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Chapter 15 - Chapter 15 — Shisui: Big Brother Yujiro Opened a New Door for Me

Chapter 15 — Shisui: Big Brother Yujiro Opened a New Door for Me

And so, the twin stars of the Uchiha—Yujiro and Shisui—happily accepted the escort mission, guarding a massive shipment of supplies bound for the Land of Rain.

Before setting out, Shisui had gathered intel about the Land of Rain. The more he learned, the more uneasy he became.

After the Third Ninja War, even the wealthy Land of Fire was crawling with bandits and mercenaries. For the far poorer Land of Rain, things were a hundred times worse.

Once, Amegakure had harbored grand ambitions. Hanzō the Salamander had dared to challenge the great nations with the might of a small country, dreaming of establishing Rain's supremacy.

Now, all of that was dust.

For Konoha, defeat was survivable. With the Fire Country's recovery power, it could always rebuild and rise again.

For the impoverished Land of Rain, even victory would have bled them dry. With no resources to plunder and too many losses to absorb, collapse was inevitable. And of course—they hadn't even won.

The once-proud "strongest nation beneath the Five Great Villages," once led by a man revered as a "demigod," had been reduced to a hollow ruin still wearing the mask of a country.

Roads lay in ruins. Towns were abandoned. Refugees wandered aimlessly. And the very ninja who once swore to protect the nation had turned into bandits, preying on their own people and travelers alike.

Hanzō, once ambitious and supportive of youth, had rotted into a cynical coward clinging to power, a hollow husk of his former self.

Under the gray sky, endless rain blurred the landscape. Starving corpses—or soon-to-be corpses—stared at the passing convoy with dull, lifeless eyes. They didn't even have the strength to beg.

Yujiro sighed.

"That's why small nations should stick to small-nation survival. War's a rich man's game. The poor can't afford to play."

Shisui stayed silent.

It wasn't his country, nor his village—but watching fellow humans suffer like this still twisted his chest with sorrow.

So instead of answering, he muttered, "So… we're escorting this shipment because Ame-nin might try to raid it?"

"Pretty much," Yujiro replied casually. "The common folk are all broke. There's no fat left to strip. If they don't rob us, they'll have to start robbing their own daimyō and nobles."

Shisui hesitated. "Isn't… robbing daimyō and nobles easier than coming after us?"

"Right?" Yujiro smirked. "Or maybe… no, wait—yeah, you got it."

Shisui's head spun.

Robbing daimyō and nobles—that thought had never even crossed his mind. How could that be right? Attacking civilians and merchants was already wrong, but stealing from daimyō? That felt… unthinkable.

But then—was robbing peasants somehow "right"? Of course not.

So why was it acceptable for the Ame-nin to raid villagers and merchants, but unthinkable to touch the daimyō and nobles?

Because of "rank"? "Tradition"? "Status"?

But was that really right? When commoners starved in filth while nobles still enjoyed luxury caravans of silks and delicacies? When nobles took advantage of chaos to seize more land, to enslave the desperate—getting richer while everyone else withered?

The Rain Country's economy had collapsed. Yet its daimyō and a handful of nobles had grown even fatter. And the Ame-nin, for all their bluster, didn't dare lay a hand on them.

Was that really justice?

Shisui's mind spun with contradictions, his thoughts unraveling until he felt like he was about to "level up." A bitter sigh slipped from his lips.

"Think it through yourself."

Yujiro clapped his shoulder, then fell silent.

The rain fell endlessly. The convoy's wheels squealed through mud, carts dragging forward inch by inch. The merchants and drivers were quiet, too beaten down to even complain.

The tech tree of the shinobi world, Yujiro thought, was a mess. Like some idiot had drawn it up on a whim.

Some Hokage had laptops on their desks. Merchants were still driving ox-carts through mud. Progress, apparently.

"Too many gaps to exploit," Yujiro muttered. "Forget about air fortresses. Why not start with pickup trucks? Or hell, even three-wheelers? Wouldn't that be something…"

He thought of Boruto's era—when the world exploded into technological advancement.

Lightning trains replaced horse carts. Chakra-powered tools and gadgets flooded daily life, dragging the shinobi world into industry and capitalism.

Merchants, the new capitalists, rose to power, eclipsing the fading daimyō and nobility as the true drivers of the world.

But where did that leave the ninja?

In this new age, how should shinobi define themselves?

Drift with the current? Or take the lead, seize the direction of the times, and become the true masters of the new era?

Yujiro wasn't particularly brilliant. His advantage lay in one thing: a clear grasp of where the future was headed.

Once you know the right answer, all that remains is filling in the test sheet — isn't that right, Obito?

A masked figure — one-eyed Uzumaki mask glinting in the gray rain — watched the convoy in silence from a distance. Beside him, a strange half-black, half-white creature prodded in a tentative voice:

"Shall we strike? If we loot that shipment, that brat will be pleased, right, Obito… I mean, Lord Madara?"

Obito didn't answer. He withdrew into memories instead.

Once upon a time Yujiro had pinned his hopes on Obito. Back then, Obito's intelligence hadn't seemed great, but he'd listened. Yujiro had argued:

"Look—ninja don't need to kill each other. There are enough resources in the world: wealth, land, food. The problem is some people hoard too much. Nobles and daimyō — trash that belongs in the dump. Someday I'll change this world. When that day comes, will you join me… or stand against me?"

"Oi, Lord Madara — shall we move?" the artificial voice nagged. "They're about to leave. Madara? Madara?"

The noise snapped Obito back to the present.

"No." he answered instantly. "No attack."

"Because you saw a familiar face? Because you saw an old comrade? I thought you'd broken with the village."

"Silence. I simply don't want to spook the prey."

Right now Yujiro was no longer in Obito's immediate calculations. But Shisui — that was different. Shisui was a level of opponent Obito would not bother challenging over an inconsequential raid.

With that thought finished, Obito fell quiet. He and the strange two-toned companion withdrew.

Space folded; the masked man and the white and black silhouette vanished in an instant. Obito did not linger in nostalgia. He had his answer now.

"I will save this world in a better way, Yujiro," he told himself inwardly — not some stunned, indecisive echo as before, but a resolved vow.

"And if you stand in my way… don't expect me to hold back."

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