It might have been a week since.
The room smelled of damp earth, like the stale air in a trench after days of rain. It smelled of exhaustion, of sweat. The ceiling pressed low above us, and the walls felt close—too close. I hated places like this—dark, cold, the kind that reminded me of tombs. Of the tunnels we'd been using since we first arrived here. No windows, no light except for the low flicker of lanterns that made the walls seem to pulse. It was the kind of place where you forget what time it is, what day. You forget there's a world outside.
I sat cross-legged against the far wall, back pressed against the cold stone, watching the shadows shift over the faces of the older shinobi. My fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping loose dirt. Across from me, Shikamaru was still as stone, his eyes half-lidded like they always were in battle—watching everything, listening, but saying nothing. Sakura was nearer to the front, close to the table where the Jonin sat. Her hands wouldn't stay still, fidgeting in her lap like she was trying to wring the worry out of them. She didn't look up, just stared at her feet, at the space between them.
None of us spoke. We weren't there to speak. We were Genin, and in rooms like this, Genin didn't matter. Our job was to sit, to listen, to hear what was said and do what we were told when the time came. No one asked what we thought.
The older shinobi, though—they mattered. Kakashi was at the centre of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. The mask covered his face, but I could see the set of his jaw. Anko was there too, near the table. She leaned against it, fingers drumming lightly on her kunai pouch. The others—I barely knew their names. They were just faces, standing around with those hard, flat expressions I'd come to recognize in veterans. They'd been in this fight too long. You could see it in their eyes.
The council had gathered because of the report that had come in—urgent. They hadn't said much to us about it, but you didn't need to be told to know it was bad. You could feel it in the air, the tension like something solid, pressing against your chest.
Anko broke the silence first. "Cloud and Waterfall are negotiating an alliance," she said, calm. "We intercepted their communications. It's not official yet, but it's moving that way."
The words settled over us like a heavy blanket. A murmur passed through the council—quiet, restrained. No surprise. No anger. Just acknowledgment. One female Jonin's lips curled in disgust. Another—an older man whose name I didn't know—let out a deep sigh, as though he'd been waiting for this moment but dreaded hearing it confirmed.
"They're all repositioning themselves to fight us," Anko sighed. "Rumor has it that Sand and Stone are doing the same to the West."
No one moved. No one spoke for a long time. Kakashi just shook his head, a soft breath escaping his lips.
"They're consolidating," Anko went on. "They know they can't face us alone with all the infighting and distrust between them, so they're joining forces. The Hokage and her council have delegated the decision-making to us. The talks must be halted with great haste. We'd be fools to think we can handle them all if they unite. If we don't move first, we'll be overrun."
Another Jonin spoke, his voice clipped and cold. "Then we do what must be done. We break them apart."
"How?" a woman's voice, sharp from the far side of the room. "By what means? We're down to half-strength. We don't have the manpower for an operation of the scale you're suggesting."
A murmur rippled through the room, soft and tense. I clenched my fists. Frustration gnawed at me—the way they kept talking in circles, weighing every word like they had the luxury of time. No one seemed willing to say what needed to be said. This wasn't like the battles I had fought all week. Out there, on the front lines, you acted. You made split-second decisions because hesitation got people killed. Here, in this cramped, windowless room, it felt like they were suffocating under their own indecision. Like every word was weighed a hundred times before anyone dared speak.
Anko scowled. "An operation in Takigakure's territory could provoke them into actually joining the conflict," she said. "I refuse to be responsible for a blunder of that magnitude."
"We have no choice," Kakashi said softly, but there was no warmth in his words—just the cold truth. "If we wait for them to move first, we'll be on the back foot. Again."
The discussion dragged on—plans, counter-plans, and the weight of decisions that I knew would end with blood. My blood. My friends' blood. They argued about logistics, about numbers, about the kind of war that didn't make sense to me. Out there, on the battlefield, it was simple. You fought or you died. In here, it was different—too many words, too many people too afraid to act.
Finally, Anko's voice cut through the noise. "This hamlet in section B47," she said, tapping some wavy lines on the map in front of them. "It's vital to their supply chain. Intel says it's moderately fortified to the west and east, but its northern flank is not as defended. There's an ink production facility hidden somewhere in the region. I say we go for it. It's our best shot."
A Jonin—Tenzō—nodded. "I remember our scouts confirming that Kumogakure was massing forces just across the bay. If we act quickly, we can stage the operation to resemble a preemptive attack by Kumo to disrupt Waterfall's supply chain. The damage should, at least, delay any cooperation between the two villages if not nullify it altogether."
"True, but an overt assault risks drawing too much attention," Anko said.
Kakashi shrugged. "A small strike force, then. A few thousand paper bombs would level that hillside easily. Besides, we don't have the numbers or resources for anything else."
Another murmur of agreement. But then came the words that twisted in my gut like a knife.
"What about the civilians?"
It was Tenzō who had spoken. After a breath, he continued. "An explosion of that magnitude would surely incur collateral damage."
The room fell silent for a beat. Anko's face didn't change, but her voice dropped lower. "We don't have the luxury of protecting every life," she said. "It is unfortunate, but collateral damage is inevitable if we are to succeed."
Another Jonin spoke up. "Worse has been done to us. There was little thought for collateral damage when that wretched demon spawn attacked our home. Stop worrying about nonsense and focus on the mission."
I stood before I could stop myself. "But they're civilians!"
Every head turned. The room went still. Anko looked at me, her expression softening for a second—but just for a second. "This is war, Naruto."
"This isn't what we're supposed to do!" I countered. "Killing innocent civilians? That's not how we protect people!"
Hoshino, one of the older Jonin, looked at me with hard eyes. "Be quiet and sit down! You're young, Uzumaki. You don't understand yet. Idealism is a luxury we can ill afford. We do what we must. If we hesitate now, Konoha will fall."
I stood there, my fists clenched, shaking. The room felt colder. The silence heavier. I couldn't breathe right. I wanted to scream—to shout at them that they were wrong. But their eyes, their faces, told me they had already made up their minds. The decision was made long before I ever spoke.
All of them looked at me like I didn't understand—like I was naive.
Disgusted, I sat back down knowing fully that my words meant nothing here.
"We'll move out at dawn," Anko said, addressing the room again. "Team Bear will lead the assault. Team Seven and Team Nineteen will support the primary strike force. You'll receive detailed orders shortly."
My stomach dropped. Support the strike force. We were going to be part of this. I wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to do anything but stand there and accept it. But I was a mere soldier—a Genin. What could I do to stop them?
Minutes later, the meeting concluded with the Jonins finalizing their sinister plan to kill a bunch of innocent villagers. As the room emptied and we prepared to leave, Kakashi approached me. "I know this is hard," he said quietly. "But learn to trust your comrades. This is what has to be done."
I couldn't meet his eyes. I just stared at the floor, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.
This wasn't the war I thought I would be fighting.
This wasn't it.