Chapter 60: The 5 Kage Summit

In the silent heart of their subterranean lair, the shadows stirred first—then Zetsu peeled himself from the stone wall like moss from a crypt.

"The Five Kage Summit has been confirmed," Zetsu said, his voice a whisper and a snarl. "It'll happen soon."

Obito didn't flinch. He stood at the center of the chamber, still as a statue, a new mask adorning his face—a smooth white shell with two eyeholes. Behind them, the glow of two deadly Sharingan burned. His left eye, freshly transplanted, pulsed with the eternal crimson of Itachi's Mangekyou. His right, the ever-twisting Kamui, flared with quiet malice.

"A perfect storm," Obito said coldly. "Do we know where?"

"Neutral ground. Somewhere close to the Iron Country." Black Zetsu replied

"Then they're finally starting to take us seriously," Obito murmured, voice cold and composed. "Took them long enough."

"Gaara is likely behind it," said Black Zetsu, rising like ink from the floor. "He's always had a mind for unity. If the Kage gather, it won't be just to talk. They'll come expecting war."

"They should," Obito replied, taking a slow step forward. "Because that's what they'll get."

In the corner of the chamber, Kabuto stood hunched over his surgical table, instruments clicking in his hands as he examined Sasuke's body. Tubes fed into the corpse. Ancient tags crackled with cursed chakra, preserving the body until it was time to be used.

"I predicted they would unite eventually," Kabuto said without looking up. "Fear always breeds alliances. And fear of you, 'Madara', is spreading like fire."

Obito tilted his head, considering.

"They'll aim to crush us while they believe they still can," Obito muttered, eye narrowing. "Fear makes people rush."

"And fear," Kabuto added, sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "is what fuels preparation."

Black Zetsu circled the room, voice dripping with certainty. "We should assume the worst. They will come with everything they have. Kage. Entire shinobi forces. Hidden trump cards."

"They still think they can achieve anything in this accursed world, The Moon's Eye plan is Inevitable" Obito scoffed.

Kabuto stepped away from the table and unfurled a scroll—names etched in blood, legends already pulled from their graves.

"I'll expand the Edo Tensei roster. It's time to mobilize more than just pawns. If they bring Kage to the table… then we need to bring some monsters to the battlefield."

Black Zetsu nodded. "And the White Zetsu Army is ready. Tens of thousands. Still growing beneath the surface. All we need is your word."

Obito exhaled slowly, thinking not of the summit—but of the ending it might herald.

"They think this summit will save the world," he said quietly. "But it'll only make it easier to burn."

He turned, cloak swirling, eyes gleaming red with the power of a dead prodigy and his own relentless rage.

"Begin preparations for the 4th Great Shinobi War"

XXXXXXXX- Gaara POV

I soared high above the shifting sands, my cloak fluttering gently in the wind as my sand swirled beneath my feet—a silent, ever-loyal platform. Behind me, Temari and Dragon, my selected guards, followed in formation, their presence steady and silent like shadows stretched under the sun. The distant dunes fell away beneath us, golden waves fading into the endless horizon as we made our way to the Land of Iron.

The village had seen us off in full force. Children waved banners. Vendors shouted blessings. Some shinobi even wept—a touching, overly sentimental spectacle straight out of a shonen novel. All that was missing was someone throwing flowers and yelling "Believe it!"

Even the "Daimyo" himself had graced us with his presence, which would've been more impressive if it hadn't been part of my ploy.

He'd made a dramatic show of entering a newly constructed sealed chamber—a masterpiece of paranoia, isolation, and manipulation. He thought it was built to keep him safe from any unseen assassins that might strike while I was away. In truth, it was for a far more practical reason:

The real plan was simple: genjutsu the attendants, then dispel the clone the moment I needed a chakra surge. I'd tried to just make him "disappear" at key moments in the past, but it drew too much attention. People tend to notice when a national leader vanishes like a bad magician's trick.

This solution, though? It was elegant. Clean. Plausible.

And it played right into the character of a spoiled, self-important noble who saw hidden danger in every shadow. What better excuse to keep him locked away in a bunker than appealing to that twitchy ego? I sold it as a "noble precaution"—a seal so delicate and high-level that even the chakra of powerful shinobi would interfere with it. A single stray chakra pulse from a Jōnin could collapse the whole thing, or so I said. That was all it took to scare off his personal guards.

No one wants to tamper with fuinjutsu they don't understand. That stuff terrifies even seasoned shinobi. And the Guardian Ninja? They grumbled, but ultimately relented—because no one wins an argument with a paranoid Daimyo.

I allowed myself a rare smile as we crossed into cooler air currents, the dunes behind us replaced by jagged rock and wintering trees.

But that wasn't the only thing I'd poured my time into.

Most of it had been spent working on my left eye, Kakashi's Sharingan—pushing it, testing it, training it until it became something that could turn the tide of battle. I'd finally managed to slip into the Kamui dimension using its power. That alone… was a potential game-ender. Obito wouldn't have the monopoly on that space anymore. If it ever came down to a direct confrontation, I'd comfortably slaughter him in there.

Still, I had to operate under the assumption that this summit might offer the best-case scenario: Peace—real, lasting peace—in my time.

I won't pretend that idea didn't tempt me. It did. Heavily.

Too much had already been lost to war—lives, families, entire generations chewed up by the shinobi machine and spat out as memories. And if things kept going as they had been, we'd lose even more. Sure, Konoha was practically locked in as an ally thanks to mutual trust—and some… favorable pressure. But Kiri, Kumo, and Iwa still had the strength to pose real threats. Each had power, ambition, and grudges, whether they liked to admit it or not.

This summit gave me the opportunity to mend the bridges I'd burned—or, more accurately, shattered with my awesomeness.

If I could time travel, I'd slap my younger self half a dozen times for good measure.

I don't know if it was the Gamer's Mind talking back then, but that version of me had this twisted belief that every conflict could be solved by escalating violence until the other side folded—or broke. That's what led me to order my shinobi to hunt and capture foreign ninja like collectibles, just for study.

Useful? Definitely.

Ethical? Not remotely.

Still, the intel gathered had revolutionized Suna's shinobi training.

We'd stolen Kumo's nutrition regimens, Kiri's lung capacity development drills, Iwa's brutal endurance routines, and even the Root drug cocktails Danzo used to turn his operatives into little monsters. Combined with my fuinjutsu, wet tinkering, and Chiyo's genius, we'd built something monstrous. Something efficient.

If things continued, we'd start churning out Chūnin-level shinobi within just three years of academy training. And that was only the beginning.

So maybe… maybe I wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe that younger version of me wasn't completely misguided—just short-sighted. If all it took was letting Obito kick off the Fourth Great Ninja War to finally force the nations to unite, then maybe I could live with that outcome.

As long as I made sure it ended the way I wanted.

When we entered the Land of Iron, there was a noticeable shift in atmosphere. The ground that sped beneath us was white instead of green, a stark contrast to the forests we'd left behind. I'd chosen to set off on the day of the summit, banking on the speed of our travel to still make it in time. The downside was that, as we raced toward the Three Lions, I spotted signs that the other Kage had already arrived. Not a problem, since we still had an hour or two until the meeting proper—but I could only hope no behind-the-scenes deals had been struck to cut me out. At this point, I was basically the common enemy. The only villages I hadn't pissed off were Kumo and Iron… and my shinobi had likely managed to offend someone in my stead anyway.

When we arrived at the structure designated for the summit, I guided us to an out-of-the-way landing before we approached the entrance. The building was an impressive work of craftsmanship, carved straight from the side of the mountain. It wasn't ninjutsu, just sheer human effort. No Earth Release here—just grit, planning, and calloused hands. In my old world, it would've been par for the course. But here, in a land of walking natural disasters, it stood out as something almost sacred.

"Kazekage-dono. Welcome. The other Kage are waiting in the antechamber. You may join them or retreat to your private quarters," said a reedy man with long black hair, hurrying forward as his companions collected identification from my guards.

"Please escort me to my fellow Kage…" I trailed off, inviting his name.

"Hiroshi, Kazekage-dono."

"Then lead the way, Hiroshi-san."

"It is this one's pleasure," he said, and began walking through the great hall.

We took a dozen turns before arriving at a pair of massive double doors. The mountain's thick stone had muted the chakra signatures within—until now. Standing before the entrance, I could feel them clear as day. Strong, each of them. Not quite what they should be, though. This was probably one of the weakest generations of Kage in recent memory, but that suited me fine.

I summoned a gentle gust of wind to push open the doors, stepping in as the silence rushed to greet me. Conversations halted mid-sentence. I made a casual survey of the room: Tsunade in her crimson Konoha robes, flanked by Orochimaru, Naruto, and Jiraiya—glasses of wine in hand, forming a loose circle. Mei stood resplendent in blue, with Chojuro and a white-haired swordsman at her side. Kurotsuchi from Iwa met my gaze with a glare like burning coal—clearly not over our prior encounters. Two unfamiliar jounin stood by her sides. And Kumo… was that Darui? I froze for a second. Him being here was a surprise, but not too outrageous. A lackluster lineup by all counts. but most of these people would become Kage in time anyway. This summit was just running a little ahead of schedule...

"Kazekage-dono," Mei greeted first, voice polite, tone smooth.

"Mizukage-dono," I responded, striding forward. "How have you been? I must apologize for that mess years ago. A complete misunderstanding, I'm sure. And please—call me Gaara."

I offered a warm, practiced smile, opening my arms slightly as I approached. She returned it, meeting me halfway with an extended hand.

"Oh, never mind that," she said. "The island actually benefited. Our fight got rid of a lot of the problematic topsoil, exposing fertile ground. Sure, we lost hundreds, and that's tragic, but now it feeds thousands."

That made my smile just a touch more genuine. "I'm glad to hear that. And you yourself? How was the transition? I remember how tough it was for me—and I didn't have a civil war to sort through."

"It was rough at the start," she admitted. "Some of Yagura's loyalists refused to accept change. But we've moved past that. In fact, this," she gestured toward the white-haired man beside her, "is one of those loyalists—Mangetsu Hozuki."

Mangetsu nodded instead of bowing. A test. Mei's eyes glittered with amusement. She wanted to see what I'd do.

I stepped forward with a pleasant expression. "Ah, Hozuki. Same clan as Gengetsu, I presume?" I offered him a handshake.

He reached for it—then faltered. Dropped to one knee, shivering. The entire room stilled. I didn't even have to look back to feel Temari's exasperated stare. But my instincts were telling me to lean in, not back off. My charisma skill whispered that this moment mattered.

"Oh, I appreciate the gesture," I said, letting the weight of the Ichibi's bloodlust and my Ultra Heavy Weight technique settle onto his shoulders, "but a proper bow for a foreign Kage doesn't need to be quite so deep. Please, stand."

His second knee hit the floor. He bowed fully, trembling. A testament to his strength, really—most wouldn't have stayed conscious under that pressure. Shukaku's killing intent was unhinged, flavored by madness that made it uniquely unbearable.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chojuro's hand drift toward his blade, but Mei stopped him with a light touch. She was watching, calculating.

"Please stand, Hozuki-san," I repeated, still pressing down.

A crack—his bones creaked audibly. Still, he endured.

"I think he's gotten the message, Kazekage-dono," Mei said at last, stepping in. She'd realized the longer she stayed silent, the more face she lost in front of the others.

"I agree," I replied, lifting the pressure. The man scrambled to his feet, shaking as he retreated beside Chojuro.

"A lot has changed," Mei said pointedly, eyes searching mine. "Since we last crossed paths."

"Quite a lot," I answered, letting my left eye spin, Sharingan whirling slowly. I didn't bother with genjutsu—if she had the guts to hold my gaze, she could break anything I can casually throw at her at this stage.

"I can see that," she replied. "I've changed too."

Internally, I scoffed.

Of course you have, I wanted to say. But not enough.

I kept my expression carefully neutral, nodding politely while inwardly noting that while Mei had grown, she still wasn't a threat. In canon, she'd been the weakest of the five—and though Darui and Kurotsuchi definitely stole that title now, it was only because of their own mediocrity, not Mei's improvement.

Before the silence could stretch, Tsunade broke in, clapping her hands once. "Well, that was dramatic. Do all of you start your mornings with power contests, or is it just us lucky few?"

There was a ripple of laughter around the room. Even Kurotsuchi cracked a smirk.

"I prefer tea, myself," I said. "But I suppose showing dominance is a close second."

"I bet Darui prefers naps," Tsunade added, nudging him with her elbow.

"Still do," he muttered. "Even more with this stressful job."

"Don't we all," Mei chimed in. "Honestly, I was hoping this summit would involve more hot springs and less potential World wars."

"I was promised snacks," Naruto said with a raised hand, drawing another small wave of amusement.

"They're in the corner," Jiraiya said dryly. "But the Hokage vetoed the dango."

Tsunade made a face. "They're sticky. We don't need a diplomatic incident over someone's fingers."

"I'd have started one for dango," I muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

That finally broke the tension. Light laughter circulated the room, loosening shoulders and clearing the air of the earlier posturing.

A few quiet conversations started—Orochimaru and Mei discussing trade routes, Kurotsuchi whispering with one of her jounin. Even Chojuro, still tense, was starting to settle.

The laughter slowly faded, as though it had served its purpose. The air became still. We were all shinobi, after all. We knew when the moment had come.

It was Tsunade who shifted first, straightening in her seat. "Now that everyone's here… Shall we begin?"

No one objected.

The doors shut behind us with a final click, echoing through the chamber like a countdown.

Tsunade nodded toward one of the Iron Country attendants. "Please bring the documents."

Scrolls and records were passed around. Strategic assessments, intelligence reports, classified sightings. All of it painted the beginnings of a pattern. Attacks against Jinchuuriki. Vanishing patrols. Desecrated Graves, Rumors of masked figures and black flames.

Then Darui cleared his throat.

"I'll go first," he said, his voice lower now, weightier. The easygoing slouch was gone. "There's something all of you need to know."

He paused a moment, glancing at me, then Mei, then Tsunade.

"…The Eight Tails has been captured."

No one moved.

Tsunade's knuckles went white around her teacup. Mei sat forward. Kurotsuchi blinked, once, hard.

"How?" I asked, even though I'd knew it happened from Nagato's Memories.

Darui's expression was grim. "Two weeks ago, Lord Ay suddenly abandoned a battle against Mei and Kirikagakure. He believed it to be a trap for Killer B… and he was right. The masked man was already fighting B when Ay arrived. We don't know the full details—just that… they fought together. Both of them. Against him and a few other Akatsuki Members."

"They fought together. Ay and B. The two strongest in the Cloud. And they still lost."

A hush fell. No one moved. Even Orochimaru, who had looked bored until now, sat forward.

"How many Tailed beasts are left?" Mei asked quietly.

Darui looked at her, then at me. "Only two."

Everyone turned to look at me.

I gave a short nod. "The One-Tail is safe with me."

Tsunade's voice was tight. "And the Nine-Tails remains with us right here."

"Which makes the two of you," Mei said, looking between me and Naruto, "the last."

There was a long moment of silence.

Orochimaru, ever the opportunist, tilted his head with interest. "So the masked man has already acquired the other seven?"

Everyone cursed under their breath.

"We need to move them," Tsunade said, firm. "Gaara. Naruto. We can't leave the last two out in the open."

"No," I said. "That's exactly what he wants. Herding us together makes his job easier."

Mei crossed her arms. "Then what? Let him pick you off one at a time?"

"We set a trap," I said. "We bait him. Make it seem like one of us is isolated. The moment he appears—we strike."

"And if he doesn't fall for it?" Kurotsuchi asked.

"Then we try again," Naruto said, surprising everyone with the strength in his voice. "Until we catch him."

Tsunade looked between us, then gave a slow nod. "We'll work together on the logistics. Coordinated protection, coordinated bait."

The sudden silence in the war room was heavy, thick like mist before a storm. Everyone had felt it—something unnatural had shifted in the chakra around us.

Then, a voice.

"Well, that was certainly a fiery start to things. Shame it got a little boring at the end there."

All of us turned sharply. Heads snapped to the upper balcony that circled the chamber, a place that should've been completely sealed off. 

"Kabuto?" Orochimaru's voice broke the silence, eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows.

A figure stepped forward into the dim light, silver hair gleaming like a blade. The smirk he wore was familiar—smug, serpentine, too pleased with itself.

"Oh yes, Orochimaru," Kabuto said lightly, ignoring the tension bristling through the room. "Pardon the absence of honorific. I've come to quite enjoy my recent…Partnership with "Madara"."

He turned slightly, golden eyes glinting like a predator's in torchlight. He looked directly at Orochimaru—and I swear I saw a flicker of pride in his expression, like a student who'd finally outdone his master. Or killed him.

Orochimaru didn't respond right away. His mouth moved, but his words were lost in the quiet fury building inside him. Whatever he said, it was probably something between "What the hell are you doing here?" and "How dare you outshine me."

I couldn't blame him. I agreed with the sentiment.

Kabuto's sudden appearance wasn't just unexpected—it was disruptive. He wasn't supposed to matter anymore. In the canon timeline, maybe he joined Obito for convenience, power, knowledge. Whatever his reasons here, it was already starting to piss me off.

Darui didn't wait for permission.

With a flash of motion, he raised his arm, and a crackling panther made of black lightning burst forth from his palm—tearing through the air with a feral roar, aimed straight at Kabuto's chest.

And then—it stopped.

A hand had appeared from nowhere. Not summoned, not cloaked in seals—just there. Gloved, pale, armor-plated. It gripped Kabuto's shoulder like iron.

In an instant, the two disappeared in a warping vortex of spiraling air.

"The Masked Man!" Naruto growled.

But Kabuto didn't vanish entirely. No—he reappeared a second later, standing atop a different ledge across the chamber.

Only now he wasn't alone.

Flanking him were two men.

One of them was expected—but even then, the weight of his presence dropped into the room like a guillotine.

Obito Uchiha.

But not in the form most of us remembered. He no longer wore the orange spiral mask that hid his face and secrets. Instead, his form was clad in white armor-like robes, sleek and marked by black magatama patterns. His white mask, curved like a demon's grin, was etched with three tomoe across the forehead—and it left both of his Sharingan eyes exposed, glowing red with endless malice and focus.

This wasn't the shadowy manipulator from the past. This was the war incarnation of Obito. Direct. Open. Ready.

Obito's twin Sharingan slowly scanned the room. Cold. Calm. Measuring.

And then he spoke—

(End of Chapter)