"Ding-dong-clang! Ding-dong-clang! Ding-dong-clang!"
With the rhythmic peal of bronze bells, an enormous, lavish palanquin rolled into view before Konoha's welcoming party, leaving the entire crowd slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
Palanquin? This was no palanquin.
It was a mobile luxury suite.
The thing was nearly half the size of Konoha's main gate, with a ceiling three meters high, carried by forty-eight hulking ninja. Each bearer looked handpicked—every one the same height, built like a mountain, muscles rippling beneath their uniforms. Their steps were perfectly synchronized, their pace matching down to the centimeter. Forty-eight men moved as one, hoisting the palanquin like it was nothing.
The palanquin itself was carved from priceless nanmu wood, every beam and panel a masterpiece of intricate craftsmanship. Each corner hung a fist-sized bronze bell with a crimson tassel, and with every step, those bells rang out in time—"ding-dong-clang"—a sound that seemed to shake the air itself.
"What a spectacle for the Third Takikage. Even the Fire Daimyo's funeral procession isn't this grand," Koharu Utatane couldn't help but snark.
"Not even close!" Nara Shikaku shot back, grinning. "A daimyo's funeral only gets twenty-four pallbearers. This guy's outdoing the daimyo—he's not going to war, he's ascending to heaven!"
He wasn't wrong. Normally, a daimyo would travel in a two-man palanquin; for major events, maybe a four-man. Only at their own funeral did they get twenty-four men to carry the coffin. Ninja, on the other hand, prided themselves on simplicity—even the Hokage usually traveled on foot. Jinghang, the Kazekage, only had his "Sand Ship One" for crossing the desert, and even then, only rode a two-man palanquin when meeting a daimyo—and that was usually rented. For a village Kage to roll up with this much pomp? It was unheard of.
"This Lord Takikage just loves his luxury. That's all there is to it," Homura Mitokado explained, sighing.
He'd noticed it on his last diplomatic mission to Takigakure—got scolded for his "sloppy dress," too. A little digging revealed that before Amamiya became the Third Takikage, he'd played the part of the humble, frugal shinobi in front of the Second Takikage, Kōrō. But the moment he took office, his true colors came out: lavish, extravagant, all about putting on a show. In his own words: "I spent years pretending to be a nobody—now it's my turn to enjoy myself."
Even with the fat treasury left behind by Kōrō, Takigakure's finances couldn't take this kind of spending for long. If it weren't for Jūri, the finance-savvy jōnin, who'd cashed in on the recent explosion in explosive tag prices—buying up every last tag from the village and flipping them for a windfall—Takigakure would've been bankrupt by now.
Honestly, this whole expedition to help Konoha? It was mostly about the 2.5 billion ryo in cash that Homura had promised. Money comes and goes, right? Why not "lend a hand," expand your turf, and make a killing at the same time?
"Enough chatter. Everyone, shut it and go greet our guests," Danzo hissed quietly.
Just then, the palanquin came to a halt. A grizzled ninja in his fifties stepped to the "door" and bellowed, "The Third Takikage, Lord Amamiya, has arrived!"
He drew back the curtain with a flourish.
Danzo started forward to greet him, but before he could take a step, four stunning kunoichi—curvy, elegant, and barely dressed—danced out in front of the palanquin, scattering flower petals as they spun. Danzo was so stunned, he forgot to move.
At the same time, a small band appeared behind them. With a flourish of drums and a wave of sweet music, a tall figure stepped out of the "palanquin suite," moving with the beat.
He wore a spotless white silk robe, an iron-gray bamboo hat embroidered with a giant golden "Waterfall" character, and carried a gold-painted folding fan, which he used to waft air at his collar.
His brows were willow-thin, his eyes bright and sharp, his face long and powdered—handsome, sure, but with a distinct air of effeminate arrogance.
Before he even got close, Danzo caught a blast of heavy floral perfume that made him sneeze.
Before Danzo could open his mouth, Amamiya spoke first.
"So this is Konoha? Doesn't look like much to me."
Danzo froze, a flicker of darkness in his eyes.
Unbelievable. What kind of world was this, where even a Takikage dared to mouth off in Konoha's face?
Danzo had never been to Takigakure, but as a former ANBU chief, he'd seen every kind of shinobi leader. Back then, no one would've dared show such disrespect in his presence—not even Hanzo the Salamander, who always addressed him as "Lord Danzo." And now this? A mere Takikage brushing off Konoha like it's nothing? If this was any other time, Danzo would've cut him down on the spot.
But now… sigh.
Now, Takigakure's reinforcements were his lifeline—his only shot at turning the tide for Konoha. The next battles depended on them.
No choice but to swallow his pride.
"Lord Takikage, you've come a long way to support us. As the Fourth Hokage, I, Danzo, welcome you to Konoha," Danzo said, forcing a polite smile and extending his hand.
Snap!
Amamiya flicked his fan shut, tucked it into his sash, and gave Danzo's hand a perfunctory shake—then immediately snatched his fan back, as if he couldn't bear to be without it.
What, are you going to melt if you're not fanning yourself for two seconds? Danzo thought bitterly.
Amamiya smiled. "No need for thanks. Takigakure and Konoha are neighbors, after all—it's only right we watch out for each other."
Fine. Danzo withdrew his hand, face stiff.
Since it was only the first day, there was no military meeting—just a high-level tea gathering. The whole time, Amamiya complained that the chairs were too hard, the tea too bitter, the service not up to standard. The Konoha higher-ups were nearly at their breaking point.
Is this guy here to fight a war, or walk a runway?
He acts more like a geisha than a Kage.
At last, as evening fell, the Takigakure delegation was shown to Konoha's finest guest quarters, while their ninja army was settled in vacant barracks—Konoha had lost so many people, there was no shortage of empty beds.
Inside the guest suite, Amamiya dropped his daytime act, his face twisting with a sly, almost feral grin.
"My lord, weren't we a bit over the top today?" asked Jūri, the head of the Ministry of the Interior, looking worried.
"Over the top? What's over the top about it? Fortune turns—today's Konoha isn't yesterday's Konoha, and neither is Takigakure. Now they're the ones begging us for help. If there was ever a time to put on airs, it's now," Amamiya said, popping a grape into his mouth with a smirk.
"You're absolutely right, my lord," Jūri replied obediently.
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