Morning sunlight slipped through the paper lattice of my room, soft and warm, yet I couldn't shake the tension beneath it. The capital of the Land of Tea had a strange rhythm — quiet on the surface, yet beneath the tea merchants and street vendors, there was the pulse of greed and quiet schemes. Nobles paraded in silk robes, pretending grace, while their servants eyed the crowd for opportunities.
I had spent the last few days learning every corner of this city — the guarded palaces, the clan banners fluttering over fortified compounds, the merchants' guilds that were fronts for minor ninja clans. It was clear: the Land of Tea was stable only because every group was too busy feeding on another to start a full war. A perfect place to hide. A perfect place to build quietly.
And today, I would take my first real step — becoming a Jitō, a local landholder under the Daimyō.
It wasn't glory I sought. It was safety, structure, and the privilege that came with it. A title was the best armor in this era of blades and betrayal.
---
The Golden House branch stood tall near the central plaza — a two-story building of polished wood and jade-tiled roofing, its symbol carved into the entrance gate: a coiled dragon biting its own tail. Inside, the air smelled faintly of incense and old money.
As I entered, several clerks glanced at me briefly, their trained eyes assessing wealth and purpose. My clothes were plain, but clean, my posture straight, and my stride measured. To them, I probably looked like a wandering merchant or a small noble's son. That was fine.
"I would like to speak with the manager," I said softly at the counter. "It's regarding a… political matter."
The receptionist, a sharp-eyed woman in uniform robes, gave a brief nod before disappearing through a sliding door. Moments later, a tall man with graying hair and a practiced smile appeared. His robes were embroidered with the Golden House crest in silver thread — clearly someone of rank.
"I am the local manager," he said, his tone smooth. "My name is Takayoshi. You mentioned a political matter?"
"Yes," I replied calmly. "I wish to inquire about the process of becoming a Jitō under the Daimyō's court."
His brows rose slightly. For a moment, the air between us stilled. Then, with a professional smile, he gestured for me to follow him into a private chamber.
---
The room was soundproofed by thick sliding walls and sealed with chakra lines — standard for confidential dealings. Takayoshi sat across from me, pouring a cup of tea.
"I must say," he began, "not many outsiders approach the Golden House with such requests. Do you have land, lineage, or recommendation?"
"None," I said, meeting his gaze. "But I have wealth — substantial wealth. And I am willing to pay what's necessary to become recognized under the Daimyō's authority."
He tapped the table lightly, studying me. "Money can open doors, young man, but it cannot buy titles outright. Still…" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "In practice, there are always ways."
I remained silent, waiting.
"The Daimyō allows petitions for vassalship once a year," he continued. "However, the process requires… incentives. A direct bribe to his steward, and perhaps a contribution to certain court officials. A sum of one hundred million ryō usually suffices."
A hundred million. To most, that was a lifetime's dream. To me, it was an inconvenience. My Ability could copy anything I possessed infinitely — and I already had gold, silver, and jade in my space.
Still, I had to act cautious.
"I can arrange that," I said evenly.
His expression faltered for just a heartbeat. "That is… commendable. May I ask your name?"
"Tarisima Makoto," I replied. "Last son of the Tarisima clan of the Land of Fire."
Takayoshi's polite mask didn't waver, but I caught the brief flicker of recognition — perhaps pity, perhaps calculation. The Tarisima name was small, but known enough. A destroyed clan from the Fire Country's inner provinces.
"Then you seek a new beginning," he said finally.
"Yes," I said, lowering my tone. "A life where I don't have to look over my shoulder for the next blade."
He nodded slowly. "That… is understandable. Very well. I'll send word to the Daimyō's steward today. You will need to present tangible proof of wealth. Gold and silver — preferably raw, not coin."
"I have what is required," I said.
He smiled thinly. "Then you may return tomorrow at noon. Bring the offering. The steward himself will attend. But understand, Makoto-san, once you step into this circle, you cannot easily leave. Nobility binds as tightly as chains."
"I know," I said. "But chains can protect, too — if they're made of gold."
Takayoshi chuckled. "Well said."
---
After leaving the Golden House, I made my way through the market streets, the smell of roasted tea leaves and baked rice cakes mixing with sea wind. My footsteps echoed softly against the stone.
Becoming a Jitō wasn't just about status — it was camouflage. Nobles could exploit, command, and even kill without repercussion as long as they paid taxes and kept order. It was the closest thing to security in a world built on violence.
Still, I needed faces to guard me. Loyalty didn't come cheap, but I could afford it.
---
By afternoon, I had hired five men — seasoned mercenaries who had once served under small clans. Their loyalty could be questioned, but their skill couldn't. I interviewed them personally in a quiet tavern near the south gate, where the din of travelers hid our words.
All of them were rough, scarred, and experienced. Perfect for blending in.
"I don't require you to fight wars," I told them. "I require discretion, obedience, and silence. You'll serve as my guards — nothing more, nothing less."
Their leader, a broad man named Renga, crossed his arms. "And payment?"
I dropped a small pouch on the table. It clinked heavily. "Ten thousand ryō now. The same each month if you stay loyal."
That silenced any hesitation. Greed worked better than oaths.
Renga grinned. "Then you have our blades, sir."
---
Evening approached as I returned to the inn. I entered my room, locked the door, and reached into the empty air.
With a thought, my Ability responded — invisible, infinite, obedient. Gold bars appeared before me in neat stacks, followed by gleaming silver and a single polished jade orb. The air shimmered faintly with chakra as I absorbed their replicas back into storage, leaving just enough to fill two wooden chests.
These would serve as my offering — enough to impress, not enough to alarm. The rest would remain unseen, untouchable.
For the remaining balance, I prepared bundles of ryō, copied and stored in sealed pouches. Wealth beyond counting — yet I felt no joy, only cold calculation. In this world, money was just another form of defense.
---
The next day came quickly.
At noon, I returned to the Golden House. The atmosphere was tense — attendants lined the hall, and Takayoshi waited with a distinguished older man in crimson robes. His eyes were sharp, his demeanor precise.
"This is the steward," Takayoshi introduced. "He represents the Daimyō's interests."
The steward's gaze swept over me. "You claim to possess wealth enough to purchase recognition. Show it."
Without a word, I opened the first chest. Gold glimmered under the light. Then the second — silver and jade, polished and flawless.
The steward's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in suspicion. "Where did you obtain such wealth?"
"Inheritance," I said simply. "My clan was destroyed, but not without leaving legacy."
He studied me for several long seconds before nodding. "The Daimyō values loyalty and tribute more than bloodlines. Your offering will be reviewed. If accepted, you will be granted the title of Jitō within the week."
He turned to Takayoshi. "Prepare the documents."
Takayoshi bowed. "At once, my lord."
As the steward turned to leave, I slipped a smaller pouch across the table, silent but deliberate. His eyes flicked to it, then back to me. He didn't speak — but the pouch vanished into his sleeve like it had never existed.
---
By the time I returned to my inn, dusk had settled over the city. The streets glowed faintly with lantern light, and somewhere distant, I could hear laughter from the tea houses.
I sat by the window, watching the flickering lamps below. Soon, I would be a recognized noble — with rights, protection, and influence. It wasn't power in the shinobi sense, but it was something better: control.
Slowly, deliberately, I began writing my next plans on a blank scroll:
Establish residence.
Recruit small-scale artisans and scribes.
Begin gathering ninjutsu scrolls and technique manuals through trade or theft.
Create a silent network — guards first, retainers next.
Build a foundation unseen, unassailable.
I smiled faintly. "Safety through dominance," I murmured. "Freedom through control."
Outside, the bells of the evening curfew rang. My hired guards took position near the entrance below. For the first time since my clan's fall, I felt secure.
Not truly safe — never that — but safe enough to plan.
Tomorrow, I would begin acting not as the last survivor of a ruined clan, but as a man who would write his own destiny in silence.
And this time, I wouldn't just survive the world of shinobi.
I would own it.