his path. The sight of the roofs was a soothing balm to his typically stressed mind: tiles of vibrant red and deep emerald green angled sharply, catching the midday sun and offering a stark, pleasing contrast to the dull gray stone of the walls.

  He had shed the trappings of his office. Gone were the familiar red and white robes that designated him the Hokage; gone was the large, pointed hat bearing the bold kanji for fire. Today, he wore a simple but finely spun traveler’s cloak, a deep earth brown that helped him blend into the background like an old tree root. This simplicity was a rare luxury he liked to partake in.

  His security detail, an ever-present reminder of his position, had been drastically reduced. He had dismissed all but one of his trusted ANBU shadows. That final, quiet protector was positioned a full hundred yards behind him, a necessary distance for the privacy Hiruzen craved and needed. He needed to think, to simply feel the sun without the constant pressure of a village watching his every move. He savored the peace of this walk. Only a few of the capital’s wealthy citizens were visible, moving slowly to complete mundane errands or kneeling in concentration to water their meticulous flower gardens. He watched an elderly woman gently tending a climbing rose and felt a familiar, sharp pang of grief. His wife, Biwako, would have adored a garden here. The small patch she had tended back home in Konoha remained an overgrown monument since the night she died in the Nine-Tails attack.

  He drew steadily closer to the modest but well-kept house his daughter was leasing in the city. Without breaking his stride, he subtly focused his reserves, sending a small, focused ripple of chakra to brush against the occupants inside, a silent announcement of his imminent arrival. A few seconds later, the front door swung inward. Standing in the sunlit frame was his son, Asuma. He wore his standard-issue flak jacket, the heavy olive cloth looking rumpled from recent exertion, and a lit cigarette already dangled carelessly from his lips, smoke curling lazily around his jawline.

  From behind Asuma’s left leg, a small, dark-haired figure peered out. It was Itachi Uchiha, a boy who moved with an unsettling stillness. Itachi murmured something low and serious to his teacher, his large, dark eyes already showing a precocious intelligence. Asuma gave a curt nod and told the young Uchiha to occupy himself with his teammates for a few minutes while he spoke with his father. Itachi instantly complied, showing the innate discipline that had already earned him early recognition. As he moved away, he cast a quick, respectful wave and a small, formal bow toward the approaching Kage.

  “Lord Hokage,” Asuma greeted, dropping into a deep, precise bow, his voice respectful but strained.

  Hiruzen stopped, his gaze sharp, taking in the exhausted slump of his son’s shoulders. “Don’t start with me, brat,” he retorted, his voice low and devoid of rank. “Are you supposed to be smoking inside your sister’s house?”

  Asuma’s respectful posture dissolved into a sheepish, defensive look. He exhaled a long plume of smoke. “Give me a break, old man. I was just in a life-or-death battle a few hours ago.”

  Hiruzen answered with a deep, noncommittal grunt. He stepped forward and unexpectedly pulled his son into a firm, encompassing hug. Asuma froze for a brief, surprised instant, clearly taken aback by the uncharacteristic show of warmth, but then his arms came up and returned the embrace just as fiercely. As Hiruzen pulled back, his hand moved with the practiced stealth of the greatest shinobi of his era, deftly relieving Asuma’s jacket pocket of its remaining pack of cigarettes. Asuma noticed the transgression instantly and began patting himself down until he realized which pocket was now empty. With a sudden, casual snap of his fingers, Hiruzen generated a tiny, controlled flame to light his own stolen cigarette.

  “Well,” the Hokage said, taking a long, satisfying drag, the familiar tobacco smoke a comfort. “We won’t tell your sister that we are polluting her house with our bad habit.” He removed his shoes in the small entryway and hung his traveler’s cloak on a nearby hook.

  “I’ll make sure to air out the place before she returns. Are you hungry, Father?” Asuma asked, letting go of his annoyance for the moment.

  “I ate on the road, and I cannot stay long. I’m only here long enough to show my face to the royal court and establish a presence. I’ll debrief with you now, then I need to speak directly with the Daimyo. Your message was cryptic and urgent. I will read your full report tonight, but give me the most essential information immediately.”

  Asuma led the way toward the kitchen, his voice taking on the clipped, professional tone of a Jonin Captain. “We were leaving the capital city, and everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Everyone was executing their assigned duties. The Guardian Twelve were patrolling the outer perimeter of the procession, performing perimeter sweeps, and the ANBU detail was keeping to the back and remaining hidden from public view. My squad stayed tight and close to the main carriage. The women in the Daimyo’s entourage, the noble ladies and their aides, were pawing at the kids like they were animals in a public petting zoo. The Daimyo’s advisors were engaged in heated arguments over the political climate in the Land of Rain. The Daimyo himself was mainly asking questions about how the village and our clan system were holding up after the assault.”

  “Nothing strange then, no clear signs that anything was wrong?” Hiruzen asked, gently tapping ash into a nearby dish. He desperately hoped for an easy, clean, and simple clue to work with.

  “Absolutely none,” Asuma confirmed, rummaging deep inside the refrigerator while his father took a seat on a wooden stool at the kitchen counter. “ANBU had picked up a few suspicious individuals in a prior town where we stopped for the night, but even they admitted it amounted to nothing, just Looky Lous whose eyes lingered a few seconds too long on the Daimyo’s carriage.”

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  “Hmm,” Hiruzen stroked his trimmed beard, holding his cigarette carefully over an ashtray. “Unexplained absences, or even explained ones from the court or the security detail?”

  “Two that were explained. They gave the excuse that they were too old or too ill to complete the pilgrimage to the Leaf village. From what I understand, no one in the Daimyo’s inner circle, not even their political enemies, suspects those two of betrayal.” Asuma pulled out two cold beer cans and handed one to his father before cracking open his own.

  Hiruzen stared at the aluminum can in his hand, its cool surface offering momentary respite from the warmth of the room. “We will still have to bring them in for thorough questioning, if only to simply look busy and competent.” The Hokage popped the tab with a loud metallic snap and took a large, deliberate gulp from the can, relaxing and letting out an audible sigh of tension afterward. “Describe the attacker.”

  “Average height, maybe a little taller. He had extremely long, straight black hair that looked natural, utterly unstyled. He walked in a way that made him look slightly drunk. He gave off the impression that he had just woken up from a massive drunken bender. He wore a simple, dark orange mask with only a single, strange eye hole. I didn’t pay it much attention at the time, but looking back now, that mask was expensive and incredibly sturdy. Better quality than what our ANBU receive.”

  “Which direction did he approach from?”

  “The front. He was simply standing in the middle of our way, blocking the road. I moved to speak to the man, to try to get him off the path before he caused a scene. I fully imagined ANBU would quietly question him later.”

  “Did they question him?”

  “The masked man got to them before I even truly saw him. Kakashi was the one who saved the ANBU unit from complete collapse. He said the man used a fast-acting genjutsu. It was unbelievably powerful. It managed to take down multiple seasoned ANBU ninjas who were already on high alert at the same time, all without any obvious hand signs or external aids.”

  “And you? Did it affect you?” Hiruzen pressed, his own passive expression finally beginning to crack.

  “He tried,” Asuma’s voice was strained. “I went to engage the man, and once I was about ten feet from him, the illusion hit me like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t subtle; it was overwhelming. I was instantly under the effects of the man’s technique with barely any resistance from my own end. But before I lost myself completely, I saw him. I saw his eye.” Asuma became visibly anxious, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the beer can.

  “One eye, you say?” Hiruzen asked, trying to keep the intrigue and the rising dread from his voice.

  “Yep,” Asuma said, the single consonant slow and deliberately pronounced. He looked directly at his father, the man who was supposed to be a rock, who tried to keep his face impassive. But in that long moment, Hiruzen slipped up and looked away, just a fraction of a second too late. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Anger tinted his words.

  “Asuma…”

  “They killed Mom!” Asuma snapped, the accusation tearing itself from his throat. He dented the aluminum can in his grasp with the sudden force of his emotion. “I was willing to give their clan the benefit of the doubt, Father, but this. This!”

  “Asuma, it is more complicated than you realize.”

  “Complicated? They attacked our village, they killed Namikaze Sensei, and now they are actively going after the Daimyo. At what point does it finally stop being complicated? You even forced one of them onto my squad. I should have listened to Danzo. They are a clear danger to the village.”

  A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the room following Asuma’s outburst. Hiruzen did not lift his eyes from the cold beer can in his hand. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice quiet but carrying the full weight of his authority. “Are you finished?”

  Asuma was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “No, I am not. Did you place Itachi on my team as some kind of ‘keep your enemies close’ measure? Because if that’s the case, I would like to know ahead of time. I am not simply your son, Father. I am a Jonin of the Leaf. I deserve to know when there is even a remote chance that my team’s integrity could be compromised.”

  “That is not why.”

  “Then why?”

  “For multiple reasons, some of which are still unfolding. One reason is that I wanted to ask you now: how is the young Uchiha’s growth progressing?”

  A short, dry snort of ironic laughter escaped Asuma as he answered. “He picks everything up fast; he will be wiping the floor with me in ten years' time. If he ever awakens the Sharingan, he will become a real monster, powerful enough to challenge the best of us.”

  Hiruzen corked an eyebrow in surprise. “He still hasn’t awakened it?”

  “Nope, but the boy is young. He has plenty of time.”

  “Did the boy see what happened?”

  “I honestly do not know. My back was turned to him. I was instantly under the genjutsu’s paralyzing effects. If it wasn’t for a peculiar side effect of Amon’s seal on me, I suspect I would be dead already.”

  “Amon has a seal on you?” Hiruzen’s voice was sharp with instant concern.

  “He does. He told me I was allowed to tell only a select few people about it. You were one of them, but he said it was ultimately up to my discretion to reveal the information.”

  “And that was how you were able to escape the masked man’s technique.”

  “It was. I managed to fight back, which clearly caught the attacker off guard for a few precious seconds. The guy was arrogant, Father. He strolled right past me, exchanging a few chilling words with my students. Right as he was about to launch his attack on the Daimyo’s carriage, I broke free and attacked. I only managed to rip a few strands of the guy’s hair from his head. We exchanged blows for a moment. He has some way of ignoring attacks. It can't be a genjutsu because I broke free of his control. After a brief exchange, Kakashi finally showed up.

  “Did Kakashi see? Can Kakashi confirm what you saw with your own eyes?”

  “No. It was only me. But I know what I saw. The masked man had a Sharingan! He is a Uchiha. They are the only ones capable of using that eye in the way he used it. Not even Kakashi can replicate that kind of power.”

  Hiruzen raised his hand slowly, stopping Asuma from talking about the matter any further. He held the gaze of his furious son, forcing silence. “I have heard everything I needed to know. I must leave immediately. Do not tell anyone what you suspect or about the man’s specific eye technique. I will debrief the remainder of the security guards myself after I speak with the Daimyo.”

  “You know more than you are telling me,” Asuma insisted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “I deserve to know what is truly going on.”

  Hiruzen threw the same question back at him. “Do you want to tell me exactly what kind of seal Amon placed on you?”

  Asuma paused, the defiance draining from his face. “It’s a new kind of seal. It is designed to help me accelerate my training and to help me in an emergency.”

  “Then train,” Hiruzen instructed, his tone firm. “Train the Uchiha prince and your other students. In time, I will inform you more about what is unfolding, but only after I have a clear and complete picture myself. If I tell you partial truths now, and I am wrong later, I fear the results would be catastrophic.” Hiruzen stayed seated on the stool for a few silent moments, letting the weight of his words settle. “I know it is not fair, my son. I miss her, too.”

  Asuma looked down at his now-empty beer can and tossed it forcefully into the trash. “I know you are the Hokage. Ever since I was young, since I was born, I have always known that you have to deal with impossible problems on a daily basis, and that the nature of our work means we constantly risk secrets being spilled. But I always thought that when it came to family matters, those were different, that I would be trusted.” Asuma stared at his father, his eyes demanding a clear answer. “I became a Jonin. I have killed for the sake of this village, for the Will of Fire. I am not asking for hidden or forbidden techniques. I just want to know if I am currently teaching the son of the man who killed my mother.”

  Hiruzen finally stood up, looking out toward the capital city. In the center of the city stood a massive, ancient tree, its thick foliage covering the entirety of the royal palace complex. It was the resting place of the Shodai Hokage, his own teacher. “Fugaku had absolutely nothing to do with the Nine Tails attack or this assassination attempt on the Daimyo’s life. He did not kill Biwako. That is all I can truthfully say on this matter for now. Train the boy and train yourself while you are at it. One reason I sent you Itachi was to intentionally put a fire under you. I want you to see not only that the future of the village is in good hands, but also that you should not rest on your laurels. Keep up the good work, son. I am incredibly proud of you.” With that final, heavy statement, he left, the sound of the closing door echoing the difficult conversation.