The sea stretched endlessly before me, a silver horizon breathing in rhythm with the wind. Waves struck the rocky shore and retreated, leaving behind foam that shimmered like veins of chakra beneath the moonlight. I stood on the cliff's edge, the faint smell of salt filling my lungs, and for the first time since arriving in this era, I felt… still.
It had taken weeks of careful negotiation, layers of bribes wrapped in polite smiles, and the quiet backing of the Golden House's influence. But now, on parchment sealed with the daimyō's insignia, my name — Itō Makoto — was written as the appointed jitō of this coastal territory. A modest title by noble standards, but for me, it was everything. It was protection, legitimacy, and the first wall between myself and the chaos that ruled the continent.
---
The Appointed Land
The land I chose lay along the southern coast of the Land of Tea — neither rich nor destitute. Its hills sloped gently toward the ocean, and a small fishing village rested at the bay's curve. The people here were cautious but not hostile. They had lived through too many shifts of power to question another lord, as long as the taxes were fair and their lives undisturbed.
The Golden House's inspectors had come and gone, leaving behind lists and recommendations written in fine brushstrokes. The tribute had been delivered — jade and silver carefully copied by my ability, smelted again to disguise its unnatural perfection. I kept one thought constant: no one must ever suspect the origin of my wealth.
In this world, gold was protection, but mystery was death.
Now, the land was mine to manage — at least in name. The daimyō's men had already departed, and the old local magistrate had bowed himself into retirement, his eyes hollow with relief. I could see it in him: the exhaustion of a man who had spent years balancing bribes, bandits, and taxes. I gave him a sealed scroll as a gift for his "service," a polite way of ensuring silence.
And then, I was alone. Truly alone, for the first time since awakening here.
---
Plans Beneath the Surface
I returned to my temporary lodging — a simple wooden house near the bay — and began to sketch a map on rough parchment. The ink spread unevenly, but it served its purpose.
A manor here, on the higher ground, overlooking the sea. A small watchtower to the north, where a road led inland. A granary beside the stream. The fishing village, already functioning, would provide food and trade.
I had copied enough ryo and materials to fund a thousand lives, but I couldn't simply dump wealth onto the land. Sudden prosperity breeds suspicion. I needed to move like time itself — gradually, invisibly, inevitable.
"First, the basics," I murmured to myself, fingers tapping the desk. "Shelter, security, stability. Then… information."
Every plan I made revolved around two unspoken principles: survive and stay invisible. My ability gave me infinite means, but if I drew the attention of the great clans — Uchiha, Senju, Hyūga — I would be nothing more than a curiosity to dissect.
To live like I did in the 21st century — peaceful, unbothered, ordinary — I had to play the role of an ambitious but controllable noble. One who bowed when necessary and spoke softly in the shadows.
---
Recruitment
By evening, I began hiring.
The Land of Tea had no shortage of wandering swordsmen — ex-retainers, mercenaries, and shinobi who had lost their clans. I needed five to start with — loyal enough to guard me, simple enough to manipulate, and greedy enough to stay bought.
The first was Sano, a tall man with a jagged scar down his cheek. He called himself a former guard of a ruined clan from the Land of Frost. His price was fair; his eyes were calm. I saw in him a man who understood survival.
The second, Kina, was a woman — sharp, quick, and suspicious of everything. She carried twin daggers coated in some kind of oil that smelled faintly of mint. She didn't talk much, which was good.
The third, Riku, looked barely older than me but had the hardened look of someone who'd seen too much blood. He claimed to know basic chakra reinforcement — a small comfort in a land filled with unpredictable dangers.
The last two, Hira and Tomo, were common laborers I'd met at the docks. They didn't know ninjutsu or swordplay, but they were strong and obedient. Perfect for groundwork.
To them, I was simply Lord Itō, a young noble who had recently purchased the rights to this land and was looking to restore it. I paid their wages in ryo that gleamed like fresh mint, and not one of them questioned its purity.
I told them the first phase of work: rebuild the old magistrate's residence into a small estate. Repair the storage barns. Expand the dock.
And, above all — silence about our activities.
"Talk less, work more," I told them. "In this age, wind carries more than words."
They nodded. Money made loyalty simple.
---
Quiet Construction
For days, I observed them work. The estate grew, timber by timber, wall by wall. I joined occasionally, not because I needed to, but because it grounded me — the smell of sawdust and salt reminded me of the simple, methodical life I once had.
At night, I would copy supplies — nails, ropes, even oil lamps — one after another, hiding the duplicates within sealed crates marked "imported goods." The illusion of trade was easier to maintain than explaining miracles.
Every time I used my ability, I felt a faint tug in my chest — not pain, but awareness. It was as though space itself whispered, "Still here. Still endless."
Sometimes, I wondered if this ability had a will of its own. But I quickly dismissed the thought. Overthinking was my habit; paranoia, my armor.
By the seventh day, the estate's outer walls were standing. The villagers had begun bowing slightly when they saw me pass. Respect built not from admiration, but recognition of authority. It was uncomfortable… and yet, oddly reassuring.
---
Information Is Power
With the estate nearing completion, I turned my focus to the Golden House's local branch. Information was their trade, and I was willing to pay — generously.
The building sat near the central market, discreet but unmistakable to those who knew where to look. When I entered, the air smelled of ink and secrets.
The clerk recognized me immediately — my name carried quiet weight now. "Lord Itō," he said, bowing slightly. "What can the Golden House do for you today?"
"I need information about the Land of Tea's noble structure," I said, sliding a pouch of gold coins across the table. "Specifically, the path from jitō to full noble rank — and the procedures to become a vassal under the daimyō."
The clerk's eyes widened slightly at the pouch's weight. "That… will require consultation with our manager, my lord."
Of course it would. Money always invited higher authority.
A few minutes later, a middle-aged man in layered robes entered. His hair was slicked back, his smile polite but calculating.
"I hear you wish to rise, Lord Itō," he said smoothly. "An admirable ambition. The process, however, is not simple."
"I understand," I replied. "I'm not asking for miracles — just the cost."
He chuckled softly, then leaned forward. "To become a vassal lord officially recognized by the daimyō, one must present proof of contribution — tax, development, or tribute. Alternatively…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "…an offering of sufficient sincerity. Around a hundred million ryo, for example."
I met his gaze evenly. "And to whom would this offering be made?"
He smiled. "Through the Golden House, of course. We ensure it reaches the proper hands… discreetly."
A hundred million ryo. For most nobles, that was a lifetime of taxes. For me, it was an evening's copywork.
"I'll prepare the amount," I said simply.
His brows rose — just slightly. "Of course, my lord. When you are ready, send a sealed notice. The House will handle the rest."
---
Return and Reflection
When I stepped out into the street, the sun was setting. The market bustled — fishermen calling out their catch, children chasing each other, merchants counting coins. The world looked almost peaceful, but beneath it all, I could sense the tension — the quiet fear of the next war, the next raid, the next change in power.
This world didn't forgive weakness. Even peace was just the pause before the next blade.
I walked back toward my estate, the ocean breeze cutting through the noise. My guards stood watch at the gate. Inside, the smell of cooked rice and fish welcomed me — my first real dinner as a landholder.
As I ate, I thought of the coming years.
To become a noble — a true one — I needed to build legitimacy. That meant people, records, taxes, and, ironically, laws. My mind spun with ideas: forming a trade route with nearby fishing villages, expanding salt production, establishing a guard corps loyal only to me.
I didn't want to rule. But in this world, strength and position were the only shields. To live freely, I had to hold the reins — even if only behind the curtain.
---
Nightfall Resolve
Later, I stood by the window, watching the moon rise over the sea. The waves glimmered faintly, like the surface of my hidden space — endless, untouched, mine alone.
In that reflection, I saw the shape of my future.
Not a conqueror.
Not a hero.
Just a survivor building a quiet empire of peace, one coin, one lie, one hidden truth at a time.
I whispered into the wind, "This time, I'll live long enough to see what peace actually looks like."
And as the night deepened, the sea answered with silence — vast and infinite, like the space within me.
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