Hiruzen Sarutobi sat alone in the Hokage's office, the room's silence pressing heavily against the walls. His weathered hands, marked by decades of service, trembled faintly as they rested on the smooth, polished surface of his desk. The wood beneath his palms felt both familiar and oppressive—the legacy he carried and the burdens he bore.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the sprawling village of Konoha stretched out before him. The once-vibrant colors of the bustling streets now seemed muted, as if the very life of the village had been drained, overshadowed by the weight of recent grief.
Peaceful times, which had once filled him with pride and joy, now felt like a fleeting memory, swallowed by the relentless march of time.
His jaw tightened as his eyes caught sight of yet another funeral procession in the distance, a somber reminder of the cost of leadership. The flicker of flames from the ceremonial pyres seemed to mock him, a bitter contrast to the Will of Fire he had sworn to uphold.
"Lord Third." The voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the heavy silence. An ANBU operative knelt behind him, head bowed in deference. "The council awaits your decision regarding the Nine-Tailed vessel."
Hiruzen didn't turn, but his reflection in the window betrayed the brief flash of pain that crossed his aged face. His eyes, usually so steady, flickered with a mixture of guilt and resolve.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and heavy with the weight of countless sleepless nights. "Tell them… Naruto Uzumaki will be under my care."
The ANBU nodded once and vanished in a swirl of leaves, leaving Hiruzen alone once more with his thoughts. The room felt colder and emptier, as if the very air had been stripped of warmth.
His gaze drifted upward to the Hokage Monument, where the stone faces of his predecessors loomed over the village. Among them, the visage of his sensei, Tobirama Senju, seemed to stare back at him with an unspoken question.
"We had a beacon of hope," Hiruzen murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "A symbol of strength for our people. And now… that light has been extinguished." He paused, his throat tightening. "Have I failed to protect the Fire of Konoha, Sensei?" The answer, of course, never came.
His attention shifted back to his desk, where stacks of papers lay in disarray—casualty reports, reconstruction plans, economic assessments, military updates, and diplomatic missives from other villages, all probing for weakness in the wake of Konoha's devastation. He reached out, his hand hovering over the documents, and for a brief moment, he considered forming the hand sign for the Shadow Clone Jutsu. But he stopped himself. This was his burden to bear. Every signature, every decision, every loss—it was his to carry.
The weight of leadership was not something he could delegate, not now.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, its light streaming through the window, the shadow of the Hokage Monument stretched across his desk. Hiruzen's face settled into the stern mask he would wear for years to come. 'The Professor' was still there, but buried deeper, under layers of duty, loss, and grief.
When he finally rose from his chair, his movements were deliberate, each step measured and purposeful. The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him, yet his back remained straight, and his chin lifted.
To the villagers, he was not a grieving old man but the Hokage—the embodiment of the Will of Fire, steadfast and unyielding. They saw what they needed to see: a leader ready to protect what remained of his home, no matter the cost.
For now, and for as long as he drew breath, Hiruzen Sarutobi would stand as the shield of Konoha, a living testament to the fire that burned within its people.
…
The day after the tragedy, Raijin stood beneath Konoha's overcast sky.
The air was heavy with the scent of incense and the faint murmur of prayers as the Sarutobi clan gathered in full force. Their weathered faces, etched with grief, were a stark contrast to the ceremonial robes they wore, their deep reds and browns rustling softly in the morning breeze.
Among them, Raijin felt impossibly small—a child adrift in a sea of adults who shared his name but were separated from him by an unbridgeable chasm of experience and loss.
He moved through the rituals mechanically, lighting incense and bowing before his parents' altars. Their faces, frozen in time framed as photographs, smiled back at him.
He sat through the entire funeral, from the first light of dawn to the fading hues of dusk, his small frame rigid with resolve. This was because the child's body and mind demanded it. The traumatic event had left the child's mind emotionally scarred, consumed by a whirlwind of grief, anger, and a gnawing sense of powerlessness that threatened to swallow him whole. And he couldn't just abandon these memories of the child.
When the final prayers were whispered and the last of the mourners had left, Raijin returned to the empty house that now felt far too large for a boy of his age.
He washed himself in silence, the cold water doing little to cleanse the unease.
As he moved to the kitchen to prepare a simple meal, he found a small measure of solace in the familiar motions. Chopping vegetables, boiling rice, and stirring miso soup—these were tasks he had mastered in his previous life, skills that now felt like a lifeline in the face of overwhelming loneliness.
"At least I know how to take care of myself," he muttered to the empty room, his voice barely above a whisper. The sound of it felt strange, almost foreign, in the suffocating silence. "Though my old apartment never felt this empty. Even living alone, friends would drop by, fill the space with laughter..." His words trailed off as the memory of his past life collided with the stark reality of his present.
Here, there were no friends, no laughter—he was alone and all by himself.
After finishing his meal, Raijin sat cross-legged on his thin mattress, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the fragments of his memories. He began to recall the key events of the future.
Ring… Ring… Ring…
The sound echoed through the empty rooms, each chime sending a jolt through Raijin's already frayed nerves. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Who could it be at this hour? The funeral had ended hours ago, and the streets of Konoha were quiet, the village still reeling from the recent tragedy.
Slowly, he rose to his feet, his small hands clenched into fists as he approached the door. As he reached for the door handle, two names flashed through his mind, each carrying its own weight of implications. He frowned, his thoughts racing.
Hiruzen Sarutobi, the grandfatherly Hokage, is known for his wisdom and knowledge. He who spread hope and reassurance and a reminder that Konoha's Will of Fire still burned brightly. While some of his decisions in the future and past weren't that appreciated. He was the Light of Konoha.
And then there was Danzo Shimura, the shadow lurking beneath Konoha's surface. A man who manipulates, schemes, and sacrifices lives without hesitation if it serves his goals. He was the darkness to Hiruzen's light.
…
Outside, Hiruzen's brow furrowed as he sensed Raijin's chakra signature. The boy's reserves were alarmingly low, even for a child of his age—a fact that weighed heavily on his mind. Chakra was the lifeblood of a shinobi, the foundation upon which all techniques were built. For a member of the Sarutobi clan, such a deficiency was unusual, and it sparked a flicker of concern in Hiruzen's chest. He couldn't help but wonder if the boy's potential had been stunted by the recent tragedy.
What Hiruzen didn't know was that Raijin's chakra reserves did not reflect his true capabilities. Raijin had been born into this life with little natural talent; his chakra reserves were meager and underdeveloped.
But the truth was more complex: his soul, still adjusting to its new, young body, was carefully managing the limited chakra it could handle.
Yet, to Hiruzen, it was a cause for concern—not out of dissatisfaction, but out of a sense of responsibility. Raijin was part of the next generation, a generation that would one day carry the weight of the village's future. The Hokage couldn't help but feel a quiet determination to guide the boy, to ensure he had the support he needed to succeed.
As the door creaked open, Hiruzen's weathered face softened into a gentle smile. Raijin peered out, his expression a careful blend of innocence and curiosity. "Hello?" the boy asked, his voice tentative yet polite.
Hiruzen's smile deepened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Raijin," he said warmly, his tone carrying the weight of both authority and grandfatherly affection.
…
Raijin blinked his eyes, and his face flickered with surprise before quickly composing himself. 'Y-you… don't you have work?' he stammered in his thought.
Then he straightened, his voice taking on a more formal tone. "Lord Hokage, what brings you to my humble home?" The words were spoken with a childlike curiosity, but beneath the surface, Raijin's mind was racing. 'I can't let him assign me a caretaker,' he thought. 'I need my privacy.'
A flicker of surprise crossed Hiruzen's face as he noticed the boy's fluctuating chakra. He cleared his throat gently, his voice calm and measured. "How have you been, my child?"
Raijin hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor before he met Hiruzen's eyes again. "I'm managing, Lord Hokage," he replied, his tone careful but respectful. "Won't you come in?"
I wanted to come to say hello and see how you're doing," Hiruzen said, his voice warm. "For now, I just wanted to check in and make sure you're doing well. Maybe next time—"
"I insist, Lord Hokage," Raijin interrupted gently, stepping aside to clear the entrance. His voice was firm, yet polite.
Hiruzen's smile returned, though his eyes remained sharp and observant. "If you insist, Raijin," he said, stepping inside as the boy moved aside to let him pass. He walked into the hall, the space visible from the doorway, and took in the surroundings with a practiced eye.
Raijin's face lit up with a shocked but bright expression when he heard his name. "What would you prefer, Lord Hokage? Tea, or shall I prepare some food for you?" He bowed slightly.
"You may call me grandfather," Hiruzen said, his smile warm and inviting. "And no refreshments are necessary. I wish to talk."
"Lord Hokage…Uh… why don't you sit down?" He pointed to another couch a few meters away.
Hiruzen obliged, settling onto the couch with ease. He looked around the room, his gaze thoughtful, before turning back to Raijin. "Are you comfortable here?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing.
"I am," Raijin replied quickly, perhaps too quickly. "I mean, I have no problems living here. It is quite comfortable." His words were measured and his tone steady.
Their conversation meandered through carefully structured pleasantries before Hiruzen shifted to his true purpose.
"The sacred flame known as the Will of Fire burns brightly within you, Raijin. This Will binds us together as a village and as a family. It is a spark that ignites our passion for protecting those we hold dear - our friends, our loved ones, and our home. It means standing strong and unwavering in the face of adversity, never backing down from a challenge. You'll have to overcome every obstacle to push your limits and bring honor to our beloved Leaf Village."
Raijin listened intently, his expression one of quiet determination. "I will always carry your teachings," he replied, his voice firm and resolute.
Hiruzen chuckled warmly, "Let that fire guide you, Raijin. As one of the future leaders of the Sarutobi clan, you must ensure your parents' sacrifice wasn't in vain. Their legacy lives on in you."
Raijin rose slowly, letting silence speak for him.
"Become a strong shinobi," Hiruzen said, gently touching Raijin's shoulder. Protect your precious people from such tragedy."
"I will, Lord Hokage."
"You are doing well, Raijin. Keep moving forward. Don't let the past drag you down." With those words, Hiruzen vanished in a swirl of smoke.
The silence settled once more, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock and the distant sounds of the village preparing for the night.
'No wonder the little children are loyal to their village.' Raijin mused, 'The old man knows exactly how to plant the seeds of devotion. Though of course, he sent a clone – probably visiting all the new orphans tonight, spreading the gospel of the Will of Fire.'
…
In the Hokage's office, the real Hiruzen sorted through the memories of his dispersed clones, satisfaction mixing with concern as he evaluated the resilience of Konoha's youngest generation.
Most of the children affected by the recent tragedy had been taken in by their clans or the orphanage, finding new families and a sense of belonging in the wake of their loss. But there were exceptions—a handful of children who had chosen to stand on their own. Most were teenagers, old enough to crave independence, but one stood out: a peculiar 4-year-old boy who had subtly declined any offers of assistance.
"Hmm… Raijin Sarutobi," Hiruzen murmured, the name rolling thoughtfully across his tongue as he gazed out over the village through the large window behind his desk.