NOVEL WEB Meeting him after his miscalculation
(Akio's POV)
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As I trudged home from a grueling day at work, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders. I had, with practiced precision, extracted every ounce of information from the prisoners, pushing them to their limits until they finally broke. It was a routine I had grown accustomed to, though my tinnitus had worsened, and I expected to need hearing aids at any moment.
Just as I settled into the comfort of my own space, sitting at my desk and preparing for my long-term plan, there came a sharp rap at the door—a distinct knock from an Anbu operative in the Black Ops division. His presence was unmistakable when I opened the door, clad in the sleek uniform that made them so recognizable.
Riiing
Anticipating another assignment—perhaps to interrogate a shinobi from Iwa, Ame, Suna, Kusa, or any other village that came to mind—I braced myself for the inevitable. It was a tiresome task, one that often left my ears ringing from the barrage of screams, pleas, and information. Yet the compensation was fair, and it lacked the risks associated with other divisions. (Yes, I’m a coward, deal with it.)
"Danzo-sama is calling you," the Anbu said before swiftly leaving, his tone urgent enough to hint at the importance of the summons.
At least, to him.
Buzz buzz.
I sighed, with resignation.
Dressed in casual clothes—just a simple grey shirt and pants, offering no flair and after a quick adjustment to my attire, I left through the door, blending into the bustling streets like any other ordinary person.
Whoosh
The crowded streets drained my soul, but I had no choice but to navigate through them. Unlike the Black Ops operatives, who had the liberty of traversing rooftops with ease, I wasn't so lucky. Instead, I had to contend with the crowd of people and the constant noise of the busy streets.
Whoosh.
But hey, at least my life expectancy is likely to be three times longer than theirs. Although, lately, I’m no longer certain of that...
Anyway, it didn’t take long to notice the tense faces in the crowd, understandable given that the Second Shinobi World War was raging. The palpable anxiety hung in the air as thick as a heavy fog that could be cut by a knife, casting a shadow over the streets as civilians and shinobi alike grappled with the uncertainty of wartime.
And none of it concerned me.
Sssss
Exiting the compound, it took another solid three hours to reach Danzo’s residence, navigating through the labyrinthine streets of the village. I understood why ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu were forbidden within the village—the secrecy and safety of its inhabitants were crucial. But damn, it took forever to get there, and it would’ve taken three times longer if I were a civilian, relying solely on foot travel.
'They should invest in public transport!' I thought, dodging merchants and villagers as I moved through the crowded pathways. Whoever still calls Konoha a village clearly hasn’t seen a small city, which would be far smaller than this so-called 'village.' The bustling activity and sheer size far exceeded its humble designation.
I considered asking my ‘Ojiee-sama’ to suggest this change, maybe pushing for better transportation infrastructure within the village.
Now, I just need the perfect reason for why he should suggest it in the first place...
Whiiiii
Knocking on the door, I waited patiently as the anticipation built with each second.
Creak
The door opened slowly, revealing an Anbu guard who stared at me with an intensity that might’ve been intimidating if I were new to this. We locked eyes for a brief moment in an unspoken standoff—one I had no interest in—before he finally gestured for me to follow him upstairs. No words were exchanged, but it was clear that my audience with blamekage awaited.
Riiing
My eyes twitched slightly as I noticed the opulent marble floors and grand staircase—details I don’t recall from my usual visits—but I continued on. After all, taxpayer money allocation wasn’t my concern.
I’m just a ‘humble’ Anbu.
As I ascended the stairs, I managed to sense Fifty-nine Anbu operatives were within the mansion, though only a handful were visible.
‘Either Sandaime-sama is concerned about him, or they’re all loyalists to the darkness of the shinobi world,’ I mused as I reached the second floor.
Two Anbu suddenly materialized before me, their masked faces inscrutable as they scanned me and asked a few questions (which I answered by demonstration) before going back into the shadows.
It was understandable, their need to confirm my identity, their insistence on ensuring that nothing was left to chance—especially after the recent blunder he'd made a month ago.
As I approached the door, it swung open, revealing another Anbu stationed within. There, in the middle of the room, sat the former Anbu Commander, his piercing gaze fixed on the file spread out before him on the table.
(I swear, this place is more guarded than that peace-loving hypocrite’s mansion.)
With a bandage covering his right eye—likely having switched out the white Sharingan iris for a regular one—and another wrapped around his right arm, now seemingly crippled from an incident a month ago, his aura was darker than usual.
"Sit down, Akio," he whispered, his voice carrying an air of authority as he gestured toward the chair opposite him. His posture betrayed the pain he must have been enduring.
It didn’t take long to glance at the file before me, and I could only sigh.
So, the Senju extermination is about to commence, I deduced, my breath slightly heavy with resignation as I noted the expenses outlined in the document, particularly for upgrading laboratory equipment for gene infusion and integration. The implications were clear.
Quite a pity.
Since the Senju clan’s presence was never mentioned in Naruto's timeline, it wasn’t hard to conclude they were behind their disappearance. This seems to be the plan they chose to wipe them out for good.
Of course, I always had a hunch they were responsible—it aligns with both their obsessions to have control over everyone in Konoha. But seeing it unfold live still feels a bit surreal.
In his presence, an aura of intimidation loomed, cementing his status as an unwavering leader who commanded respect and obedience from all… except me.
As he inquired about the project, his demeanor left no room for dissent. "What is your opinion about this project?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of command.
Without hesitation, I spoke my mind. "Wasteful and unreliable," I replied bluntly.
I elaborated, critiquing the novelty of the technology, its exorbitant cost, and its reliance on a substantial number of subjects without drawing public backlash.
Even after stealing technology from all over the world, this is still far from capable.
"Investing in this risks overextending resources without guaranteeing success, let alone producing results up to your standards," I continued, emphasizing the precariousness of the endeavor.
"Moreover, the constant threat to its safety would be unmanageable if our enemies catch wind of its existence, even if it is barely a worthy copy of Shodai-sama."
“Exploiting the war for Oji-sama’s goals might seem plausible at first, but alternatives like harvesting Mangekyo Sharingan or Byakugan, abducting and indoctrinating children with Kekkei Genkai, or extracting spermatozoa from Kekkei Genkai men for insemination into willing kunoichi, would seem far more reliable to me. This project doesn’t interest me."
eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Shaking off the irritating sound in my ear, I reached for the cup of tea the Anbu had poured, bracing myself for its bitter taste. Suppressing a grimace, I forced the kuding tea down in one gulp, silently protesting its unpleasantness.
'Tsk, forget about fixing your arm—fix your taste buds first.' I inwardly complained before focusing on this matter.
I genuinely don’t care if the entire Senju clan goes extinct to fix your arm.( except for one or two members.)
The project is just fruitless compared to using them as sacrifices for the Reanimation Jutsu, allowing a stronger reanimated shinobi army which would be closer to their prime. (assuming reanimated shinobi is stronger than your average Taro such as Zabuza etc)
This is plain useless.
Even if it succeeds, it would only create a rare, mediocre replica of that naive fool, who would be better off as a sacrifice for Reanimation Jutsu anyway.
If only the guy in front of me didn’t romanticize that Kekkei Genkai so much...
Sipping the refilled tea and frowning, I hoped they would offer something sweet to eat—there's no way I could drink this again without ruining my mood.
“So, what are you suggesting instead?” he asked, his irritation barely concealed, before being composed as he already used to my attitude by now.
"Since Nidaime-sama failed even with over fifty clansmen dying in the process, using the remaining Senju members likely won’t yield different results.
You should start with civilians, using a much diluted version of Shodai-sama’s cells to understand the mechanics better. There’s no guarantee the surviving subjects who awakened Wood Release would fare any better than those affected by Shodai-sama's cells," I concluded, indifferent to the guillotine I had placed over the civilians.
Whether he or that hypocrite accepts my suggestion, I don't care. After all, I’m just a 'humble' Anbu.
Just hope they don't cut funding from my experiment for this vanity project—at least mine has shown results, though it needs more refining for wider adoption.