Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle

The Land of Grass.

(T.L Note: The name of the country where Kusagakure is located was never mentioned, so I am assuming the same name like Amegakure is in the Land of Rain)

Owing to its unique geography, it had long served as a buffer zone—an uneasy truce line between the major shinobi nations. Throughout history, it had been a battleground more often than a homeland. And once again, its meadows bore witness to the chaos of war.

This time, the confrontation was between Konohagakure and Kumogakure. As per old war protocols, the battlefield was drawn along the neutral plains of Grass Country.

…

Konoha Main Camp.

Within the largest tent, tension hung heavy in the air. Inoichi, acting commander of the Konoha forces, stood motionless before a sand table depicting troop movements. His eyes were grim, scanning the markers showing their units and the steadily advancing enemy.

The other senior shinobi seated around the table wore similarly dark expressions.

"…They've committed more shinobi than we estimated."

Inoichi's voice broke the silence, heavy with frustration.

In recent days, Konoha forces had engaged the enemy in several skirmishes—but each had ended in retreat or loss. The sheer number of Kumo shinobi pouring into the battlefield had far surpassed their expectations.

What was worse—the quality of these reinforcements.

Kumogakure's Elite-Jōnin were not only numerous but experienced, their fighting spirit honed over years of recovery and training since the end of the Third Great Ninja War.

Konoha, in contrast, had never truly recovered from the trauma of the Nine-Tails' rampage.

With so many high-ranking shinobi lost that night, the village's upper-tier strength had been hollowed out. And now, that difference was showing. For every Jōnin they deployed, Kumo sent three. For every squad of genin, Kumo responded with entire battalions.

Konoha was being overwhelmed. The disparity was no longer strategic—it was existential.

A hush fell over the tent as the realization settled in. The tension was palpable, like a thick fog pressing down on their lungs.

And then—fwssh!—the tent flaps were thrown open.

A scout burst in, panting heavily, dirt smeared across his vest.

"Commander Inoichi! Kumo forces have launched a full-scale assault!"

"What?!"

Gasps erupted across the room. Inoichi's eyes widened, hands clenching the edge of the table.

"How is that possible? How long since their last engagement?" he demanded.

"Only a day, sir!" the scout answered, voice sharp with urgency. "But this time, they've deployed more shinobi than before. Significantly more."

A chill swept the room.

Inoichi's jaw tightened.

'So, they've gained confidence from our repeated defeats...' he thought grimly. Now they're pressing the advantage.

There was no time for hesitation.

"Prepare for battle!" he barked, voice slicing through the anxiety like a kunai.

…

The Plains of Grass Country.

Stretching endlessly to the horizon, the rolling green fields now bore the scars of repeated conflict. Scorched earth, cratered terrain, and broken kunai littered the battlefield. The bodies of fallen shinobi lay sprawled across the grass, evidence of earlier clashes.

Konoha's shinobi, clad in dark green flak jackets, stood tense and ready. Sweat trickled down their foreheads—not from heat, but the weight of anticipation. Their breaths were steady, their grips tight on their weapons.

From a vantage point atop a small hill, Inoichi scanned the distant horizon.

Then he froze.

He saw it—a ripple in the grass. Subtle at first. Then, the faintest tremble underfoot.

*Thump.* *Thump.* *Thump.*

The earth began to shake.

"There they come!" Inoichi called out, eyes narrowed.

Far ahead, a black line streaked across the edge of the horizon. In seconds, that line grew—a wave of Kumo shinobi in dark uniforms, surging forward like a rolling thundercloud.

"Kill!!" a Kumo captain roared.

"Here they come! Hold the line!" a Konoha Jonin shouted.

With roars of their own, Konoha's forces charged to meet them. From above, it looked like two paint strokes—green and black—slamming together in violent, chaotic brushstrokes.

*Clang!* *Boom!* *Crack!*

The battlefield ignited. Steel met steel. Ninjutsu detonated mid-air in blinding bursts of flame, lightning, and earth. The air was filled with shouts, explosions, and screams.

Inoichi's face turned grave.

The numerical disadvantage was immediate.

Kumo's troops pressed with relentless fury, their numbers easily outmatching Konoha's by thirty percent or more. Their initial charge was undeterred, while Konoha's shinobi struggled to both defend and counterattack.

"Inoichi! We're losing ground," bellowed Akimichi Choza, swatting aside a squad of Kumo genin with a single swing of his massive, expanded arm. "Prepare to retreat!"

"Not yet!" Inoichi growled, teeth clenched.

A retreat this early would only shatter what little morale they had left. Worse, it would open a path for Kumo to pursue and crush their rear guard.

"Inoichi, the situation's deteriorating fast!" Choza warned, swatting down another attacker with a thoom of his enlarged fist.

Inoichi glanced around. Konoha's formation was fracturing. Panic was setting in. They wouldn't last much longer.

Just as he opened his mouth to give the retreat order—

"Commander! We're getting reinforcements! From the right flank!"

A scout's voice rang out with desperate hope.

Inoichi turned, eyes snapping toward the horizon.

There—chaos in the Kumo ranks. A fresh commotion, with enemy troops redirecting their formation in panic. And then—

He sensed them.

Chakra. Dozens of unfamiliar yet familiar presences, brimming with intensity and malice. His mind latched onto one in particular.

His eyes widened.

"Those are...!"

…

Right Flank, Kumo Formation.

"Kill!!"

"For the glory of Uchiha!!"

"For the glory of Uchiha!!!"

A storm of fire and fury descended upon the Kumo troops. Dozens of Uchiha shinobi surged forward, their crimson Sharingan eyes glowing with ferocious power. Their cries were wild, unrelenting, their chakra flaring like a crimson tsunami.

Taijutsu, Genjutsu, Fire-style techniques—flames roared through the battlefield as Kumo ninjas were caught off guard, immobilized in illusions, and brought down by precise and ruthless strikes.

One Kumo chūnin fell to his knees, staring in horror before a kunai plunged into his neck.

Another found himself trapped in a hallucination, believing his own comrades were enemies—he didn't survive long enough to realize his mistake.

"I saw him first!"

"No way, that kill is mine!"

The Uchiha warriors bickered mid-battle, competing for headcount like it was a sport.

The chaos they brought was absolute.

Nearby, on the left of their formation, another group surged into battle with equal madness.

"We can't let those Uchiha bastards show us up!"

"For Mirai-sama! Don't disgrace his name!!"

This squad—former subordinates of Namikaze Mirai—pushed forward with wild fervor, cutting through Kumo ranks in a parallel rampage.

The two groups seemed to be locked in a deadly competition. And caught in the middle, Kumo's once-dominant force crumbled.

Konoha shinobi who moments ago stood on the brink of defeat could only watch in awe and disbelief.

It was like divine judgment had descended upon the battlefield.

…

From a distant ridge overlooking the scene, Mirai stood calmly.

The wind rustled his blue cloak—the signature shade that had once earned him the title 'Blue Flash'.

Beside him stood Naruto, still young, his blue eyes wide with amazement.

"So," Naruto whispered, voice barely audible over the wind, "those are... your men?"

Mirai's gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, where the tide had turned in an instant.

"No," he said with a soft smile. "Those are Konoha's men."

*****

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