Sakumo stared at Tsunade like he was seeing a ghost, a punch, and a tax collector all at once. His expression was a mix of confusion, disbelief, and the internal scream of a man who had genuinely hoped today would be quiet.
"Tsunade-hime… you joined Akatsuki?"
She crossed her arms, her tone drier than Suna's deserts. "I didn't join join. I'm just freelancing until someone revives my dead brother with science-magic."
'Nawaki: I am not dead yet.'
Sakumo's eyebrow crept upward at glacial speed. "That's… oddly specific."
Behind them, Nagato cleared his throat with the precision of a teacher trying to regain control of a classroom after two students started arm-wrestling with fire jutsu.
"We're not a terrorist organization," he said, his voice calm but firm. "We just want to spread peace to the world."
"You kidnapped me," Shizune muttered from the side, rubbing her arms, still sore from the "relocation."
"Correction," Nagato replied, gesturing grandly. "I relocated you."
"While tied to a wood spike."
"Comfortably tied," he added with a shrug.
Sakumo exhaled, exhaustion and exasperation warring in his chest. "Why me?"
"Because you're a hero," Nagato said, materializing a chair beneath himself with a snap of his fingers—his fifth wooden furniture summon in less than a day. "And heroes shouldn't die at the hands of the very people they protect."
Sakumo didn't respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the ground, the shadows beneath his eyes deepening—months of shame and silence etched into his face. Sometimes, silence spoke louder than words. In Sakumo's case, it was practically a monologue.
Nagato leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. "Your mission failed. And for that… they destroyed you. The leak to the public wasn't random. Civilians suddenly talking like ANBU analysts? That doesn't happen unless someone wanted it to."
Tsunade nodded grimly. "They didn't just want you blamed. They wanted you erased. Dead, buried, and remembered only as a cautionary tale."
Sakumo's fists clenched. "Even if all that's true… I still can't abandon Konoha."
"Why not?" Nagato asked, his voice almost gentle. "They abandoned you first."
The words hung in the air like smoke after an explosion. The silence that followed was heavy enough to crack the floor tiles.
Then, a quiet voice shattered the stillness.
"…What about Kakashi?"
Everyone turned to Sakumo.
"My son," he said, barely above a whisper. "He's still a child. Still loyal to the village. If I leave… he'll be labeled the son of a traitor. And I—" His voice cracked. "I can't do that to him."
Nagato shook his head. "We're not asking you to run. We're asking you to stand. Not in the light—but in the shadows, where real change begins. You'll be hidden… but not helpless."
He gestured toward Tsunade. "And Tsunade will never let anything happen to you or your son."
Tsunade's eyebrow twitched violently. "Wait, when did I agree to that?"
"You're the medic," Nagato said with the sincerity of a man who had never been punched by her.
"I'm not a nanny."
"Same thing in war."
Nagato casually pulled out an invisible mental checklist and scratched something off. "There goes my idea for the Akatsuki Childcare Division. The point is: we'll protect Kakashi."
Sakumo looked down again. The weight of years—betrayal, regret, isolation—pressed into his spine like stacked scrolls full of bad decisions. His silence was louder than any thunderclap.
"You have time to think," Nagato said, standing. "But not too much. You know how Konoha thinks. You're a threat now—just by existing. So… choose: die alone in shame, or live in the shadows with honor."
With that, he turned and walked away, his cloak fluttering dramatically behind him—like he'd practiced the move in the mirror fifty times. (He had. Konan caught him once.)
Tsunade gave Sakumo one last glance. "You were the pride of Konoha, Sakumo. Maybe it's time you stopped protecting the village… and started saving yourself."
Then, in the blink of an eye—they were gone.
After securing a safehouse, Tsunade and Shizune strolled through the village, their presence unnoticed amidst the growing unrest. Nagato, meanwhile, slipped into the Uchiha District, his face shifting mid-stride—first to a nondescript merchant, then to a forgettable chuunin. By the time he reached the Naka Shrine, he was another face in the crowd.
Using his detection jutsu, he mapped the guards—both visible and ANBU lurking in the shadows. His target? Naori's Mangekyō Sharingan, hidden deep within the shrine.
Dodging patrols with the ease of a ghost, Nagato finally found the scroll chamber. Minutes of searching later, his fingers brushed against an ornate wooden box. Without hesitation, he teleported away, the prize secure.
Back in the village, rumors festered like an open wound.
"Did you hear? They might execute him on sight."
"Serves him right. He failed. He's dangerous."
Tsunade's chakra flared dangerously as she overheard.
"I left this village for a few days. Few. DAYS," she muttered, her fists trembling. "And it's already rotting."
As she and Nagato passed a secluded training ground, a small figure caught her eye—silver-haired, kunai in hand, practicing until his palms bled.
Kakashi.
Tiny. Focused. Silent.
Tsunade froze. Her breath hitched. "He looks just like… Nawaki at that age."
Nagato glanced at her. "And how would Nawaki feel… knowing his sister stood by while another child was crushed by politics?"
She didn't answer. Her fists did. A nearby tree ceased to exist.
That night, Sakumo sat alone in his home—now more prison than sanctuary. An old photo rested in his hands: himself, smiling. His wife. A baby Kakashi, giggling in a towel.
The door creaked open.
Tsunade stepped inside, her presence quiet, as if the silence between them was a sacred jutsu.
"I used to think this village was worth everything," she said. "But if it eats its heroes to protect its cowards… what's left to protect?"
Sakumo didn't speak.
"We're not asking you to betray your people," she added. "Just stop letting them betray you."
A long pause.
Then he stood, brushing off his old haori.
The next morning, news of Sakumo's defection spread like wildfire. The Konoha Council held an emergency meeting, their fury palpable. Meanwhile, deep in an Akatsuki hideout, a new member arrived.
He stepped inside—tall, white-haired, sword strapped to his back once more. No longer broken. Just… heavy with purpose.
"Sakumo Hatake," he said simply.
Tsunade nodded. "Senju Tsunade."
Shizune offered a small wave. "Shizune."
Then Nagato stood, grinning. "Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Uzumaki Nagato, leader of Akatsuki. Our goal? Protect the innocent and spread peace across the world."
And with that—he dropped the transformation.
Poof.
The imposing figure vanished, replaced by a *10-year-old redhead*.
Silence. Sacred, disbelieving silence.
"…You're a kid?" Sakumo deadpanned.
"I got tricked by a toddler?" Tsunade looked personally betrayed by the universe.
"Damn it," the three muttered in unison.
Nagato scratched his head. "Hey, it worked."
Shizune jabbed an accusing finger. "That's deception!"
Nagato shrugged. "Not really. Nawaki's in the back, training. I saved him from a ROOT assassination. He's missing a leg… but I kept my promise. Flesh-and-blood Nawaki, just like I said."
Tsunade's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Her voice wavered. "You—"
A figure appeared in the doorway.
"Sister… is that you?"
Nawaki. Older. Stronger. Undeniably him.
Tsunade turned, trembling. "Nawaki… is that really you?"
His smile was soft. "Still missing a leg. But yeah. It's me."
For the first time in years, Tsunade couldn't punch her emotions away.
The Experiment
After leaving them to Konan's care, Nagato returned to his hideout. Naori's Mangekyō Sharingan lay before him—his next experiment.
Transplanting Hashirama's heart had been one thing. But this? The eyes weren't just vessels for chakra—they released dojutsu, illusions, power. Far more complex.
He exhaled, rolling up his sleeves.
Time to get to work