Danzo

The quiet before the Senju mansion was abruptly ruptured—first by the dull thud of bodies landing at the walkway, and then by the frantic crackle of movement from the ANBU stationed for Radahn's security.

Only moments before, the squad had been at ease.

Now, they hovered in a tense half-circle, kunai and swords drawn, when two battered ninja—still garbed in the distinctive dark, unmarked uniforms—hit the cobbled stones and slid to a stop at their feet.

One operative's hand hovered as if to draw a weapon, but thought better; the others simply stared—at the root insignia, at the ominously limp bodies, and then at the looming entrance of the Senju mansion.

The ANBU leader's voice, sharp with alarm, echoed off the stone.

"O-oi… it's the Root Shinobi!"

The others exchanged fearful looks, realization rippling through their ranks like electricity.

Within seconds, two vanished with a burst of shunshin—disappearing into the twilight to alert the Hokage's office and every Jonin commander within earshot.

Inside the compound, tension radiated like heat. 

For several heartbeats, all was tense silence. The perimeter bristled with clandestine chakra; the nervous rustle of armor plates and whispered radio traffic hummed beneath the surface.

Suddenly, a faint groan came from one of the Root ninja, spurring the ANBU to action.

Two darted forward, deftly binding the unconscious attackers, checking pulses, forcing open eyelids.

The barely surviving Root's eyes darted with animal fear; sweat traced stark lines down the pale skin exposed beneath his shattered mask.

He swallowed hard.

The ANBU pressed for answers—but the only reply was a choked rasp and the hard clamp of shattered nerves.

Outside the estate, villagers paused, caught between curiosity and the primal urge to flee.

The twilight air flickered with tension; whispers rippled through the crowd as word spread—a foreign monster resides in the Senju mansion.

Within minutes, Kakashi and Minato arrived.

They walk through the chaos, yet you could see, the tension across their shoulders and the worried look in their eyes, that worry simmered below the surface.

Stepping beside the bodies, Minato's gaze rapidly scanned the grounds—first the bruised and broken attackers, next the jittery line of ANBU, and finally the garden path leading to Radahn.

He spotted the white-grey kimono, the casual, effortless strength in the way Radahn stood in the open, framed by soft lamplight and the gloom beyond.

Radahn's bare feet pressed into the tatami at the threshold, his arms relaxed and hands open—entirely at ease in a place where warriors and gods alike had bled for honor.

Closer now, Kakashi lingered just behind Minato, silent but hyperalert, one gloved hand absently brushing the buckle of his weapons pouch.

His lone visible eye flicked repeatedly between the surrendered Root agents and Radahn, cataloguing every twitch, every breath—a single flicker of threat from either side would see Kakashi in the fray, regardless of odds.

As Minato passed, an ANBU operative whispered,

"The pressure is insane— I can barely breathe around that man…"

Nearby, two civilians who had ventured too close were gently pushed back by ANBU, whose faces said: this is beyond ordinary village intrigue—this is the kind of night that changes a village's course.

From inside the house, the interior glowed soft gold and amber. Radahn appeared in the doorway, a titan in flowing white and gold, every scar along his arms and collarbone catching the last dusk rays. His face betrayed no irritation, only a distant, tired serenity.

And it was then, in the hush beneath lanterns and the fragrance of summer rain on pine, that Minato approached properly, lowering himself with all the humility of a commander faced with someone beyond his age's understanding.

"We are deeply sorry for this disgraceful inconvenience, Radahn-dono."

His voice, though steady, was edged with tension, his head bowed low but his attention fixed unwaveringly on the giant's reaction.

"Please, wait. Hokage-sama will be arriving to resolve this matter himself."

------------------------------------------

The distant echo of urgent sandals on flagstones carried through the garden as Hiruzen Sarutobi, ever-dignified despite the hour, arrived within the Senju courtyard.

The ANBU parted respectfully, tension thick in their posture—not just for their Hokage, but for the presence he approached.

Minato and Kakashi lingered closest to the great doors, each casting wary glances at Radahn, whose figure remained a silent wall beneath the warm veranda lamps.

Hiruzen entered , his old bones feeling the weight of both authority and cunningness.

He stopped a few paces from Radahn, then—without hesitation—bowed deeply.

The gesture was not merely for show.

He meant it.

"Radahn-dono, please accept my sincerest apologies for this disturbance. I assure you, we believe this was an infiltration attempt by enemy forces seeking to discredit the safety of our honoured guests. We will investigate the matter fully."

The lie came smoothly, honed by decades of leadership and the hundreds of crises that demanded swift, reassuring explanation.

But Radahn did not move. His golden gaze remained fixed, unreadable. The atmosphere, so carefully maintained by Konoha's hierarchy of power, shifted—sudden, biting cold, a tension heavier than steel.

When Radahn finally spoke, his voice was like distant thunder.

"You are lying."

In an instant, heat drained from the air; ANBU, Jonin, even the Hokage himself seemed to shrink back, as if a phantom frost crawled over their necks.

Kakashi's hand, nearly on his kunai out of habit, hesitated. Minato's composure cracked, his eyes wide with a ripple of real fear.

"R-Radahn-dono… please, calm down," Minato said, his words soft but desperate, trying to wrap reason around a force of nature. 

"We still don't know who did this. There are…many who might want to see you harmed."

Radahn's eyes, burning through lamplight and shadow alike, did not leave the trembling faces before him.

"Danzo."

The word landed like a hammer-blow. The name, whispered on the wind, struck everyone present with physical force.

Minato's lips parted but no sound came out. Kakashi tensed, understanding instantly the depths of Konoha's secrets now threatened.

The ANBU exchanged sidelong, nervous looks; even those without context sensed the gravity. Hiruzen's own mask nearly slipped—he managed to uphold it only by sheer force of will, but his eyes went distant with worry.

No one exhaled.

Just then, the stillness was shattered by a voice—piercing, proud, and shaking with indignation:

"Presumptuous! Baseless accusations!"

All eyes turned.

From the gathering darkness beneath the branches near the gate, Danzo emerged—stiff-backed, angry expression.

His cane struck the stone with force, punctuating each word.

"Hiruzen, you are not going to believe this nonsense, are you?" 

His single visible eye swept the gathered ANBU, then Radahn.

 "He comes from nowhere, brings chaos, and now you let him insult the leadership of Konoha?"

The squad of shinobi, the ANBU, even Kakashi and Minato, stared at Danzo as if watching a drunk man stumble onto the roof of a burning house. 

'Are you fucking serious right now?' flashed silently across a dozen faces.

'You senile old man—can't you read the damn room?'

Hiruzen closed his eyes for a strained moment, jaw twitching, cloak fluttering around his ankles in the rising tension.

His fingers tightened on his staff. 

Danzo was undeterred. He strode forward until he stood beneath the paper lantern's golden glow, face angled in challenge not only to Radahn, but to every soul watching.

"It should be us interrogating you, outsider!" he spat.

Danzo pointed a gnarled finger at Radahn, the air crackling with unspoken orders.

"You, who came out of nowhere, who pretended to be our friend, who upended the balance of power! Hiruzen—your softness will ruin this village. We should capture him instead!"

Danzo's voice—a serrated blade in the tense air of the Senju compound—was still echoing when Radahn's patience simply ended.

Without a word, Radahn slowly raised his arm.

The motion was not sudden or angry, merely deliberate—so calm, in fact, that it was almost ceremonial.

For a brief moment, every eye followed the gesture, uncertain—until the air above the gathering began to seethe.

A black, twisting smoke—dense as thunderheads—billowed into existence from Radahn's open palm.

It snaked toward the sky and sprawled overhead, blotting out the warm lantern light.

Murmurs of alarm fluttered among the ANBU-

Within the swirling haze, luminous images flickered to life—a supernatural projection clear as memory, impossible to deny.

Figures materialized: five masked Root operatives, kneeling abjectly before a single, shadowed man.

Danzo.

A voice—unmistakable and cold—slithered through the hush, echoing about the courtyard:

"Bring that man, Radahn, to us. His power should belong to us—to me. That old fool Hiruzen has gone soft. It must be us that control such strength. Do everything you can to bring him to me… And as for that girl—capture her after you are done. with him"

The image played out for all, even the furthest ANBU, villagers, and Jonin commanders now gathering at the Senju walls.

It was damning, raw, unfiltered—a living recollection stripped from the Root, displayed for judgment.

As the projection faded and the smoke dissolved into the night, a strangled silence clung to the compound.

Every face had frozen—

Even Hiruzen's composure faltered, his eyes glassy and mouth a thin, brittle line.

He opened his mouth, unsure what could possibly be said.

But Danzo, for once, was too slow. His mind raced—

'How…? How did he do that?-'

His lips parted, voice straining for control—

"This is all fake, fabricated! Made up!"

In his head, panic churned—

Before Hiruzen could muster a word, Radahn's gaze locked with Danzo.

"Be Quiet."

Radahn's voice rolled out like the coming of a judgement.

"I've had enough of your nonsense."

Danzo barely had time to form a word of denial before the air itself seemed to bend.

Without warning, an inexorable force seized him; his feet left the flagstones, body yanked across the distance as if hooked by an invisible line.

The crowd gasped, stunned still.

Before anyone—ANBU, Hokage, even Minato—could move, Danzo was wrenched through the space, helpless and undignified.

With a dull thud, his throat slammed straight into Radahn's massive, waiting palm.

Radahn didn't even flinch.

His fingers closed with crushing precision around Danzo's neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground—boots dangling, cane clattering from his grasp.

The only thing Danzo could see, at this proximity, were Radahn's eyes: burning gold.

For a single horrifying instant, Danzo's bravado vanished.

His eye widened, mouth frozen half-open—not in protest, but in shock and primal terror.

All the tactical genius, all the decades of dark manipulation and hidden ruthlessness, couldn't summon a single defence against the colossus pinning him effortlessly in midair.

Paralyzed and powerless, Danzo stared into those golden eyes—and for the first time in his life-

Danzo felt true fear.