The Agonizing Wait

Tetsuma refused to let go.

His grip on Tobirama's blood-soaked armor tightened as his mind raced. This wasn't over.

He had planned for this.

Among the 120 ANBU under his command, five were medical shinobi. Two of them—his best combat medics—were also trained in battlefield surgery.

Tetsuma's voice was sharp, unwavering—

"Get the medical unit here! Now!"

The ANBU moved instantly.

In a matter of seconds, scrolls unfurled, seals glowed, and supplies materialized.

A make-shift operating tent was erected.

A table was unsealed. Sterilized tools, chakra scalpels, intravenous fluids—everything they needed was there.

Organs.

Tetsuma had planned ahead—he had taken the gamble before the fight even began.

A cache of pre-tested, compatible organs was brought along in case of worst-case scenarios.

And now, this was it.

The two lead medics rushed forward. Their hands already glowing with chakra, their expressions grim but focused.

As the tent curtains closed, Tetsuma took one last glance at his dying teacher.

Tobirama's skin was deathly pale, his breath shallow.

The ANBU commander clenched his fists.

This was all he could do now.

And so—

The agonizing hours of waiting began.

Just two hours into the operation, the ground trembled under the synchronized march of hundreds of Konoha reinforcements.

At the head of the force was Hiruzen Sarutobi.

His eyes, sharp and filled with worry, locked onto the sealed medical tent.

The moment Hiruzen and his forces stepped closer, a deadly silence fell.

SHING!

Steel met moonlight.

All 115 ANBU unsheathed their weapons.

A wave of cold, murderous intent spread through the battlefield.

The message was clear:

"Come any closer, and you will be cut down."

Hiruzen halted, his hands instinctively tightening into fists.

"Stand down," he commanded his forces, lifting his hand to halt their advance.

His heart pounded, his mind racing.

Why were they being treated as enemies?

His sharp gaze swept over the masked ANBU, then landed on Tetsuma.

Tetsuma stood in front of the tent, his blade drawn, his expression unreadable beneath his mask.

"Tetsuma," Hiruzen spoke carefully, stepping forward alone, "I understand your caution, but we're here to help."

The ANBU commander didn't move.

The tension was suffocating.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Finally, Tetsuma's voice cut through the silence—low, cold, and laced with exhaustion:

"Help? You're two hours too late."

Hiruzen's breath hitched.

Tetsuma's green eyes burned through his mask as he continued, voice sharper than his blade:

"We are in the middle of an operation. If you interfere, I will consider you an enemy."

Hiruzen felt a chill run down his spine.

For the first time since he had known Tetsuma—his fellow disciple, his rival, his comrade—

He realized just how much of a different path they had taken.

Another hour passed.

The ANBU remained unmoving, their formation unyielding around the makeshift medical tent.

The atmosphere was suffocating. The tension thicker than blood.

Then—

GASPS.

Sharp, ragged, pained gasps from inside the tent.

Every shinobi outside froze.

SHING!

Steel met moonlight once more.

Every Konoha shinobi, from chunin to jounin, from regular forces to ANBU, instinctively unsheathed their weapons.

The air crackled with killing intent.

Was it the Hokage's breath?

Or his last?

Tetsuma's grip on his steel-forged katana tightened.

"Hold the line." His voice was ice.

The ANBU did not move an inch.

Across from them, Hiruzen stood at the front, his expression unreadable.

He could hear the painful, gasping breath of their leader, their teacher—

But he did not dare move forward.

No one did.

Because in this moment—

It wasn't just about the Hokage's life.

It was about who held true authority in Konoha.