Naruto: End of the Shinobi World

Tsunade’s gaze easily locked onto the blond figure being chased around the training field by an Uchiha brat—clearly flustered and completely outmatched.

Naruto Uzumaki.

Comparing the cold, emotionless future Naruto from the Heavenly Screen—who had calmly declared the end of the world and pierced her heart in a single blow—with this lively, clumsy, utterly weak little kid in front of her, Tsunade’s emotions were… complicated.

Sarutobi Hiruzen walked to her side, following her line of sight. His face carried exhaustion and quiet helplessness.

”He’s still just a child, Tsunade,” he sighed softly.

”No one can say for certain what the future holds. We can’t deny who he is now just because of a possibility that hasn’t happened yet.”

”Hmph.”

Tsunade snorted and withdrew her gaze, her tone still sharp.

”I know. You don’t need to remind me.”

Her temper was explosive, but she wasn’t irrational enough to take her anger at the future Naruto out on a child who clearly knew nothing.

Still—

A seed of wariness had already been planted.

With nowhere to vent her irritation, Tsunade’s peripheral vision caught sight of a white-haired creep nearby, sneaking glances at her with a familiar, lecherous expression.

BAM!!!

A clean, brutal punch—backed by monstrous strength—landed squarely on Jiraiya’s face.

”GAAAH—!!”

He didn’t even manage to finish a sentence before his entire body was launched like a cannonball, flying straight out.

Tsunade flicked her wrist as if she’d merely swatted a fly. The pent-up frustration in her chest seemed to ease slightly.

Hiruzen watched the scene, the corner of his mouth twitching, and ultimately chose silence.

He knew Jiraiya had walked straight into it—becoming the perfect emotional punching bag.

Still, seeing both disciples return with his own eyes finally eased a heavy weight in his heart.

With them here, Konoha’s ability to face the crisis increased dramatically.

That said—

How to deal with Naruto Uzumaki, and how to respond to the looming external threat, clearly required a far deeper and more candid discussion between the three of them.

Not long after, a battered, swollen-faced Jiraiya—rubbing his jaw and wincing—followed Tsunade and Hiruzen back to the Hokage’s office.

Hiruzen returned to his seat, looking at the two people he relied on the most—and worried about the most.

”Let’s skip the pleasantries,” he said gravely.

”You both know the situation. What should we do next? Speak freely.”

Tsunade was the first to respond. She shook her head and planted both hands on the desk, brows tightly furrowed.

”What else can we do? The enemy is hidden, we’re exposed, and the future information is fragmented.”

She continued bluntly:

”The only thing we can do right now is keep a close eye on that Uzumaki brat. Find out what causes him to change, and when. That’s likely the key to unraveling this future crisis.”

Her approach was straightforward.

If Naruto was the core of the future threat, then watching him, identifying the turning point, and intervening early was the most practical strategy.

Hiruzen sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as though trying to see through it—to the sky where the Heavenly Screen had once hung.

”That’s all we can do for now,” he admitted.

”At the same time, we’re forced to wait… and see when that screen might appear again, and what kind of ’hints’ it may give us next.”

There was resignation in his voice.

Placing hope in an unknown phenomenon was deeply uncomfortable for a Hokage accustomed to control.

”The Heavenly Screen?”

Tsunade let out a cold laugh, her eyes sharpening.

”Old man… Jiraiya… have either of you actually questioned the origin of that thing?”

Both Hiruzen and Jiraiya froze.

Tsunade continued calmly, but her logic was razor-sharp:

”It appeared out of nowhere. Showed us shocking, world-shaking scenes—but what was its purpose?”

”A benevolent warning? Or malicious manipulation? We don’t know.”

”So the content it showed isn’t necessarily the whole truth. It could’ve been selectively edited—or even altered. We absolutely cannot accept it as unquestionable fact.”

”Y-You think it could be fake?”

Jiraiya clutched his bruised face, speaking through a muffled tone of disbelief.

”That scale… that level of manifestation across the entire shinobi world… the sheer detail… I can’t imagine any individual or organization capable of fabricating something like that!”

Tsunade met his gaze evenly, her voice firm.

”No one can prove it’s fake. But likewise, no one can prove that such a power cannot exist.”

”What’s the true limit of genjutsu? What kinds of effects do lost forbidden techniques have?”

”We don’t know nearly enough.”

She paused, then added pointedly:

”Take Izanagi for example. Altering death itself—does that sound any less absurd?”

Her tone hardened.

”So my stance is this:

We can reference what the Heavenly Screen showed us—but we must never accept it wholesale as truth.”

”We need to question it. Investigate it. Verify it. And use our own methods to uncover what’s really behind it.”

Jiraiya fell silent.

He mulled over her words carefully. The usual frivolity faded from his face, replaced by seriousness.

Finally, he nodded.

”You’re right, Tsunade. I oversimplified things.”

His expression grew grave as he voiced the most critical question:

”If… that screen was deliberately created by someone pulling strings from the shadows…”

”Then what exactly does this幕后黑手—this mastermind—want?”

The office sank into an even deeper silence.

A warning?

Entertainment?

An experiment?

Or… something far more terrifying—something they hadn’t yet perceived?

Hiruzen’s fingers tapped unconsciously against the desk.

He realized how timely his disciples’ return truly was—they were raising points he hadn’t even considered.

Tsunade folded her arms in thought.

Jiraiya set aside his usual levity.

The discussion continued for a long time, but with scarce information and no clear enemy, even the combined experience of the Three Sannin and the Third Hokage couldn’t produce a perfect solution.

Every possibility rested on speculation—without a solid foundation for action.

”Sigh… we just don’t have enough intelligence,” Hiruzen said, rubbing his brow in frustration.

”The screen appeared only once, showed outcomes rather than processes. We’re like people pushed blindfolded into a maze.”

Tsunade clicked her tongue, visibly irritated.

”All we can do now is tighten defenses—and watch closely.”

”Especially… that kid’s every move.”

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