Naruto : Blazing Legend

Chapter 19: Bombardment

"People who don't cherish their companions are worse than trash."

Minato repeated the words under his breath like a mantra, his expression clearing as understanding dawned. "I see. That makes sense."

"What makes sense?" I asked, though I was already dreading his answer.

"If you can think of something that profound, then Hatake-sama definitely can too. So this whole mess will blow over soon enough." He spoke with the confidence of a man who still believed the world was fundamentally fair.

"Exactly!" Kushina chimed in, red hair bouncing as she nodded. "I keep telling you there's nothing to worry about, but you've been moping around all day like someone died."

I stared at them both, speechless. No wonder they'd produce a son like Naruto—perpetual optimists who could find silver linings in thunderclouds. The genetic predisposition toward naive hope was apparently dominant in their bloodline.

"You're missing the point," I said slowly, as if explaining to children. "Yes, Hatake-sama could think of that answer. But you're forgetting something crucial—when you're drowning, even the most logical thoughts become meaningless."

Minato's brow furrowed. Despite his time in ANBU, he'd always observed politics from the sidelines, never truly participating in the blood sport of village leadership.

"This isn't random village gossip," I continued, letting my voice drop to match the gravity of the situation. "It's a coordinated campaign. Someone wants to destroy him."

"That's impossible," Kushina protested, but uncertainty crept into her voice.

"Think about it this way," I said, turning to face her directly. "What happens when someone you've always protected starts attacking you? When the very people you've bled for turn their backs and call you worthless?"

"I'd punch their faces in," she replied immediately, though her conviction wavered.

"Let me make this personal then." I paused, watching her carefully. "What if ordinary villagers insulted you? You'd probably ignore them, maybe feel a little hurt. But what if Minato abandoned you? What if he stood with your enemies and called you trash?"

The color drained from Kushina's face. I could see her remembering—that day years ago when she'd been kidnapped, when the world felt empty and hostile until a flash of yellow hair had saved her. The thought of that same person turning against her was clearly unbearable.

Minato's arms wrapped around her protectively, and she seemed to snap back to reality. But the damage was done—she understood now.

"You're saying someone's manipulating the situation," Minato said quietly. "Making sure even the people Hatake-sama saved will eventually turn against him."

"Exactly. If this were organic outrage, why hasn't it died down? The Third Hokage never officially punished him. So why does the anger keep growing? Why do fresh voices join the chorus every day?" I let the implications sink in. "Someone's feeding this fire."

Minato's jaw tightened. "I need to report this to the Third."

He vanished in a swirl of yellow light, leaving me alone with Kushina, who was still processing the darker implications of village politics.

---

The Hokage Tower blazed with light despite the late hour. For two days straight, the bombardment of Hatake Sakumo had continued without pause, growing louder and more vicious with each passing hour.

In his office, Sarutobi Hiruzen sat across from two of his former students—Jiraiya lounging with studied casualness, Tsunade radiating barely contained irritation. The Third's plan had been simple: let Sakumo's reputation take a small hit, just enough to elevate Orochimaru's standing. Instead, he'd unleashed something that was consuming his most valuable shinobi alive.

"It's just villagers blowing off steam," Tsunade said dismissively. "One failed mission doesn't erase decades of service. They'll get bored and move on."

"Right!" Jiraiya agreed enthusiastically. "I get yelled at all the time, and I'm still devastatingly handsome!"

CRACK.

Tsunade's fist connected with Jiraiya's jaw, launching him through the office door and into the hallway wall. Wood splinters rained down as his body left an impressive crater in the masonry.

"Pervert," she muttered, flexing her knuckles.

"Enough," Sarutobi sighed, suddenly feeling every one of his years. "There's definitely someone orchestrating this."

He knew it was Danzo—could practically smell his old teammate's handiwork in the systematic nature of the attacks. But knowing and proving were different beasts entirely. You couldn't exactly march into ROOT headquarters and demand answers based on suspicion.

"Sensei?" Minato's voice called from the doorway as he helped extract Jiraiya from his wall-shaped prison.

"Minato! What brings you here so late?" Jiraiya groaned, holding his ribs.

"I came to speak with the Hokage." Minato nodded respectfully to Tsunade before addressing Sarutobi directly. "I was discussing Hatake-sama's situation with Rei tonight. He said something that I think every ninja in the village needs to hear."

The Third leaned forward, intrigued despite his exhaustion.

"If people who don't follow the rules are trash, then people who don't cherish their companions are worse than trash."

Silence fell over the room like a shroud. Then the Third's face lit up with genuine joy—the first real emotion he'd shown in days.

"Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!" His eyes practically sparkled. "This boy understands the Will of Fire better than ninja twice his age!"

Jiraiya and Tsunade exchanged glances, both clearly impressed by the wisdom in those words. The philosophy cut straight to the heart of what Konoha claimed to represent.

"Where is this remarkable young man?" the Third asked eagerly. "I'd like to meet him personally."

"He didn't come with me. I'll go fetch him." Minato prepared to leave.

"Please do. And Minato? Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

---

While political wheels turned in the Hokage Tower, I crouched in the shadows near the Hatake compound, watching a different kind of warfare unfold.

The house blazed with light, but not from celebration—dozens of villagers surrounded the property like vultures, their voices carrying clearly through the night air. Some left as exhaustion took hold, but fresh arrivals quickly replaced them. The harassment was perpetual, systematic, designed to break even the strongest will.

Through an upstairs window, I caught a glimpse of movement. Kakashi entered the room carrying a dinner tray, his young face already marked by the stress of watching his hero father crumble.

"Father, you should eat something," I heard him say.

"I'm not hungry. You eat." Sakumo's voice was hollow, drained of the vitality I remembered from our previous meeting.

The sight of Konoha's White Fang—a man who'd cut through Sand ninja like wheat—reduced to hiding in his own home while civilians hurled insults at his doorstep was nauseating.

"Hatake Sakumo, you bastard!" someone shouted from the crowd. "Your failure cost the village everything!"

"Coward! Some hero you turned out to be!"

"We don't need traitors like you in Konoha!"

The front door suddenly burst open. Kakashi stormed out, flanked by two of his father's loyal subordinates, their faces twisted with righteous fury. For a moment, I thought they might actually fight back.

"How dare you!" Kakashi snarled at the crowd. "My father saved those men! He's given everything for this village!"

The response was immediate and brutal. The mob turned on the boy like a pack of wild dogs.

"Look at this! The apple doesn't fall far from the tree!"

"Father's a failure, son's a failure—it runs in the family!"

"You're all traitors! You don't deserve to live in our village!"

I watched Kakashi's small hands clench into fists, saw the two senior ninja reach for their weapons. The Konoha police had positioned themselves strategically—not to protect the Hatake family, but to prevent them from retaliating against civilians.

"Get back inside," came Sakumo's broken command from within the house.

The three figures retreated, leaving the crowd's bloodlust unsatisfied but their message delivered. The door slammed shut with the finality of a coffin lid.

From my hiding spot, I shook my head in disgust. If it were me in there, I'd have plugged my ears with cotton and taken a vacation. Hell, I might have set up a stage and performed dinner theater for the mob—turn their harassment into entertainment.

But Hatake Sakumo wasn't built that way. His strength came from protecting others, from being worthy of their trust. Strip that away, and what was left?

A broken man, listening to his world collapse one insult at a time.

The real tragedy wasn't that he was weak—it was that his greatest strength had become the weapon used to destroy him.

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