OBD: Chapter Thirty-Six: Breaking and Entering

Chapter Thirty-Six: Breaking and Entering

Danzo stood before an old, familiar mirror, his hands brushing over the weathered surface of his armour. The cold metal was as familiar to him as his own skin. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp flickering weakly on a wooden desk. The creaking sound of his joints, as he donned the armour, was the only noise in the room, yet it seemed louder than any words could be.

But Danzo’s mind was elsewhere, racing through plans and contingencies as he prepared for the battle ahead. Time was running out. He needed to act decisively, and soon. The clan heads were whispering, moving in shadows, gathering with purpose. He could feel the tremors of change in the village, and that unnerved him. They were too close to a tipping point, one that might shatter his unchallenged rule. The Uchiha had to be dealt with—before they made any move that couldn’t be undone.

As he fastened the last buckle of his armour, a sudden coldness filled the room. An unnatural, unsettling presence that seemed to warp the air itself. Danzo froze mid-motion, his fingers twitching toward the weapons hidden beneath his cloak. Yet he tempered the reaction, careful not to reveal the flicker of unease stirring within him.

As expected, a figure emerged from the shadows, a tall, masked presence, stepping forward with deliberate, unhurried grace. The same mask as before, tiger-striped and hauntingly blank, obscured any hint of identity. Danzo did not flinch. His face remained impassive as he turned to face the intruder.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice cold but measured, his attention briefly returning to the mirror as his fingers traced the edge of his armour. "Have you completed your preparations?" His tone was clipped, expectant.

The masked man nodded, his form shifting ever so slightly, as if adjusting to an unseen presence. “Nearly. But some of my associates... the one best suited to handle Fugaku... may arrive late.”

Danzo’s irritation flickered across his features. “That will not do,” he said, his voice growing sharper. “We cannot afford delays.” His fingers clenched into fists at his sides. “The Uchiha must be eliminated now—before the clan heads do something foolish, acting on their misplaced sense of righteousness.”

There was no immediate response from the masked man. He simply stood in silence, measuring Danzo’s words with an unreadable gaze. The stillness of the room thickened again, pressing down like a weight. Danzo could feel the anticipation in the air, the tension about to snap. He needed this done, and he needed it done now.

“Do you not have someone else who can deal with Fugaku?” Danzo repeated, his voice low and deadly, the steel in his words unmistakable. “You were hired for one thing—to remove the patriarch from the equation. If you cannot do that, we might have a problem on our hands.”

The masked man regarded him for a long moment, his unreadable eyes fixed on Danzo’s face. Then, with a subtle shift in posture, he inclined his head slightly. “There won’t be a problem,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion yet carrying a finality to it. “You can proceed as planned. I’ll join you when your forces are in place.”

Before Danzo could inquire further or confirm the timing of the assault, the figure made no other gesture. His form blurred, stretched, and in a single, swift motion, he was gone—vanished without a sound, leaving only the oppressive silence in his wake.

Danzo’s gaze lingered on the spot where the figure had stood. For a moment, a flicker of annoyance stirred within him, but it passed quickly. He moved with practised calm, retrieving a small, simple scroll from his waist pouch. Unfurling it, he summoned one of his ROOT operatives.

“Inform Orochimaru,” Danzo said quietly, his voice unsettlingly calm. “It’s time. The Uchiha are to be removed, once and for all. I expect his full support in this endeavour.”

The ROOT agent nodded without a word. She bowed, then vanished into the shadows as silently as she had appeared.

***

The evening was cold. Kakashi’s breath fogged in the air as he stood motionless, staring at the dark, blurry silhouette of the Hokage Rock in the distance. The wind stirred the dry, brittle leaves at his feet, creating a faint rustling sound that seemed too loud in the quiet. He could hear the echo of his own thoughts, each one sharp and deliberate, a constant undercurrent to the oppressive stillness that hung around him like smoke.

He glanced at his three companions then—all masked, all expressionless. There was little to say between them; the mission was simple enough. Guard the base. Stay alert. 

Kakashi adjusted his headband, a habitual gesture, though his Sharingan was not active. Not yet. He didn’t need it. Not yet. The base was supposed to be secure—its location known only to a handful of individuals. ROOT had seen to that. He had seen to that. But despite the layers of security, despite the quiet desolation of the surrounding area, he could feel something was wrong. 

The first crack of battle was as silent as the first flicker of a flame, barely noticeable at first. A shadow—a faint silhouette in the dark—flitted across Kakashi’s peripheral vision. A flicker, and then another. 

"Contact," one of his companions muttered, drawing a kunai from their belt.

But Kakashi was already moving, drawing his tanto as he shifted into a defensive stance. He didn’t need to look. He could feel it. They were outnumbered. But that wasn’t the point. Not yet. 

He emerged from the woods with an unnerving calm, seemingly leading the group encircling their position. Itachi Uchiha. Kakashi had heard much about the prodigy. Rumours. Enough to suspect who this group was. 

"Retreat," Kakashi ordered. His command was met with a sharp nod from his companions. The base was critical, but Kakashi wasn’t about to risk his life—or theirs—over it. The base was just a base, and there were others. More important ones, further away that would benefit from the intel they would bring by giving this up. There was no time to waste. 

"This way," he barked to his team. But the words barely left his mouth before another enemy squad of Uchiha emerged, cutting off their escape. 

"Fuck," Kakashi hissed, pulling his sword from its sheath, the blade glinting faintly in the moonlight. There was no time to think. The first strike came from the right, a barrage of kunai that attempted to turn him into a pin cushion. Years of training and experience took over, guiding his movements as he summoned a wall of earth between himself and the barrage

A wave of heat was the only warning he got before a fireball smashed into where he was standing moments ago. Kakashi leapt through the branches, trying and failing to find a gap in the enemy’s encirclement.

As he parried another blow, he realized with a sickening certainty that the base probably wasn’t their target. 

***

They—Jiraiya, Tsunade, Hiashi, Shikaku, Chouza, Inoichi, and Tsume—arrived at the Hokage residence with a singular purpose: to confront Danzo. They had the resolve. They had the means. They would force his hand, strip away the secrecy that had surrounded him for so long, and expose the truth of the sealed arm—an enigma that threatened the village’s very stability.

Jiraiya’s mind flickered briefly to the broader implications of this moment. Danzo had held the title of Hokage for little more than a few days, yet his influence was already beginning to erode. Depending on the outcome of their inquiry, that erosion might well prove the same for his chances of surviving the week.

“We have business with the Hokage,” Tsunade said, her voice blunt.

The ANBU standing guard did not flinch. “Lord Fifth is away. Please come back later.”

A ripple of discontent stirred through the group, but Jiraiya’s gaze remained locked on the masked guard, his focus sharpening. He could feel the air shift, the subtle tension building in the space between them. Tsunade’s jaw clenched. It was no surprise—Danzo had never been one to meet threats head-on. His absence was likely a manoeuvre, a way to buy time. But time was a luxury Jiraiya could not afford. Not anymore.

Jiraiya exchanged a brief glance with Shikaku, who nodded imperceptibly. They all knew what had to be done. Without breaking his stride, Jiraiya spoke, his voice low but firm, a warning of what would come. "Let’s get this over with. If he’s guilty, there’s no way he would let us in willingly."

“Tsunade,” Jiraiya said, turning to the kunoichi, his tone deliberate. “If you would do the honours.”

“With pleasure,” she replied, her voice sharp, and without hesitation, her chakra surged around her, suffusing the air with an almost tangible pressure. In one fluid motion, her hand struck the door with a force that shattered the weak barrier, sending splinters flying.

“Danzo!” Tsunade’s voice rang through the shattered doorway, bellowing with authority. She pushed past the ANBU guard who tried—futilely—to stop her. “Show yourself!”

But the response was silence. No movement came from within. They searched quickly, methodically, only to find that the Hokage was indeed absent. The weight of the moment settled on them all. An unsettling sense of foreboding seeped into the air, thickening the space between them.

Tsunade’s expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the empty room. “Where do you think he might be hiding?” she asked, her voice laced with frustration.

Shikaku shrugged. “You tell me.”

***

Danzo sat in silence, his back straight and his eyes narrowed as the last remnants of twilight faded behind the looming walls of the Uchiha District. The crimson glow of the setting sun had long since been swallowed by a deep, oppressive darkness. The air around him felt suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of the surrounding forest. He breathed in, the crispness of the air carrying the scent of dust and earth.

Fu Yamanaka, Torune Aburame, and Yamato stood near him, their presence nearly invisible, as if they were part of the night itself—cloaked in the same stillness that defined Root. Their faces were hidden, their emotions concealed behind the cold mask of duty. Orochimaru, his usual enigmatic self, stood at the far end of the group. Aside from Danzo himself, he was the only one here who had the luxury of revealing his face, and even then, his gaze was one of disinterest, as though this attack were merely another step in a game whose rules only he fully understood.

But Danzo’s thoughts were elsewhere, circling like vultures around a carcass. His fingers tightened against the hilt of his sword. This would have to be done swiftly, decisively. Too much was at risk for them to chance failure.

The sound of footsteps broke his focus, and a figure emerged from the darkness. The masked man stopped before Danzo, his gaze unreadable through the slit in his mask. Behind him, another figure appeared—cloaked in the unmistakable garb of the Akatsuki. Danzo’s eyes flicked toward the newcomer, narrowing, though his face remained impassive.

The masked man spoke, his voice breaking the stillness. "This is Zetsu," he said, tone neutral. "He’ll be working with us tonight."

Danzo studied Zetsu, his voice betraying none of the doubts rising in his chest. "Is he the one you promised would kill Fugaku Uchiha?"

The masked man shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice calm but firm. "The one I promised will join us later. You’ll see him soon enough."

Danzo took a long, measured breath, fighting the wave of impatience that gnawed at him. He did not like being kept in the dark, especially when the stakes were this high. If Fugaku Uchiha’s life could not be snuffed out with the precision of an experienced hand, everything could fall apart.

"And where is this... associate?" Danzo asked, his eyes narrowing. He had no patience for false assurances. Not now. Not when he was so close to achieving his goal. His plans had been meticulously laid out—every angle covered, every variable accounted for. He did not need surprises.

The mask gave away nothing, but there was a certain softness to the figures' words now. "He will be here in time. Fugaku Uchiha is not the immediate concern. Zetsu and I will keep him occupied until the associate arrives."

Danzo’s fingers twitched, the desire to challenge the masked man’s vague assurances bubbling just beneath the surface. But he knew better than to waste time in fruitless argument. He had already made the decision. He had already given his word.

"Very well," Danzo muttered, turning away from the pair, looking back toward the Uchiha District in the distance. He could almost smell the destruction in the air—could almost hear the blood that would soon stain the streets. "We proceed as planned. And when your associate arrives, he had better not fail."

The masked man inclined his head slightly, a movement that almost felt like agreement. "He won’t."

Danzo’s gaze drifted back to Zetsu, the cloaked figure still silent. And then, without another word, they moved.

***

Fugaku entered the dimly lit room, his eyes immediately drawn to his son. Itachi stood over a low table, his palm dimly pulsing green as he held it to the left half of his face. The faint glow of chakra illuminated the otherwise shadowed space, casting an eerie light over the scene.

Fugaku’s voice broke the silence, low and measured. "Is it done?"

Itachi did not look up, but his hands stilled for a moment. A soft breath escaped him, and then he spoke, his voice calm, as always. "Yes."

He stood slowly, wiping a trace of blood from his cheek with a paper napkin. When he faced his father, there was a quiet finality in his gaze.

Fugaku nodded, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with a single glance at Itachi, Fugaku turned to leave the room, his voice cold but decisive.

"It’s time."