The Land of Honey was a lie.
From the outside, it looked like a damn postcard—rolling hills blanketed in wildflowers, lazy honeybees drifting through the warm, sticky air that tasted like sugar and sunlight. The capital looked like a storybook: whitewashed buildings with bright blue roofs nestled peacefully in a valley.
But underneath? Rot. Root-level rot.
This place wasn't a partner to Konoha. It was a hollow puppet-state, a sandbox where Danzo's little pet projects could stretch their legs far away from the Hokage's gaze. It was a political backroom dressed up in flowers and bee puke.
For the past week, I'd been playing house with Nonō-sensei. Our cover story? Traveling herbalists on a diplomatic medical exchange. The real mission? Clandestine intel handoff. I was her shadow—her bodyguard, her threat deterrent, and, if shit hit the fan, her executioner.
We weren't in uniform. Nonō had altered herself into some world-weary merchant woman, scarf covering her silver hair, wrinkles added to her skin. I played the part of her moody daughter—brown hair, dead eyes, a chip on my shoulder the size of Fire Country. Perfectly forgettable.
We spent our days in the market slinging fake herbs. Our nights? Spent in a cramped little inn room playing the waiting game. I hated the waiting. It left space for thinking—dangerous, spiraling thoughts. Two months since the Gozu Tennō procedure. Two months since I'd seen Judai. They took him for "reintegration," whatever the hell that meant. No word since.
So I watched Nonō. Closely. She wasn't just my handler anymore. The mission blurred lines. She let the soft, church-lady act drop more and more. Beneath it? Steel.
One evening, on the balcony of our rented room, bathed in the orange glow of sunset, she finally spoke.
"He is strong, you know," she murmured, not looking at me. "The boy. Judai. He refused to die. Refused to be unmade."
My chest ached. "He's not the same," I said. "What they did to him… what we did…"
"We kept him alive," she said sharply, then softer. "Orochimaru would've melted him down for curiosity's sake. Tanuki would've carved him up for fun. We gave him a chance. It's small, but real."
She turned to me then. "The bond between you two? That was his tether. I felt it during the procedure. Don't mistake it for a weakness. It's why he's still Judai at all."
Her words... they hit somewhere old. Somewhere raw. For a moment, I let them be true.
On the seventh day, it happened. The meet.
The tea house was fancy as hell—private rooms, soft music, jasmine in the air like a sedative. Our contact was an Iwa intel officer, playing rich merchant. Dead eyes. Careful hands.
Nonō was graceful, dancing through the coded phrases of spy diplomacy. "Rare spices" meant high-level intel: patrol routes, command chain, weak points in Suna's northern defenses. In return, he gave her gold. Untraceable. "Future trade opportunities," he said, like a goddamn salesman.
I stood in the corner—silent, stone-faced, fingers brushing the senbon hidden up my sleeve. Watching. Memorizing. Pretending not to care while the world cracked a little wider.
The Iwa man left. The deal was done. We'd sold out a "friendly" village. Thousands would die.
"We leave at dawn," Nonō said on our walk back to the inn. Her tone was flat. No warmth. "Iwa won't waste time."
She wasn't wrong. One week later, the world was on fire.
Earlier That Night
Machi leaned against the doorframe of the adjacent suite, arms crossed, lip curled in disgust. She watched Nonō work the Suna elder like a trained courtesan—voice soft, eyes glittering, hands brushing his as she poured him another cup of tea. The old bastard giggled.
"Un-fucking-believable," Machi muttered under her breath.
Nonō shot her a look—half amusement, half warning. The message was clear: keep your mouth shut.
Machi did. For the mission.
But the internal monologue? That was open season.
'I can't believe this is how we're getting intel. Flirting? Really? What happened to blackmail? Torture? Literal espionage?'
Nonō leaned forward, touching the elder's knee lightly. "You must be so exhausted. Running a council like this... all those secrets weighing on you."
The geezer practically drooled. "It's such a relief to finally talk to someone who understands..." He reached into his sleeve and slipped her a small scroll.
Machi rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. 'Congratulations, grandma. You weaponized cleavage. We're one step away from blowing kisses and twirling parasols.'
Nonō stood smoothly, the scroll already vanishing into the folds of her robe. "Come, daughter," she said sweetly. "We mustn't keep our host from his rest."
Machi stalked after her like a pissed-off wolf. The second they were out of earshot, she hissed, "Next time, let me snap his neck. Would've been quicker."
"And less informative," Nonō replied calmly.
Machi snorted. "Right. Because grabbing intel from a drooling perv while cooing like a goddamn canary is so dignified."
"Your disgust is noted," Nonō said lightly, not even looking back. "Now bottle it."
Root HQ – A Week Later
We stood still as statues in the underground hall beneath Konoha—elite Root operatives lined in formation beneath the bridge, waiting for Danzo-sama to return. Porcelain masks. Blank faces. Judai stood beside me, unreadable.
We weren't in the shadows anymore. The war had blown our cover to hell.
Konoha Council Chambers – Present
The tension in the room was a living thing. Every clan head was present. Sarutobi looked ancient, like he'd aged a century in a week.
Shikaku broke the silence. "The Third Kazekage's disappearance was the opening move. Iwa took advantage. Blitzed the northern Suna border. With the Kazekage gone and their defense lines compromised, Suna folded in two days."
Gasps. Curses. Disbelief.
"And now," he continued, "Suna's puppet council has declared war—on us."
The room exploded. Outrage, confusion. Demands for answers.
And Danzō... Danzō just stood there, soaking it all in like a lizard sunbathing in someone else's ruin.
"The situation is untenable," Shikaku Nara said, breaking the silence, his usual lazy drawl replaced by a sharp, urgent edge. "The Third Kazekage has been missing for over a month. We now know why. This report, confirmed by Jiraiya's network, states that Iwagakure launched a full-scale surprise assault on Sunagakure's northern territories three days ago."
A murmur of shock and disbelief went through the room.
"Iwa and Suna are at war?" Choza asked, his large frame tense.
"Were at war," Shikaku corrected grimly. "The war lasted less than forty-eight hours. Without the Kazekage to lead them, and with their defenses compromised, Suna's forces collapsed. They signed a peace treaty with Iwa yesterday."
"A surrender, you mean," Homura muttered, his face grim.
"Essentially," Shikaku agreed. He looked directly at the Hokage. "The terms of the 'peace' are what concern us. Iwagakure has installed a puppet council in Suna. And the council's first official act... was to declare war on the Land of Fire."
The room exploded. Shouts of outrage and disbelief filled the air.
"On what grounds?!" Hiashi Hyuuga demanded, his voice a cold, sharp crack.
"They are blaming Konoha for the disappearance of the Third Kazekage," Shikaku said, rubbing his temples. "They claim it was an assassination carried out by our ANBU to destabilize the region. It's a ludicrous pretext, but it's the one Iwa has given them. Suna is now a puppet state, their army a vanguard for Iwagakure's ambitions."
My blood ran cold. I knew the truth. I had delivered the very intelligence that had made this "blitzkrieg" possible. My hands were stained with the blood of our supposed allies. Danzō. He stood perfectly still, his single eye taking in the chaos with a cold, reptilian satisfaction. This was his design. He hadn't known what happened to the Kazekage, but he had seen the power vacuum and exploited it with masterful, ruthless precision.
"This is Danzō's doing," a voice boomed from the back of the room. It was Tsunade Senju. She had been recalled from her post on the Suna border, and her face was a mask of thunderous fury. "This has the stench of his machinations all over it!"
"You have proof of this, Tsunade-hime?" Danzō asked, his voice smooth and untroubled.
"I have the proof of your history!" she shot back. "Always skulking in the shadows, always willing to sacrifice pawns for your own twisted games!"
"My only 'game' is the survival of this village," Danzō replied coolly. "Something you seem to have forgotten, spending your days drinking and gambling while our enemies gather at the gates."
Tsunade lunged forward, her fist raised, but Jiraiya, who had been standing quietly beside her, caught her arm. "Hime, not now," he murmured.
"Enough!" Sarutobi's voice cut through the tension like a whip. "Infighting will not help us. The die is cast. Konoha is at war." He looked around the table, his gaze settling on each clan head. "We must mobilize. Shikaku, I want a full strategic breakdown on my desk within the hour. We will reinforce the border with the Land of Rivers immediately."
"We will be outnumbered," Koharu stated flatly. "Iwa's forces combined with Suna's... we cannot fight a war on two fronts."
"Then we will not fight a conventional war," Danzō said, finally stepping forward into the light. "We will bleed them. We will cut them down in the shadows. We will use precision and terror where they use brute force." "My Root operatives are at your disposal, Hokage-sama. They are trained for this kind of work. They will be your scalpels in this war."
He then looked at Tsunade. "Your expertise will be needed on the front lines against Suna. Their puppet master, Chiyo, will be their primary offensive weapon. Your strength is the only logical counter. I trust your... condition... will not be a liability."
The barb hit its mark. Tsunade flinched, the color draining from her face as the memory of blood, of her brother and her lover, flashed in her eyes. Danzō knew of her hemophobia. He was twisting the knife, asserting his dominance even now.
The meeting devolved into logistics, troop movements, and strategic deployments. The grand, terrible machine of war kicking into gear. My actions, my quiet treason in a honey-scented tea house, had been the key that turned the ignition.