[Hi no Miyako — The Capital of Fire]
Three days on the road.Little rest. Little need.
Naruto moved fast where he could, slow where caution demanded. The land shifted beneath his feet — forests to foothills, foothills to bare stone. The old roads grew colder, thinner, marked more by merchant wheels than shinobi steps.
By dawn on the fourth day, the road curved through the last pass — and there it was:
Hi no Miyako. The Fire Capital.
A vast sprawl of red-tiled roofs and stone avenues, built upon the wide shoulders of the Akai River.
Its walls rose high and smooth — polished stone and iron designed not to fend off raiders or bandits, but to resist chakra, jutsu, shadow-walkers. In their cold gleam, Naruto saw the work of many Daimyōs — a city built in uneasy balance with the age of shinobi.
Above the walls, banners flew from slender towers — silk standards marked with the golden flame crest of the Daimyō. The symbol of Fire's throne.
And beyond those walls, the rooftops rose in deliberate tiers: merchant quarters, noble estates, shrines older than the First Hokage's name.
A city not shaped for war — but for power.
Even from the outer road, Naruto could feel it:
Tension. Eyes. Layers unseen.
This was no shinobi village where every face was familiar, where every rooftop carried shared purpose.This was a place where every word might carry weight, where one misstep could bring blades — and not always the kind you saw.
ANBU might watch from shadows unseen.Court spies too — older, quieter, deadlier.
He adjusted the weight of his pack, pulling the hood of his travel cloak higher and removing his forehead protector from his right arm.
That had been Hayato's advice:
"In the Capital, wear Konoha's strength — not its symbol."
He remembered it well.
This was not Konoha. This was the Daimyō's court. A shinobi here was not a soldier — but a tool, or a threat.
Naruto stepped forward — alone.One more shadow among the many.
[A Different World]
The streets were wider here — broad stone avenues that echoed beneath the steady tread of thousands.A city built not by clans or chakra, but by hands and coin.
They were crowded now — packed with travelers and merchants from every corner of the Land of Fire. Voices rose and fell in dozens of dialects. The scents of spice, ink, steel, and smoke wove through the cool morning air.
Naruto walked among them — alone beneath his hood, eyes sharp beneath the shadowed brim.
He saw samurai retainers in lacquered armor — crimson, black, jade — escorting envoys clad in brocade. Each samurai moved with the quiet poise of a trained blade, hands always near their hilts.
He saw scholars and scribes bearing scroll cases of law and treaty, their robes marked with the insignia of ancient courts. Their eyes flicked between written words and whispered bargains.
He saw the common folk too — farmers with handcarts of winter grain, craftsmen with bundles of silk and wood, traders haggling beneath painted awnings.
But even among them — the air was different.
Here, no one bowed to shinobi.Here, the Daimyō ruled — and the clans served.This was a city where blades answered to crowns, not headbands.
The few ninja Naruto did spot moved with care — village marks hidden, chakra signatures tightly sheathed. Their gazes were sharp, scanning every shadow.
He moved in turn — silent among them, matching the city's rhythm. Watching. Learning.
This was not the Village Hidden in the Leaves, where every face was familiar and every street carried the warmth of home — or its cold absence.
This was Hi no Miyako — a place where every word carried weight. Where politics cut deeper than kunai. Where ANBU might watch unseen from the tiled eaves above.
The heart of the Capital was a city of words first, blades second — a battlefield where no jutsu would shield one from careless speech.
Yet still — beneath the flowing crowd, the thrumming pulse of the city — Naruto moved with purpose.
He had ironically come for one thing.
Steel.
[Interruption — The Daimyō's Summon]
Naruto had barely reached the broad stone avenues near the eastern terraces when the path ahead shifted.
A man stood there — not a merchant, not a thief.
Samurai. Armor of black and crimson. Sword at his hip, stance practiced.
Two more stood at flanking distance — not blocking, but watching.
The leader spoke — voice calm, with the slight edge of command.
"Naruto Uzumaki."
Naruto's gaze narrowed beneath his hood.
"I am."
The samurai inclined his head.
"By order of His Excellency, the Daimyō of the Land of Fire — you are requested to attend him. Now."
No bow. No invitation to refuse.A request in form — an order in truth.
Naruto's fingers flexed slightly beneath his cloak.
"Why?"
The samurai's gaze didn't waver.
"Matters of interest. Your recent actions have drawn attention. You will not be harmed. You will be heard."
A pause.
"The Daimyō wishes to speak before you pursue your… purchases."
They knew.Of course they knew.
In the Capital, a foreign shinobi walking alone — with coin, with no handler — was already marked.
Naruto exhaled slowly. Tension, yes — but no fight. Not here.He adjusted the strap on his shoulder.
"Very well."
The lead samurai gave a short nod."Follow."
[Toward the Daimyō's Court]
They moved quickly, without fanfare.
Through wider streets now — avenues of stone flanked by banners and shrine markers. Past armored retainers, sharp-eyed guards, and the subtle presences Naruto knew were watching from rooftops.
ANBU? Samurai sensors? Hard to say. The air here was different.
At last, they entered the inner court — a long hall of dark wood and crimson silks.No throne, but a raised seat where the Daimyō of Fire himself awaited.
Middle-aged, sharp-eyed beneath rich robes — not a warrior, but not soft.
Beside him stood two older retainers — both silent. Both watching Naruto with subtle interest.
The samurai stepped aside.
The Daimyō spoke first — voice measured, deep.
"Naruto Uzumaki. The boy who returned Kiba to Kirigakure. The boy who killed Raiga Kurosuki."A faint smile."The boy who walks alone."
Naruto stood tall beneath the gaze."I came for steel, not an audience."
The Daimyō's eyes gleamed faintly.
"Of course you did. Yet the blade you seek will not cut politics from this land."
A pause.
"I wished to see the one the Hokage sends again and again to bleed beyond our borders — who earns coin in steel and brings back no boast."
Naruto said nothing.
The Daimyō studied him — gaze sharp as any jōnin's, as though weighing a blade's edge beneath calm words.
Then he asked:
"Do you serve the Hokage alone?"
Naruto's eyes stayed level.
"I serve the Leaf," he said quietly."But not blindly. I serve the people who need protection."
A breath. No hesitation.
"I serve those I choose to protect. Not orders alone. Not faces on a scroll."
The Daimyō's fingers tapped once upon the polished armrest.A faint smile ghosted his lips — not of amusement, but recognition.
"A dangerous answer.""An honest one."
His voice lowered slightly — as if speaking beyond the chamber.
"Too many in your village forget that difference. They serve symbols, not lives."
Naruto didn't flinch.
"Symbols fall. People matter."
A long pause followed. The chamber remained still — the guards silent, the air weighted with unseen meaning.
Then, the Daimyō gestured subtly.
"Clear the hall."