The Fire Daimyo had spent the past two nights in near-constant panic.
No matter how he tried, sleep refused to come. Even when exhaustion forced his eyes shut, he would jolt awake in terror, drenched in cold sweat. It wasn't nightmares that kept him awake, but a simple, chilling thought:
Konoha has gone completely mad.
He could still vividly recall the reports from his intelligence officers. The words echoed in his head like a death knell.
> "Your Excellency, the Hokage has executed four great clans overnight."
"Your Excellency, the ninja patrols have increased their presence and now answer only to the Hokage."
"Your Excellency, the Anbu and Security Department have merged and are enforcing new laws without approval from the court."
Each update had turned the Daimyo's face paler than the last.
It wasn't that he didn't know Konoha was powerful. Of course he did—he was the Daimyo of Fire Country, the man who technically ruled the land. But "technicality" was the keyword.
He had always told himself the Hidden Leaf was his loyal subordinate, a military branch that carried out his will. But deep down, he knew it was only partly true. The shinobi were a necessary evil, a blade in the shadows. They were supposed to protect the country and defend the Daimyo's rule.
But what if the blade decided it didn't need the hand holding it anymore?
The Daimyo could already see the headlines written across history:
"Daimyo of Fire Country Deposed Overnight, Konoha Declares Independence!"
The thought made his stomach twist. He could barely eat. Even the finest delicacies brought by his chefs tasted like ash.
For centuries, the balance of power had been simple: the Daimyo held political authority, the shinobi villages wielded military might. The two sides needed each other to survive. But that balance was fragile, a piece of glass balanced on a knife's edge.
And Konoha?
Konoha had just smashed the glass with a hammer.
---
Daimyo's Paranoia
The Daimyo sat alone in his chambers, wringing his hands. His attendants hovered nervously by the doors, uncertain whether approaching him meant promotion or execution.
"Those… those lunatics," he muttered, pacing in circles. "Do they think I can't see what they're doing? Sarutobi, Shimura, Tenne, Mito—entire clans erased overnight! What sane leader does that?"
He tugged at his hair, the fine golden ornaments slipping askew. "A village that cleanses its nobility so cleanly is not a village I can control. No, no, no. This is the beginning of rebellion! They'll come for me next! I'll wake up one morning and find Konoha's banners flying over my palace!"
He collapsed onto his cushions, staring blankly at the ceiling. His thoughts spiraled.
Perhaps I should move the capital… yes, farther away from Konoha. Maybe the western provinces. Or even… His face drained of blood. Or even another shinobi village for protection…
The mere thought sent another shiver through him.
---
Meanwhile in Konoha
While the Daimyo slowly lost his grip on sanity, Konoha itself was running smoother than ever.
The commoners were cheerful, their markets lively. Merchants sang praises of the "new order," where banditry had all but vanished thanks to strict law enforcement. Children ran freely in the streets, and even the perpetually cynical elders admitted life seemed more peaceful.
At the center of it all sat Uchiha Makoto, leaning lazily against a veranda post as if none of this chaos concerned him.
The villagers whispered his name like a legend. Some called him the "Black Hand of Konoha," others the "Architect of Change." To Makoto, however, such titles were just background noise.
He smirked faintly, watching the hustle of daily life. "Look at them… working so hard while I do absolutely nothing. Beautiful. Truly the life of a winner."
The system had been strangely quiet recently, only giving occasional sarcastic "reminders." But Makoto didn't care. Whether or not the world realized it, his hand had tilted the entire power balance of the Fire Country.
The Daimyo was panicking? Good. Let him panic. What could a pampered noble possibly do against the shinobi village that housed legends like Hashirama, Tobirama, and now Minato?
Konoha had outgrown being someone else's weapon. It was becoming its own master.
And Makoto?
Makoto intended to sit back and enjoy the show.
---
The Daimyo's Council Meeting
On the third night, the Daimyo convened his most trusted advisors in the grand hall. The atmosphere was heavy, the air thick with incense and tension.
The Daimyo slammed a scroll onto the table. "Look at this! The Hokage and his people executed four clans without hesitation. If they can do that to their own, what's stopping them from doing the same to us?"
The ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
One brave official coughed lightly. "Your Excellency… Konoha remains part of the Fire Country. Surely they wouldn't dare—"
"Wouldn't dare?!" The Daimyo's voice cracked. "They dared to decapitate four clans overnight! What part of 'wouldn't dare' do you not understand?!"
Another minister spoke up cautiously. "Perhaps we should send envoys… test their intentions…"
"Envoys?" The Daimyo snapped. "Envoys to what? Deliver my head on a platter?" He slumped back into his seat, covering his face. "We are surrounded by psychos. A whole village of psychos."
He whispered the words like a curse. "Psychos in Konoha… a nest of psychos…"
The ministers said nothing. None of them dared to suggest what they were all thinking: if Konoha truly turned its gaze on the Fire Court, there would be nothing they could do.
---
Back in the Village
While the Daimyo lost more hair with every passing night, Makoto was in no rush.
The people were calm. The Hokage—Minato—was respected. The once-feared clans had been stripped of their power, their estates converted into public resources. For the first time in years, the streets of Konoha were safe, the markets flourishing.
Even children who once went hungry now ate full meals at community kitchens.
Makoto stretched lazily and sighed. "If this is what tyranny looks like, I'll take it. The Daimyo can choke on his noble wine while we eat good food here."
Hiruzen and Danzo, meanwhile, were locked in yet another competition of petty rivalry, trying to outdo each other in missions to impress Tobirama. Watching them bicker was Makoto's guilty pleasure.
"Two future fossils," he muttered under his breath, smirking. "Fighting like children over who gets to carry the teacher's bag."
---
The Daimyo's Breaking Point
By the end of the week, the Daimyo had dark circles under his eyes and the twitch of a man on the edge.
His attendants whispered that he had taken to muttering in his sleep. "Psychos… psychos everywhere… Konoha's coming… they're coming for me…"
His ministers no longer dared to present him with reports. One unlucky servant who brought fresh news about Konoha's expanding patrols was chased out of the palace with a thrown sandal.
The Daimyo had become a prisoner of his own imagination.
---
Makoto's Reflection
From a distance, Makoto could sense the tremors in the Daimyo's court. His system even gave him a cheeky reminder:
[Congratulations. You've successfully induced paranoia in the highest levels of Fire Country. The Daimyo now believes Konoha is plotting against him. Mission: 50% Complete.]
Makoto chuckled. "Induced paranoia? Please. The man just has eyes. He can see the truth on his own."
He closed his eyes and leaned back. The world was shifting, and he had nudged it just enough. No need to overthrow the Daimyo directly. Fear would do the work for him.
After all, what was scarier than an enemy you couldn't control?
The answer: a whole village of psychos.
And Konoha, in the eyes of the Daimyo, had just become exactly that.
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