Chiyo fell silent after her tirade. The tension in the air seemed to settle—until Roshi quietly poured himself a fresh cup of tea.
"I've visited Sunagakure twice," he began, his tone calm but deliberate. "I've seen the way your shinobi live. Compared to the other great nations, even wandering merchants seem to fare better than many Sand ninja."
For a fleeting moment, the creases on Chiyo's weathered face softened. Perhaps this boy finally understood the hardships of her people.
But then Roshi spoke again.
"If that's the case," he said, setting the teapot down, "then why not move?"
Chiyo blinked. "…What?"
"Why not consider another land?" Roshi continued smoothly. "Suppose Sunagakure negotiated with the Daimyo of the Land of Tea. It's fertile, prosperous, open to the sea. If the entire village were to relocate, I imagine the Daimyo would welcome you warmly—perhaps even grant land and support. You'd have resources, comfort, and far fewer hardships than you do now."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "As for the Land of Wind—vast, barren, and impossible to cultivate—its management could be left to its Daimyo. And if the Land of Wind requires assistance to stabilize afterward, Konoha would be glad to offer support."
The porcelain cup in Chiyo's hand rattled. Her fingers trembled as her chakra flared faintly, the air rippling for an instant. Then she gave a low, incredulous laugh—sharp as breaking glass.
"Boy," she said, voice shaking with anger, "do you have any idea how absurd you sound right now?"
Roshi met her glare, his expression utterly steady. "Perhaps I should ask the same of you, Elder Chiyo. Do you realize what you've just said?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
He didn't raise his voice, but each word landed with cutting precision. "If the Land of Wind's conditions are so unbearable, I've simply offered a practical alternative. Or…" His gaze sharpened. "…is it that you already understand—barren as it is, that desert is the very reason Sunagakure still stands?"
He continued evenly, his tone almost clinical. "During the Warring Clans era, did the clans who settled there do so out of love for hardship? And when Sunagakure was founded, do you think your ancestors didn't know the land's condition?"
"If they had the strength to claim more fertile ground and couldn't, then perhaps that, too, was part of their choice. The Land of Wind's vast emptiness is not a curse—it's a shield. A natural fortress, and the root of your people's will."
Chiyo's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The silence between them stretched, taut as wire.
Roshi smiled faintly. "Since you dislike jokes, Elder, let's return to reality."
He rose, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve, his tone returning to its earlier calm professionalism. "If Sunagakure truly seeks aid from an ally, the first step isn't intimidation—it's value. What can you offer in exchange?"
He walked to the door, his back straight. "Threats, no matter how righteous, won't buy a single grain of rice. Nor will they earn the respect you're hoping for."
He bowed slightly, the gesture polite yet final. "That will be all for today. Rest well, Elder Chiyo."
Chiyo remained seated, her face pale with fury and frustration, the tea on the table growing cold between them.
Later, in the Hokage's office, Roshi's report drew two completely different reactions.
Tsunade burst out laughing. "Hah! Excellent! It's about time someone put that old hag in her place!" She slapped Roshi hard on the back. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that myself!"
"Now, now, Tsunade," Hiruzen chided mildly, setting down his pipe. "Sunagakure remains one of Konoha's most valuable allies."
He turned to Roshi, his expression serious. "What's your assessment of their current situation?"
Straightening his clothes, Roshi took a moment to think before replying. "Of the four remaining great villages, Sunagakure is, in theory, the one most suited to being Konoha's long-term and stable ally."
Hiruzen nodded. That much aligned with the council's own view. "And your reasoning?"
"Minimal conflict of interest," Roshi replied. "Geographically, we complement rather than compete. After repeated defeats, Sunagakure's expansionist ambitions have been worn down by reality. What remains is a nation fighting to preserve itself, not conquer others. That makes cooperation cheaper—and potentially more rewarding."
The Third Hokage nodded slowly, signaling for him to continue.
"However," Roshi added, "their leadership—particularly Elder Chiyo's generation—still harbors deep resentment and distrust toward us. Expecting them to change overnight through a few treaties or gestures of goodwill is unrealistic."
Tsunade's smile faded. "So what do you suggest?"
Roshi's eyes sharpened. "We stop thinking in terms of immediate trade-offs. Konoha shouldn't focus on extracting short-term gains—rations, supplies, or mission contracts. They can't afford it, and pressing them will only deepen resentment."
He paused, then continued, his tone firm. "Instead, we should aim for something longer-term. Something that invests in the future."
Tsunade tilted her head. "The future?"
"Yes," Roshi said. "Propose that Konoha and Sunagakure establish a recurring alliance through regular joint Chūnin Exams—held on rotation between our two villages."
Hiruzen's brows lifted slightly.
"That way," Roshi explained, "we don't just trade resources. We trade generations. Trust, familiarity, and shared experiences—all built over time. By the next decade, our shinobi will have grown up not as rivals, but as comrades who've fought and bled together in the same arena."
He looked up, meeting both their eyes. "That is how you rebuild an alliance that lasts—not with treaties, but with time."
Tsunade leaned back, crossing her arms and giving a small, approving grin. "Heh. You really are a troublesome one, aren't you?"
The Third Hokage smiled faintly, the pipe smoke curling upward like mist.
"In that case," Hiruzen murmured, "let's give the future a chance to begin."
Hiruzen gave a small nod, pipe smoke curling around him as he gestured for Roshi to continue.
"The current alliance," Roshi began evenly, "exists mostly on paper—in the form of treaties, high-level correspondence, and diplomatic statements. But for the majority of Sunagakure's shinobi, especially the younger ones, Konoha is nothing more than a distant name. Once an enemy, now an abstract ally."
He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice measured yet deliberate.
"If we want true stability, we need more than ink and signatures. Regular joint Chūnin Exams can serve as a foundation—a shared platform. Let Sunagakure's young shinobi step into Konoha, live here, compete here, and experience firsthand what cooperation between our villages means."
He paused briefly, then added, "We could even adjust the format—reduce the emphasis on individual combat and include more team-oriented trials. Make it about collaboration, not just strength."
"Once they see with their own eyes the benefits of unity—not as rhetoric, but as lived experience—they'll carry that understanding back home. Some will even form friendships with our own shinobi."
Roshi's tone deepened slightly, gaining conviction. "Given how quickly generations turn over in our world, five to ten years is all it takes. The youth who train and grow under such an exchange will eventually become the core of Sunagakure—a generation that sees Konoha not as an enemy, but as a partner."
He finally concluded, "That kind of bond will be far more durable than any treaty. It's the most valuable long-term investment we can make."
For a moment, silence filled the Hokage's Office. Only the faint crackle of burning tobacco could be heard. Then, a faint smile spread across Hiruzen's face—the kind that carried both approval and nostalgia.
"A sound proposal," he said softly. "Proceed as you see fit, Roshi. Even if it only advances a step, it will be worth it."
He paused, then added, "By the way—there's something else. Kumogakure has officially requested to host the next Chūnin Exams in the Hidden Cloud Village—as a joint exam between our two nations. We've already accepted."
Roshi blinked. "Kumo…?" The surprise was visible for the first time in his usually calm eyes. He turned instinctively toward Tsunade—and was immediately met with her sharp glare.
He looked away.
Hiruzen chuckled quietly, eyes softening. "Go, Roshi. Perhaps the peaceful future Hashirama-sama once dreamed of might finally find its way through the hands of your generation."
Roshi bowed deeply, then turned and left.
Several Days Later—Konoha's Diplomatic Compound
The tug-of-war between Roshi and Elder Chiyo continued in full force.
Her opening approach—intimidation through veiled threats—had failed completely. Hiruzen had made it clear that Roshi held full negotiating authority, leaving Chiyo no choice but to change tactics.
She shifted to the battlefield she excelled at: the fine print. Day after day, she haggled, arguing over every clause, every rate, and every logistical term.
Roshi, however, remained patient.
He didn't yet bring up Konoha's true objective—the plan for a long-term exchange alliance. Instead, he met Chiyo's attacks head-on, negotiating calmly over each point: food imports, supply routes, even joint border defense.
"Provide food and supplies?" Chiyo scoffed one afternoon. "At what price? Starvation rates?"
"The price will be close to market value," Roshi replied mildly. "Or, alternatively, Konoha can dispatch elite units to reinforce your northern fortresses—to help stabilize the border with Iwagakure."
Chiyo snorted. "Sending your shinobi to our borders? Don't insult me. That's not 'help'—that's supervision."
Neither option was ideal, and both knew it.
But Roshi wasn't in any rush. The Chūnin Exams hadn't even begun. Time was on his side.
If not this year, there was next year—and the year after that. Sunagakure's hunger wasn't temporary; their desperation was systemic. And slow progress, step by step, was still progress.
As for Kumogakure…
The news of the Fourth Raikage personally proposing a joint Chūnin Exam was intriguing. It hadn't happened in the original timeline—and that alone made it worth attention.
Was it genuine diplomacy? Or bait?
Roshi couldn't tell yet. Maybe they intended to observe Konoha's new generation, maybe something deeper—the theft of jutsu or intelligence gathering.
But one thing was clear: it was a signal.
Kumogakure was willing to talk.
If the Cloud—the most aggressive of the Great Villages—was extending an olive branch, even conditionally, then the world might truly be shifting toward peace.
…Of course, that was if one ignored the shadows still writhing behind the scenes—the Akatsuki, Uchiha Obito, and powers that dwarfed politics itself.
Thinking that, Roshi couldn't help but sigh inwardly. "Maybe the world isn't getting better after all."
Meanwhile—Somewhere in the Land of Fire
"What do you mean, gone?"
The voice was low and edged with disbelief.
Kakuzu, his black cloak of red clouds hanging loosely over his tall frame, loomed across the counter of a dingy bounty exchange office.
"Yes," the clerk stammered. "Recently, there's been a surge in activity—rogue ninja are being hunted down everywhere. We haven't had fresh targets in days."
Kakuzu's gloved hand shot out, snatching the bounty ledger. He flipped through it rapidly, his visible eye narrowing with each turn.
Almost every moderate target had already been crossed out.
What remained were the high-value, high-risk marks—well-guarded, deeply entrenched inside the Great Villages.
He slammed the book shut with a dull thud. "Who's stealing my work?"
"The rumors say it's Konoha," the clerk whispered. "Most likely Root. They've been operating covertly in the Grass Country and the Land of Fire—and their efficiency is… terrifying."
"Root…" Kakuzu muttered, his tone dark. "Danzo's dogs."
The clerk shrugged helplessly. "Word is, Kusa started some large-scale bounty hunt first—then Konoha swooped in right after, wiped out the leftovers, and tightened the borders. Since then, everything's gone quiet."
Kakuzu's jaw tightened. "They're killing off my revenue streams."
His irritation was palpable.
Targeting major village personnel was too risky—Pain had forbidden such provocations for now. And ordinary missing-nin were becoming extinct, culled by Root and others.
Tch. Bureaucracy and secrecy—the twin cancers of the shinobi world.
As he turned to leave, he muttered under his breath, "Looks like I'll have to talk to Pain about expanding our reach. Maybe to the Land of Lightning… or even the Frost Country."
He pushed open the door, his shadow stretching across the floor as he stepped into the dim sunlight.
"Troublesome," Kakuzu growled. "All this just means more damn work."
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