Chapter 223 – Horizontal Cuts and Vertical Cuts (Part 2)
The Sarutobi clan had become a constant source of frustration for the Fourth Hokage, Namikaze Minato.
By bloodline standards, the Sarutobi didn't even qualify as a "true clan." They had no Kekkei Genkai, no unique hereditary abilities—nothing that would categorize them as a traditional bloodline family.
And yet, when it came to their treatment and privileges within Konoha, they clearly weren't just ordinary civilian shinobi either.
Many of the younger Sarutobi, especially those with talent, received education and training on par with—if not exceeding—that of actual bloodline clans.
The same applied to the Shimura family as well. The more Minato thought about it, the more conflicted he felt.
What Minato likely didn't realize was that when Konoha was first founded, Hashirama Senju himself had recognized them as a clan.
Taking a deep breath, Minato tried to view the situation through Uchiha Kei's framework of "vertical division," and at last he reached a conclusion:
The elites of Konoha had been exploiting identity politics for their own gain.
They had carved the village vertically—defining every shinobi by "status" and "affiliation"—but never once did they clarify the actual family backgrounds of certain groups.
The Sarutobi weren't true "civilians." They were better described as a hidden clan, masquerading under the guise of commoners while reaping the benefits of clan privilege.
"They hid themselves in plain sight?" Minato murmured hesitantly.
"Exactly," Kei replied, his tone dry. "For years, the Third has been pushing the narrative of 'equality between civilian shinobi and clan shinobi.' Policies were drafted favoring civilians—and those records, I'm sure, you've seen yourself."
He chuckled, then sighed. "That label of 'civilian shinobi' became their shield. As for how much profit they've siphoned through it? Who can say?"
"I never imagined an identity label could be twisted this much." Minato clenched his fists, only to exhale and let them relax.
"Kei… when you once said you didn't want to be Hokage—was it because you already saw that Konoha was nothing but a mess of corruption?"
Kei paused, recalling. Yes—back then Minato had brought up something like this. Kei hadn't even thought about it before refusing outright.
The truth was simple: at the time, Kei wasn't thinking about the big picture. He just hated the way Hiruzen and his circle operated.
And as long as those old power blocs held sway, the Uchiha had no chance of claiming the Hokage seat anyway. Better to dismiss the idea altogether—better to look magnanimous, even detached.
Besides, Kei's own affairs already consumed him. Improving himself was far preferable to standing in the spotlight, watched and judged by all.
He didn't see himself as "clean." Far from it. He had done too many things that could never be called clean.
If it weren't for the discovery that a lone wolf couldn't survive in Konoha, he would never have stepped forward at all.
Even now, though he stood in the open, he still preferred working from the shadows—exerting his influence subtly, shaping outcomes while keeping his head low.
"Maybe so. Who's to say?" Kei shook his head. "The real question, Lord Fourth, is this: what path will you take?
Do you follow the road already laid before you, becoming another Hiruzen Sarutobi?
Or do you take the harder road, and try to restore the original vision of the First Hokage?"
That vision, in Kei's interpretation, was to divide shinobi by rank—a kind of class system.
Three ranks, clear and equal. No matter who you were—civilian-born or bloodline heir—you were still a shinobi. What set you apart was your rank.
This shifted the battlefield: from identity politics to class politics.
Conflicts of bloodline versus civilian would dissolve, replaced by the challenges of navigating rank and skill.
And the Hokage's role? To balance those conflicts, resolve them, and ensure everyone could live better lives.
Minato fell silent. He understood perfectly well what Kei was saying.
It was a test. A crossroads. Would he continue chasing his dream—that people could resolve their differences through dialogue, setting aside hatred?
Or would he compromise with reality, following the path already beaten down by Hiruzen, where the First Hokage's original framework had long since been dismantled?
After a long pause, Minato's expression hardened with resolve. His vivid blue eyes locked onto Kei.
"I'll hold to my dream," he said firmly. "I want everyone to at least have the chance to resolve conflicts through dialogue. At the very least—there must be the chance for equal exchange."
"A noble dream," Kei murmured, not surprised in the least. Fugaku, beside him, only gave a small nod.
"You two don't believe in it, do you?" Minato sighed, though he already knew the answer. Even if he were in their shoes, he wouldn't have believed it either.
The Third had spent decades weaving his system, branding every shinobi with identity tags, dividing them, isolating them, and reaping the benefits for himself and his allies.
Undoing all of that now? Nearly impossible.
But Minato steadied himself. Difficulty was no excuse. He had time—and he still had allies. Right in front of him stood two of them.
He hadn't realized it yet, but Kei and Fugaku had become the partners he trusted most. Exactly as Kei had intended.
"Indeed, we don't believe it's realistic," Fugaku admitted with a sigh. "But it's not unexpected. Kei told me your choice would be this—because it fits your ideals."
"Thank you… both of you." Minato bowed deeply, his sincerity shining through.
"To reach this goal won't be easy," Kei said softly, "but it isn't impossible either."
And he meant it. After all, the world he'd lived in before had already walked this path.
He remembered the endless claims: "the moon is rounder abroad," "the air outside is filled with freedom."
It had always struck him as laughable.
Those who spoke like that never understood the reality of "freedom" and "equality." They were illusions, hollow words.
The so-called shining beacon nations had thrived on racial segregation, on identity politics—turning commoners against each other until all they could do was riot mindlessly, destroying property with no direction, no plan, no unified demand.
A brilliant performance of political dragon-slaying—divide, distract, and conquer.
By contrast, in Kei's homeland, society was sliced horizontally. Everyone had their place, everyone knew their adversaries. Most importantly, there was a relatively fair path for upward mobility.
That was why, paradoxically, those who went abroad became even more patriotic—
while those too ignorant to understand insisted "the moon is always rounder elsewhere."
"We can take the first step ourselves," Kei said. "Break down the stereotypes. We've already begun letting outsiders into our clan compound.
But remember this: you cannot strip away the positions of the high-ranking bloodline elders. For now, you'll still need them.
Everyone else, though? A shinobi is a shinobi. Their worth should be measured by rank.
Jonin should remain the core of the village—but keep their numbers under control."
Kei didn't know how many jonin Konoha truly had, though based on what he'd seen in the anime and manga, the number wasn't particularly high.
Still, there were always hidden talents. Drawing them out—that was something he knew a thing or two about.
"Resources," Kei continued, "must scale with rank.
The higher the rank, the greater the resources. Money, training materials, scrolls, battle-tested knowledge, even advanced jutsu—all of it. Resources define strength."
He leaned closer, his voice steady.
"When you gain true authority, gather all the clans. Establish a council. Let them vote on village matters. But make sure you secure one thing for yourself—the power of veto."
"As for everyone else? Build a public resource system. The higher their rank, the better their access. That way, effort and achievement, not birth, decide one's future."
"You understand what I mean," Kei said evenly. "This will require effort—and time."
"One-vote veto power, huh? I get it." Minato nodded thoughtfully. "The idea of a public resource system is also good, but… anyone who enjoys those resources should also be required to fulfill their duties and obligations.
Otherwise, resentment will build. And if we intend to limit the number of jōnin, then the bar for becoming one must be much higher. Those who can't meet the standard—strip their rank."
Minato's sharp grasp of the point made Kei smile with satisfaction. He had said only half of it, and the rest Minato had supplied himself.
If clan heads gathered in council, they'd inevitably block one another to protect their own interests. To prevent such deadlock, the Hokage would need a unique power—
the veto, a clear expression of his authority and position.
But even that required careful balance. If Minato too were ever corrupted by power, there had to be safeguards to stop him from abusing it.
Precaution upon precaution. Kei knew his "horizontal cut" vision of society was a hybrid, a messy patchwork. But for Konoha, perhaps that was exactly what was needed.
It reminded him of his past life, of an old capitalist nation where even socialist movements like the British Labour Party had become safety nets for capitalism itself. A system within a system—flawed, but functional.
Jōnin, too, required stricter conditions. If they were to receive a wealth of resources under the new system, then they would also have to shoulder the weight of true responsibility.
Not only during wartime. Even in peace, there were dangerous, high-level missions requiring the skill of jōnin.
And beyond that, they had another duty: leading and teaching younger shinobi. Passing down their knowledge and guiding the next generation had to be part of the job.
"All right—abolish the rank of 'special jōnin.' Instead, allow for the recognition of 'specialists.' At the same time, increase the rigor of jōnin evaluations.
And since we're in peacetime now, set a quota—every jōnin must complete a minimum number of missions every six months."
Kei thought for a moment, then added: "Also, make teaching genin teams part of the evaluation criteria.
But exclude the current jōnin from retroactive checks."
To Kei, the title of tokubetsu jōnin was awkward. Not useless—it had once filled a role in the old structure—but in the new framework it was redundant.
Give them chūnin-level resources, and it insulted the "jōnin" in their name.
Give them jōnin-level resources, and their strength clearly fell short.
Too vague, too messy. Better to scrap it entirely and replace it with specialists—shinobi with overwhelming expertise in a single area.
A man like Might Guy, who, through taijutsu alone, had kicked Six Paths Madara into the dirt using the Eight Gates. If such talent wasn't properly resourced, it would be criminal.
As for others like Kurenai or Anko, once listed as special jōnin… well, they would simply have to keep proving themselves.
"Excellent ideas," Minato said warmly. For the first time that night, he smiled. "But Kei… aren't you just trying to slack off? I see how it is. As head of the Police Force, you're too busy to take on students yourself."
Kei ignored the jab. "There's another thing you'll need to prepare: a Ninja Congress. Not just a council of clans."
Minato blinked, surprised.
"Hold it every few years. Its purpose is to air out grievances and resolve them before they fester. Representatives should be drawn from all ranks—jōnin, chūnin, genin. Individuals or groups, chosen by vote.
And include civilians as well. They should have representation, too."
Minato's eyes lit up. "A brilliant idea! Summarize conflicts, dedicate time to resolving them, then review after a few years and address new issues as they arise. Yes… yes, this could work!"
To him, Kei was proving to be a veritable treasure trove of insight.
That night, they spoke at length. And that night marked a turning point—
the bond between the Third Hokage and the Fourth was effectively shattered.