Onoki had long since learned that power was not just about brute strength. It was about positioning, about knowing when to act and—more importantly—when not to act.
In war, the strongest side was rarely the one that made the first move.
And yet, as the air in the conference hall grew thick with tension, as the reactions to his decision rippled through the room, Onoki knew that his inaction was, in its own way, an action.
He had abstained. Again.
Not because he was indecisive.
Not because he feared making enemies.
But because he had seen the bigger picture.
Kumo and Suna were eager to strike Konoha down, to cripple the Leaf before it could rally its forces. They had tried to use this summit to shackle Konoha financially, to force it into an economic stranglehold before a single blade had been drawn.
And if he had sided with them—
If he had joined their camp and agreed to the restrictions they wished to impose on Konoha, then the outcome would have been clear.
Kumo and Suna would march.
They would ravage the Hidden Leaf. And once Konoha was dust and ruin, once its forces had been scattered and its borders violated—
They would turn their eyes toward Iwa.
Onoki was no fool.
The Kazekage was an opportunist. There had been skirmishes between Iwa and Suna for years—petty disputes over land, resources, strategic outposts. He had no doubt that if the Kazekage saw an opening, he would not hesitate to sink his fangs into Iwa's territory.
And Kumo?
The Raikage was a barbarian, a man who sought strength through conflict. If Kumo emerged from the war victorious, unchallenged, unbroken, then they would be emboldened.
Onoki had seen it happen before. Victory bred ambition. A hungry beast that had tasted blood would not hesitate to bite again.
And if he had sided with Konoha?
If he had stood with Hiruzen and the Mizukage, helping them impose limitations on Kumo and Suna? Then the same fate awaited Iwa. Because Kiri was not a friend.
Because Konoha, no matter what it claimed, was not an ally.
Because once Kumo had fallen, once Suna had been pushed back, Konoha and Kiri would stand unopposed.
And then they, too, would turn their attention to Iwagakure.
No matter how this war began, no matter which side gained the upper hand, there would always come a time when the victors looked for their next conquest.
Onoki refused to let Iwa be that conquest.
By keeping the tie—by refusing to sway the vote—he ensured that no village held the upper hand.
He had levelled the playing field.
Yes, it would anger the others. Yes, it would paint Iwa as a stubborn neutral force, unwilling to cooperate. But let them be angry.
Because once war broke out, once blood soaked the soil and steel clashed against steel, they would have other things to worry about.
Their anger would mean nothing when they were fighting for their survival.
=====
Tadashi inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his nose. He closed his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them, sweeping his gaze over the gathered Kage, gauging their reactions.
There was no need for deliberation.
The result was clear.
Tadashi straightened his posture and, with the weight of finality in his voice, announced, "As there is a tie, the conditions that Kumo and Suna wished to impose upon Konoha will not take effect."
A heavy pause followed.
But Tadashi was not done. His voice, steady as the steel of a samurai's blade, cut through the thick air as he continued.
"However—"
His eyes flickered toward Hiruzen, and for a split second, a knowing look passed between them.
"This also means that Konoha is entitled to compensation from Kumo."
A sudden, sharp sound broke the silence.
"Hah!"
It was a short, derisive chuckle from the Raikage.
Ay's lips twisted into a smirk, his large arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back slightly. The muscles in his shoulders tensed, as though he was resisting the urge to burst into laughter.
Tadashi ignored him and pressed on.
"If Konoha does not deem the compensation to be satisfactory, they are within their rights to respond in whatever way they see fit."
And just like that, the final nail was driven into the coffin.
The declaration sent a ripple of silent reactions across the room.
The Mizukage, ever the calculating schemer, remained eerily calm. His lips barely moved, but his fingers tapped absently against the table's surface. His mind was already weaving the threads of how this could play to Kirigakure's advantage.
The Kazekage's lips tightened, his hands clenching briefly before relaxing. He had been hoping to place Konoha in a weakened position from the start, but this result? It was an inconvenience at most. His face remained impassive, though inside, he was already reevaluating Suna's next course of action.
Then there was Hiruzen.
His jaw tensed. His knuckles turned white as his fists clenched beneath the table. He had expected this—prepared for it, even—but that did not mean he was pleased.
There was no celebration in this outcome for Konoha.
No victory.
Only a war that now had no barriers, no constraints.
The Raikage, in contrast, was nearly grinning.
He had lost the opportunity to paint Konoha as the aggressor, had lost the ability to cripple them before the war even began.
But this?
This was still an acceptable outcome.
Because now, it would be an even battlefield.
No restrictions. No economic shackles.
Just war.
And if there was one thing Kumo excelled at, it was war.
Ay shifted his weight slightly, allowing his smirk to widen ever so subtly. His mind was already back in Kumo, already planning the movements of his forces.
He would not even bother approaching Konoha for compensation.
It was a pointless gesture.
They both knew how this would end.
Hiruzen was no fool. He would never accept anything less than total submission from Kumo, and that was something Ay would never give.
So why waste the breath?
Better to return home and prepare for the inevitable.
Better to sharpen the swords and ready the battlefield.
Tadashi exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
It was done.
There was no salvaging this.
The Kage Summit had ended, and with it, so too had any last vestiges of peace.
His gaze swept over the room once more, taking in the subtle shifts in demeanour—the quiet calculations behind sharp eyes, the barely restrained hostility that crackled in the air.
They all knew it.
This summit had not been a diplomatic meeting.
It had been the formal acknowledgement that war was inevitable.
"I hereby declare this Kage Summit adjourned," Tadashi said finally, his voice carrying the weight of finality.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, he lifted a hand in a formal gesture.
"You are all invited to stay for a few days," he added, his tone carefully neutral. "To enjoy the hospitality and culture of the Land of Iron."
But deep inside, Tadashi hoped none of them would accept.
He had no interest in playing host to warlords who were already sharpening their blades.
The sooner they left, the better.
The storm was coming, and he had no intention of standing in its path.
As the summit officially ended, the Kage and their entourages began rising from their seats, exchanging brief glances, silent messages passing between them.
But as Onoki moved to leave, he found himself intercepted.
Hiruzen stepped forward.
And behind him, flanking him on either side, stood two shinobi—Minato Namikaze and Renjiro Uzumaki.
The tension in the room spiked instantly.
The Iwa escorts reacted immediately, hands shifting toward their weapons, their bodies tensing as their eyes locked onto the approaching Leaf shinobi.
One of them, a grizzled Jonin with a deep scar running across his cheek, took a single step forward, his voice a low, warning growl.
"Step back."
But before anything escalated further, Onoki lifted a hand.
"Stand down," he said calmly.
His voice, despite its softness, held an iron authority.
His guards hesitated for only a brief moment before obeying, though their bodies remained tense, coiled like snakes ready to strike.
Hiruzen came to a stop before Onoki, his dark eyes locked onto the Tsuchikage.
"You have sealed our fate, Onoki," he said, his voice measured but filled with quiet fury. "Kumo came here with the intent of war, and you—"
His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"You drove the final nail into the coffin."
Onoki met his gaze, his wrinkled face unchanging, his small frame unshaken by the weight of Hiruzen's words.
Then, after a beat of silence, his lips quirked into something that almost resembled amusement.
"Is that a threat, Hiruzen?"
The words were spoken lightly, but there was an unmistakable edge to them.
A challenge.
A dare.
Hiruzen held his gaze for a long moment, then let out a dry chuckle.
"A threat?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "No, Onoki."
A smirk curled at the corner of his lips—sharp, knowing, laced with biting sarcasm.
"I would threaten you… but I have a war to prepare for."
The meaning was clear.
Onoki chuckled, shaking his head.
"So do I."
And with that, the summit was truly over.
The shadows of war had loomed over them when they first entered the chamber.
Now, they left knowing that those shadows had solidified.
The battlefield had been set.
=====
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