Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Danzo regained his freedom of movement within the village.

At least, on the surface.

There was no definitive proof that he had personally acted against Konoha’s interests. On the contrary, the Root operatives he had dispatched alongside Orochimaru—while responsible for the ambush on the Uchiha Anbu squad—had also transmitted valuable battlefield intelligence back to the Village.

That intelligence had allowed Konoha to respond swiftly and decisively to the mercenary ninja offensive.

With no concrete evidence tying him directly to crimes against the Uchiha, and with Root’s intelligence reports verifiable through internal channels, even Tsunade had no legitimate grounds to continue his house arrest.

Thus, after the Fifth Hokage’s inauguration concluded without incident, Danzo was released.

But only barely.

The majority of Root remained sealed within their underground base, pending Tsunade’s final decision. Danzo himself was explicitly forbidden from returning there.

This did not mean that the web of influence he had spent decades weaving throughout Konoha and the wider shinobi world had vanished overnight.

But in practical terms, he had become something unprecedented: an Elder with no authority, no command, and no power of his own.

Danzo was deeply dissatisfied.

And yet, for the moment, powerless.

What angered him even more was Orochimaru’s incomplete success. The casualties among the Uchiha had occurred on the battlefield, not within the village. There was no chaos to exploit, no internal collapse he could manipulate.

If the Uchiha did not fall into disorder, his value would never become apparent again. Hiruzen—and the other two Elders—would have no reason to invite him back into the shadows.

Uchiha Enjin, the lone survivor, could have served as a lever.

But he had been silenced far too quickly.

Though Danzo’s information network was no longer what it once was, he didn’t need reports to know who had intervened.

Tsunade’s shadow.

Efficient, calculated—but ultimately too clean.

Such a person could never become Konoha’s true darkness.

Nor could she truly protect it.

”What about the Sharingan?” Danzo asked quietly, his voice echoing faintly through the empty tatami room.

His most trusted subordinate lowered his head. ”Orochimaru says it is inconvenient for him to return at present. And… given your current circumstances…”

Danzo snorted coldly.

Even Orochimaru was beginning to slip beyond his grasp.

Yet now more than ever, Danzo needed Orochimaru’s knowledge—and his power. He needed leverage. He needed something that could overturn the board entirely.

The old methods would no longer suffice.

But the incident involving the Box of Paradise had reminded him of something important: not every legend in the shinobi world was a myth.

Perhaps his breakthrough would come not from politics, but from those forbidden, extraordinary powers.

—

With the core objective of a ceasefire provisionally secured and his own investigative goals already fulfilled, Roshi’s demeanor during the later stages of negotiation shifted noticeably.

The earlier pressure vanished so completely that Mei began to wonder if the sharp, relentless young man she’d faced at the start had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

”Since both sides have essentially confirmed a mutual desire to end hostilities,” Mei said after organizing her thoughts, cautiously steering the discussion forward, ”perhaps we should also consider the gradual resumption of normal trade between the Land of Water and the Land of Fire.”

Her suggestion was not arbitrary.

Genji had not misled Yagura—nor had Obito misjudged the situation. The dissatisfaction of the Land of Water’s Daimyō was very real.

And peace, for the Hidden Mist, was no longer merely desirable.

It was necessary.

Because of the Hidden Mist’s earlier string of military actions—operations that lacked clear strategic goals and produced no tangible gains—the primary maritime trade routes linking the Land of Water, the Land of Tea, and the Land of Fire had been almost entirely severed.

With tax revenues dropping as a result, the Hidden Mist nevertheless continued to pressure the capital to expand military spending. Unsurprisingly, this sparked growing resentment among the financiers and merchant houses.

It was one thing for the Hidden Mist, as a military institution, to act independently. They had always done so, and the Daimyō had limited means to restrain them.

But prolonged military actions with unclear purpose—actions that inflicted sustained economic damage on their own country—made it increasingly difficult for the Daimyō to justify continued funding.

Now that the purse strings were tightening, and public sentiment was turning sour, the Hidden Mist found itself in a weak position. It had little choice but to seek tangible outcomes at the negotiating table—results that could placate both the populace and, more importantly, the Daimyō.

In response to Mei’s proposal, Roshi merely replied,

”When the conflict between the Hidden Mist and Konoha ends, merchants who no longer fear for their safety will naturally resume trade.”

The implication was unmistakable.

Trade would follow peace—but it could not be treated as a bargaining chip, nor a prerequisite.

Everything would have to wait until a formal peace agreement was signed and both sides confirmed the withdrawal of their forces.

Mei sighed inwardly.

At this stage, it was clear she wouldn’t be able to extract any concrete advantages for the Land of Water. Reporting back with a confirmed ceasefire framework would still count as fulfilling Genji’s orders—but it was far from ideal.

Still… if possible, she wanted more.

Her gaze drifted back to Roshi.

Given his composure, it was obvious that he would remain the primary figure in any future talks.

The thought alone made the road ahead feel bleak.

”I’m pleased that our first meeting has yielded such an important preliminary consensus, Terumī-san,” Roshi said at just the right moment, neatly drawing the discussion to a close. ”I look forward to your village’s response regarding the finer points of this draft.”

Mei stood and extended her hand, her expression solemn.

”To be honest, I can’t say I particularly enjoyed the negotiation process,” she admitted. ”But Roshi-kun… you taught me quite a bit.”

In hindsight, she recognized her early missteps. She had been too cautious simply because Konoha’s initial demands fell within an acceptable range—and in doing so, she had surrendered control of the dialogue far too easily.

That said, she had to admit one thing.

Once he gained the upper hand, this young Konoha ninja did not press it mercilessly. He refrained from escalating demands, leaving room to maneuver. In his own way, he had shown restraint—perhaps even generosity.

Had he chosen otherwise, the agreement on the table would have been far harder to swallow.

Roshi accepted her hand and gave it a brief, measured shake.

”Regardless of the process,” he said evenly, ”what matters most is reaching an agreement that both sides can accept—and sustain in the long term. That, I believe, is the true goal.”

Mei paused, absorbing his words. After a moment, she smiled faintly.

”If the attitude you represent truly reflects Konoha’s future direction,” she said softly, ”then perhaps… there really is a better future awaiting the Hidden Mist and Konoha than the one we have now.”

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