The sham execution had been carried out with flawless precision.
Kurenai's illusion had made it real.
The world had watched, as the Uzumaki Kings, Hotaru, and Genryu were put to death—their bodies pierced, burned, torn apart.
It was meant to quell the hatred, to appease the broken, to bring closure to the war.
And yet—
There was no peace.
There was no relief.
For those who had truly suffered, for those who had lost everything, this was not enough.
The Kumo shinobi stood in the crowd, silent, motionless, their eyes locked on the execution site.
Their faces were expressionless, their hearts lifeless, their bodies tired and broken.
They had fought for weeks. They had bled for their home. They had watched their families burn, their comrades fall, their cities reduced to nothing.
The war had left nothing but ruin in its wake.
And now, they were supposed to accept this farce?
This mockery of justice?
No.
A low murmur started within their ranks.
A whisper of anger.
A grumble of resentment.
And then—
"This is bullshit."
A lone shinobi from Kumo, his face twisted with pain and fury, took a step forward. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails pierced his skin, blood dripping onto the dirt.
His voice trembled with barely contained rage as he pointed at the illusionary ashes.
"You think this is enough?!"
Heads turned.
More shinobi stepped forward, their faces filled with rage, grief, and despair.
"This isn't justice!" another shouted.
"They weren't the only ones who killed our people!"
It was like a dam had broken.
The shinobi of Kumo and Iwa began to rally, their voices growing louder, their demands clearer.
They had lost too much.
Their families had been butchered.
Their homes had been reduced to rubble.
And now, they were expected to just move on?
"We want the rest of them dead!"
"All of them!"
Their words echoed through the gathering, their fury consuming the air itself.
The remaining Uzumaki soldiers, had been spared.
Spared.
The same soldiers who had burned their villages.
The same warriors who had killed their comrades.
The same monsters who had ruined their lives.
And yet, these Uzumaki were being allowed to live.
Their friends and families hadn't been given that mercy.
Why should these murderers?
"They followed orders?!" one shinobi screamed, his voice hoarse with anguish.
His body shook as he took a step forward, pointing at the Uzumaki soldiers who stood silent, eyes cast downward.
"Our families were following orders too! They were following the orders to DIE!"
The crowd roared in agreement.
Their anger was all-consuming.
Their hatred was unstoppable.
"Kill them all!" someone yelled, and it spread like a plague, the words repeating over and over again as more shinobi took up the call.
"Kill them all!"
"Kill them all!"
"Kill them all!"
They did not care if the Uzumaki had been following orders.
They did not care if those soldiers had been forced into this war.
They did not care if the Uzumaki were filled with regret.
Because their own loved ones had no choice.
Their own families had followed orders too—orders to die.
And so, why should these warriors get to live?
What justice was there in that?
The Edge of Another War
The leaders of the shinobi world stood in silence, watching as the anger of Kumo and Iwa reached its breaking point.
The war was supposed to be over.
And yet, as they stared into the eyes of their own people, they realized something horrifying.
The war had not ended.
Not for them.
Not for the ones who had lost everything.
Their pain had not faded.
Their hatred had not been satisfied.
And now—
The cycle of revenge threatened to continue.
Because hatred does not disappear overnight.
Because grief does not heal with a lie.
And because, in the eyes of Kumo and Iwa—
The Uzumaki were still alive.
And that was not justice.
The air was thick with rage.
The shinobi of Kumo and Iwa, their voices raw with fury, demanded blood for blood, pain for pain.
The war should have been over—yet the battlefield remained.
Not one of flesh and steel, but one of hatred and grief.
And this war, if left unchecked, would never end.
Gaara stood still, his expression heavy with loss.
His heart weighed down by the deaths of Temari and Kankuro—his siblings, his family—and now, he had to watch as the world descended into chaos once more.
His voice felt trapped in his throat.
What words could he possibly say to calm this storm, when he himself was drowning in it?
Killer Bee clenched his fists, his usual carefree nature buried beneath sorrow.
The Raikage was dead.
His people were demanding justice.
But was this justice?
Or was it just another step into an endless abyss of hatred?
Tsunade sighed heavily, feeling the weight of history repeating itself.
She had once thought that Naruto had ended the cycle of hatred, that his will had changed the world forever.
But now?
Now, she saw the ugliest truth of humanity—anger never truly fades.
Mei remained quiet, watching with cold eyes as the crowd's fury escalated.
Her heart told her that the shinobi were right to be angry.
But her mind told her that if this went on, there would be no end.
Kurotsuchi had already left.
She could not stand with them.
She could not stand against them.
She simply could not take part in this at all.
And so—
Only one person stepped forward.
Hinata.
Hinata moved.
Her white robes fluttered as she walked fearlessly into the hurricane of rage.
The moment the shinobi noticed her, their cries of fury turned into roars of defiance.
"What do you want, Hyuga?!" a Kumo shinobi shouted.
"We know you're his woman! You're just here to protect the Uzumaki!" another Iwa shinobi spat.
The venom in their voices could have shaken anyone to their core.
But Hinata did not falter.
She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath.
She was no longer the shy girl of the past.
She was no longer the one who watched from the sidelines.
She was Hinata Uzumaki.
And she had taken it upon herself to carry his will.
Hinata spread her arms, her Tenseigan glowing softly, radiating a presence that commanded attention without force.
And then—
She spoke.
"I understand your pain."
The voices of the shinobi faltered for a moment, as if caught off guard.
"I understand your anger."
Hinata's voice was gentle, but carried the weight of sorrow itself.
"I, too, have lost people I love."
She gazed into the crowd, her eyes filled with nothing but warmth.
And slowly, the cries of rage softened.
"I know that in your hearts, you believe that the only way to move forward is through revenge."
Her gaze swept over them all.
Their faces were still twisted with grief, but their shouting had stopped.
They were listening.
And so, Hinata continued.
"I ask you, do you believe that spilling more blood will bring your loved ones back?"
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
A shinobi from Kumo gritted his teeth, his voice cracking.
"No! But what else can we do?! We can't just let them walk away after everything!"
Hinata nodded—she did not dismiss their pain, nor did she deny their suffering.
Instead, she stepped forward, her aura wrapping around them like a mother embracing a wounded child.
"I know. I know it feels unbearable."
Her voice did not waver.
"But let me ask you something—do you think they were the only ones who suffered?"
The shinobi stiffened.
Hinata raised her hand, and through her power, she let the shinobi see—
See the faces of the Uzumaki who had lost their families.
The mothers who wept for their children.
The children who had lost their fathers.
The brothers and sisters who stood over the graves of their loved ones.
They were the enemy, yes.
But they, too, had suffered.
And the crowd wavered.
"Hatred will only lead to more hatred."
Hinata's words echoed through the hearts of the shinobi, wrapping around them like a soft, yet unshakable force.
"It is a poison, one that seeps into the soul and never lets go."
Her eyes became piercing, resolute.
"You have the right to grieve. You have the right to mourn. But you also have the right to choose what happens next."
She raised a hand over her heart, her voice calm, but unwavering.
"I ask you… will you choose to let your loved ones rest? Or will you drag them further into the depths of suffering by repeating this cycle?"
The shinobi lowered their weapons.
Their rage had not disappeared.
Their pain had not vanished.
But their souls trembled—as if, for the first time, they questioned whether vengeance was truly what they wanted.
A Kumo shinobi fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking.
"I just… I just want my father back…"
Another shinobi wiped his tears, his voice hoarse.
"What do we do now?"
Hinata stepped forward and knelt beside them.
Her Tenseigan shimmered, her presence like the quiet glow of the moon after a raging storm.
"You remember them."
She gently placed a hand on the shinobi's shoulder.
"You honor them. You carry them in your heart—not through hatred, but through love."
Tears fell.
Not just from one, but from many.
The anger had not completely vanished.
But the storm had passed.
The crowd slowly dispersed, the storm of emotions settling into a quiet, uneasy stillness.
The battlefield, once filled with rage and cries for vengeance, was now replaced by silence—but not the kind that brought peace.
This silence was heavy, filled with unspoken grief, lingering anger, and wounds too fresh to heal.
It would take time.
Perhaps a lifetime.
Perhaps more.
Hinata stood still, her Tenseigan dimming, the overwhelming divine presence fading as she returned to herself.
She had won a small victory today—but in her heart, she knew it was far from over.
The pain still lingered in every broken soul.
The hatred still festered beneath every hushed conversation.
The cycle of war had stumbled, but it had not yet been broken.
And that thought haunted her.
Then—
A warm hand touched her shoulder.
"You were great out there."
Hinata turned and met Ino's bright blue eyes, filled with both admiration and understanding.
For a moment, Hinata's expression softened, her heart grateful for the words.
But she did not smile.
Instead, she sighed.
"Thank you, Ino… but I don't think this is over. The darkness in their hearts—it's already taken root."**
She looked around the camp, at the shinobi walking away in silence, their backs heavy with unspoken burdens.
"It's going to be difficult to heal this pain. Especially because this war happened so soon after the last one."
Ino nodded, her usual playfulness absent.
She had seen it too.
The way their eyes still burned.
The way their hands still trembled.
This war might have ended in words, but the scars remained etched into their souls.
And that was dangerous.
"I know," Ino admitted, crossing her arms.
Her voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it.
"If things get worse… if hatred keeps growing… then I'll just remove it."
Hinata's gaze snapped to Ino, startled.
"What?"
Ino met her eyes without hesitation.
"I'll create mental blocks inside the populace. Make them forget about war and battles. If their hatred is too strong, I'll seal it away."
Hinata felt a chill at the suggestion.
It wasn't anger that she felt.
It was concern.
Because she understood what Ino meant.
Because, deep down—
She had considered it too.
Wouldn't it be easier to erase the pain?
To remove the hatred before it could grow into another war?
To silence the voices of vengeance before they could scream again?
It was the practical answer.
The logical solution.
But was it right?
Hinata hesitated.
She looked at Ino—not just as a comrade, but as a friend.
And for the first time, she saw how much the war had changed her.
The playful, carefree Ino—was gone.
In her place was a woman willing to rewrite the minds of thousands, if it meant keeping Naruto's dream of peace alive.
Hinata's heart ached at the thought.
"Ino…" she started, but she didn't know how to finish.
Because she didn't know if she wanted to argue.
Maybe Ino was right.
Maybe they had already lost too much to risk letting hatred grow again.
Maybe this was the only way.
And that realization terrified her.
Neither of them spoke for a long time.
The battlefield was quiet.
The weight of the world sat on their shoulders.
And the choice—the choice of whether to let humanity heal naturally, or to force peace upon them—
Still remained unanswered.