Chapter 7: Consultant
A person can always learn from the experiences of others, and Aizen Sosuke was not so narrow-minded as to reject everything that ca from the Quincy.
In the world of the dead, whether Shinigami or Quincy, the essence of both lies in their control over Reishi. One manipulates the external flow of Reishi, while the other cultivates and refines their own.
In the end, both paths lead to the sa goal: the manipulation of energy. There is no true hierarchy—only differing philosophies. With this broader understanding, Aizen realized that Konoha’s ninjutsu and chakra systems held countless possibilities that could be combined or reinterpreted.
For example—the Blut Vene.
The Quincies’ Blut Vene was an innate ability that circulated Reishi through their veins, enhancing both defense and physical resilience. After carefully studying its principle and operational flow, Aizen found it promising, though further refinent would require more intricate manipulation of the body’s vascular system—sothing not yet aligned with his plan.
Still, it made an excellent disguise for his research.
In this world, the gap between offense and defense was staggering. A secret technique that allowed a person to withstand kunai and even low-level ninjutsu unhard, despite its limitations, was bound to spark curiosity and admiration.
Everyone understood the value of dical ninjutsu. A defensive art that improved survival rates naturally drew attention. Even if primitive in execution, such a technique would be welcod and praised.
Curiosity, after all, breeds acceptance.
And when it ca from Aizen Sosuke, Konoha’s most trusted and beloved Chunin, who would dare to doubt it?
A kind-hearted man known for his defensive expertise rather than aggression—soone who had survived scrutiny from both ANBU and Root—Aizen’s invention would surely be archived in Konoha’s Book of Sealed Techniques.
A Chunin’s idea, capable of saving the lives of countless Genin?
How could anyone object?
In truth, even if Aizen himself wished to fight on the front lines, the Third Hokage would forbid it.
Politically, spiritually, and symbolically, Aizen was too valuable.
To the people, his calm presence—his white haori with its black lining, his quiet devotion to helping others—had beco a symbol of stability.
If anything were to happen to Aizen Sosuke, the entire village would feel it.
A Chunin could not sway the tides of war, but he could steady the hearts of the people. He could develop protective arts, assist other Jonin with their experints, and lead by quiet example. His offensive power might be limited, but his influence was imasurable.
With both public faith and practical contribution on his side, Aizen Sosuke’s standing in Konoha could no longer be considered ordinary.
He had beco the foundation itself.
Many Jonin had already resolved that, should anything happen to them, they would entrust their disciples or children to Aizen’s care.
In a cruel and uncertain world, he represented the rare promise of safety—a single, reliable escape route.
---
“Hey, you’re here already, Aizen!”
“Good morning, Akimichi Jonin.”
Aizen greeted the rotund, middle-aged man waiting at the entrance of Konoha’s Conference Hall with his usual soft smile and a courteous bow.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Aizen said mildly. “I was summoned, but I don’t quite understand why. I’m rely a Chunin, nowhere near as capable as you all. Surely, my presence isn’t required for a council eting of this scale?”
“According to the schedule, it’s around the ti for assigning new teams,” the Akimichi replied thoughtfully. “Graduation season and all that. But yes, it is strange—a Chunin being called to a Jonin eting? I’ve never heard of that before.”
Akimichi Torikaze, the man at the door, was the younger brother of Akimichi Tofu—the Second Hokage’s forr personal guard and one of Konoha’s most senior Jonin. Though retired, mbers of the Akimichi clan often served as security officers for high-level etings. On rare occasions, Tofu himself would take the post for particularly sensitive sessions.
Such Jonin gatherings had beco more frequent in recent years. Aside from those stationed at the borders, nearly every Jonin within the village was present.
And among that sea of green vests, one figure stood out—Aizen Sosuke, dressed in his pristine white haori, looking slightly out of place yet completely at ease.
It wasn’t jealousy that filled the air but bewildernt.
Why is a Chunin here?
And why does he get to wear that?
Aizen didn’t explain himself. He simply offered a helpless smile and a small shrug, the gesture so natural that it disard even the most skeptical among them.
Such things weren’t unheard of—but when it ca to Aizen, they took on a different weight.
Even the most stoic clan shinobi found it hard not to trust him. His gentleness had a way of eroding suspicion.
Everyone knew his rank, his duties, his lack of ambition. Yet now he was standing among them, and the air itself seed to shift around him.
Was this a sign?
A silent ssage from the Hokage?
Should they… support Aizen?
Murmurs filled the hall as speculation rippled through the crowd. Then—
Click.
The door opened.
The Third Hokage entered, wearing his bamboo hat and the flowing robes of his office.
But this ti, he was alone. No advisors flanking him, no escorting guards—only his presence, calm yet commanding.
He walked to the front of the room and sat before the assembled Jonin. His gaze swept across them briefly before stopping on Aizen.
“Ordinarily,” Hiruzen began, his tone steady, “this eting would be to discuss Jonin leadership assignnts for the new graduates. However, I wish to make an announcent first.”
The murmuring ceased instantly.
He paused, exhaled, then continued.
“I have decided to appoint Sosuke as Konoha’s deputy advisor.”
“……?”
The room went silent. Not a whisper, not a breath.
Even the air seed to freeze.
Before anyone else could react, Aizen stepped forward and bowed deeply to the Hokage.
It was not an act of gratitude—
but of refusal.
Faced with the highest honor a Chunin could ever receive, Aizen Sosuke declined without hesitation.
"I am young, inexperienced, and of little ability. I am only an ordinary Chunin. There is no way I can take on such an important responsibility. Please, Sandai Hokage-sama, rescind your order!"
"Are you saying I made the wrong judgnt, Sosuke?"
"I wouldn’t dare... but..."
"If I did not make a mistake in my judgnt, then why do you believe you’re unfit for the role?"
"But… I…"
"This is the position that suits you best. I declare it in the na of Hokage."
“…”
The expression on Aizen’s face froze, caught sowhere between disbelief and logical collapse. The room fell silent for a heartbeat before laughter rippled through the assembled Jonin.
Even those who had been uncertain monts earlier couldn’t help but smile.
Because, thinking about it carefully, the role of deputy advisor was indeed a perfect fit.
Aizen becoming Hokage would have been far too drastic—but an advisor? That was harmless enough.
It might sound strange, but that was simply the nature of Aizen Sosuke. If he made a declaration, the villagers would follow him without hesitation, no matter what others thought.
From the mont he entered the academy at six years old, Aizen had lived by the Will of Fire. Fourteen years of good deeds, quiet service, and constant acts of kindness had made his reputation legendary.
He didn’t just complete missions for paynt like ordinary shinobi—he volunteered his ti to help anyone in need. He taught children about Konoha’s ideals, repaired hos after storms, and offered guidance to new academy graduates.
An entire generation had grown up under his influence. Young and old alike respected him deeply.
A twenty-year-old Chunin becoming Hokage would indeed be unthinkable—but a consultant? That, everyone agreed, made perfect sense.
After all, the title sounded grand, yet the position itself held no direct authority.
An acting advisor was rely a junior assistant to the actual council, a symbolic position with little real power. Still, it provided access to information and resources—and it placed Aizen at the very heart of Konoha’s administration.
To most of the Jonin present, that was acceptable, even desirable. Aizen’s character was beyond reproach, his intentions always for the village’s good. And since he had no ambition for personal gain, there was no threat of rivalry.
A perfect arrangent.
In their eyes, it was more an honorific than a promotion—a role that acknowledged Aizen’s devotion without disturbing the village’s hierarchy.
“Hey, Sosuke, just accept the position,” one Jonin said with a grin. “Otherwise, we’ll have no idea where to place you.”
“Besides,” another added, “you’ll need access to restricted data and research clearance for your work anyway. It fits.”
“The advisor assists the Hokage in making decisions. Nothing too complicated. Just take it,” said a third, his tone light but sincere.
Whether these voices were secretly planted by the Hokage or genuine supporters, Aizen couldn’t tell. But the warmth in the room was undeniable.
None of the Jonin bore him ill will. One by one, they began congratulating him with smiles and nods, welcoming the youngest advisor in Konoha’s history.
“Honestly, Sosuke,” the Sandai said after the laughter subsided, his tone turning calm and serious, “I originally intended to train you for an even higher position.”
The room quieted again.
“However,” Hiruzen continued, his gaze steady, “the Hokage represents the face of the village. Sosuke, your strength, though remarkable in its own way, is not enough for that responsibility. The Blut Vene is an impressive creation, but it alone cannot command the respect of the other nations. I hope you understand my reasoning.”
Aizen bowed his head slightly. “I do, Hokage-sama.”
“But you cannot remain as you are,” Hiruzen went on. “Your talents are too valuable. This position is what you deserve. A Konoha advisor does not need overwhelming strength—but he must possess a heart completely devoted to the village.”
His eyes softened.
“Because, in this world, no one loves Konoha more than you do. No one holds the Will of Fire more purely. Even among those in this room—including myself—none have given as much of themselves for this village as you have. That devotion... is what makes you worthy.”
“…”
Aizen’s expression shifted—from surprise, to reflection, to quiet resolve. Finally, he nodded.
“I understand, Sandai-sama. I will accept the position. If my counsel can help preserve the Will of Fire, then I will do my utmost for the sake of everyone in Konoha.”
“That’s it,” Hiruzen said, smiling with satisfaction.
He looked at Aizen, whose expression had steadied—serene, composed, and now carrying the faint glow of purpose—and felt a swell of reassurance.
This was the Aizen Sosuke he admired most: the man who could see through everyone’s hearts yet never judged them, who guided rather than commanded.
Although his two old advisors had expressed their objections, Hiruzen knew Danzo would convince them otherwise. He trusted Danzo’s thods.
“Then, Sosuke,” he said, “take your seat now. Familiarize yourself with the duties of an advisor.”
“Yes, Hokage-sama.”
“Next, let’s discuss the assignnt of Genin teams…”
Aizen moved to the chair nearest to the Hokage’s side, taking out pen and paper to record the eting’s notes with quiet diligence.
The matters discussed were routine—team formations, field placents, and academy reports. The inclusion of an acting advisor was a re procedural adjustnt.
Besides, the news had already spread through the clan networks. The villagers were pleased, the daimyo expressed his approval, and the Jonin had no reason to object. Everything had gone smoothly.
Still, the true highlight of the eting remained the Hokage’s sudden announcent of Aizen’s appointnt.
As the discussions continued, a masked figure appeared silently beside the table. The room stilled.
An ANBU operative.
He knelt and extended a sealed scroll to the Hokage.
Such delivery ant only one thing: the contents were urgent.
Hiruzen unrolled the parchnt, and as his eyes scanned the words, his expression darkened.
“Everyone,” he said at last, his tone low, “we’ve received new intelligence.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted imdiately.
“Significant developnts have occurred in the Sand Village of the Land of Wind. The Third Kazekage, his guards, and the puppeteer known as Sasori… are all confird missing. The report is verified.”
For a brief mont, silence hung heavy in the air.
Then the weight of the news sank in.
Whispers filled the chamber—grim, uncertain. The implications were enormous.
Aizen Sosuke, seated quietly behind the Hokage, adjusted his glasses.
His expression remained unchanged—calm, reflective, unreadable.
Inside, there was no ripple in his heart.
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