Morning sunlight gently bathed the Hidden Leaf Village.
The bustling and lively village, full of vitality and growth, shimmered with hope under the warm light, making one naturally yearn for its bright future.
Thanks to the economic surge brought by the genjutsu game, many outsiders had recently arrived in the Hidden Leaf. Witnessing its prosperity and safety, more than a few had begun considering long-term residence or even permanent relocation.
Although, in theory, the Hidden Leaf was a shinobi village—a military stronghold, not exactly meant for permanent civilian settlement—exceptions existed.
With the booming genjutsu game industry, new jobs were abundant, and a labor shortage was even beginning to emerge. This trend was expected to intensify.
There was even talk of expanding the village. Both the public and higher-ups had started to discuss it.
The main issue? Expanding the Leaf meant dismantling its towering outer wall—no ordinary structure, but one integrated with advanced barrier techniques that made up the village's grand defense formation.
Removing the wall meant removing the barrier.
In peaceful times, this might be acceptable. But with the Third Great Ninja War looming, tearing down the wall would create a fatal weakness. A well-planned raid by elite enemy squads could devastate the village's core.
Thus, the large-scale expansion was put on hold.
Some small-scale renovations and minor expansions continued: buildings were demolished and rebuilt within the wall, while new districts were planned just beyond it. Once the time was right, the wall could be dismantled to integrate these new areas.
In short, everything looked promising.
But just as the future seemed so bright, a piece of terrible news landed on Hiruzen Sarutobi's desk—nearly giving him a stroke like his old comrade.
"W-What? Tsunade, what did you say about your hemophobia?"
Staring at his female student, Tsunade, clad casually in a gray jacket that accentuated her bold figure, Hiruzen felt the blood drain from his face.
Tsunade responded with complete indifference, "Tch, old man, didn't I say already? My hemophobia's fully triggered. I go limp when I see blood. Sorry, but I can't be a ninja anymore. Or a doctor."
Her tone was careless, her attitude apathetic—a perfect display of giving up.
Hiruzen clutched his chest. He was on the verge of collapse.
After the last great war, Tsunade had developed hemophobia, but it hadn't been this severe. Hiruzen had always believed in his student's inner strength and assumed she'd overcome it eventually.
Of course, he wouldn't call it "PUA" like today's youth might—he simply believed in the Will of Fire. After all, shinobi were no strangers to psychological strain. Mental struggles weren't seen as problems. And for those with talent, it was assumed they'd overcome everything through sheer will.
That was the so-called "firm resolve"—facing difficulties and finding your own answers.
That's how Hiruzen treated Tsunade. It was classic "I believe my exceptional student will figure it out."
Uchiha Fugaku had done the same in the future—dragging his toddler son to the battlefield to view corpses, planting deep trauma in little Itachi Uchiha's heart.
When Itachi later needed mental support, Fugaku said: "You're my son. I trust you'll find your own answers."
And so, little Itachi spiraled into existential nihilism before puberty: "Life has no meaning."
He eventually "repaid" his father's trust by sending the entire Uchiha Clan to meet the Sage of Six Paths.
No wonder the shinobi world produced so many lunatics—because mental illness wasn't seen as illness. If someone cracked, it meant their will wasn't strong enough. If you were gifted, you were expected to figure everything out yourself.
Hiruzen never imagined that the hemophobia he had underestimated would develop into a full-blown disorder in Tsunade, leaving his mind spinning.
Of course, it was likely Hiruzen didn't even understand what mental illness meant. To him, illness was something physical.
Mental illness? That just meant your will was weak.
Now, his most trusted student was saying she'd been defeated by hemophobia. Hiruzen didn't even know how to react.
Why? How could someone as strong-willed as Tsunade be like this?
Watching Hiruzen's stammering and hesitation, Tsunade rolled her eyes. "Hey, old man. I already told you what's going on. So what now?"
Snapped out of his thoughts, Hiruzen quickly responded, "Tsunade, I understand. Just rest for now. I already sent a message to Jiraiya days ago urging him to return. He should be back soon."
"Once he's back, I'll have him keep you company. Also, Orochimaru is still in the village—someone invested in his private lab. If you want, talk to him."
"In any case, don't worry about village affairs. Focus on your recovery. I believe in you."
"You're my proud student—one of the Legendary Sannin."
Hiruzen looked at Tsunade with warmth and resolve, the gaze of a teacher brimming with confidence.
In his mind, this attitude should've comforted Tsunade.
Instead, she went quiet. A flicker of disappointment crossed her eyes. She clicked her tongue, turned away with a scowl, and slammed the door behind her so hard she broke it. The crooked frame clattered to the floor.
Hiruzen was stunned.
He had no idea why Tsunade was so angry. No one had told him that sometimes what a student needs isn't blind faith—it's real guidance and support.
Head throbbing and thoroughly confused, the Third Hokage called the Anbu to repair the door.
The Anbu displayed extraordinary skill—repaired it in less than ten minutes. Impressive.
Not long after, Danzo Shimura arrived.
These days, seeing his old friend gave Hiruzen a headache. Ever since the genjutsu game appeared, Danzo only ever came to push anti-Uchiha or anti-game agendas. His motto: "I will never coexist with the Uchiha."
Worse, Danzo's recent actions lacked all justification. Hiruzen could no longer support him, and their arguments were growing more frequent.
Hiruzen braced himself for another "you regret I'm not Hokage" debate. He wasn't in the mood, especially after Tsunade's visit.
But he had no choice—Danzo was already here. Hiruzen steeled himself, preparing to tell him, "Danzo, you're being extreme again."
Instead, Danzo said something that froze him in place:
"Hiruzen, you've heard about Tsunade's hemophobia, haven't you?"
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed. His first thought: Was Danzo spying on him?
But he quickly dismissed that. No one could spy on the Hokage's office, not even Root.
Then—only one explanation remained.
He frowned. "You've been spying on Tsunade?"
Danzo snorted. "Don't insult me. I didn't install surveillance on your student. But I have people stationed in Tanzaku Town. Tsunade went there recently after finishing a mission. Instead of returning directly, she stopped to play."
"My subordinates saw her purchase a censored version of the genjutsu game. After that, her condition worsened—full hemophobia."
"Shizune tried treating her. Caused quite a stir. But nothing worked. Tsunade is now a cripple who can't even be a ninja."
Hearing this, Hiruzen's frown deepened. "Does anyone else know about this?"
Danzo sneered, "Are you underestimating Root? My men already took care of it."
Cold. Emotionless. As if the collateral damage meant nothing.
Hiruzen frowned again—Danzo was too ruthless. But he said nothing.
Because, in the end, those who died weren't from the Leaf. Danzo's methods were extreme—but they kept Tsunade's secret safe.
And ultimately, it was all for the sake of the Hidden Leaf.