Azula, From The Same Generation As The Sainin (A Naruto fanfic about Azula as an Uchiha)

[Melonlord]

A didn't answer Azula's question right away, mostly because his brain had just finished buffering and was finally processing the absolute chaos around him.

When he got teleported here, his danger sense went off like a fire alarm. He felt Azula mid-kill, and there was zero time to scan the area, assess the vibe, or even wonder what he'd have for dinner.

He just acted straight hands, and now...

He was looking at what had to be at least a hundred bodies scattered across the field like some kind of horror movie set.

He let out a heavy sigh. I'm too late.

Still, a small, cold part of him knew the truth: this wasn't even the worst-case scenario. With Azula and Tsunade running around, ten minutes should've produced way more than a hundred bodies.

That meant Kumo-nin actually did something extraordinary—they stood their ground. No one ran nor folded.

They died like real shinobi.

He finally broke the silence with a dry, sarcastic tone. "Should I be flattered? Getting praise by a fourteen-year-old only a few years older than my son?"

Little did he know, in about a decade, this exact moment—this exact roast—would be remembered as the greatest highlights of his entire career.

But nobody knew that right now. Except maybe Azula, who just nodded like he'd made an excellent point.

"Honestly? Yeah. I don't praise people every day. And this isn't even the first time I've complimented you. You should add that to your resume."

That tone, that look. That unholy amount of confidence.

A suddenly remembered exactly why he couldn't stand her.

She was too sharp. Too smooth, too... much.

He wasn't here for the verbal sparring. "Save the poetry. You realize what you've done, right? Is Konoha trying to shatter the entire balance of the ninja world?"

Before she could answer, he waved a hand. "Actually, forget it. Politics is out the window. You showed up here with that Senju brat probably because of that. I never thought I'd see the day an Uchiha hid behind Flying Raijin like a coward. What's the matter, soon as things heat up, you'll just zip away?"

Azula tilted her head, amused before smiling.

Not a nice smile.

"Sounds like a skill issue, Raikage-sama."

The words landed like a slap.

"If you didn't have the skills to back it up, maybe you shouldn't have started a war. Or was that the plan all along? Throw bodies at Konoha until your resources even out? Maybe you're hoping for a pity funds from the Daimyō after this because honestly, starting a war with us? Everyone knows that's just suicide with extra steps."

The bodies around them weren't helping his case. Neither were the whispers about Konoha's current lineup of absolute monsters.

Tsunade nodded, arms crossed, eyes cold. "Exactly. Honestly, they should be grateful the village is busy. Otherwise, I'd have made sure every single loss they've given us was paid back in full."

She wasn't joking. You could feel it.

Her hatred for Kumo wasn't some surface-level rivalry. It was personal. They killed her father and her second uncle.

And growing up with Azula meant she'd absorbed a very specific mindset: you don't just take losses, you return them.

So no. She didn't feel bad about the bodies.

The utter emptiness in Azula's eyes as she regarded the lives she'd just extinguished, combined with the pure hatred radiating from Tsunade hit A right in the feels.

Here he was, hoping for some Madara-and-Hashirama level dynamic, some mutual respect between warriors, and instead he got... this. Two young women who looked at him like he was an inconvenient bug. Didn't feel too hot, honestly.

"Beating that washed-up Kiri failure has clearly gone to your heads," He declared, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "But you little brats are seriously underestimating me. And underestimating Kumo."

And just like that, he slammed back into his Lightning Release Chakra Mode.

Those few seconds of conversation were perfect because they gave him just enough time to catch his breath after his high-speed express trip to the station, ten minutes of full-throttle Raikage movement weren't a joke no matter if he was one of the few Ninjas with the most stamina.

Azula responded in kind, her own chakra mode flaring to life. Tsunade, meanwhile, wisely bounced backward.

With the Raikage's dramatic arrival, the encirclement had essentially dissolved, Kumo-nin scrambling to position themselves behind what they clearly viewed as their ultimate security blanket, their maximum-security walking fortress of a leader.

Not that Tsunade was going anywhere. She had no intention of jumping into this fight, Azula looked way too excited about it, like a kid who'd just spotted the world's largest candy store, but she positioned herself perfectly in the backline, ready to introduce herself to anyone foolish enough to try interfering.

A raised eyebrow at this formation. He had thoughts, many thoughts. But he kept them to himself because he wasn't stupid.

Solo against Azula? Maybe fifty-fifty? Solo against Tsunade? Solid sixty-forty in his favor. But both of them together?

Those odds dropped to a humiliating ten-ninety, and the Third Raikage hadn't survived this long by ignoring basic math.

Then they moved.

One moment, standing. The next, nothing but bluish-white light and screaming lightning for the assembled shinobi to process.

Azula was fully locked in now, her Sharingan pushed to absolute maximum overdrive, because this was the MAN.

"FOUR-FINGER NUKITE!" A roared, because apparently shouting your attack names before using them was still mandatory shinobi etiquette.

Azula had long since stopped questioning this. Ninjas, she'd learned, were weirdly committed to their dramatic traditions.

But the name-drop triggered something. Three key facts, crystal clear in her memory:

Fact One: This man's lightning armor was so ridiculously durable it had tanked a direct Tailed Beast Bomb from the Eight-Tails. Also Naruto's Rasenshuriken, the attack that detonates into countless microscopic wind blades, so many that even the Sharingan gave up trying to count them. His defense was basically the bane of the 'no ball'.

Fact Two: His One-Finger Nukite—the 'ultimate spear' had pierced through that same Eight-Tails' chakra cloak and then through his own absurdly defensive lightning armor. The man could apparently punch through his own invincibility.

Make it make sense.

Fact Three: Black Lightning. The stuff Darui had built his entire career around, the technique that eventually made him the Fifth Raikage. And this guy just... had it.

Probably as a casual side technique.

Unbreakable defense, perfect piercing, and black lightning. Any single one of these abilities made someone a Kage candidate.

All three together? The Third Raikage was basically a walking cheater, a paradox wrapped in lightning with a bad attitude.

These thoughts zipped through Azula's mind in under half a second, her body moving on pure instinct while her brain caught up.

She wasn't convinced the Four-Finger would actually break her armor, but she wasn't eager to find out either. Damage was damage, and she had standards.

She dodged.

At the same time, she gathered chakra to her arms, shaping her own lightning spear in response. The strike landed clean—

And did absolutely nothing.

Azula didn't even flinch when her lightning dissipated against his skin. She'd already tested this theory a while ago and disappointment was for people who failed to do their homework.

The Raikage tanked her attack like he'd just stubbed his toe instead of eating lightning that would turn most Kage into ash sculptures.

They locked eyes and in that moment, they both understood the same terrible truth: this was going to be fun.

In terms of raw speed, it'll be a draw. They'd run laps around each other until the cows came home and died of old age.

But Azula was slippery—twisting through the air like lightning given form, her Sharingan analyzing in every twitch of his muscles before they could fire.

Meanwhile, the Raikage hit like a meteor with personal issues, and his skin might as well have been forged in the core of a star.

His durability was giving her a headache. Her Sharingan was giving him an aneurysm. He'd wind up for something devastating, something that could actually hurt her, and she'd read it in his kneecaps three seconds before he threw it.

Dancing around the apocalypse, one centimeter at a time.

My theory was right, she thought, redirecting another bolt of lightning straight into his chest. Any other ninja would be decorating the landscape right now. The Raikage just staggered backward through the forest, using trees as break pads. This isn't just chakra armor anymore. He's built himself a force field.

He came back instantly, rocketing toward her with all that lovely momentum. His fist screamed toward her face, close enough that she could count the calluses, and she waited until the last possible nanosecond before sliding aside like water around a stone.

Her foot, already humming with enough lightning to power a small city, caught him right in the spine as he sailed past. His own speed plus her power should have sent him into orbit. Instead, he just stumbled through the snow like a grumpy bear who'd tripped over a root.

Completely, impossibly unscathed.

Fine then.

She smiled, the kind that meant her brain was firing on all cylinders and the world was about to get very interesting for someone.

This is what chakra nature transformation looks like when you take it to its absolute breaking point.

But here's the thing about Azula: she didn't just want to win. She wanted to understand. Any idiot could blast their way through a problem. She wanted to take it apart, figure out what made it tick, and then use that knowledge to make her enemies weep.

So she watched, analyzed and theorized.

Theory One: The Tesla Coil Approach. Imagine ionizing the air around your body until it becomes a constant electrical field, a repulsion layer that says 'no' to anything stupid enough to get close. She'd tried to do it once. Nearly melted her own nervous system into soup.

Apparently, you need a body that's been bred for generations to handle this kind of abuse. The Raikage's ancestors clearly had better hobbies than hers.

Theory Two: The Walking Railgun. This one made her laugh when she first thought of it.

Moving electricity creates magnetic fields, basic Maxwell's equations. If you generate enough current, you're not just wearing lightning, you're wearing a localized magnetosphere.

Every punch becomes a railgun shot and every defense becomes an electromagnetic 'get lost' field wrapped around your skin like a second atmosphere.

Theory Three: The Hybrid.

A high-voltage scream wrapped in magnetic pressure, each feeding the other until you're basically wearing a small star.

Which one is it, old man?

She hated admitting that her body couldn't do this. Hated it with the burning fire of a thousand suns. She'd trained since birth, pushed herself past every limit, and some people just... had the hardware she couldn't manufacture.

But that's why she had the software.

Her mind was already spinning through countermeasures, each more delicious than the last. A dozen ways to shatter his pretty shield, ranging from 'elegant' to 'cruel' to 'he won't see this coming because he probably can't pronounce 'electromagnetic induction'.

Which method should I try first?

The Raikage's fist caught her mid-thought landing a solid connection, going through three boulders and a small hill before she stopped laughing.

Perfect.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

"Tch. Old man is not exactly taking it easy, is he?"

Azula didn't even bother finishing the thought before she was on her feet again.

Lying down? He would've turned her into a charcoal sketch the second her back touched the floor.

Her Lightning Release Chakra Mode wasn't going to win any contests against the Raikage's flashy aura, sure. But she was also still in one piece, breathing, and very much well.

The moment she stood, he was already barreling toward her like a bull on steroids.

Alright, warm-up's over. Time to get scientific.

She'd thought about something interesting about his whole electric mode. It made her remind her who she truly was.

Before she was a ninja, she was a bender. And not just any bender, she was the kind of prodigy that made other prodigies cry into their pillows at night.

Lightning Redirection was basically baby stuff. You catch the lightning, you let it flow through you like you're hosting a very aggressive houseguest, and then you show it the door, preferably in someone else's direction.

And the beautiful part was the technique didn't care if the lightning came from some angsty firebender, natural lightning or probably a rage-filled Kage with a superiority complex; game was game.

So here was her working theory: touch the Raikage's lightning, let his it flow through her like she's a human extension cord, and see how it will work, if it can disturb his Chakra Mode.

In the worst case? Azula would switch to the Fire Release Chakra Mode, heal herself and annoy him from the sky.

The Raikage clearly couldn't read her mind and he charged to press his advantage.

And then Azula did something that made every Kumo-nin in the vicinity question their career choices.

Instead of dodging, which she'd been doing all fight because honestly, it's polite to let the elderly tire themselves out first, she planted her feet.

Her Sharingan spun so hard it actually stung, with a little blood trickling from her eye.

New experience. She'd add it to the list.

Her left hand came up, palm open, fingers slightly curled. To the watching shinobi, it probably looked like she was trying to catch a cannonball with a butterfly net.

His fist connected with her palm.

And then she glitched reality.

Not literally, though the sound that followed could've fooled anyone. The impact didn't send her flying or crack her bones.

Instead, her arm gave, folding with the kind of practiced grace that made master calligraphers look like toddlers with crayons.

Instead of blocking the force, she welcomed it. Her body became a circuit, not a wall. His lightning surged into her—

And found an exit.

Her right hand swept up in an elegant arc, like she was brushing aside a curtain or waving goodbye to someone's dignity. A torrent of blue electricity—his electricity, mixed with the crackling remains of his chakra mode—erupted from her palm.

Okay, she didn't have the time to aim it at him, but around him? Absolutely.

The blast hit the stone floor like an angry god dropping a hammer. The CRACK split the air, sent Kumo-nin stumbling backward clutching their ears, and carved a crater big enough to host a small picnic a few meters from the Raikage's dumbfounded face.

Azula wanted to take advantage and attack him when he was dazed, but as a Kage, he reached a point where he could even fight unconsciously, let alone when he was awake.

His instinct took over, and he defended himself from the instantly formed Rasengan that Azula launched on him.

After defending, he jumped back, retreating for the first time because he had a question.

Azula didn't follow him, taking the time to analyze what had happened while watching his face cycle through confusion, realization, and the particular shade of purple men get when their entire understanding of physics gets mugged in an alley.

Excellent, it's time to mess up with his mind. She flashed that smile that meant someone was about to wish they'd never learned to speak.

"What's wrong, Raikage?" Her voice dripped with the kind of syrup they use to coat poison. "Don't tell me the big strong Kage is having an existential crisis because a girl not even half his age reverse-engineered his signature technique in the time it takes to enjoy a good tea?"

A's eye twitched, which she only enjoyed.

"I mean, they call you 'The Lightning Axe,' right?" She tilted her head, all mock curiosity. "Very intimidating title, just a shame about the whole... swings a dull blade thing, though."

The Kumo-nin around them shifted uncomfortably. Nobody talked or breathed at the Raikage like this.

"All that power. All that speed. And you're just..." she made a gesture with her hand, vague and dismissive, "... A one-trick pony who can't even house-train his own electricity."

"But I get it. When you're used to bulldozing through walls and enemies, you never really learn the finer points of the game, do you? Let me give you some advice. Free of charge, because I'm generous like that."

Her eyes flashed red with her Sharingan.

"Raw power without control isn't strength; that's a tantrum. And you, Raikage..." she paused for everyone to get it, "...are throwing a spectacular one right now."

A's fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. The ground beneath his feet spiderwebbed with cracks.

"You..." His voice came out rough, like he'd been swallowing gravel. "You arrogant little brat."

Inside his head, chaos reigned. I knew the Uchiha were the most annoying bloodline to deal with, but how do they produce someone this insufferable?

But he couldn't punch her right now. He couldn't even frown too hard, because thirty feet away, half his village was watching.

The Raikage doesn't get to lose his composure so openly. The moment he let her get under his skin, the moment he played her game, he'd look like exactly what she accused him of being: a child throwing sparks because someone broke his toy.

Since taking office, A had built his legend on one simple truth: when problems appeared in the ninja world, he appeared too.

He isn't anything like the other Kage, waiting for reports or sending subordinates. The Strongest Spear went where the fighting was, and people believed that nobody could take a full hit from him and stay standing.

And then this girl child had not only taken his hit, but caught it, played with it, and thrown it back like yesterday's garbage.

Now she was insulting him.

And he had to stand here and take it, because the moment he retaliated emotionally, he validated everything she said.

On the inside, A was a supernova trying to be patient.

On the outside, he snorted. The sound carried across the training ground like thunder.

"Hmph." He straightened, rolling his shoulders with deliberate casualness. "You think I don't see what you did?"

"It's a clever trick. Miracle, even, I'll give you that much. Absorbing my lightning, redirecting it, something probably no one in the ninja world can do apart from you. But here's the thing about miracles, girl."

He raised one massive hand, and lightning crackled between his fingers. "You redirected one attack from one direction. What happens when I hit you from everywhere at once? What happens when lightning comes at you from angles you can't see, from strikes you can't predict?"

The Kumo-nin behind him stirred with hope flickering back into their eyes.

Yes, how could defending against the Raikage be so easy? If so, why didn't she do it since the beginning?

Interesting, it seems not one who can become a Kage is a fool. She thought, admiring how he analyzed what he did, but then she remembered their somewhat questionable decision, and remembered a certain Hokage. Well, it shouldn't be too big of a compliment, right?

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

In the center of a clandestine space, a twelve-year-old boy with spiky white hair and a face full of freckles sat cross-legged, his expression one of intense, scholarly focus.

Jiraiya of the Sannin, well, Jiraiya of the Academy, soon to be Sannin if he had anything to say about it, was engaged in his most sacred ritual.

He reached into a small, hidden compartment beneath a loose floorboard and reverently withdrew a stack of papers.

This was his collection, his library and his reason for living.

"Ah," he breathed, his voice a reverent whisper. "The latest from the 'Temptations of the Hidden Cloud' series."

He fanned through the pages, his eyes glazing over at the generously proportioned kunoichi depicted within. "Masterful. The artist truly understands the… tactical advantages of a larger… asset in the field."

He set that prized volume aside and picked up another, this one a dog-eared, well-loved copy of 'Icha Icha Tactics,' a name he'd coined himself for his private collection.

"Now, this one," he muttered, licking his thumb and turning a page carefully. "This is the pinnacle of literary achievement. The heroine's confession scene on page twelve is simply a masterpiece of emotional and physical vulnerability; sensei truly knows games."

For Jiraiya, this was his true path. The shinobi arts were just a means to an end: funding his research and providing him with real-world experience for his characters.

He dreamed of the day his name would be whispered not just with fear, but with a knowing, appreciative grin. The day he would be known as the world's greatest Mangaka, with the exception of Azula Uchiha, of course.

His dream, however, was a fragile, beautiful bubble, and it was about to be popped.

A faint, almost imperceptible thump came from his window. Jiraiya froze, his senses sharper than most gave him credit for.

He quickly stuffed his collection back under the floorboard and slid it shut just as a small, paper-wrapped package sailed through his open window and landed on his futon with a soft fwump.

Jiraiya stared at it. It was tied with a simple red string. A delivery method he recognized. This was how you got the good stuff, the stuff the vendors were too scared to sell openly.

With trembling hands, he untied the string. The paper fell away to reveal a stack of freshly bound pages.

On the cover, written in elegant, flowing calligraphy, was the title: "Serpent's Embrace." The art was incredible, far better than the usual stuff.

It showed two shinobi locked in a passionate embrace.

His heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. This was the premium content. And from the look of it… were those two… men?

He paused. He wasn't… against it. Art was art, after all. And the linework was phenomenal. He could appreciate the craft.

He flipped to the first page, just curious.

The art was breathtaking. The characters were unmistakable. One, with long, dark hair, pale skin, and calculating golden eyes. The other, with a mane of wild white hair and a look of boisterous confidence.

His blood ran cold.

Page one: The white-haired one, who looked an awful lot like a handsome, cooler version of himself, was laughing. "Orochimaru," the speech bubble read, "your mind is as fascinating as your smile!"

Jiraiya blinked. Orochimaru? My teammate? The creepy snake guy?

Page two: Orochimaru, depicted with long, elegant lashes and a slender, almost delicate frame, blushed. "Jiraiya… you're the only one who understands my true research." He leaned in.

Page three: Their lips met.

Jiraiya's soul tried to leave his body. He slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a noise that was somewhere between a dying cat and a boiling kettle.

He couldn't stop. It was like a wagon crash. He had to see how bad it was. He flipped through the pages with increasing horror.

There was a scene where "Jiraiya" serenaded "Orochimaru" with a badly written poem under a full moon.

Another where "Orochimaru" fed "Jiraiya" a dango, gazing into his eyes with unnerving tenderness. And then… the hot springs scene.

He slammed the manga shut, his face a perfect, burning crimson, and his breath came in ragged gasps.

This was a fan comic about him and Orochimaru by someone who apparently thought they were the star-crossed lovers of the Leaf Village!

He looked at the final page, where a little note was written in the same elegant hand:

"To the beautiful mangaka at the market who always buys the 'Temptations' series. Your passion for the craft is inspiring. I hope you enjoy my humble work. Please, write more stories! The world needs to see the depth of your feeling! - A devoted fan."

Jiraiya stared at the note. The beautiful mangaka at the market. That was him.

This girl, and it had to be a girl, no guy would draw him this way, this girl had seen him buying smut and had decided he was a kindred spirit.

A fellow romantic. And her romantic fantasy was… this.

He looked back at the cover, at the two of them locked in that embrace. His teammate. The one who had once tried to use him as a test dummy for a new poison. The one whose idea of a good time was dissecting something.

A horrifying, beautiful, soul-crushing realization dawned on him. This was a market. A new market he hadn't even considered.

Other people could write stories about him.

And apparently, some of them wanted to see him locked in a torrid romance with the human equivalent of a shed snakeskin.

Suddenly, his dream of becoming the greatest Mangaka of all time felt less like a noble pursuit and more like a curse.

He imagined a future where his legacy wasn't the "Tales of Jiraya the Great," but a library full of comics where he was the blushing love interest of every weirdo in the village. "Jiraiya and the Akimichi Crush!" "Jiraiya's Forbidden Love with the Dango Shop Owner!" The horror was endless.

He heard a slow, slithering sound from outside his door. A familiar, chilling voice echoed in the hallway.

"Jiraiya… are you awake? I saw a light. We should study together. I have some new… specimens to show you."

Jiraiya shrieked. A high-pitched, truly undignified sound for a future legendary shinobi.

He grabbed the manga, his hidden collection be damned, and threw it under his futon.

Then, realizing Orochimaru might actually come in and somehow sense its presence, he snatched it back up.

He looked around the room in a blind panic. The window? No, too slow. His closet? Too obvious.

In a final, desperate act, he shoved the entire stack of papers—'Serpent's Embrace' and all—down the back of his shirt, flattening himself against the cold wall.

The door slid open. Orochimaru stood there, his golden eyes narrowed.

"Jiraiya," he hissed softly. "You're sweating."

Jiraiya forced a laugh that sounded more like a strangled gasp. "Hahaha! Orochimaru! Old buddy! Old pal! I was just… uh… doing some intense… calisthenics! Yes! Building core strength! For… for toad summoning! You need a strong core to… uh… ribbit effectively."

Orochimaru's gaze slowly traveled down Jiraiya's form, lingering on the suspicious, papery bulge at his lower back. A slow, unnerving smile spread across his lips.

"Indeed," he murmured. "You seem to have developed a rather… pronounced spinal condition. We should examine it thoroughly."

Jiraiya's freckles stood out in stark relief against his ghost-pale face. He was trapped. His dream lay in tatters at his (metaphorical) feet, and the subject of his new, unwanted fame was offering to "examine" him.

This was, without a doubt, Jiraiya's worst nightmare.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

He wasn't wrong, though. She'd give him that much.

Azula rolled the thought around like a smooth stone in her palm, turning it over, examining it from every angle. Because that's just what she did.

Why don't I use lightning redirection more often? Someone actually has to throw lightning at you first. Kind of a prerequisite because without lightning bolt, there's no redirecting, basic math.

But oh, it went so much deeper than that.

First, there was the raw physics of it. The kinetic force behind his blasts would rattle her teeth loose if she got it wrong.

Then came the chakra situation: trying to absorb his lightning while keeping her own Lightning Chakra Mode active was like trying to fill a glass that was already overflowing with water.

At least for now, she thought.

She'd figured out something: keep just enough chakra wrapped around her brain like a helmet while letting the rest of her system power down.

The redirected lightning got a nice, clear highway that wouldn't turn her thoughts into scrambled eggs, and her Sharingan handled the microscopic tweaks this party trick required.

Still doesn't solve the real problem though.

His annoying defense was what she didn't like.

"Okay, so you're half right," she admitted, her voice practically dancing. "Lightning redirection isn't exactly the most efficient way to deal with you. Fair point."

"But this is just one method. One of the theories I wanted to test drive today. I've got a whole list, actually. So many ideas I've been dying to try." Her smile stretched wider, sharper. "I really, really hope you're as durable as you look."

Those who were watching from the sidelines didn't see an ounce of fear. To them, they saw the same kind of excitement as a kid who just got let loose in a candy store with an unlimited budget.

Wide-eyed, manic, absolutely thrilled.

"Round two?" she asked, like she was offering him a snack.

And then she did something stupid. Or smart?

Depends on who you asked.

She completely switched off her Lightning Chakra Mode.

Sure, it gave her speed and defense, but it also came with a catch, making her chakra so aggressive and chaotic that even she struggled to keep her Sharingan active.

Fire Release Chakra Mode would've been the same problem. Different flavor, same headache.

So instead?

Fwoosh.

Flames erupted at her feet and she shot skyward like a firework with an attitude problem. Because without Lightning Mode, engaging A head-on was basically asking for a dirt permanent nap, and she had better things to do than that.

And this was exactly the kind of thing that made brawlers like A want to throw furniture.

How exactly do you punch someone who's currently chilling in the stratosphere?

"What's wrong, Uchiha? Scared of me and flying after speaking nonsense?" A called up, and if you listened closely, you could hear the jealousy leaking through.

His chakra control could never. He refused to believe anyone else on the planet could fly like she did.

Azula tilted her head, looking down at him like a cat evaluating a particularly boring bug.

"Scared? Don't be ridiculous." Her smile turned patronizing, the kind adults give children who ask stupid questions. "I'm just choosing the optimal attack angle. It's not my fault your entire fighting style becomes useless the moment your opponent demonstrates even a single brain cell."

"You're like a guard dog," she continued, sweet as poison. "And I've just climbed the fence. See? Nothing you can do."

"What—" A tried to speak, but Azula didn't care much for what he had to say.

That's the thing about her. The second you show even a flicker of weakness, she's already inside your kitchen raiding the fridge.

Theoretically, A is fast. He should've dodged that attack even with his mouth half open and his brain half engaged. But theory is theory until proven otherwise, which Azula did.

He stared at her like she'd just grown a second head.

The shock was painted all over his face, and yeah, maybe a little sprinkle of fear too, because there was now a very angry burn on his shoulder and something that looked suspiciously like his own blood doing its best impression of a leaking faucet, not even able to hide it from his expression this time.

"She's... she's got it that mastered?" Tsunade whispered, because sometimes you just have to state the obvious when the obvious is trying to barbecue one of the fastest men alive.

As if to twist the knife, blue lightning flickered to life in Azula's right hand, then blue fire joined the party together at the same time like they were old friends at a reunion.

This time, A actually saw it. And seeing it somehow made it worse.

In the Ninja World, using two jutsu at once from the same chakra nature is already the kind of flex that gets you featured in the history books. But sure, there are prodigies; they break rules and make everyone else feel inadequate, which is still fine.

But two jutsu from completely different chakra natures?

At the same time?

How? How was she doing it? By selling her soul to some fire-and-lightning demon? Is this even legal? His brain was running laps around his skull trying to find an answer.

And then it hit him: during their entire fight, he'd never once seen her use hand signs. He'd brushed it off because Lightning Release Chakra Mode lets you coat yourself in lightning and that takes concentration—maybe she was just too busy to gesture.

You can theoretically still release jutsu without flailing your hands around if you're that good.

Except now he realized 'that good' was putting it mildly. She was playing a completely different game on a completely different board while he was still trying to figure out the rules of checkers.

He wanted to ask questions. But she was standing right there with her lightning-fire hybrid of doom, and falling for the same trick twice? That's the kind of reputation you don't come back from and the kind of mistake that follows you to your grave and gets carved on your tombstone.

"What a pity," she murmured.

Not quietly enough.

A's eye twitched.

"Lightning–Fire Style: Plasma Spear."

This time she took her sweet time building it. The surprise was gone, so why rush? Let him appreciate the artistry.

They were twenty meters apart, maybe more with snow everywhere. Land of Frost living up to its name, and yet, A could feel the temperature climbing like someone had accidentally left the door to hell cracked open.

How is she not burning herself alive? The question burned hotter than the actual heat. How is her skin still attached to her body? How is she standing there like she's making tea instead of holding a miniature sun?

Today, A has the most "How?" moments in his life.

Unfortunately for him, Azula wasn't the type to explain her techniques like some third-rate villain monologuing before the final act.

If he knew she was running on fumes, if he knew how close she was to tapping out, he might've just said 'you know what, this isn't worth it' and taken his injuries back to Kumo for a refund.

But he didn't know. And she wasn't telling.

Here's the thing about Plasma: it's what happens when heat and electricity get together and decide to make something beautiful and terrifying.

Fire meets Lightning, things get spicy.

Azula called it Proto Plasma Release because she liked naming things and also because "Fire-Lightning Combination That Will Absolutely Ruin Your Day" felt a bit too long, but it's not yet a Kekkei Genkai.

The tricky part was getting the ratio right. Too much Lightning and it's fast but bounces off A like rubber off a wall, basically Light Release, then too much Fire and it hits hard but not fast enough for A to dodge, basically enhanced Explosion Release.

It had to be perfect.

And then there was the small matter of everything else.

Fire Burst at her feet to keep her mobile. Yang Chakra working overtime to patch up the damage her own techniques were doing to her body. Two different chakra natures weaving together like they'd been doing this their whole lives, all at once.

It was a lot.

Unfortunately, she thought, because even geniuses have limits, it's also way too much chakra to keep up for long.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

A didn't let a little thing like a hole in his gut ruin his day. With his Lightning Release Chakra Armor crackling around him, he simply zipped a bolt of lightning across the wound, which instantly cauterized it, stopping the bleeding. Problem solved.

But these cool moves were only to fool others. On the inside, A was sweating.

His eyes were locked on Azula, specifically on that stupidly dangerous spear in her hand. You could say his focus was at 200%. He was mentally reviewing choices and trying to figure out how many push-ups he'd have to do to make up for this mess.

Now, A is confident. In his head, the only reason she'd even scratched him was that one, single, measly second where he'd gotten distracted.

That's it, he told himself. Just one second of not paying attention. Now that I'm locked in, I can dodge that possibly newly developed Kekkei Genkai. Now... how do I punch her out of the sky?

But then, reality sucker-punched him right in the brain, and his internal monologue hit the brakes.

Behind him were the Kumo-nin.

I can dodge. But that chakra in her hand, glowing like a Tailed Beast ball made into a spear is dangerous. If she most likely hurls that our way... or if it just decides to explode, it could instantly kill fifty ninjas or more.

Azula, meanwhile, was also mentally scrolling through her options for the perfect hit.

And then she saw that tiny flicker and split-second hesitation in A's eyes, the one he was trying so hard to hide behind his 'I'm the Raikage, hear me roar' face.

Her gaze flicked to the Kumo-nin behind him. And then she realized something.

She literally stopped mid-thought and just... stared at herself for a second.

Wait a minute. I should've spotted this from a mile away, at least the old me. I would've already had a plan to use those guys as hostages, as bait, as a distraction... heck, I would've offered them snacks if it meant getting the upper hand. That's just smart business. But me now, I've been so busy trying to punch things that I forgot how to play chess?

For a split second, she felt like an idiot. A very powerful, very dangerous idiot.

But then she grinned.

This just means I'm evolving. I'm not just a tactical genius anymore; I'm a tactical genius who also really, really likes to fight.

Sure, part of the reason she'd picked a fight with A was to maybe, hopefully, squeeze a Mangekyō out of him. But even if that didn't happen, she knew she'd figure it out eventually because she, Azula, always did.

No, right now, the mission was simple: Make a loud, explosive, reputation-boosting statement. Make Kumo run home crying, and walk back into the village as the undisputed queen of the battlefield, then naturally monopo— taking the Hokage throne.

She looked down at A, her grin softening into something almost... reasonable.

She shrugged internally. Oh well. Sorry, big guy. Guess you just drew the short straw and met me on my 'reasonable' day.
•••
•••
•••

It had been thirty minutes since A and Azula started duking it out, and roughly forty-five minutes since she and Tsunade first kicked the hornet's nest by attacking those Kumo-nin. In that time, the geopolitical landscape of the Ninja World had decided to shift again.

Why not?

The moment Ōnoki sensed the Raikage's chakra spinning up and then rocketing off at full speed, his internal alarm bells started blaring. Something was wrong.

And sure enough, after a quick, no-nonsense briefing from one of A's clones, Ōnoki's worst nightmare walked through the door and slapped him in the face.

If Kumo was desperate enough to drag him out here for an urgent chat, it could only mean one thing: Konoha had finally grown a spine and launched a full-scale assault.

But why? Why now, of all times? Did they know A was gone? Did we have a traitor? The questions rattled around Ōnoki's skull.

He quickly dismissed the traitor idea. Konoha wasn't stupid. If the Raikage had been absent for over two days and Kumo was acting all quiet and suspicious, even a blind monk could figure out something was up.

The real head-scratcher was the timing. From everything Ōnoki knew, Konoha under Hiruzen was about as aggressive as a sleeping kitten. They were the least likely of the five great villages to start something.

So what changed?

"Tsuchikage," the clone grunted, snapping Ōnoki out of his spiral. "This isn't the time for thinking. My main body will be on the battlefield in a few minutes. He could hold off Konoha himself for a while. But you're smart enough to know what happens if they actually succeed here."

The clone wasn't bothering with diplomacy anymore, although the main body hadn't bothered with it in the first place. He directly pressured Ōnoki.

(For the record, the clone genuinely believed the real A, even after burning chakra to rush back, could solo Konoha for two whole days.)

"Lost in thought?" Ōnoki shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm sorry, would you prefer I just charge in blindly? Maybe dance through a few obvious traps? Wave hello to an ambush? Or better yet, completely ignore the possibility of betrayal?"

As he said the last word, his eyes slid meaningfully toward Ebizō, who had just arrived.

Sage of Six Paths, just strike me down now, Ebizō prayed internally, already exhausted by Ōnoki's paranoia. He said nothing.

He didn't even bother defending himself. As Suna's representative, he had to maintain some dignity... even if that dignity occasionally meant swallowing his pride and letting the old miser glare at him.

Then, without any warning, A's clone popped out of existence, gone just like that, leaving Ōnoki and Ebizō in awkward, heavy silence.

"Either the main body is in so much trouble he couldn't maintain the clone..." Ebizō murmured, breaking the quiet.

"Or he's in so much trouble he deliberately dropped it," Ōnoki finished, his mind already racing with possibilities. He added a private thought: Or he's just trying to mess with my head.

Knowing the Raikage wasn't quite as dumb as he looked, Ōnoki couldn't rule out mind games.
•••

Perhaps Ōnoki's migraine was setting new records, but the true champion of headaches in the shinobi world was the man currently staring at a report that made his heart try to escape through his ribs, Hiruzen Sarutobi himself.

The report was simple: Azula and Tsunade had vanished from the camp with the concept of 'informing the Hokage' being like some forgotten ancient custom.

"Did I become a ghost and nobody told me?" he muttered to the empty office, because apparently that's where he existed now, in the realm of the irrelevant, noticed only when someone needed a signature or wanted to borrow the good tea.

Azula had done it again. Left the village without permission, without consultation, without even the common courtesy of a vaguely threatening note pinned to his door.

The only reason he became aware of it at all was because she later stepped out of Tsunade's tent openly and headed toward Tajima's, something his intelligence network, the finest in the world, could actually detect.

Against a fourteen-year-old girl with the Flying Raijin, even the best intelligence network had its blind spots.

If not for that report, he'd probably discover her absence next week when he tried to find her for a meeting and found a very convincing shadow clone made of sticks and optimism.

He rubbed his temples, the memory of their last conversation playing on loop. Mito's words after it. "Am I really wrong for wanting peace over chaos?"

For the first time since Tobirama had slapped the hat on his head and said "Starting tomorrow..." Hiruzen genuinely doubted himself.

But here's the thing. He didn't feel wrong. He couldn't because Azula was fourteen. The kind of fourteen that still thought 'impulsive decisions' were a personality trait and 'consequences' were something that happened to other people.

Being Hokage wasn't about having brilliant ideas. Ideas were cheap, every drunk in the village had an opinion on how to run things, and they usually shared it at maximum volume while waving chopsticks.

Being Hokage meant sitting through Daimyō meetings with a pleasant smile while some bureaucrat with the personality of wet paper explained why you should cut the military budget again.

It meant watching someone you loved get taken from you and still choosing diplomacy over fire and fury, because fire and fury meant thousands of orphans and widows.

And Azula happened to be the kind that looks at diplomacy like it was a particularly uninteresting thing she hadn't decided whether to squash yet.

But that wasn't what kept him up at night. What kept him up was the creeping realization that he might not have other options. That the chaotic fourteen-year-old with the impulse control of an excited Uchiha might be his only play.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the hat feeling heavier than usual.

Finally, he reached into his desk drawer. His fingers found a small, unremarkable scroll, he unrolled it, revealing a precise grid of seals, and pressed his thumb to four specific corners.

A new private and secure method for summoning the people he trusted most, the ones who shared his vision, his burden, his sleepless nights.

Danzō, Homura and Koharu. The only people in the world who understood that sometimes peace required hard choices.

He waited for them to arrive, completely unaware that he'd just invited the ninja equivalent of a 'harmless' mole into his garden.

But hey. Ignorance is bliss, and Hiruzen was about to be very, very blissful.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

Hiruzen looked up from his ball and found Danzō standing in his doorway, and almost had a heart attack despite him being the one who called.

"Danzō," he said, slowly lowering his hands. "You know, most people knock. Some even wait for me to say 'come in'."

Danzō wasn't in the mood for nonsense, especially after being disturbed from his project, and got straight to the point.

"Hiruzen, did something urgent happen?"

Hiruzen raised a weathered hand. "Wait for Koharu and Homura. They should be—"

"I'm aware of where they should be," Danzō cut in, narrowing his eyes. "They're both inside the village. Closer to this building than me. And yet, here I am, who was outside the village training ANBU, standing before you while they're apparently taking the scenic route in an emergency summon."

Hiruzen puffed on his pipe. "They'll be here."

"It's been over ten minutes." Danzō's tone suggested this was both a personal insult and a national security crisis. "If the village was under attack, we'd have repelled the invasion, held a funeral for the fallen, and rebuilt the walls before those two remembered which building the Hokage works in."

Hiruzen didn't respond, but internally he was doing the math. If I were actively being assassinated right now, called for backup... would I be dead and buried before they showed up?

He knew he was being dramatic. Probably.

Just as the silence was becoming truly unbearable, the door swung open. Koharu and Homura entered together.

Together?

Hiruzen's eyebrow climbed high, but he quickly squashed the thought, because if there was something worth knowing about his oldest friends, his ANBU would have mentioned it.

Danzō, however, was doing Danzō things inside his head—which is to say, he was constructing an elaborate conspiracy theory complete with diagrams, motive analyses, and worst-case scenarios.

They arrived together. How convenient that two council members who were allegedly in different locations would synchronize their entrance with such precision. Either they were meeting privately before this summons, discussing matters they don't want Hiruzen or me to know about, or they've been coordinating their movements for some time now.

He glanced at Hiruzen, catching the tail end of that eyebrow raise before the Hokage smoothed his expression into something resembling relaxation.

Foolish, Danzō thought. He actually dismissed it. Probably thinks nothing happens in this village without his precious crystal ball and ANBU noticing. As if those are infallible.

His mind continued spiraling down its well-worn paranoia tracks.

Koharu and Homura have access to the same intelligence networks I do. If they wanted to meet without detection, they absolutely could. This changes things. A unified voting bloc forming without my knowledge? The balance of power in this village just shifted. Hiruzen may not see it as a threat, but that's why I'm here.

I'll need to increase surveillance. Their servants, their ANBU guards, their communication channels. Their garbage, even. Something is developing here, and I will know what it is before it becomes a problem for... the village's security.

Outwardly, Danzō was the picture of composed authority, right up until he opened his mouth.

"How fortunate that you both arrived at the same moment," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Saves us the time of waiting twice."

Koharu's face cycled through approximately fourteen expressions of displeasure before settling on her default setting: mild disgust at everything that wasn't a specific Uchiha she had complicated feelings about.

Danzō was definitely not that Uchiha, and they both knew it.

"Always so quick to judge, Danzō," she snapped, not letting the sarcasm slide even an inch.

"Some of us believe in arriving prepared rather than rushing in blindly like—" she paused, clearly searching for a comparison insulting enough, "—like a man who thinks of everything with absolute distrust."

Homura nodded sagely, which he did whenever Koharu spoke because he'd learned long ago that disagreeing meant a grudge.

"If we're both here now," Koharu continued, "the reason for the delay is irrelevant. It'll be better to discuss what has gathered us here."

Danzō's eye twitched. Irrelevant? She calls delays in emergency summon irrelevant? And these are the people running the village?

The tension in the Hokage's office was really high, as high as it could be when his three friends were present.

Hiruzen could hardly blame them, you put three men who've spent years perfecting the art of not liking each other in a room together, and this is what you get.

The original Tobirama squad had been him, Koharu, and Homura. Kagami, Danzō, and Torifu had joined up later, each for their own reasons.

And ever since those early days, the two factions had circled each other like suspicious cats.

They'd saved each other's lives more times than anyone could count.

They'd trusted each other with their backs in situations where one wrong move meant a shallow grave in enemy territory.

But some people just weren't meant to get along, no matter how much blood they'd spilled together.

Danzō was the kind of guy who'd hold a grudge against a rock for being in his way, and the other two? Hiruzen could just say they returned the favor.

"Enough." Hiruzen's voice cut through the room with an authority he rarely needed to exercise. "I already have a headache that could fell a lesser man. I called you here to discuss actual problems, not to reenact your squabbles like children. If that's all you're going to do, then save me all the trouble and leave. I'll face the incoming disaster myself."

Here's the thing about Hiruzen, the man could have a personal vendetta against you, and he'd still greet you with that warm smile and offer you tea.

The fact that he was showing actual emotion? That wasn't just bad, that was catastrophic.

Danzō, who knew his oldest friend better than anyone, gave a sharp snort and lowered himself into a seat without another word.

Koharu and Homura exchanged glances. Homura frowned as if remembering something, but they followed suit.

"After they returned from the Land of Water," Hiruzen began, and everyone immediately understood who they were, "I went to speak with Mito-sama. You all know about it. Azula was there before she... departed under less than ideal circumstances. And both of them gave me cause for serious concern."

I don't like where this is going. Danzō's instincts, honed through years of paranoia, were screaming at him.

"Azula made no secret of her ambition for the Hokage position. Mito-sama appeared to be supporting her, at the very least, she wasn't maintaining the neutrality we'd expected." He paused, looking into their eyes. "And that's not even the worst part."

He took a long, dramatic drag from his pipe. A storyteller's instinct, even now.

"Azula's ambition isn't for some distant future. She wants to be Hokage now. And I trust you all understand what that means."

An Uchiha? As Hokage? The very thought sent Danzō into an internal spiral of outrage. Absolutely not. The idea is—

Koharu, meanwhile, was wrestling with a different kind of poison. Something bitter and green coiled in her chest before she could stop it. A female Hokage? At her age? Does she think running a village is the same as wrangling her clan into submission?

Only Homura remained relatively untroubled, which would have surprised anyone who knew him.

But if you understood Azula's story, really understood it, her wanting the most powerful seat in the village wasn't ambition, it was inevitable. The only surprise was that she hadn't made her move sooner.

"Last night, she left for the Kumo frontlines without my knowledge or authorization. I only found out when she walked straight out of Tsunade's tent completely in the open, heading toward her family's direction."

"And here's where it gets truly unsettling. She and Tsunade vanished this morning. As of now, I have no concrete word on their whereabouts, but I received a report that I'm certain connects to them."

Another pause and another puff of smoke.

"There are signs of a battle going on near Kumo's main base in the Land of Frost. Our intelligence operative wouldn't get closer, he said the fighting was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. The intensity of it, apparently, defied description."

He looked at each of them in turn.

"So. Anyone want to tell me I'm overreacting?"

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

"This is absolutely impossible, and we both know why, Hiruzen." Danzō's voice was wrapped in ice, but his eyes were open flames, the kind that wanted to burn everything Hiruzen had just said.

Koharu, despite her issues with him, slid into position beside him as if magnetized.

"Hiruzen. Remember why Sensei entrusted the village to you? He died peacefully because he believed in that Hiruzen. So tell me, do you really have the nerve to sit there and say you'd hand everything over to that girl with the same peace of mind?"

They were directly vetoing the possibility, and they had a filing cabinet full of reasons why.

Hiruzen exhaled through a wry smile. "I'm not hiding where I stand, you both know my position. But let's be practical here. What am I supposed to do when the two strongest people in the village take the same stance, and seven of the top ten fighters are standing in their corner?"

Koharu opened her mouth, then finally closed it. For once, the great Koharu Utatane had absolutely nothing to say.

Silence: the only argument she couldn't win.

Danzō was completely displeased and even... disgusted.

"If that's your stance, then I'm disappointed. Genuinely disappointed." He let the words flow out without worrying about hurting his friend. "Ten years as Hokage, and this is your first real crisis. Your response is 'I don't know what to do'?"

His mind flickered back to that cursed day. Me, who never hesitates... I hesitated just a second. One miserable second. And Hiruzen, who hesitates, picked that exact moment to grow a spine.

Under the table, his hidden hand tightened until his nails bit into his palm.

Hiruzen's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Disappointed? Disappointed? You want to talk about what I've faced? Do you have any idea what this hat weighs, Danzō? Every single day, I decide who lives and who dies. Every. Single. Day. You think those aren't crises? You think those aren't real?"

For a beat, it almost landed.

Then Danzō was even more annoyed. "Nobody forced you into that chair. If it's such a burden, get up. I'm sure there are a thousand shinobi in this village who'd love to put on that 'heavy hat' and relieve you of your suffering."

"But you haven't. Which means you chose this and chose to hold those lives in your hands. So stop playing the martyr, Hiruzen. For once in your life, stop hesitating and call it what it is."

Their eyes locked and neither blinked.

Koharu and Homura suddenly found breathing to be a complicated task they weren't sure they remembered how to perform. Because this wasn't a council meeting anymore, rather, this was a detonation with a delayed fuse.

Danzō broke first, but only to look down at his own fist, still clenched on the table like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. "You stood there, Hiruzen. You had the chance to end it before it grew legs. But no, you talked about peace and understanding like either of those things ever built a village."

"We had such a chance. If we'd acted, we could have cut her growth in half, or even..." He didn't finish the sentence, just looked at Hiruzen.

But everyone in the office understood his meaning.

So, in the end, it all comes back to that day. The day he decided to sit on his hands and 'wait and see,' huh?

Hiruzen didn't immediately fire back. He took a second to think about it before deliberately shaking his head, his eyes going steely.

"Regret? No. I will never, ever regret not being a monster to a kid who hadn't done a single thing wrong. A kid who, even now, has done nothing against this village except be the most stubborn, power-hungry brat we've ever produced."

He nodded to himself, as if his own opinion was the final word on the matter, especially since that 'brat' had just handed him the entire nation of Water on a silver platter, along with a mountain of very nice loot. (The part about the loot is indirect.)

Across the table, Danzō's good eye twitched. "You call it 'willful' when she sneaks in and out of the village like a cat? When she refuses to take orders from anyone? When she's currently holding a loaded political explosive tag that could blow this village apart from the inside? That's not 'willful,' Hiruzen. That's clearly a threat."

This was no longer a meeting but a really awkward, high-stakes lunch date between two ex-friends, with Koharu and Homura stuck at the kids' table, silently praying no one asked them to pick a side.

After a few agonizing minutes, the temperature in the room finally dropped from 'volcano' to 'merely sweltering.' Homura seized his chance, clearing his throat like a man about to ask his boss for a raise right after a round of layoffs.

"Right, now that we've all had our say," he spoke, his voice squeaking just a little, "Hiruzen, we need a concrete answer. Are you handing her the hat or not? Yes or no. Pick one."

He went straight for the jugular, figuring that if Hiruzen was going to just hand over the village, all their scheming was pointless anyway.

Danzō, for his part, felt a strange flutter in his chest. Anticipation? No, no. Absolutely not. It was just… research.

He was merely testing Hiruzen's resolve. If the man was willing to give up the Hokage seat without a fight, then he was clearly too weak to sit in it. It was logic, not greed.

At least, that's the lie he'd been telling himself so long it had taken root in his shriveled little heart.

And Hiruzen? He was caught in his own little hamster wheel of a dilemma. Should I hand over power for the good of the village and avoid a civil war? Or should I hold on to it because, well, is a teenager who sets things on fire for fun really ready to be the leader of a military superpower?

That was his struggle. It was never about him wanting to cling to power. He was sure of it, absolutely, 100% sure.
•••
•••

The F4 could deliberate all they wanted. It changed nothing about the real center of attention in the current ninja world.

Azula rolled her shoulder, feeling the satisfying ache of a fight worth fighting.

Across from her, the Raikage's chest heaved, steam rising from half a dozen fresh wounds he'd been forced to seal with his own lightning.

Scars he'd carry forever.

"You know," she called out, a smirk playing on her lips, "this is fun. But not quite what I pictured when I imagined fighting you."

She meant it.

Every slash, every burn she'd carved into him was her signature. Years from now, when someone asked A who'd marked him so thoroughly, he'd have to answer: her name, spoken aloud.

A little immortality.

"Hmph." The Raikage's teeth gleamed through his grimace. "And here I thought you'd have learned not to underestimate an old man by now."

Truth was, they'd both taken damage.

Azula's breathing had gone uneven a while ago; her techniques burned through chakra like oil through paper, and the fatigue had started creeping in around the edges.

That's when he'd caught her. A hit here, a blow there. Nothing clean, but devastating enough.

Still, when their eyes met across the cratered battlefield, neither looked away with anything less than respect.

A realized something during this fight, something that loosened the knot of tension he'd carried for decades: she wasn't trying to kill him.

She was playing.

Fighting because the fire in her veins demanded an outlet, because the clash of power against power felt good. So he'd stopped holding back too and cut loose.

And gods help him, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this alive.

For a while—neither could say how long—they forgot there was even a reason for this.

Azula broke the silence first.

"So. Have you thought about it, Raikage?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just started laying it out plain.

"I alone can go toe-to-toe with you. Tsunade alone is enough to carve through your elites like they're training dummies. Mito-sensei?" A pause, a flicker of something almost like fondness. "She could erase your country and Iwagakure without breaking a sweat. She just doesn't like the mess."

She then offered an alternative.

"You've heard how we handled Kiri after they surrendered. It's not shameful, A. It's smart. Better than us killing each other over nothing when we both know how this ends."

The words hit harder than any punch she'd thrown.

Because he did know. Had been trying not to know, but the truth sat heavy in his chest now, undeniable after hours of matching her blow for blow and still walking away with nothing but a draw.

Fifty-fifty. That's the best he could hope for against her alone.

And if he allied with Iwa and Suna? Hiruzen handled Ōnoki. Tsunade handled the Kazekage. Then what? Tajima, Mito, Danzō, Torifu, Kagami, Konoha heads of different clans along with their clansmen, and the whole damn Uzumaki clan are waiting in the wings.

He couldn't see the path to victory anymore—just the path to annihilation.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

The silence that followed was absolute.

Thousands of Kumogakure shinobi stood frozen, barely breathing. Their Raikage and Azula had fought to a standstill, and now they waited, praying their Raikage wouldn't choose to back down.

It was finally A who spoke, breaking the silence.

"You fought me at full strength without holding back or restraint (believe it). And yet..." His eyes narrowed. "I've killed enough men to know when someone wants me dead, and you didn't. Why?"

Killing intent wasn't some mystical aura; it was something very simple.

Men who'd spent their first decade learning to end lives and every year since either taking them or running from those who would, they knew.

Every Kumo-nin present had felt it: Azula could have burned them to ash according to what she had displayed in her fight against their Raikage before A ever arrived and vanished with her Flying Raijin without a problem.

She did none of these things.

And now their Raikage confirmed what they'd all suspected but couldn't believe: she hadn't been trying to kill him either.

What the hell was happening?

Azula laughed.

"War is stupid." She smiled, and it wasn't cruel. It was almost... fond. "People deserve better than to feed my flames. And..."

Her gaze swept across the Kumo-nin standing behind him, ready to die for him, worthy of the village with the least rebels. "You've built something worth admiring here. I'm not in the business of burning beautiful things for no reason."

In Konoha, Hiruzen Sarutobi sneezed violently during his meeting.

A heard what she didn't say. I respect you and respect your village. I want to conquer it intact.

This woman wanted possession without destruction. There was a difference, and he respected her enough to recognize it.

But he scoffed anyway because pride demanded it.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Uchiha. You didn't cross half the continent, fight me to exhaustion, and now just... what? Want to hold hands? What is your real goal?"

Deep down, in a place he'd never admit existed, hope stirred.

He remembered Hashirama Senju, a time when the world held its breath not from fear, but from possibility.

Before Madara fell to darkness, before the wars resumed their endless cycle, there had been a moment when strength meant something other than destruction.

Azula was no Hashirama. She burned things for sport, apparently, but she also hadn't burned his things.

He'd spent his entire life never hoping in anyone but himself. An Uchiha? For peace? The very idea was almost offensive.

Almost.

Azula watched the emotions flicker behind his eyes, too fast for anyone else to catch, but she'd been reading people like scrolls since she could talk.

Oh, she realized with genuine amusement. He's a big tsuntsun?

She didn't answer his question directly because she wasn't begging or pleading for him to submit; she was convincing him with her Talk no Jutsu. There's a difference.

So instead, she asked her own question.

"You felt it too, didn't you?"

"During our fight. That moment when winning stopped mattering and you just... fought. When was the last time anyone made you feel that alive?"

"Your point?" A asked, very confused.

"My point is simple," Azula said, her voice carrying absolute certainty despite the glares burning into her from every Kumo-nin in the room. "I don't want to destroy your village. Unlike that one built on betrayal and bloodlust, I think Kumo has potential."

She didn't flinch under their hatred because her position was absolute, and they all knew it.

"I'm going to build something neither you nor anyone else has managed: a world without war for the next hundred years, a world without lies or manipulation. You can feel it too, can't you? The truth in what I'm saying."

She paused, then smirked.

"The question isn't whether you trust me. It's whether you trust yourself enough to bet on something other than fear."

So that's it, Tsunade realized, a genuine smile tugging at her lips. Not world domination, but something even bigger.

If Azula announced tomorrow that she planned to rule everything, Tsunade would believe it without hesitation. That kind of goal just came with different perks, like war and elimination.

But A understood something Tsunade missed.

Her tone told him everything. This girl was asking him, the most volatile Kage in existence, to surrender in such a way no one else would dare.

No one except someone utterly insane.

Like her.

And the terrifying part was he was actually considering it. Joining her made more sense than partnering with that miser Onoki and the cowardly Kazekage.

A never hesitated. Once he chose, he chose.

"Kumo withdraws," he announced. "No alliances with Iwa or Suna. But don't expect Konoha to get everything it wants."

Translation: We'll follow your lead, but give me some face in front of my people.

Azula's eyebrows drew together. This was what she wanted, but not quite. She didn't want followers.

She wanted obedience, the kind Kiri gave. If she ordered the new Fourth Mizukage to appear tomorrow, she'd appear.

But it doesn't matter, she decided, planning something. They'll surrender completely soon enough.

There was a reason she handled Kumo differently than Kiri. These weren't shinobi in the traditional sense; they were warriors at heart.

Black-hearted, yes, but proud.

Forcing them would mean endless rebellions, wasting her time chasing them across mountains.

Better they come willingly.

Or discover exactly why no one refuses the Fire Princess twice.

"Okay, I will give you a day to think about it. Be ready, negotiations will start tomorrow." She didn't want to blurt her terms in front of thousands of Kumo-nin because she knew that if she did, it might touch their pride and complicate things.
•••

And so, Azula and Tsunade walked right out in front of thousands of stunned Kumo-nin with not a single soul brave or stupid enough to get in their way.

As for why not just zip out of there with the Flying Raijin? Well, Tsunade glanced at her companion, taking in the torn clothes, the sweat-soaked hair, the slight tremor in those shoulders.

Azula looked ragged, and she honestly looked hilarious.

The moment they were alone, Tsunade lost it.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach, laughing. "Oh hahaha, I haven't seen you this messed up since—okay, actually, I've never seen you this messed up. Totally worth skipping the fight and just watching you enjoy yourself."

Azula rolled her shoulder, the joint popping back into place with a satisfying crack. A slow, sideways smile crept across her face. "It's been years since I had a real challenge. Shame he couldn't push me to my absolute limit, though."

Tsunade's laughter faded. Her eyes drifted to the tiny, perfect point in the center of Azula's forehead.

"Then why didn't you go all out?" Tsunade asked, suddenly serious. "That whole thing with A and the Cloud village… that wasn't you. The you I know wouldn't have been so… nice?"

She cringed at the word. Nice? Azula? But compared to her usual standards? Yeah.

Azula pursed her lips, considering. "It's not that deep. My research on the Sharingan has been conclusive for a long time now. To evolve it, to awaken the Mangekyō… it's not about sorrow or killing your best friend. It's just about emotional swing."

She started walking again, Tsunade falling into step beside her. "Problem is, people like us, the ones born with a certain… yin control, like the Nara clan, we don't do huge emotional swings. I honestly thought fighting A would get my blood pumping enough. It did, but it wasn't enough."

A shadow flickered across her face as she thought about a certain old hermit, holed up in some cave, probably watching all of this go down on a TV made of pure chakra.

"Plus," she added, quieter now, "gotta keep some cards hidden. You never know when a ghost from the past decides to crash the party."

But Tsunade wasn't listening anymore. Her brain had snagged on one thing: emotional swing, excitement, and awakening the Mangekyō.

A slow, dangerous grin spread across her face.

So… me accidentally flashing her in the bath got her more worked up than throwing down with the Raikage? She preened internally. Take that, you muscle-bound oaf. I win.

Feeling the sudden silence, Azula glanced over. Tsunade had that look, the one that meant she was cooking up something insufferable.

Azula decided not to ask because ignorance was peace.

"The Land of Frost," Azula announced, changing the subject. "Their spas should be empty with all the border fighting. Perfect time for a hot spring."

Because the Land of Frost was freezing, and the only thing keeping merchants brave enough to visit was the promise of a good soak. The Daimyō understood business.

Tsunade perked up. Then deflated. "Wait. If the spas are empty… does that mean their casinos are closed too?"

Azula pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's where your brain goes?"

What could she say? Gambling was Tsunade's one true vice—an addiction, a release, a beautiful disaster. Azula just shook her head, a flicker of something soft and determined in her eyes.

Someday, she promised herself, watching the blonde scheme beside her. Someday I'll do something about it.

But for now? A hot bath sounded like heaven.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

 

[Melonlord]

The journey to the Land of Frost was less a journey and more a series of complaints disguised as conversation.

But they quickly arrived at the spa town located between a valley like a secret the 'white' mountains were keeping.

Steam rose from dozens of those unnatural hot springs, with traditional wooden structures buildings and curved roofs.

It was, objectively, beautiful.

"This is disgustingly picturesque," Tsunade announced.

"That's the idea." Azula was already walking toward the largest establishment, a three-story inn with a carved wooden sign reading Heaven's Touch.

"The Daimyō of this region understood that people will travel through war zones for the promise of luxury. It's the same principle as casinos, though fortunately, casinos are for the rich, and not sane rich would come to the Land of Frost in this period of time."

Tsunade perked up. "Speaking of casinos—"

"No."

"I didn't even ask anything!"

"You were going to ask if they are also open, but they don't even have one. This is a spa town, not a vice den."

Azula paused at the entrance, glancing back. The setting sun caught her black eyes. "Though I suppose having you here is vice enough."

She slid the door open before Tsunade could process whether that was an insult or something else entirely.

•••

The innkeeper was a small, round man with nervous eyes and the desperate smile of someone trying very hard not to think about the war happening disturbingly close to his place of business.

"Welcome! Welcome to Heaven's Touch! How may I—" He stopped, taking in their appearances.

Two women, travel-worn, one with torn clothing that looked suspiciously singed, both radiating an aura that made his survival instincts scream.

His smile became even more desperate. "—help you?"

"A room," Azula said. "The best one with private access to the springs."

"Of course, of course! Right this way, we have our finest suite available, normally reserved for visiting dignitaries, though with the current... situation..." He laughed nervously, mopping his brow with a cloth.

"Business has been challenging. You wouldn't believe the cancellations! People are so sensitive these days, just a little border skirmish and suddenly no one wants to travel."

He led them through a serene courtyard garden, past carefully raked gravel and frozen koi ponds.

Azula and Tsunade exchanged a look.

"Little border skirmish," Tsunade muttered under her breath. "That's one way to describe armies clashing twenty miles from here."

"Shh." Azula's lips twitched. "Let him cope."

The innkeeper continued his monologue, apparently grateful for an audience not currently trying to kill him.

"And the nerve of some people! Just last week, a merchant from the capital wrote demanding a full refund for his prepaid booking because and I quote 'the potential for violent death interferes with my relaxation.' As if we control the geopolitical situation! Do I look like the Daimyō to you?"

He laughed again, the sound edging into hysterical territory.

Azula's expression remained perfectly pleasant. "Terrible for business."

"Terrible," the innkeeper agreed fervently. "And the worst part? My 'friends' in the Land of Snow are probably thriving! 'Oh, come to the safe hot springs,' they advertise. 'No chance of being caught in a shinobi conflict here.'"

He mimed quotation marks with his fingers, offended on behalf of his entire profession.

"As if peace is something to brag about. Any fool can run a business in peacetime but it takes real entrepreneurs to keep going when the world's falling apart!"

Tsunade choked.

Azula's smile didn't waver, but something dangerous flickered in her eyes. "Quite right. The truly dedicated understand that commerce transcends temporary inconveniences like warfare."

"Exactly! You understand!" The innkeeper beamed, completely missing the irony. "This woman gets it. Now, here we are, the Sakura Suite. Private onsen, heated floors, the finest futons in the prefecture. Normally this would be fifty thousand ryō a night, but for discerning guests who appreciate the realities of business..."

He spoke conspiratorially. "Twenty thousand with breakfast included."

•••

The moment he left, Tsunade collapsed onto the nearest futon, shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Did you hear that man?" She wheezed. "'Any fool can run a business in peacetime.' You fought a Kage just a few walk away from the town! There are probably bodies! And he's worried about his competitors in the Land of Snow!"

Azula lowered herself onto the edge of the futon with considerably more dignity, though the slight wince as her muscles protested didn't escape Tsunade's notice, something she didn't heal with her Fire Release Chakra Mode because of spending much chakra.

"He's a businessman. They exist in their own reality. For them, war is just another market fluctuation."

"The potential for violent death interferes with my relaxation," Tsunade quoted, dissolving into giggles again. "I'm going to use that. That's my new excuse for everything."

"You already use 'I don't want to' for everything. You don't need another excuse."

"Rude. And accurate." Tsunade propped herself up on her elbows, watching Azula carefully remove her sandals.

It was... strangely vulnerable.

"You okay?" Tsunade asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.

"Just a little bit sore." She couldn't help but smile. "It's been a long time since I felt my body like this. It should be since the day I awakened my Sharingan. It's enjoyable."

"Uh huh." Tsunade sat up fully. "And when's the last time someone made you soak in a hot spring after a job well done?"

Azula considered this. "Never."

"Then you're doing it wrong." Tsunade stood, stretching with a series of pops that made them both wince.

"Come on, let's test if this private onsen is actually private or if our businessman friend is going to charge us extra for 'premium water usage' or something."

•••

The private onsen was actually indeed private, a little rock pool tucked into a corner of the inn's garden, ringed by bamboo fencing, steam rising gently from the natural hot spring into the cold air.

Perfect.

Azula began peeling off her clothes with elegant precision. Her scroll had an outfit for every occasion, especially a spare for after a good fight.

But—swoosh, swoosh.

She didn't even need to look to know it was Tsunade, probably dumping her things anywhere without a second thought.

And yes, they'd booked a single room even though the whole spa was empty. A strategic choice, obviously. Just in case of an attack or ambush.

Definitely.

Azula kept going, until she was down to her comfortable red underwear, draping a towel over them without looking back.

Tsunade, who'd just wrapped a towel around herself after haphazardly discarding her clothes, watched the whole thing in a daze.

It wasn't until Azula started to turn that Tsunade quickly looked away, missing the slight smirk on Azula's face.

With her absolute sensing ability, how could she not feel Tsunade's burning gaze on her?

"Huh? Why aren't you waiting for me?" Azula teased, trailing behind Tsunade as she hurried toward the water.

Tsunade grumbled under her breath, finally understanding why Azula had reacted the same way when she'd seen her naked earlier.

Don't overthink it, Tsunade. You're about to give her the most wholesome, embarrassing moment of her life.

A mischievous plan took shape in her mind as they reached the pool.

She dropped her towel and dove in—completely naked.

She was Tsunade, after all; comfort came before everything else. She couldn't resist glancing back at Azula with a provocative look that screamed, "Do it if you're brave enough" without uttering a word, before slipping underwater.

Azula knew full well Tsunade was naked, but the thick mist was relentless. Even her unparalleled vision couldn't pierce it unless she activated her Sharingan, which she didn't.

Should I just go naked? she wondered. It was only her and Tsunade, after all—and being naked was way more comfortable than wearing underwear.

Knowing exactly what she was comfortable with, Azula didn't hesitate a second longer. She put on another strip show.

Damn mist! Tsunade grumbled, suddenly understanding why Jiraiya always called it his natural enemy.

For a long moment, she and Azula simply gazed at each other—no words, no shyness, just pure clarity and unspoken understanding.

Azula recognized that look. She understood Tsunade even more now, and precisely because of that, a bunch of complicated emotions stirred inside her.

Finally, she chose to dive in too. Instantly, she relaxed, dropping the pressure.

•••

"Sigh. You know, sometimes I really don't get it. Why start a war over a little disagreement? Wouldn't it be way better to just soak in a hot bath, hit the gambling tables, and call it a day?" Tsunade said after feeling comfortable.

Azula recognized it for what it was, though: a vent, not a real question. Tsunade was far too sharp to truly miss the point of war.

So she played along with a smirk. "Most warlords just don't have their priorities straight like you do. They also lack your very specific talent for sniffing out the nearest gambling den in the middle of total chaos. A rare gift and remarkably persistent."

Tsunade didn't even blink. "Still better than throwing lives away just to grab a scrap of territory everyone knows will just get handed back when the war's over."

She was thinking of those endless wartime cycles, troops flooding some outposts deemed a 'vital strategic point' only to lose it days later and start the whole pointless dance again.

"Well, look on the bright side," Azula said, her voice smooth as she drew Tsunade's attention. "Now that I'll be in power, those kinds of wars are finished. This world is about to see peace like never before."

She spoke like it was already a fact without doubt or hesitation. And for someone as bold as Tsunade, that kind of absolute confidence hit just right.

Still, Tsunade couldn't help being realistic.

"If anyone in this world could actually pull that off, it's you. No question." Her eyes flicked to the bruises still scattered across Azula. "But you need to get stronger than this. At least another level or two."

"I know. But at my level, not just anything can boost my strength anymore. I should be due for another upgrade soon, though." She admitted, already thinking about her 'one hundred ways' to awaken the Mangekyō.

Tsunade didn't question it.

"Well, let's not get into all that here. Time to just relax." She paused, a thought popping up. "Speaking of relaxing, I noticed you were pretty tense earlier. Want a medical massage?"

Azula didn't overthink it. It wasn't the first time Tsunade had offered one after a good fight, and she knew from experience it was worth it.

So she nodded.

She assumed it would happen after they got out of the pool. Which is why she was a little surprised when Tsunade swam straight toward her instead.

That brief surprise was all Tsunade needed. She slid past Azula in one smooth motion and settled right behind her.

Now Azula started to catch on. Well, not the full picture. She just figured Tsunade was being mischievous, looking for a little tease.

Still, having someone at her back felt a little weird. She admitted this to herself, thinking of her life back on Earth—where, honestly, she'd been way too dominant in every relationship.

But maybe it's an Uchiha thing? She thought of Madara, who'd claimed he couldn't even pee with someone standing behind him.

Then Tsunade's hands landed on her shoulders, and all those thoughts went straight into the trash.

Damn, since when did I get this sensitive? She was shocked, fighting with everything she had not to let out a moan, which would've been incredibly awkward.

But Tsunade, her hands moving across Azula's body, felt her tense up immediately. She smirked.

"Don't be so tense. You're supposed to relax, not tighten up. Don't you trust my skills?"

She spoke as she launched her offensive, this time even channeling a bit of her chakra to make her hands warmer. The effect on Azula was instant.

Calm down, Azula. You've seen it all. You broke a pelvis on a toy that was too big. You literally died because of—

Her thoughts shattered when she felt something press against her back.

"Hmm, Tsunade, what are y-you doing?" She stuttered, despite her best efforts.

Tsunade didn't let up. "Don't worry, I'm just using chakra. Doesn't it feel much better?"

It does feel better. But if this keeps going, I might be cumming.

(END OF THE CHAPTER)

This is basically all my backlog apart the ten advanced chapters on Patreon, if you have enjoyed until now and have power, hope you can support.

As for the update schedule, it's basically every Monday with at least 7 chapters and likely more

 

[Axes]

It reads like you have used a lot of AI. The idea behind the story is good but the writing isn't something i would read whiteout getting irritated while reading.

 

[Da3m0N]

My decision's been made. I'm going with Demon Slayer.

Click to shrink...

Should've went with arknights

 

[PaterRichard]

Thank you for those Chapters, keep Cooking