System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 319: Chapter 318: The Ghosts of the Tower

---Konoha - Hokage Tower - The Office---

The midnight hour possessed a heavy, suffocating silence that settled over the Hokage’s office like a physical blanket. The only sounds that dared to breach the quiet were the rhythmic, metallic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the relentless scratching of a calligraphy brush against parchment.

Tsunade Senju let the brush slip from her ink-stained fingers, dropping it onto the desk with a sharp, exasperated clack.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her closed eyes, massaging her throbbing temples in a vain attempt to ward off an impending migraine. Before her, the paperwork was organized into three towering, unstable mountains, each representing a different facet of the administrative nightmare that was running a military dictatorship.

’I swear the old man did this on purpose,’ Tsunade thought, her jaw grinding in sheer frustration.

Her predecessor and former sensei, Hiruzen Sarutobi, had managed to govern this village for decades, famously churning through these endless documents with an ease that bordered on the supernatural. She knew for a fact that he possessed some sort of technique that made his bureaucratic duties trivial. Yet, when she had taken the hat, he had offered her nothing but a knowing, sadistic smile, claiming it was a ”rite of passage” to experience the true pain of the Hokage.

With a heavy sigh that carried the weight of her responsibilities, Tsunade pushed herself away from the desk, the leather chair squeaking in protest as she spun around to face the wide, arched windows behind her.

The view of the village was breathtaking. The sprawling expanse of Konohagakure layed bathed in silver moonlight, the darkened roofs dotted with the warm, amber glow of streetlamps and late-night establishments. It was a testament to the enduring will of the people, a beautiful, fragile ecosystem that she was sworn to protect.

But beauty did not pay the bills.

Her thoughts drifted darkly to the scroll resting at the top of her ”Urgent” pile... a missive straight from the Fire Daimyo’s capital. The letter was wrapped in polite, courtly prose, but the underlying threat was clear: the Daimyo was heavily considering cutting the village’s annual funding. He argued that since the era of great wars had passed and the borders were relatively secure, a massive military budget was an unnecessary strain on the country’s coffers.

It was the logic of a sheltered fool. The Daimyo’s support was the absolute bedrock of a hidden village’s economy. Without those funds, infrastructure would decay, mission payouts would plummet, and the village would slowly bleed to death before a single enemy kunai was thrown. She needed to draft a response that was perfectly balanced... diplomatic enough to stroke the Daimyo’s fragile ego, yet firm enough to remind him that the peace he enjoyed was bought entirely with Konoha’s blood.

Tsunade crossed her arms, her amber eyes narrowing at the distant Hokage Monument.

’I need a drink,’ she thought bitterly. ’Or a vice. I miss the dice.... I miss the tables.’

She genuinely craved the adrenaline of a high-stakes gamble, the singular thrill of risking it all on a hand of cards. But then, a self-deprecating smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. She was arguably the worst gambler to ever walk the Elemental Nations, a woman so cursed with bad luck that she had even lost a wager to a loud-mouthed Genin like Naruto Uzumaki three years ago.

Her gaze shifted aimlessly across the glass pane, losing focus in the reflection of the dimly lit office.

Then, she froze.

The glass of the window, acting as a dark mirror against the night sky, reflected a figure standing directly behind her, perfectly centered in the middle of her office.

Tsunade didn’t jump. Her combat instincts, honed over decades of warfare, flared instantly, but she forcefully suppressed the urge to immediately channel chakra into her fists. She recognized the towering silhouette, the broad shoulders, and the unmistakable shock of platinum-blonde hair.

She turned her chair around slowly, opening her mouth to thoroughly berate Alaric for his infuriating, persistent habit of bypassing her barrier seals just to sneak up on her.

But the reprimand died in her throat. She stared at him, genuinely surprised by what he was wearing.

Gone was the luxurious, eccentric crimson coat. Gone were the high-collared white shirts and the air of a foreign aristocrat playing at war.

Alaric Jonathan Kenway was standing in her office wearing the standard uniform of a Konoha shinobi.

He wore the iconic olive-green flak jacket over a dark blue, long-sleeved polo shirt. The vest was zipped neatly up the front, its multiple utility pouches secured tightly across his broad chest, fitting his massive frame with tailored perfection. The dark blue shirt’s collar sat open at the neck, and the long sleeves were pushed down neatly to his wrists. On his upper left bicep, he wore a Konoha forehead protector fastened to a dark band, worn like a military armband rather than across his forehead.

He wasn’t wearing the standard tape or holster strap over his dark blue pants that most Chunin or Jonin favored; instead, the plain trousers were tucked cleanly and sharply into a pair of high, polished black combat boots.

It was a look of strict, lethal professionalism.

”Oh?” Tsunade raised a single, perfectly sculpted brow, tilting her head slightly as her amber eyes swept over him, analyzing the drastic change in attire. ”For once... you finally look like an actual Jonin of Konoha.”

”My clothes were ruined by a sparring partner...”

Alaric didn’t offer his usual, charismatic grin. He stood with his hands resting loosely at his sides, taking a long moment before giving a slow, deliberate nod. He looked around the shadowed corners of the office, his brow furrowed as if he were actively trying to figure out how to articulate a deeply complex problem in his head.

”And as a Jonin of Konoha...” Alaric spoke, his voice calm, but stripped of its usual playful lilt. ”...I have a question to ask.”

”...”

Tsunade stared at him, the silence thickening. This wasn’t his usual demeanor. The overwhelming, oceanic calmness was still there, anchoring his presence, but the tone carried an incredibly rare tint of unsurety. It put her immediately on edge.

”Weird,” Tsunade commanded, her posture stiffening. ”Speak.”

Alaric shifted his weight, his blue eyes locking onto hers.

”How would you feel,” Alaric asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral, ”if the Yondaime Hokage and his wife were found out to be alive?”

He spoke the words smoothly, attempting to frame them as if they were a passing thought, a mere hypothetical scenario drawn from thin air.

It didn’t work.

”That’s an interesting line of questioning,” Tsunade replied, her eyes narrowing into dangerous, unforgiving slits. The air pressure in the room seemed to drop as the Godaime glared at him. ”Careful, Alaric. That’s not a hypothetical you throw around lightly in this office. Not to me.”

Alaric didn’t reply to the warning. He broke eye contact, his gaze drifting past her shoulder to look out the window she had just been staring through. He didn’t need the Mind’s Eye of the Kagura to feel the sudden, massive spike of tension radiating from the woman behind the desk. Her curiosity was warring violently with her protective instincts over the village’s history.

”What is it?” Tsunade probed, leaning forward, fully transitioning into her unyielding Hokage mode. ”Are you saying that they’re alive? Because if you are playing games with the legacy of Minato Namikaze...”

”...”

Alaric looked back at her and let out a quiet, somewhat awkward chuckle, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. ”It would be... best... if you bring the old Sandaime here. It’s very important that he’s present for this.”

Tsunade stared at the blonde anomaly. The man had suddenly unsealed a thick cigar and was casually lighting it in her non-smoking office.

She remembered the stern, absolute warning her sensei had given her on the day she took the mantle: ’If Alaric Kenway ever approaches you with a matter he claims is important, you drop everything and listen. He operates on a scale we can barely perceive.’

Tsunade didn’t break her glare, but she raised her right hand and made a sharp, two-fingered motion.

Rustle.

An ANBU operative, clad in dark armor and wearing a porcelain Cat mask, dropped silently from the ceiling rafters, landing in a perfect kneel beside her desk.

”Go to the Sandaime Hokage’s residence,” Tsunade ordered, her voice brooking no delay. ”Wake him if you must. Tell him I request his presence in my office immediately, with the utmost importance.”

”Hai.” The ANBU complied instantly, vanishing in a blur of a body flicker.

Left alone with the Hokage, Alaric remained profoundly calm. He took a slow, appreciative drag from his cigar, the rich, otherworldly tobacco smoke curling toward the ceiling.

’Huh...’ Alaric thought, savoring the immaculate flavor. ’I really should name this the Heavenly Cigar. The fam back in Pennmere would go absolutely crazy for these...’

Scarcely a minute passed before the office doors opened.

Hiruzen Sarutobi stepped into the room. He was dressed in a simple, traditional civilian kimono, lacking his battle armor or his Hokage robes, confirming he had come directly from his bed. Despite his age, his steps were brisk, and his eyes were completely alert.

”You requested for me, Tsunade?” Hiruzen asked, his gravelly voice tight with concern.

Tsunade nodded silently and simply motioned her head toward the center of the room, inclining Hiruzen to look at the man standing there.

”Well, I’m here,” Hiruzen stated, turning his attention to Alaric. He wasn’t particularly amused that he had been roused from his sleep, but his political instincts told him this was a crisis. ”The ANBU already told me the gist of what happened. Alaric... care to explain why you are wearing a standard uniform and waking retired men at midnight?”

Both the Third and the Fifth Hokage were now staring intently at Alaric, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.

Alaric looked between the two legendary Sannin. He let out a long, heavy sigh.

Without weaving a single hand seal, Alaric channeled a precise pulse of chakra down through his legs and into the soles of his black boots. The moment his heels pressed firmly against the floorboards, a complex web of black, geometric sealing script instantly expanded outward from his feet, rushing across the floor, climbing the walls, and crawling over the ceiling until the entire office was encased in a flawless, absolute sphere of isolation.

”What—!” Tsunade was alerted instantly, her hands slamming down on her desk as she half-rose from her chair, alarmed by the sudden, hostile activation of Fuinjutsu inside her sanctum.

But she stopped. She saw that Hiruzen hadn’t reacted negatively. The old man merely watched the seals crawl up the walls with a look of mild resignation, confirming that this level of paranoia from Alaric was not entirely uncommon. Seeing her predecessor’s calm, Tsunade forced herself to sit back down, though her muscles remained coiled like springs.

”I was thinking of how to say this to y’all,” Alaric said, taking another drag from his cigar and shaking his head slowly. The silence seal swallowed the ambient noise of the village entirely, leaving only the sound of their breathing. ”I tried to come up with a gentle way to break the news. A good prologue.”

He looked at Hiruzen, then at Tsunade, stepping back to clear the center of the room.

”However... I think it’s best if you just see them with your own eyes.”

Both Hiruzen and Tsunade widened their eyes, their quick, tactical minds instantly catching the plural implication of what Alaric had just said.

They didn’t have time to react, to question, or to brace themselves.

Because in the next split second, a blinding, crackling flash of pure, golden light erupted in the dead center of the office, carrying the distinct, ozone-heavy scent of displaced space.

When the iconic light of the Hiraishin died down, two figures stood in the room.

A man with spiky blonde hair, wearing a white high-collared shirt and dark trousers, his cerulean blue eyes looking around the room with a mixture of nostalgia and profound sorrow. And holding his hand tightly was a beautiful woman with long, vibrant red hair and wide violet eyes.

They were breathing. They cast shadows. They radiated the undeniable, blazing warmth of living chakra.

”...”

”...”

”...”

”...”

The silence in the room was absolute, a void so dense it felt as though the world had stopped spinning.

Tsunade was physically paralyzed, her breath trapped in her lungs as her amber eyes stared at the impossible ghosts of the past.

But it was Hiruzen whose reaction broke the stillness. The God of Shinobi, the man who had ordered armies to their deaths and maintained an iron composure through three world wars, completely lost his mask.

His cane slipped from his trembling hand, clattering loudly against the sealed floorboards. His eyes watered instantly, the sheer, staggering impossibility of the sight stripping away decades of stoicism.

”M-Minato...” Hiruzen choked out, his voice cracking into a fragile, broken whisper. ”...Kushina...”

.

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