The endless expanse of golden sand stretched beyond the horizon in the Land of Wind, where mirages danced under the scorching sun. Within this barren wasteland stood one of the five great shinobi villages—Sunagakure, the Village Hidden in the Sand.
In a modest house within the village's residential district, the afternoon air was filled with gentle laughter. Chiyo, a middle-aged woman with weathered hands that spoke of countless battles, sat cross-legged on a woven mat. Before her, a small child with bright eyes and unruly red hair giggled as she performed simple puppet techniques, making wooden figures dance in the air with chakra strings.
"Grandma Chiyo, make them fight!" the little boy exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight.
Chiyo's stern features softened into a rare smile. "Patience, little Sasori. A true puppet master must first understand the art of control before—"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The urgent knocking at the door shattered their peaceful moment like glass. Chiyo's expression immediately hardened, her grandmother's warmth replaced by the calculating gaze of a veteran shinobi. She looked down at Sasori, whose excited expression had turned to confusion.
"Mama will take care of you now," Chiyo said gently, lifting the child and handing him to her daughter-in-law, who had emerged from the kitchen with flour-dusted hands. The younger woman's face showed concern as she recognized the tension in Chiyo's posture.
With reluctant steps, Chiyo approached the door. The knocking continued, each rap more insistent than the last. When she finally opened it, a young Sand ninja stood before her, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the late afternoon hour.
"Chiyo-sama," he panted, struggling to catch his breath. "Something big has happened. Please come to the Kazekage's office immediately."
The seriousness etched into every line of the messenger's face told Chiyo this was no ordinary summons. Without argument, she grabbed her outer robe and followed him into the dusty streets of Sunagakure.
The Kazekage building loomed against the darkening sky, its imposing silhouette a symbol of Sand Village's strength. Chiyo's sandals clicked against the stone floors as she made her way through familiar corridors.
When she entered the conference room, her breath caught in her throat. The chamber was packed with the most influential figures in the village: elder council members, clan heads, and high-ranking jōnin. Even her brother Ebizō was present, his usually calm demeanor replaced by obvious agitation.
This is about more than just a mission complication, Chiyo realized as she took in the grave faces around her.
Her thoughts briefly wandered to the ongoing mission in the Land of Whirlpools—something involving a joint operation between three villages. She had deliberately avoided the details, choosing instead to focus on her family. After all, with little Sasori's birth, she had more important things to worry about than village politics.
How could I manage village affairs when my precious grandson is waiting for me at home?
Unable to contain her impatience any longer, Chiyo stepped forward. "What happened?"
The room fell silent. One of the village elders, a man whose scarred face spoke of decades on the battlefield, slowly rose to his feet. His voice, usually steady and commanding, trembled as he spoke.
"We lost."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. For a moment, the only sound was the whisper of wind through the building's ventilation system.
Then chaos erupted.
"WHAT?!"
"That's impossible!"
"How could we lose?!"
Voices rose in a cacophony of disbelief and anger. Some ninja jumped to their feet, others slammed their fists on the table. The elder who had delivered the news stood motionless in the center of the storm, his shoulders sagged with the weight of truth.
It took nearly ten minutes before order was restored, and even then, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a kunai.
Chiyo's voice cut through the residual murmur like a blade. "Explain clearly. How could we have lost? Did Konoha empty their entire village to launch an attack? Or did they unleash the Nine-Tails?"
The elder's silence stretched uncomfortably before he finally answered. "It wasn't Konoha." His voice cracked. "It was the Uzumaki Clan who defeated us."
"How can this be?" another council member sputtered. "No way! A mere Uzumaki clan—"
His words died under Chiyo's icy glare. Her eyes, sharp as winter wind, commanded absolute attention.
"Continue. Tell me everything in detail."
The elder's explanation unfolded like a nightmare made real. The joint mission to the Land of Whirlpools, involving forces from three great villages—Sand, Stone, and Cloud—had been meant as a show of overwhelming power. Nearly ten thousand shinobi had marched against what intelligence reports claimed was a declining clan.
Instead, they had encountered something beyond their wildest imagination.
A single individual—barely ten years old—had single-handedly decimated their combined forces. The Third Kazekage himself had been captured, along with hundreds of their finest warriors.
Silence descended upon the conference room like a funeral shroud. Even the most battle-hardened veterans stared at the floor, unable to process the magnitude of their defeat.
Finally, someone managed to speak. "The reports we received indicate that most of our ninja were captured alive. There's still a very good chance for negotiation—"
"Did they send their demands?" Chiyo interrupted.
Before the elder could respond, the conference room doors burst open with violent force. A jōnin stumbled in, his uniform torn and his face haggard from what was clearly a desperate journey across the desert.
Several council members rose to scold the ninja for his unprofessional behavior, but his next words froze them in place.
"The Uzumaki village sent their demands just now!"
"Let me see," Chiyo commanded, extending her hand.
The scroll felt heavier than it should have as she unrolled it. With each line she read, her expression grew darker, more troubled. The color drained from her weathered face as the full scope of their predicament became clear.
"What are their demands, Chiyo-sama?" The question came from multiple voices, urgent and anxious.
Chiyo set down the scroll with deliberate care, as if it were an explosive tag ready to detonate. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Their demands are very simple. Two billion ryō for the Wind Shadow and all the Sand ninja captured, plus three hundred million ryō every year afterward."
The number hit the room like a physical blow.
"Two billion?!" someone gasped. "Have they ever even seen that much money in their lives?!"
Chiyo felt a crushing weight settle on her shoulders. Two billion ryō represented nearly twenty percent of Wind country annual budget. It was a sum that would cripple their village's economy for years to come.
"Stop!" she shouted as arguments erupted around her. "Stop arguing and think about how we're going to get the money!"
"Chiyo-sama, how can we accept that? Let someone negotiate with them!"
"No." Her voice cut through the protests. "They already stated in their letter that the Third Kazekage has agreed to these terms. If we don't agree, then there's no need for a reply. If we do agree, we simply come and collect our people. The conditions have already been discussed with the Third Kazekage."
A younger council member stood up, his face flushed with indignation. "Those barbarians! Do they think we'll just roll over and accept this? They're just a small clan! The Kazekage was definitely captured through some despicable trick. We'll definitely win if we try again!"
Chiyo couldn't help but sigh deeply. If only it were that simple.
Whatever method the Uzumaki had used, the fact remained: one person against ten thousand. The gap in power was so vast that her mind struggled to comprehend it. She had seen the reports, heard the testimonies of the survivors. This wasn't about tricks or deception—this was raw, overwhelming power on a scale that defied understanding.
Even if all five Kage joined forces, such a feat would be nearly impossible. And yet a single member of the Uzumaki clan—a child, no less—had accomplished it alone.
This is dealing with another God of Shinobi, she realized with growing dread.
Chiyo was old enough to remember the stories of Senju Hashirama, the First Hokage. She understood the insurmountable gap between a normal Kage-level ninja and a true monster of the shinobi world. It was like comparing an ordinary person without chakra to a jōnin—no, perhaps even to a Kage.
If you hoped to defeat such a being using normal shinobi, you would need at least one hundred thousand fighters to have even a remote chance. But where could they possibly find one hundred thousand ninja?
Maybe the three villages could defeat him if they combined their full forces, she mused grimly, but what then? I absolutely guarantee we couldn't kill him if he didn't want to die. And he's only ten years old—who knows how much stronger this monster will become?
The thought sent chills down her spine. They were essentially bullying a lion cub, but when that cub grew to full size, it would mean their complete destruction. The fact that the Uzumaki hadn't simply slaughtered their forces outright was perhaps the only fortunate thing about this entire disaster.
"Enough," Chiyo declared, her voice carrying the full weight of her authority. "Shiro, call for an urgent meeting with the Daimyo."
Similar scenes were playing out in the other great villages, though each had their own unique complications to consider.
In Iwagakure, the Village Hidden in the Stones, the situation was marginally different but no less dire.
"One Tailed Beast is impossible!" The voice echoed through the Tsuchikage's office, filled with righteous indignation. "Even increasing the money would be acceptable, but a Tailed Beast? Never!"
The speaker was a young man with features that clearly marked him as the current Tsuchikage's son. His face was red with anger, and his fists clenched at his sides as he paced back and forth across the office.
But as he caught sight of his father's thoughtful expression, his tirade faltered. The Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki, sat behind his desk with his chin resting on his interlaced fingers, his weathered face creased in deep contemplation.
"Father, what are you thinking so deeply about?" the young man asked, his voice tinged with growing alarm. "You're not seriously considering their demands, are you?"
Ōnoki looked up at his son and couldn't help but sigh. When will he become a qualified Fourth Tsuchikage?
Despite his frustration, the elder Tsuchikage patiently began to explain. "It's not that simple, son. We have to give them money—that much is certain. I'm just considering whether giving up a Tailed Beast is worth it."
His son's eyes widened with disbelief. "But why?! I know our captured comrades are important, but surely they'll understand our position, right?"
"Stupid boy," Ōnoki muttered under his breath before continuing aloud. "This isn't about them. There's a new power player in the shinobi world now, and we've already offended him. We're lucky he's reasonable and only demanding compensation."
Ōnoki had faced Madara Uchiha himself during his youth. He understood power gaps better than most, and he recognized the terrible truth of their situation. If this Uzumaki monster was content to accept payment and stay out of the affairs of the five great villages, that would be the best possible outcome they could hope for.
"Son, we need to level the playing field," he continued, his voice taking on the patient tone of a teacher. "If we don't meet his demands now, he might be too lazy to attack us immediately. But then what do you think will happen?"
His son's confused expression almost made Ōnoki curse out loud.
"If the other villages start paying him three hundred million annually—essentially becoming his vassals—what do you think happens when we attack one of them for reasons that have nothing to do with him?"
Understanding began to dawn in the young man's eyes.
"To protect their investment, he'll attack us. Do you understand now? To maintain our equal status among the great villages, we have to pay that three hundred million annually as well. I was just considering whether we could negotiate something in place of the Tailed Beast."
Ōnoki paused, then shook his head with resignation. "Forget it. Give them the Four-Tails."
"So if everyone owes him money," his son said slowly, working through the implications, "he won't interfere with what happens between us?"
"Exactly. And as long as we keep paying him that three hundred million, he's also unlikely to intervene if something happens to Konoha or any other village that pays him tribute."
Ōnoki leaned back in his chair, a grim smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Anyone who extorts money rather than immediately killing those who attacked his family is absolutely a logical person with clear priorities. His interests come first, and as long as we acknowledge that reality, we can coexist."
The repercussions of the Uzumaki victory rippled across the shinobi world like waves from a dropped stone. In each of the great villages, similar conversations were taking place, similar realizations dawning.
The age of the five great villages' dominance was ending before it had truly begun. A new power had emerged from the ashes of the Land of Whirlpools, and that power demanded recognition in the most concrete terms possible: tribute.
For some, like Ōnoki, the choice was clear. Survival trumped pride every time. Better to pay protection money than face annihilation.
For others, the pill was harder to swallow. But as reports filtered in from the other villages—confirmations that everyone was facing similar demands—the wisdom of compliance became undeniable.
The shinobi world had always been about power, and power had found its new apex in the form of a ten-year-old Uzumaki who had single-handedly humbled the greatest military forces of the age.
In Sunagakure, Chiyo sat alone in her office long after the emergency council meeting had ended. Outside her window, the village continued its daily rhythm, unaware that their world had fundamentally changed.
She thought of little Sasori, probably wondering why his grandmother hadn't returned to continue their puppet lesson. She thought of the crushing financial burden that would define their village's future. Most of all, she thought about the terrible, absolute power that could reshape the world with a single demonstration of force.
Two billion ryō and three hundred million annually, she mused. The price of acknowledging a new god among mortals.
As the sun set over the desert, painting the sand dunes in shades of gold and crimson, Chiyo made her peace with the new reality. Pride was a luxury they could no longer afford.
The age of the Uzumaki had begun.