Furukawa Itoshiki stretched languidly, the quiet crack of joints breaking the early silence.
He reached for the pale outer robe draped over the folding screen, shrugging it over his shoulders in one practiced motion. The lingering haze of sleep still tugged at his mind as he padded across the tatami floor and slid open the shoji window.
Outside, the first light of dawn painted the courtyard in soft gradients.
Beads of dew clung to the edge of the windowsill, falling in delicate drops onto the bluestone slabs below.
The war is over.
The thought struck again, even now, like something too large to fully believe.
After returning to Konoha with the surviving vanguard and finally sinking into a rare, uninterrupted night's sleep, the stillness felt… wrong.
Not peace—emptiness.
Itoshiki stepped out into the corridor, resting one hand against the wooden railing as his gaze drifted to the distant silhouette of Hokage Rock.
Ever since that moment—when he'd revealed his Wood Release in Tsunade's presence—everything had shifted.
Tsunade's amber eyes, long dulled by grief over Nawaki, had shown flickers of something new.
Purpose.
Last night, she'd spoken in hushed tones with Mito-sama until dawn. Even Hashirama Senju's relics—sealed deep within the vaults—had been entrusted to him.
It was the same feeling he'd had the day she urged him, without warning, to move into the Senju compound.
That woman… always two steps ahead. Always watching.
A cool summer breeze drifted through the courtyard, but it was short-lived—soon the heavy heat of early summer would settle in, thick and breathless.
Yet even overnight, the garden had burst into richer color. Flowers, vines, trees—everything bloomed around him.
A soft creak echoed behind him.
Tsunade stepped out, wrapped in a mint-green robe, a white juban peeking beneath.
Gone was her usual battlefield gear—today, her golden hair fell like liquid light, loosely tied with a jade pin that drew the eye.
Lately, she had started caring more about her appearance around him.
She never said it—but Itoshiki noticed everything.
"You're up early," Tsunade's voice was husky with sleep, tinged with affection.
"And Tsunade-sama as well," he replied with a faint, knowing smile. "I was just thinking of heading to the training grounds. Habit, I suppose. We're shinobi, after all—can't afford to let the edge dull."
"You just got back from the front lines. You could at least pretend to rest like a normal person," she said, mock-scolding. But her voice lacked bite.
"As you command, Tsunade-sama," he said with mock-formality, offering a low bow and a playful smirk.
"You're getting cheekier by the day," she muttered, raising a hand like she meant to swat him.
But before her fingers could land—
Whoosh.
A masked figure landed silently in the courtyard.
Fox mask. Black armor. One knee to the ground. ANBU.
"Tsunade-sama. Mad Lion-sama. You are to report to the Hokage immediately. Priority level—urgent."
The smile vanished from Itoshiki's face.
He stared at the ANBU, eyes narrowing with veiled irritation.
Now?Of all times?
Couldn't they have waited five minutes?
His jaw clenched. You'd better pray I never find out who you are under that mask… or I'm assigning you to Hatake Sakumo's worst detail for a month.
The poor ANBU seemed confused by the heavy stare and the rising hostility in the air, tilting their head slightly in innocent silence.
But protocol was protocol.
In less than a minute, Itoshiki and Tsunade had donned their standard Jonin vests and disappeared in a blur of motion, streaking toward the Hokage's office.
Bang!
The door to the Hokage's office flew open as Tsunade strode in, as direct as ever.
"Old man! What now? Are the Sand bastards back already?"
Itoshiki entered behind her, far more composed.
"Furukawa Itoshiki reporting. Awaiting orders, Hokage-sama."
Sarutobi chuckled softly and waved them forward, setting aside his pipe. A thick stack of papers sat on his desk, neatly bound.
"No need to be so formal. Take a seat, both of you."
He slid the documents toward them.
"These are the top graduates from this year's academy class."
"I want you to each take on a squad. You'll be leading Genin teams moving forward."
Itoshiki blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
Take on students?
Of all the post-war directions he expected—a direct ANBU position, perhaps a post under Hatake Sakumo—this had not been on the list.
Nineteen years old.
Still too green by most standards.
Even Neji Hyuga, the youngest Jonin he recalled from historical archives, had never led a squad before his death at eighteen.
And Kakashi? That anomaly had become Jonin at twelve, yet didn't guide Team Seven until twenty-seven.
"…Hokage-sama," Itoshiki began, brows furrowing, "Forgive me, but is it not too soon for me to serve as a squad leader? I've only held the Jonin rank for a year."
He felt the hesitation in his own voice. It sounded like doubt.
Sarutobi, however, only smiled—soft, kind, calculating.
"Itoshiki, this decision wasn't made lightly," he said, eyes gleaming with intent. "The war may be over, but Konoha has deep wounds to heal. We must look forward—to strength, yes, but also to legacy."
"Students need symbols. Hope. Stability. And you…"
He leaned forward slightly.
"You are that symbol now."
"What could be more symbolic than having Konoha's war hero—the 'Mad Lion' Furukawa Itoshiki—personally mentor a new generation? A living declaration to the ninja world: Konoha endures, and peace begins anew."
Hiruzen Sarutobi's voice was calm but carried the weight of intention. He gently nudged a stack of documents toward Itoshiki, all the while casting a subtle glance—and a wink—at Tsunade.
The unspoken undercurrents were not lost on either of them.
Last night's private proposal from Lady Mito had surprised even him. But upon reflection, it was not only shrewd—it was necessary.
Tsunade caught Hiruzen's look, and a faint pink crept across her cheeks.
To mask her reaction, she reached out abruptly and pulled the stack toward herself, flipping through it with uncharacteristic briskness.
Within moments, she'd sorted through most of the files, setting aside the bulk of them.
Only three remained.
She quietly pushed those back in front of Itoshiki.
The top profile featured a boy with unruly black hair and a confident grin. He wore a dark short-sleeved shirt emblazoned with the unmistakable fan of the Uchiha clan.
Uchiha.
Itoshiki's expression shifted slightly.
"So even now, the old man is already laying the groundwork for the Uchiha situation," he thought, his mind already three moves ahead. "Minato's rise later on... it wasn't a coincidence. The seeds were planted early."
Without a word, he slid that file to the side and lifted the second.
A different face this time—calmer, more solemn. Long hair, a pristine white robe, and eyes like moonlight. Those featureless, clouded pupils radiated the unmistakable lineage of the Hyuga clan.
Main family? Or branch?
He scanned the text.
Name: Hizashi HyugaDate of Birth: January 8, Year 26 of KonohaShinobi ID: 005160
Hizashi…
A flicker of recognition surfaced.
"A member of the branch house," he mused. "So, an 'acquaintance,' of sorts."
The future father of Neji—who, in another time, would lay down his life to protect the main family.
Why was he here, of all places?
Itoshiki glanced up, his gaze steady on the Third Hokage.
Hiruzen cleared his throat, casually tapping the ashes from his pipe against a brass tray.
"The Hyuga clan head made a personal request to include him," he said, voice measured but intentional. "After hearing I was assembling a team under your leadership."
He emphasized the words Hyuga clan head ever so slightly.
Itoshiki's eyes narrowed faintly in understanding.
A father's love for his son…?
No. That was only part of it.
This was politics, not sentiment.
The Hyuga patriarch saw the opportunity. To place Hizashi under the wing of someone tied to the Senju line—someone with Wood Release, and closely linked to Mito Uzumaki, a grandmaster of sealing arts.
It wasn't love.
It was maneuvering.
Influence. Access. Possibility.
Still, Itoshiki allowed himself a quiet chuckle.
"How shrewd. Well, if the clan head's gone out of his way, I suppose I can offer a favor in return."
He placed Hizashi's file beside the Uchiha boy's.
Two heirs from two ancient clans. Powerful bloodlines.Now, for balance—he needed one more.
Someone outside the cycle of prestige. Someone like he once was.
His hand hovered over the last few remaining profiles.
"A child from a civilian background," he murmured. "This team needs someone who can remind the others where strength without privilege comes from."
He'd risen from nothing. He knew the path. The pain. The perseverance.
Never forget your roots.
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