The sun slowly sank beyond the horizon.
Dusk fell, and the sky dimmed.
But for the Fire Daimyō, even though electric lighting had yet to be widely adopted, the room remained brightly illuminated.
Lamplight flickered.
And under that glow, the smile on the Daimyō's face became all the clearer.
It was a smile that made no effort to hide his growing appreciation for Uchiha Makoto.
"The future of the Land of Fire rests on my shoulders!"
"If there is one man in this country who can command the winds and summon the rain, it is me!"
"Those shinobi clans should obediently shelter beneath me!"
Whether in ideology or in immediate interests, Makoto and the Fire Daimyō had reached a temporary tacit agreement.
The Daimyō did not want the Senju clan and the Uchiha clan to unite—
and even less did he want the emergence of a shinobi village powerful enough to sweep across the entire shinobi world.
And Makoto didn't want that either.
After all—
if the big brother doesn't fall, how does the younger brother ever get a chance to rise?
"Your Excellency," Makoto asked calmly,
"do you truly believe the Senju and the Uchiha can genuinely reconcile—
even abandon a thousand years of blood feud?"
"Our clan head, Madara-sama, lost several brothers to the Senju. Izuna-sama, in particular, died by the hand of Senju Tobirama, Hashirama's own younger brother."
Makoto continued guiding the Daimyō with his words.
"To accomplish something like that would be extremely difficult," the Daimyō said, shaking his head.
He knew far too much about the ugly history between the Senju and the Uchiha.
Who could have imagined—
That overnight, the two clans would suddenly shake hands and stop fighting?
Didn't they want to avenge their dead?
Especially Senju Hashirama, the Senju clan head—
staking his own life to earn Madara's trust, even stabbing himself with a kunai.
Putting the kunai aside for a moment, the Daimyō seriously questioned Hashirama's motives.
Did such a foolishly naïve person really exist in this world?
In the entire shinobi world, there might not even be a handful.
Which meant—
Either Senju Hashirama was a complete idiot,
or he was an extremely deep, ruthless schemer—
one cruel enough even to himself.
And could the head of a top-tier bloodline clan possibly be an idiot?
Obviously not.
Senju Hashirama was terrifying.
As the Daimyō shook his head, his imagination ran wild.
The "Senju Hashirama Threat Theory" had begun to take root, triggering a full-blown case of overinterpretation.
Duke of Zhou once feared slander; Wang Mang was once humble before usurpation.
Who could have imagined that in such a treacherous world, a man might truly exist—
one with absolute power, yet capable of strict self-restraint?
There was no doubt about it—
Senju Hashirama was a good man.
As a clan head, all he really needed to do was fight.
Everything else could be handled by his external brain—Senju Tobirama.
But Makoto couldn't afford to spare such" a good man.
Good people, more often than not, only ended up with a gun pointed at their heads.
Nobility is the epitaph of the noble.
Baseness is the passport of the base.
Makoto felt he was being just a little bit despicable.
But if anyone was to blame—
Then blame the naturally evil Senju Tobirama, who just had to indulge in racial discrimination.
Now—
It was time to strike while the iron was hot.
Time to keep applying pressure.
As Makoto's words echoed in his ears, the Fire Daimyō's expression darkened slightly. When he spoke again, his meaning was unmistakable.
"The Senju clan head… likely has grand ambitions."
"Your Excellency has keen insight!" Makoto replied immediately.
He seized the opening without hesitation, pushing his advantage further.
The more wary the Daimyō became of Senju Hashirama,
the greater Makoto's future returns would be.
Keep going. Keep going.
"Then, Your Excellency," Makoto continued,
"why do you think Senju Hashirama went to such great lengths—
even risking his own life—
to give up the chance to kill Madara-sama and instead gain his trust?"
The Daimyō stroked his chin, pondering.
Naturally, he couldn't say what he truly thought:
That bastard is trying to rebel.
Because what if Hashirama really was planning a rebellion?
When someone accuses you of possessing weapons of mass destruction, you'd better actually have a reason ready—
the same logic applied here.
So the Daimyō answered carefully:
"To convince the world that the Senju and the Uchiha can reconcile?"
"It wasn't to make the world believe," Makoto corrected him.
"It was to make the Uchiha clan believe?"
"Not the Uchiha clan," Makoto said firmly.
"It was to make Uchiha Madara believe."
"The Uchiha clan knows this is impossible."
The Fire Daimyō's eyes widened involuntarily.
He now looked at Makoto in a completely different light.
This young Uchiha's insight was frighteningly sharp.
In fact, despite meeting Makoto for the first time today—and not even knowing his… preferences—
the Daimyō already felt the impulse to marry his daughter off to him.
Daughters, after all, existed primarily for political marriages.
Makoto was a shinobi—so what?
Noble families forming marital alliances with shinobi clans to bind interests together was nothing unusual.
You in me, me in you.
If the Daimyō's line could intertwine with the shinobi, he could sleep soundly for the rest of his life.
Even if something happened in the future—
he could simply change identities and make a fresh start.
And Makoto was an Uchiha—
a top-tier bloodline clan member, with three tomoe in his Sharingan.
Even if Makoto were to run off with his wife, get her pregnant, and plant a bright green hat squarely on his head—
The Daimyō suspected he could magnanimously pretend not to see it.
He would even raise the child properly.
After all, taking on that kind of responsibility wasn't shameful at all.
In this shinobi world, countless nobles dreamed of such an opportunity.
They just didn't have the connections.
Bloodline clans never gave those chances away lightly.
Their obsession with kekkei genkai was beyond imagination.
Some clans had even become grotesquely extreme—
Yes.
The Hyūga clan, for example.
Even in noble marriages, once a child displayed a bloodline limit, the clan would immediately reclaim the child.
Not even a Daimyō could violate that rule.
The Fire Daimyō found Makoto increasingly agreeable.
But Makoto, lacking any mind-reading jutsu, had no idea what was going through the man's head.
Right now, Makoto only had one goal—
Get funding.
"Unfortunately," Makoto sighed,
"the Uchiha clansmen believe in Madara-sama."
"But sooner or later, the Uchiha will walk toward destruction because of the Senju."
He shook his head lightly.
A role had to be firmly established.
Everything he would do in the future—
Wasn't for himself.
It was—
For the Uchiha clan.