** Ashindo Sumitaro's home sat on a quiet street tucked away from the busier districts of the Hidden Leaf. It wasn't extravagant, nor was it sparse. The house reflected the man who lived in it—clean, orderly, and practical, with years of service subtly woven into every corner. The study occupied the front of the house. Afternoon light filtered through partially opened shoji screens, casting soft lines across polished wooden floors. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with mission reports, military texts, village records, and scrolls accumulated over decades of shinobi service. A single display case held a handful of carefully preserved keepsakes: an old forehead protector from his genin days, a cracked kunai retired after one too many battles, and several commendations that gathered more dust than admiration. At the center of the room stood a broad cedar desk worn smooth along its edges from countless hours of paperwork. Neatly stacked folders waited for review beside a brush holder and fresh inkstone. Maps of the Five Great Nations lay rolled together in one corner, while a larger tactical map of the Hidden Leaf and its surrounding territories occupied most of the desk's surface, marked with removable pins and handwritten notes. Behind the desk sat Ashindo Sumitaro.