It had been a few days since the market outing. The sun had come and gone, but the weight in Ryosuke's chest had not.
Jiraiya had stopped by the Senju estate earlier that afternoon, his tone light, posture relaxed, trying to reassure Ryosuke that everything was under control. That Danzo wouldn't try anything. That Hiruzen had "an eye" on the old war hawk.
Ryosuke hadn't replied. He didn't care.
He had already decided. Danzo would die, in fact he already had to kill Danzo because he was very adamant about not helping the Uzumaki's when they were being seiged by Kiri.
Although, the death may not today, Maybe not even next week. But it will happen in time, and Ryosuke has plenty of time.
He exhaled slowly, his chakra stabilizing as he sealed the final hand sign. The jutsu's effect shimmered briefly—unstable, but real. He still hadn't mastered it, but he was close.
Fugaku's scroll, an unexpected gift, had arrived like a quiet challenge. An A-rank Uchiha technique—one that required precise chakra control and a ruthless mindset. The kind of technique passed down only to those the clan considered worthy.
Ryosuke wasn't sure why the Uchiha seemed to value him so much, but it was all welcome to him.
The sun dipped lower behind the Senju compound walls. Tonight, they would leave.
Team Jiraiya—Kushina, Minato, and himself—would accompany their sensei on a supply run from the Land of Fire's capital back to Konoha. Officially a C-rank mission. But Ryosuke didn't believe in "official."
Simple missions had a way of turning bloody when certain people didn't want you to come back.
He stood, pulling on his flak jacket, the seal Mito had placed beneath his shirt humming faintly against his skin—a ward against tracking, and maybe, if necessary, a second chance at survival.
As he stepped into the courtyard, his eyes found his teammates.
Minato stood with his usual quiet focus, adjusting a strap on his gear. Kushina spotted Ryosuke first, her fiery hair swaying as she turned, eyes sharp but warm.
"You finally done?" she teased lightly. "Was starting to think you'd collapse out there."
"Just needed to burn a little extra chakra," Ryosuke said. "I'm good now."
Jiraiya stood behind them, arms crossed behind his head, feigning ease but he has a slap mark on his cheeks.
"Alright, kids," he said, "Let's keep it clean and quiet. We have to go to the capital to get some supplies, best to do it as fast as possible."
Ryosuke didn't answer. His mind was already ten steps ahead—memorizing the route, calculating possible ambush zones, and mentally preparing for the moment someone made their move.
If Danzo or anyone else thought this was the right time to get rid of him, they'd regret it.
He was ready.
---
The road stretched out ahead beneath a pale moon, silver light trickling through the trees as their group moved quietly along the forested path. The supply mission had gone smoothly so far—no bandits, no interruptions. Jiraiya led at the front, relaxed but alert, while Minato and Kushina walked just behind him, trading quiet jokes.
Ryosuke took the rear, as always. Watching. Thinking.
He wasn't worried about the crates they would be picking up tomorrow. He was thinking about a different kind of delivery.
Tucked safely within his storage seal was 1984, the book he had written in secret over the past few weeks. It had taken form quickly—unlike Dune, which he'd slightly twisted and reshaped to reflect Uzushio's fall, 1984 came to him like a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.
He hadn't changed a word of it.
A bleak world ruled by surveillance, thought control, and the illusion of freedom—he hadn't needed to fictionalize much. Every great ninja village already had a taste of that.
And he knew, deep down, that this book would explode in the capital.
The Hokage didn't have the kind of iron grip on the Land of Fire's publishing houses that he had in Konoha. Even if he did catch wind of it in time, the book would already be in print, circulating—not just here, but across the neighboring nations.
Ryosuke's lips curled slightly.
By the time they tried to stop it, the words would be out. The ideas would spread. And ideas, once rooted, were hard to kill.
He tightened his grip on the strap of his backpack.
This one is bound to make them very very uncomfortable.
He glanced ahead at his team. Kushina's laugh echoed softly, and Minato's voice followed with something dry in response. Jiraiya didn't look back.
Their version of the an internal cold war was already on its way.
And he was the one writing it.
---
The air in the ROOT headquarters was colder than usual, the silence deeper than it should have been.
The torches had long been extinguished. Dust had begun to settle over the old training rooms and sealed chambers. ROOT was officially disbanded. Its name had been erased from every log, every public record.
But Danzo Shimura still sat on his stone chair at the far end of the main hall, like a phantom king without a throne.
The flickering candle beside him cast long shadows across the floor, and in that flame, he imagined the future burning away—all because of one boy.
A masked subordinate knelt before him, his head bowed.
"Ryosuke left the village this evening," the agent said quietly. "A supply run to the capital."
Danzo's jaw clenched.
He had known it would come to this. Known Hiruzen would get in his way again. The Third had already stripped him of authority, exiled ROOT to the shadows, and now—now he had the audacity to keep watchers on him. ANBU loyal to the Hokage trailed his every move.
Even the remaining loyal ROOT operatives couldn't take a step beyond Konoha's limits without triggering surveillance.
'He's boxed me in', Danzo thought bitterly. 'Like a common criminal.'
He could feel it—the hollow of helplessness growing in his gut. The opportunity was there, so clear. Ryosuke leaving the village, far from allies, in transit. A simple ambush. An unfortunate accident. A tragedy.
And yet… he couldn't act.
Not without being caught. Not without burning everything.
He gripped the cane at his side until his knuckles turned white. "Withdraw. Make no move."
The agent bowed deeper, then vanished into the shadows with barely a sound.
Danzo stared into the candle flame.
He will come back stronger, he thought. More dangerous. Every day we do nothing, we hand him a blade and point it at our own hearts.
His lips curled into a bitter snarl.
Hiruzen might have won this round. But the fire hadn't gone out—it had only retreated underground.
And like all roots, it would grow back—silent, unseen, and waiting.