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Tsunade poured herself another glass of sake, her gaze lingering on the clear liquid as though it might reveal some hidden answer. It was supposed to be a ritual of celebration—a tribute to lives saved, battles survived. But tonight, the drink was only an escape. She tipped the glass back, the familiar warmth spreading through her, numbing her thoughts for a fleeting moment. But even the strongest sake couldn't blot out the truth: Haruto was slipping beyond her reach, held captive in a darkness Chiyo had cast him into, a cage she didn't know how to break.

With a frustrated huff, she threw the empty glass aside, her eyes narrowing as they settled on him—Haruto, sitting by the window, silent and still. White bandages covered his eyes, tied snugly behind his head, their cloth stark against his pallor. His once fierce expression was replaced with emptiness; his slumped shoulders and sunken cheeks bore the weight of a spirit worn thin. A week had passed since the diagnosis, a relentless week of scouring ancient scrolls, unraveling techniques from distant travels, even risking forbidden methods. But there was nothing, no chakra transfer, no implant that could restore what Chiyo had so meticulously destroyed.

"Damn it, Haruto," she snapped, her voice shattering the quiet, tinged with a desperation she could barely mask. "You can't just sit there, wasting away. Don't… don't let her win like this." Her words, weighted with frustration and hope, hung in the air, but he didn't flinch, didn't turn. His expression remained blank, as if her voice hadn't even touched him. The boy she'd once seen brimming with defiance, a will forged of steel, was now a hollow shell, bandaged eyes fixed somewhere beyond her reach.

The realization cut deep, deeper than she'd thought possible. For the first time in years, Tsunade felt powerless. She had let herself believe, dared to care again, and now… what had it come to? She, the most skilled medical ninja in the world, was helpless against a foe that left no visible wound. Turning away, her fist came down hard against her desk, her vision swimming as the bitter weight of it all settled into her chest. She'd gamble tonight, she decided. Hell, she'd gamble every night if it meant escaping the sight of him, sitting there like a faded memory, a shadow of who he once was.

Just outside the door, Shizune leaned against the wall, her eyes following Tsunade's movements, watching the silent battle unfolding between her mentor and Haruto. Tsunade's frustration, her pain, cut Shizune to the core. Before Haruto, Tsunade had been a broken woman, her past hidden beneath layers of gambling, sake, and a tough exterior that few could penetrate. But when Haruto had come into their lives, it was as though he'd rekindled something she'd thought long dead. He'd given her hope, a purpose to believe in again. And now, watching him fade into a void of indifference was dragging Tsunade back into that same darkness she'd fought so hard to escape.

With a heavy sigh, Shizune took a step back, knowing better than to intrude. Over the past week, she had tried everything to reach out to Haruto, to remind him of who he was, who he could still be. But each attempt was met with a lifeless response. The boy who had once been all fire and determination, who had taken every challenge with a clever smile and fierce resolve, now barely acknowledged her presence. Whenever she approached, he was always in that same spot, near the window, bandaged eyes turned toward something only he could see, his face void of emotion.

"Haruto?" she would ask, her voice soft, her heart breaking a little more with each attempt. Sometimes he would nod, other times he'd murmur a quiet, hollow "I'm… fine," words that carried no truth. His replies were as empty as the void he now lived in. She would offer him food, ask if he needed anything, even try to draw him out with stories of his training days, moments when his brilliance had left them all in awe. But no spark lit his gaze; the boy she had known was buried somewhere she couldn't reach.

Where was the Haruto she admired? The one with the cunning mind and relentless drive? The one who had made them all believe in something better?

And as Haruto continued to withdraw, Tsunade crumbled, bit by bit, weighed down by the familiar shadow of loss. Shizune was left alone to watch the two of them spiral, both caught in the aftermath of a battle that left scars no healing jutsu could touch. She wanted to shout at him, shake him, anything to snap him out of this quiet descent. But she knew it would do no good. Haruto was lost in a way she couldn't mend, and in the depths of her heart, she feared he might never find his way back.

Sakumo POV

Sakumo sat alone in his room, the silence pressing in like an unbearable weight. The shadows seemed deeper tonight, the dim light casting long, distorted shapes across the walls, wrapping around him like a shroud. He stared down at his hands, hands that had once held the strength to protect his comrades, to guide those he cared for through the worst of battles. But now, they felt empty, as if every bit of power had drained away, leaving him hollow.

His mind replayed the mission over and over, each memory sharper, more damning than the last. The choice he had made, the path he had taken—abandoning the mission to save his comrades—had seemed right in the moment. But the cost had been staggering. The merchant's son, the mission's critical asset, had fallen because of his decision, and Haruto, a boy he saw as a son, was left in darkness, broken by an enemy Sakumo couldn't save him from.

The village whispered, he knew. He could hear it in the silence that met him wherever he went, see it in the eyes of his fellow shinobi as they quickly looked away, unable or unwilling to meet his gaze. The Leaf had a code, an unbreakable loyalty to the mission, to the village's orders, and in a single, desperate moment, he had shattered that trust. He had placed his own sense of right above the mission's duty. Now, he was paying for it—one whispered judgment at a time, one shadowed look after another.

The walls felt like they were closing in, the silence heavy, pressing on his chest. The shame was relentless, a weight he couldn't lift no matter how he tried. Every breath he took felt like a struggle, a reminder of the lives he'd failed to protect, the promises he'd broken, and the weight of a legacy now tarnished. It was more than the loss of honor; it was the loss of purpose, the reason that had driven him through so many battles, so many close calls, so many nights in the dark with only his resolve to keep him company.

He thought of Haruto, laying somewhere in the hospital, silent and empty, his once-brilliant eyes now bound in darkness. It felt like his fault—as though he'd led the boy to that fate, as though his failure had cast that shadow over Haruto's future. The thought twisted inside him, leaving a gnawing ache that no words could soothe, no reasoning could lessen.

A hollow feeling sank deeper within him, creeping through every fiber of his being. The village was turning its back, his own heart was a battleground, and he couldn't see a way forward—only shadows stretching out before him, and the weight of failure pressing down, relentless and unforgiving.

Daichi POV

Daichi paced the empty training grounds, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. The sun was setting, casting a soft glow across the field, but he didn't notice it. Frustration and determination simmered in his veins, drowning out everything else. His mind kept replaying the battle against Chiyo's puppets, every move, every mistake. But one thing stood out above all the rest: he had been too weak. And Haruto had paid the price.

Haruto, the friend he considered a brother, now sat in the hospital doing nothing. He'd screamed at him, begged him to snap out of it, to be the fighter he knew was still in there. But Haruto had just sat there, silent, as if the fire had been snuffed out of him entirely. Daichi had tried to reach him, tried to get him to remember everything they had fought for, but nothing seemed to work. Haruto wouldn't budge, wouldn't even look at him.

The helplessness gnawed at Daichi, cutting deeper than any injury he'd ever suffered. And he knew it couldn't go on like this. If Haruto wouldn't fight, if he was giving up, then Daichi would just have to get strong enough for both of them. He'd been too focused on his directional explosive tags, relying on them as if they were all he had. That fight had made it clear—he needed something more, something powerful and precise, something that could end a battle in a single move.

Fine, then, he thought, clenching his fists harder. He'd reach out to Minato and Kushina, the two people he had hesitated to ask for help for so long. He'd always looked up to them, admired their strength, and he hadn't wanted to seem like just another kid asking for favors. He'd wanted to earn his power on his own terms, forge his own way. But the shinobi world didn't care about pride, about ideals. It was strength that mattered. Power. And he couldn't afford to be stubborn anymore.

The techniques of the Second Hokage flickered through his mind, the water jutsu that were renowned for their ferocity and precision. It wouldn't be easy to learn, but that was the point. If he wanted to be strong, to be the shinobi he needed to be, he would do whatever it took. He could practically see himself before Minato and Kushina, his voice steady as he asked them to get the scrolls for him, to show him how to wield the strength he was so desperate for.

Even if he'd have to beg, he didn't care. He was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure that next time, he would be ready. Because if Haruto was lost in the darkness, then Daichi would become strong enough for both of them.

Danzo POV

Danzo's grin widened, satisfaction seeping into every corner of his cold heart. Haruto—crippled, his spirit fractured, drowning in despair. This was better than death. His sweet revenge on the prodigy who had once shown such promise and defiance was complete. It had taken only a few whispers, a hint of intelligence leaked to the Land of Sand, knowing full well what Chiyo would do with it. She had left him in ruin, and Danzo could feel the thrill of it like a dark pulse, a wave of satisfaction.

Haruto's once-bright future had collapsed into nothingness. Danzo laughed quietly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk as he envisioned the boy's torment. To be trapped in darkness, his potential squandered, his body broken—this was the kind of suffering that surpassed death.

And Sakumo? He was next, another pawn to be torn down. Danzo's agents in the ROOT were carefully spreading rumors, planting seeds of doubt. Tiny whispers crept through the village, each one a delicate stitch in the tapestry of Sakumo's unraveling. It would be a slow burn, one Danzo was content to watch from the shadows.

He jotted down his notes, a cruel satisfaction sparking in his eyes. Let Haruto suffer in the abyss he'd been cast into. This was his revenge thought laughing inwardly.

The abyss Haruto found himself in was better than death Danzo thought.