"Undercover in Konoha: I Was the Real Hokage All Along!"

"Shnk—!"

A trident-shaped kunai tore through the air, slicing a thunderous arc toward the lead suicide attacker.

The shrill whistle of cutting wind, paired with the palpable sense of imminent death, made the man instinctively shift his footing—his eyes snapping toward the direction the kunai had come from.

The next moment, a golden flash streaked through his vision, zigzagging like a bolt of living lightning.

The battle-hardened instincts he'd forged through bloodshed now moved like they were rusted, his reactions sluggish as if he were a rehab patient. Compared to the young man with sun-gold hair, his speed felt like a slow-motion reel.

As terror began to replace the cruelty in his eyes, the youth reached out with lightning-fast reflexes. His hand caught the thrown kunai from behind—his movement so fast it defied logic—reversing his grip and subtly angling the blade mid-flight.

It was too late for the Iwagakure death soldier to stop.

Their figures crossed paths mid-air.

Crimson sprayed across the hall as a geyser of blood burst from the dead soldier's neck, painting an arc of fatal finality.

And without missing a beat—

Minato Namikaze pushed off the cracked wall, his feet landing with the force of a detonation. Chakra exploded from his soles like flames, sending stone fragments flying as he vanished once again in a burst of blinding speed.

The most basic of body flicker techniques—Shunshin no Jutsu—became something unrecognizably deadly in this civilian-born genius's hands.

What was once a simple high-speed travel technique used to cross terrain in seconds had now evolved—refined—to suit tight, narrow corridors, where mobility was limited and speed became lethal.

The results?

Exponential.

Wind.

A raging wind.

To the Konoha shinobi trying to hold the breach in the Hokage Tower's outer wall, it felt like a hallucination—a golden flash, faster than fire or lightning, ricocheting through the hallway faster than any eye could track.

Before the death, soldiers could even blink—before they could register what hit them, they were already dead.

"Damn it!"

The final Iwagakure attacker, at the rear, was the only one fast enough to react. As the first blood sprayed, he cursed aloud—but his hands were already mid-seal the moment he broke into the building.

"Earth Style: Earth-Style Wall!"

Just before the golden blur could strike again, a stone wall erupted from the floor, cutting the line of sight, halting the attack.

Minato landed in mid-air like a shuriken spinning, planting his feet against the wall with a resounding thump. A wind-style-empowered kunai had slammed into the wall, piercing a hole straight through it, but not all the way.

Behind his mask, Minato's brow furrowed.

The Iwa squad leader stared at the kunai embedded inches from his face, a thin cut already bleeding along his cheek, sweat pouring down his back.

But he was no ordinary soldier.

To dare lead a suicide squad into Konoha on a live op required more than guts. Even under the crushing weight of death, his hands moved with mechanical calm, forming seals.

"Earth Style: Earth Spear Barrage!"

Before Minato could pivot around the wall, the floor beneath him turned to mud as chakra surged through it.

Without warning, over a dozen stone spears shot up from the ground in a deadly cascade, piercing from the third floor straight through to the fourth.

Minato leapt back repeatedly, but the narrow space didn't allow much room to maneuver.

"Clear the area!"

The seasoned jonin guarding the Sealed Archive Room barked an order, waving away the surrounding admin staff.

These paper-pushers, most at best chunin-level and long removed from battlefield experience, were nothing but liabilities here, especially to a high-speed shinobi like Minato.

In that fleeting moment of chaos, the remaining death soldier made his move, rushing straight for the Sealed Archive Room door.

Simultaneously, he ripped open his cloak, revealing his entire body covered in explosive sealing tags, like writhing tadpoles inked into his skin.

His eyes burned with manic devotion.

"Die!"

But just as he channeled chakra into the explosive tags, preparing to trigger the detonation—

Kiri Sazahara turned his head.

His piercing azure eyes narrowed, gaze angled toward the open breach.

"Fire Style: Great Dragon Fire Technique!"

BOOM—!

A massive dragon-shaped flame, like a creature sketched in blazing ink, surged into the hallway through the breach, sweeping forward with overwhelming force.

Backed by immense chakra, the heat and force smashed against the sealed walls, only to split and flood both ends of the hallway.

In a single instant, the flame engulfed the suicide attacker.

The thousands-degree fire-style chakra ignited anything it touched—skin, clothing, seals—everything.

With the explosive tags destroyed before they could detonate, the soldier's body was reduced to ash and a charred skeleton slumped against the Sealed Archive Room's door.

Kiri stood still, eyes on the burning remains, manipulating the flame's direction with surgical chakra control, keeping it neatly confined between himself and the stone wall.

Within seconds, the raging blaze began to fade.

"Swoosh—!"

Several figures in full Konoha battle gear landed through the breached wall, stepping into the scorched hallway.

On their backs?

The Uchiha clan crest.

Leading them was a tall, expressionless female ninja with jet-black hair tied in a high ponytail.

In her eyes spun the crimson glow of the Sharingan, two tomoe rotating slowly like razor blades—slicing across every face in the corridor.

"Everyone present…"

"Do. Not. Move."

At those words, every shinobi froze—Kiri, Minato, the jonin guard—all of them.

Because they had all seen the insignias on the newcomers' armbands.

Uchiha Police Force.

Tachimura Clan. Shadow Authority Privilege.

The people the ANBU couldn't kill? They could.

The people ANBU couldn't touch? They'd handle it.

The Uchiha clan's power was undeniable.

The lead kunoichi's voice was cold and hard, her eyes sharp as blades as she swept the crowd with her Sharingan, scanning for any trace of deception or danger.

Despite being about the same age as Kiri and the others, she moved with the meticulous caution of a seasoned professional, not relaxing even after the threat had been neutralized.

She searched for any sign of irregularity, any lingering thread of suspicion.

But then—

Her eyes turned.

The red of her Sharingan met Kiri Sazahara's azure gaze.

Her steps faltered.

In that moment, her ice-cold expression cracked ever so slightly, shock flickering across her features. Even the stoic, professional mask she wore began to tremble with restraint.

Like someone who'd been caught doing something embarrassing… by someone she very much didn't want to see her that way.

Her lips parted—

"Kiri?"