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With the existence of the Scripture Pavilion, everyone in the Rain Country—ninja or not—wanted to get inside. Ninjas dreamed of learning powerful jutsu or studying the training notes left behind by others, while ordinary people hoped to discover a way to train and become shinobi themselves.
Because of that, the entire nation was suddenly obsessed with racking up enough mission points to earn entry. People rushed to accept whatever missions they could, hoping the rewards would get them closer to the Pavilion. But Rain wasn't like Konoha, Iwa, or Suna—it wasn't a hidden village flooded with outside requests.
Work was scarce, too many hands and not enough tasks, and things got so competitive that ninjas were practically ready to fight each other over a single job.
Konan saw this and knew it couldn't go on. Sure, the frenzy for points made Rain's ninjas throw themselves into missions, which built up trust with outsiders and drew in more contracts from beyond their borders. But that kind of growth was too slow. If they didn't find another solution, trouble would break out sooner or later.
After listening to her worries, Hayato thought it over and suggested a new approach.
He proposed awarding mission points for developing new jutsu. Of course, creating new techniques was no easy feat—most people wouldn't be able to manage it—but it still gave them another direction to aim for.
On top of that, Hayato told Konan to start posting simpler missions tied to everyday life. Things like using ninjutsu to help farmers: developing more efficient crop seeds, draining fields during heavy rain, reshaping land to make it better for planting, even tweaking the weather to suit farming.
The clever ones could brainstorm ways to boost harvests. The less imaginative could stick to simple, repetitive jobs that still needed doing.
Most of those little missions didn't pay out many points, but that wasn't the point. It kept the ninjas busy, stopped them from tearing each other apart over too few missions, and at the same time helped raise crop yields. Over time, it could even reshape the Rain Country's environment, making it a better place to live.
It was the same principle that made Konoha flourish. Their land had always been fertile, but the First Hokage's Wood Release had transformed it into one of the richest, most livable regions in the entire shinobi world. Rain didn't have a Hashirama, but Hayato's policies carried a similar kind of long-term impact. Maybe not noticeable right away—but give it enough years, and the difference would be undeniable.
Thanks to the Pavilion and the new policies, Rain came alive. Ninjas and civilians alike found fresh purpose. The chaos and despair that once defined their daily lives slowly faded. For the first time in memory, most people no longer had to worry about starving.
That was exactly what Konan wanted to see. Every time she looked at the changes sweeping across her homeland, she couldn't help but feel a deep admiration for Hayato. She never imagined someone could think so far ahead, or care so much about building a future for everyone.
After all, in the shinobi world, farming was considered beneath a ninja. Only the lowest-ranked rookies, fresh out of the academy, would ever get stuck with missions like watering crops or pulling weeds. Real shinobi never spared a thought for how food was grown, leaving such "trivial" matters to peasants.
And that was why so much of the world remained trapped in poverty—why so many parents had been forced to sell their own children for a bite of food.
But now, in the Land of Rain, things had taken a sudden turn. Because missions required enough points to complete, a huge number of shinobi had started using their heads in new ways. Instead of just relying on brute strength, they began using their jutsu and creativity to figure out how to make crops grow better, how to make harvests more bountiful.
Maybe, after a few seasons, new strains of crops would be developed that were so advanced they could feed everyone. Maybe, in time, hunger would disappear completely from the shinobi world.
When Konan realized this, the way she looked at Takeda Hayato changed. It wasn't just admiration anymore—her eyes held something closer to reverence, like she was staring at a god come down to earth.
Hayato himself didn't really understand this. To him, the shinobi arts were already miraculous. If those same techniques could be turned away from bloodshed and instead used to grow more food, the results would be even more impressive than anything he'd seen in his previous life, a world without chakra or ninjutsu.
But here, in this world, ninjas fought over resources. They killed each other over food. Yes, the strongest always got enough to eat. But what about everyone else?
They starved.
That was how the world had always worked, right from the very beginning. Hayato couldn't exactly change history. But starting in the Land of Rain… maybe he could shift things, even just a little.
Of course, the only reason he was doing any of this was because Konan wanted a world like that. If not for her, he never would've bothered. So to all those benefiting from these new policies—if you're grateful, you should thank Konan. She's your angel.
Without her, Hayato would've poured every ounce of energy into one thing and one thing only: getting stronger. Stronger than anyone else.
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