The flickering glow of lanterns cast jagged shadows along the stone walls of Kumogakure's council chamber. A thick, oppressive tension hung in the air, thick as the mist that rolled in from the mountains surrounding the village. The room itself was vast, lined with banners embroidered with the lightning symbol of the village, their dark fabric rippling subtly as the wind howled outside.
At the head of a long table sat the Raikage—the second Raikage, a towering figure of muscle and authority. His arms were folded, thick cords of muscle visible beneath his dark, sleeveless robes. His sharp eyes, like the storm before a strike of lightning, flicked between the men seated before him.
Flanking him were the village elders, men whose years in the world of shinobi warfare had turned them into hardened strategists. Their expressions were stern, faces creased with the weight of past battles and the endless calculations of war. This was not a meeting of simple discussion—this was the forging of Kumogakure's next decisive move.
The scent of burning incense mixed with the faint metallic tang of ink and paper as documents lay sprawled before them, detailing various intelligence reports. Some bore the symbols of foreign villages—Konoha, Iwagakure, Kirigakure—stamped across their edges, stark red against the yellowed parchment.
The discussion had already begun.
"We must be careful about our next move," one of the older advisors, a gaunt man with thin white hair, muttered, his deep voice like the rumble of distant thunder. "We cannot afford to provoke the other nations blindly. Not yet."
"Agreed," another elder, a wiry man with sharp eyes, interjected. "But we must begin laying the groundwork. We need leverage. Our first step should be assessing the strongest shinobi in the world and determining how best to neutralize or acquire their power."
At this, the room fell into brief silence before the Raikage finally spoke. His voice was like a clap of thunder—deep, resonant, and commanding.
"Then let's begin. Who are our prime targets?"
A rustle of papers, the shifting of bodies, and then a name was spoken.
"The Hyūga Clan."
The declaration sent murmurs through the room.
One of the advisors nodded gravely. "Their Byakugan is a tool of immense power. Konoha has held onto their bloodline far too tightly. If we could capture even one—"
"An impossible feat," another cut in, his voice laced with scepticism. "The Hyūga are more guarded than ever after the last time we attempted to take one of their own. They are well aware of how we envy their eyes so we should put that aside until they lower their guard again for us to make our move."
The memory of Kumogakure's past failure lingered in the air like an unspoken ghost. While most shinobi clans envied the Sharingan, they were more focused on the Byakugan. It was almost to the point that it seemed obsessive.
Their latest attempt, one of many they kept carrying, to kidnap a Hyūga had led to bloodshed, strained relations, and a grudging realization: the Hyūga were not easy prey.
It was not like this would still stop them as in the future they would be bold enough to consider kidnapping Hinata the Hyuga Princess.
"Then we should shift our focus elsewhere," the first advisor countered. "What of the Senju bloodline? Hashirama's legacy still lingers in some of Konoha's strongest shinobi."
Another scoffed. "Hashirama's bloodline has been diluted. There hasn't been a true heir to his strength in generations."
"Maybe," one of the younger strategists mused, "but the Sarutobi Clan is still one of the strongest in Konoha. Their fire-style jutsu and battle experience could pose a threat. Hiruzen Sarutobi still holds significant power."
The mention of the Sandaime Hokage darkened the expressions around the room. A formidable man, a shinobi worthy of the title "The Professor," he was not one to be underestimated. But at his age, his prime had passed.
"He's old," another dismissed. "His generation is fading. Our concern should be on the new blood."
A heavy pause followed.
Then the inevitable name came.
"The Uchiha."
A murmur rippled through the council. Even the Raikage's eyes gleamed with something dangerous.
"They are a threat," one of the older men admitted. "Their Sharingan is unparalleled. But the infighting could deal with them."
"We already have information that their relations with Konoha's leadership are strained," another elder pointed out. "If we strike at the right moment, we could take advantage of that divide."
The Raikage exhaled through his nose, but his expression was unreadable. The Uchiha were undeniably powerful, but they were also dangerously unpredictable. A battle with them would not be one easily won.
After a moment of silence, one of the men shifted gears.
"Perhaps it's not just the clans we should be looking at," he said, his voice calculated. "The strongest individuals are the real threats."
Another rustle of papers. Scrolls were unrolled, and names were revealed.
"The Sannin," one of the advisors stated, voice grim.
The name carried weight. Orochimaru. Jiraiya. Tsunade. Each a legend in their own right.
"They are Konoha's strongest forces outside of the Hokage himself."
"Orochimaru is a serpent. Unpredictable and treacherous," one of the elders spat. "And Jiraiya… he's a wanderer, rarely in the village. But Tsunade—"
A few heads turned.
"Tsunade is a Senju by blood," someone mused. "And her medical abilities are nearly unrivalled. If we could capture her…"
"It wouldn't be easy," another countered. "She's reclusive. Finding her would be an endeavour in itself."
"We would have to move carefully. But the rewards—"
"Forget the Sannin for now," someone interrupted. "We need to discuss the one true wildcard."
Silence.
Then, a name.
"Minato Namikaze."
For a brief second, the room was still.
Then laughter.
Low, deep chuckles, growing into full-throated amusement.
"The Yellow Flash?" one elder scoffed. "Yes, he's fast, but—"
"He's too fast," another chimed in, still smirking. "He's one of the few shinobi I would hesitate to fight in an open battlefield."
The amusement faded slightly at that. Minato's Flying Thunder God Technique was no laughing matter.
"He is a real problem," one of the older advisors admitted. "But…" He turned his gaze to the far end of the table, where Ay, the Raikage's son, sat with arms folded across his chest. "Perhaps we already have a solution for him."
All eyes turned to Ay.
The younger man, built like a war god, cracked his knuckles. His muscles tensed, and his eyes burned with confidence.
"I'll handle Minato."
His words carried an undeniable weight. They did not need to be said twice.
The room was silent for a beat. Then, the conversation shifted again.
Someone exhaled sharply. "And what of the one called Renjiro?"
The atmosphere darkened.
All the talk of legendary clans and unstoppable warriors had filled the air, but now, a new question emerged.
"Should we kill or capture him?"
The question lingered, unanswered.
For the first time that night, the Raikage leaned forward.
His eyes, sharp as lightning, narrowed.
The storm was brewing.
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