Sunlight slipped through the window of the Hokage’s office, illuminating Hiruzen Sarutobi’s weary face. The usual clutter of scrolls and documents had been replaced by an almost ceremonial order. Today was not a day for jutsus, but for politics—a battle fought with ink and seals.

Across from him, seated with a stiffness that betrayed the tension, were his two advisors and former teammates, Homura Mitokado and Koharu Utatane. On the Hokage’s desk, a blank, high-quality scroll waited.

“Are you completely sure about this, Hiruzen?” Koharu’s voice was the first to cut the silence. “Inviting Sunagakure to co-host the Chūnin Exams, here, in our home… it’s a risk I’m not sure we should take.”

“She’s right,” Homura added with his usual pragmatism. “Their military power has dwindled drastically in recent years. A cornered village is dangerous, unpredictable. They might see any gesture as an offense or, worse, as an opportunity.”

“And let’s not forget the Feudal Lord,” Koharu continued, leaning slightly on the desk. “He’s already unhappy with our military spending. If we take on the financial burden of hosting a full delegation from Suna—not just the genin, but their jōnin and diplomats—he’ll interpret it as a provocation or a waste. He’ll cut our funding.”

“Security is another point,” Homura insisted. “Our ANBU are already stretched thin with border patrols. Opening the gates like that is an invitation for infiltration. How many spies do you think will try to slip in, posing as merchants or assistants?”

Hiruzen took a long drag from his pipe, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly.

“We must invest in peace, my old friends, not see it as a simple expense,” he said with a calm that contrasted with his advisors’ sharpness. “And sometimes, the most profitable investments are the ones that seem riskiest.”

He placed the pipe in the ashtray and looked at them directly.

“The Fourth Kazekage is a proud man, I know. Proud to the point of stubbornness. But he isn’t stupid. His village is suffering. The Feudal Lord of the Wind has systematically cut their budget. They need to demonstrate their strength, to prove they are still relevant. They need this alliance as much as we need stability on our southern border.”

“And you think an exam will solve that?” Koharu replied, skeptical.

“No, but it’s a start,” Hiruzen answered. “Treating them as equals, instead of as an impoverished neighbor to be watched over, is what will strengthen our ties. Not for us, but for the next generation. Theirs and ours.”

His gaze drifted to the window, watching the rooftops of Konoha. He thought about how Team 7 and Team 8, despite their differences, had worked together to finish their assignments ahead of schedule. He thought of Naruto’s determination, Sakura’s intelligence, Sasuke’s undeniable talent, and Hinata’s quiet but firm strength. They were living proof that the future could be different.

“Our generation knew war,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Too many wars. If we do this right, if we play our cards intelligently and with a little generosity, perhaps theirs can know a lasting peace.”

Silence settled again, but this time it was different. It was the silence of deliberation. Hiruzen’s logic, as it had so many times before, was hard to refute, as it stemmed from a genuine hope anchored in political reality.

“Prepare the invitation, then,” Koharu finally conceded, though her tone remained stern. “But I insist that the ANBU double the surveillance at all entrances to the village, starting today. And I want a daily report on every foreigner who crosses our gates.”

“It will be done,” Hiruzen nodded. He took the brush, dipped it in the inkwell, and his hand glided across the scroll. Each stroke was both elegant and firm, an extension of his own will. It wasn’t just a letter; it was a political gesture, an offer sent across the desert with the hope it would be accepted.

“To my esteemed colleague, the Fourth Kazekage of the Village Hidden in the Sand,” he wrote. “With the arrival of a new season, a new generation of shinobi also arrives, full of promise and potential. It is in the spirit of fostering these new talents and reaffirming the bonds that unite our two great villages that I have the honor of formally inviting Sunagakure to participate in and co-organize the upcoming Chūnin Promotion Exams, to be held this year in Konohagakure…”

As he wrote, he couldn’t help but think of Rasa. A difficult man, consumed by the pressure of leading a village on the brink of collapse. I hope this amounts to something, my old friend, he thought. He had no way of knowing that the man to whom he directed his hopes had already been killed.

*****

The wind howled in Sunagakure, striking the Kazekage’s Tower with gusts of sand. Inside, the office was plunged into a gloom barely broken by the flicker of a few oil lamps. Shadows stretched and danced on the clay walls.

Orochimaru, wearing the face and robes of Rasa, the Fourth Kazekage, stood by the window, watching the storm. Beside him, Baki remained silent. The official story was that he had been injured in an ambush by Iwagakure ninja—an ambush in which the Kazekage had demonstrated a power and cruelty few had ever seen from him before. Since that day, his Kage had changed. He was more direct, more eloquent. And strangely, colder.

“Any news on the patrols on the border with the Land of Rivers, Baki?” Orochimaru asked, perfectly mimicking Rasa’s harsh, guttural tone.

“None, Lord Kazekage. All is calm. Too calm, if you ask me.”

“The calm precedes the storm. Or the drought,” Orochimaru replied with a flourish that made Baki frown for a split second. The real Rasa would have grumbled something about weakness and complacency. He wouldn’t have gotten poetic.

At that moment, a Suna chūnin entered, bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor, and held out a scroll bearing the unmistakable seal of Konoha.

“Lord Kazekage. An urgent missive has arrived from the Hokage.”

Orochimaru turned with theatrical slowness.

“From the Hokage?” he murmured. “What does the old monkey want now? Bring it here.”

He took the scroll. He could feel the faint trace of Hiruzen’s chakra embedded in the seal, a familiar warmth that turned his stomach. He broke the wax seal without a second thought and unrolled the paper, his eyes scanning his former master’s calligraphy.

As he read, his face displayed a sequence of perfectly acted emotions: first surprise, then consideration, and finally, a smile of satisfaction.

“Baki,” he said, looking up. “It seems the Hokage has grown generous in his old age. He honors us with an invitation to participate in the Chūnin Exams. In Konoha.”

Baki blinked, genuinely surprised. “In Konoha? But the location was supposed to rotate this year. It was our turn, or Kiri’s…”

“Times change,” Orochimaru interrupted, enjoying the irony. “Old man Sarutobi is trying to buy our loyalty with hospitality. A gesture of goodwill to strengthen the alliance. He thinks that if he treats us as equals, we’ll forget they’ve been looking down on us for years.”

What a sentimental fool, Orochimaru thought, as a cold, serpentine smile that didn’t belong to Rasa at all stirred within him. He still believes that trust and friendship are the foundations of power. He doesn’t understand they are merely cracks to slither through to bring the whole building down. This invitation is the key to his house.

His true plan went far beyond simple destruction. Destruction was the noise, the distraction. The real prize was Sasuke Uchiha. The exams were the perfect stage. A testing ground designed to push genin to their limits, to break their confidence and expose their weaknesses, to make them yearn for a power their masters would never give them.

The fool Rasa thought his little monster, Gaara, was his trump card, he reflected with disdain. He’s merely the opening act. The real show will be watching Sasuke-kun’s Sharingan awaken in the midst of despair, and his inevitable fall into my arms when he realizes Konoha can’t give him what he needs.

“Lord Kazekage,” Baki said, his voice pulling him from his thoughts. “You… seem pleased. You’ve always said the joint exams were a diplomatic farce.”

Orochimaru let out a dry laugh. “An ambush makes you reconsider many things, Baki. Perhaps I have been too… rigid. A strong alliance with Konoha could be beneficial. Their economy is strong. We could renegotiate the terms of our joint missions.”

Baki nodded, but his unease didn’t fade. The Kazekage spoke of economics and diplomacy with a fluency he’d never had before. The ambush hadn’t just changed him. It seemed to have turned him into someone else. He shook his head, dismissing the thought as an unforgivable betrayal.

“Prepare a response,” Orochimaru ordered a scribe waiting in a corner. “We will accept the Hokage’s generous offer with the deepest gratitude. Express our most sincere wish that these exams serve to strengthen our unwavering alliance and lead us to a future of mutual prosperity for both our villages.”

As the scribe hurried to carry out the order, Orochimaru turned back to the sandstorm. Your prosperity will be my feast, sensei, he sneered inwardly.

Once the Konoha messenger departed with the reply, Orochimaru was left alone in the gloom. He approached a large map of the shinobi world hanging on the wall and placed a finger on the symbol of the Leaf.

“Soon, sensei,” he whispered to the empty room. “Soon we will have our reunion. And I will show you everything I have learned since I left your nest.”

****

In an underground training field, hidden deep in the desert, the only sound was the occasional drip of water. Three figures knelt on the stone floor, their faces turned toward the silhouette pacing before them.

“The Chūnin Exams will be held in Konoha,” Orochimaru’s voice, now his own—hissing and devoid of any warmth—echoed in the cavern. “You will enter as genin from my Village of the Sound, with the official blessing of the ‘Kazekage.’ No one will suspect a thing.”

Dosu, Zaku, and Kin remained motionless.

“Zaku. What is your purpose in these exams?” Orochimaru asked, stopping in front of the youth with the modified arms.

“To demonstrate the power of the Village of the Sound, Lord Orochimaru. And to win,” Zaku answered with forced confidence.

Orochimaru smiled. “Almost. Your primary objective is to survive. The secondary is to display our power. But there is a third objective, one much more… delicate.”

He continued his slow walk, his steps barely making a sound on the stone. “I want the world to see the dawn of a new power. I want them to feel our poison in their veins. But your true mission concerns a single individual.”

He stopped again, and his gaze fell upon the three of them, making them shudder.

“Sasuke Uchiha.”

The name hung in the cold air.

“You will find him. He is the last ‘loyal’ Uchiha of the Leaf. Unmistakable. He wears the weight of his massacred clan like a cloak.” He paused. “You are not to kill him,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Under any circumstances. Nor are you to gravely injure him. Your mission is much simpler, and yet, far more complex.”

He leaned in, his serpentine face inches from Dosu’s. “Your mission is to break him.”

Kin and Zaku exchanged a confused glance over Dosu’s bowed head.

“Break him, Lord Orochimaru?” Kin dared to ask.

“Precisely,” Orochimaru hissed, straightening up. “In every phase of the exam, at every opportunity you get, I want you to attack him. I want you to humiliate him. Corner his team.”

His voice grew more intense, more passionate.

“I want you to make him doubt his own strength. To doubt the loyalty of his teammates. To question why his master teaches him team tricks instead of killing techniques. Thwart his ninja way at every turn.”

He stopped in front of a wooden chest, opened it, pulled out a file, and threw it on the ground before them. It fell open, revealing a portrait of Sasuke, his expression serious and defiant.

“Instill in his mind the idea that the power he seeks—the power to avenge his family—cannot be found in the pathetic light of Konoha’s Will of Fire. Make him understand that his friends make him weak, that his village is a cage limiting his potential.”

He crouched again, his gaze fixed on Sasuke’s photo.

“Make him yearn for darkness. Make him crave it like a thirsty man craves water in this desert. When he is at his lowest point—alone, frustrated, and desperate for power… I will be the only way out he sees. And he will be mine.”

He stood up, his silhouette framed against the light of a lone torch.

“That is your true mission. The destruction of Konoha is the stage. The Uchiha is the prize. Do not fail. The consequences of your failure would be… most unpleasant.”

The three Sound genin bowed their heads in unison, cold sweat running down their backs.

“As you command, Lord Orochimaru.”

Orochimaru smiled. His gaze seemed to pierce through the tons of rock and sand above them, traveling across the desert, to that green village he so hated and so desired to possess.

The hunt, he thought. It’s about to begin.