WebNovels

Chapter 25 - Chapter 25 – Daimyo: No way, is your Akatsuki Village playing such a big game?

The Daimyo of the Land of Fire sat leisurely in his sunlit study, brush in hand, copying elegant calligraphy strokes across fresh paper. The midday sun filtered in through the tall windows, bathing the chamber in golden warmth. For him, this was the best way to calm his mind.

Whenever he was troubled, he would write. The brush strokes, the rhythm, the flow—it quieted his thoughts, anchored his emotions, and reminded him that he was not just a ruler, but also a scholar, a man of culture.

But today, even the graceful dance of ink could not fully dispel the knot in his chest.

Who was the source of this worry?

The Daimyo didn't even need to think.

Senju Hashirama.

The so-called "God of Shinobi."

Uchiha Makoto's persistent whispers—the "Hashirama Threat Theory"—had lodged themselves firmly in the Daimyo's heart like seeds. Over time, those seeds had sprouted, branched, and now threatened to bloom into a choking forest of unease.

Konoha, the village that Hashirama founded, was entering a new and dangerous stage: the consolidation of clans.

Reports had reached the Daimyo's ears that, in the span of just a few months, several powerful families were preparing to join Konoha—the Hyuga, the Sarutobi, the Shimura, and surely more to follow. Each new clan that joined was another stone in the fortress Hashirama was building.

And each stone made the Daimyo feel his throne was a little less secure.

"The balance of power… is shifting," he muttered, brush hovering in midair.

For a moment, he let his breath out slowly and forced his focus back to the paper. His wrist twisted, brush sweeping elegantly. In one smooth stroke, bold words took shape:

"Diligence in governance and love for the people, with a clean government and harmonious society!"

The Daimyo leaned back, half-smiling as he admired the characters.

"Not bad. Today's hand is steadier than yesterday's," he said, nodding at his work.

Even so, the calligraphy could only ease so much of his tension. He waved for his attendant.

"Put this away."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The attendant carefully lifted the paper, bowing low. Then, lowering his voice, he reported, "Your Highness, an envoy from Lord Uchiha Makoto has arrived. He carries important matters."

The Daimyo's brows rose slightly. He set down his brush, rose to his feet, and with measured steps, made his way to the reception hall.

There, he saw a young man—Sato Kazuma—sitting stiffly but respectfully on a plush sofa. Kazuma immediately stood, bowing low.

"Your Highness, I bring greetings on behalf of Lord Makoto."

"Mm. I understand. No need to be so formal, young man. Sit. Speak."

The Daimyo gestured gracefully. His demeanor was mild, almost kind. Despite his lofty status, he had long since learned that honey drew more bees than vinegar.

And besides—Uchiha Makoto's Akatsuki Village might very well become the perfect counterweight to Konoha. He needed them.

No ninja village could be allowed to dominate unchallenged. Balance was survival.

After a round of polite pleasantries, the conversation drifted to business. The Daimyo's expression turned serious.

"How goes the construction of Akatsuki Village?"

Kazuma's eyes glinted. He knew exactly what the Daimyo wanted to hear.

He straightened his posture, plastered a confident smile across his face, and said smoothly, "Everything is under control, Your Highness. The construction progresses steadily. Rest assured—Lord Makoto oversees every detail. The foundation is firm, the walls rise higher by the day. We are not just building houses—we are building a future."

Of course, this was complete nonsense. The truth was, recruitment was slow, many clans were hesitant, and progress lagged behind Makoto's grand ambitions. But Kazuma wasn't about to admit that. His silver tongue had gotten him out of worse scrapes.

He continued with calm authority, "All that remains is to resolve a minor issue: insufficient funds. With adequate support, Your Highness, Akatsuki Village could rival the greatest in no time."

The Daimyo leaned back, folding his hands. "And how much do you require?"

Kazuma's eyes flickered. This is it.

"If Your Highness were to approve an additional one hundred billion ryō…" he began carefully, "…we could guarantee rapid development. Even the proudest clans who once turned their noses up at us would come begging to join. With fifty billion as a settlement incentive, no one would resist."

The Daimyo's brows twitched. His lips pressed into a thin line.

One hundred billion?

Did this boy think the Land of Fire was a bottomless purse?

"Are you… attempting to rob me?" he asked coolly.

Kazuma's heart skipped a beat, but he maintained his smile.

The Daimyo let the silence hang for a moment, then chuckled softly. He raised his hand, five fingers extended.

"Five hundred million ryō," he said. "That much I can grant. No more."

Kazuma bowed low, hiding his grimace. Half a billion was no small sum—in fact, for an ordinary clan, it was a fortune. But compared to what Makoto wanted? It was a drop in the bucket.

Still, the atmosphere was favorable. Kazuma decided it was time to unveil his trump card.

"Your Highness," he said smoothly, "truthfully, I came not only to request funds, but to propose a business venture."

The Daimyo tilted his head, intrigued. "A business venture? From a ninja?"

From his perspective, ninjas earned coin through missions, assassinations, and bodyguard work. The amounts they dealt with were trifling compared to noble coffers. What "big business" could they possibly have?

Kazuma's smile widened. "Have you heard, Your Highness… of tulips?"

The Daimyo blinked, then chuckled. "Of course. Beautiful flowers. Rare, but not unfamiliar."

"That," Kazuma said, eyes gleaming, "is our business."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret of immense value.

"Lord Makoto's plan is simple yet brilliant: we will elevate tulips into a symbol of status among the nobility. A single bulb purchased for a thousand gold. Imagine—the more extravagant the price, the greater the prestige. Nobles will fight each other for the honor of owning them."

The Daimyo's eyes lit with amusement. "Manipulating vanity through flowers… clever." He stroked his beard. "The nobles are indeed fools for such games."

Kazuma pressed on. His words painted vivid images of silk-clad lords and jeweled ladies competing fiercely over tulip bulbs, their fortunes drained in the scramble for fleeting glory.

He had the Daimyo's full attention now.

But the Daimyo, shrewd as ever, shook his head slightly. "At most, this earns you a few hundred million. Perhaps a billion, if you're lucky. A fine scheme, but hardly revolutionary."

Kazuma's smile didn't falter. In fact, it grew sharper.

"No, Your Highness. The flowers are only the beginning. The true brilliance lies in the contracts."

The Daimyo raised a brow. "Contracts?"

Kazuma nodded. "Before the tulip prices skyrocket, we secure agreements with the growers. Then, when the frenzy begins, we trade the contracts instead of the bulbs. Each resale drives the value higher. Nobles and merchants alike will scramble to buy in, believing they can profit endlessly. It won't just be the Land of Fire. The entire shinobi world could fall under this craze."

For a moment, silence filled the hall.

Then the Daimyo inhaled sharply. His fan trembled in his hand.

This… this was no ordinary scheme.

This was a game of madness.

He could already imagine it: nobles bankrupting themselves to buy paper contracts, merchants pouring fortunes into the market, greed spreading like wildfire.

A money game the likes of which the ninja world had never seen.

The Daimyo's lips curved slowly into a smile, though deep within, unease stirred.

"Yes… I see now why Makoto sent you. This is audacious. Dangerous. And yet… brilliant."

But in his heart, one thought lingered.

How will such a game end?

Because games built on greed always ended in ruin.

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