Of all the men in the Fire Country, Fukuyoshi was, without a doubt, the undisputed champion of understanding his Daimyo, Yoshiyuki.
He hadn't just studied his lord; he had practically moved into the man's psyche, furnishing the place and analyzing the dust bunnies under the furniture of his mind.
He knew Yoshiyuki's moods, his whims, and his fears better than Yoshiyuki knew his own favorite silk robes.
Frankly, he probably understood the Daimyo better than the Daimyo's own father ever had, which, while impressive, was also a little bit creepy.
So, when Fukuyoshi presented his latest theory with the grim solemnity of a doctor diagnosing a terminal disease, Yoshiyuki didn't just listen—he full-on panicked.
His trust in Fukuyoshi was absolute, a cozy blanket of certainty in a world full of pointy, untrustworthy people. If Fukuyoshi said the sky was falling, Yoshiyuki wouldn't just look for a helmet; he'd start drafting evacuation plans for the stratosphere.
The other nobles in the room, seeing their lord's face pale to the color of fine rice paper, promptly caught the panic bug themselves. It was a virulent strain of fear, highly contagious in political circles.
Their brains, all working in the same selfish harmony, arrived at the same terrifying conclusion: if things really were as dire as Fukuyoshi claimed, then what use were they?
The ninja would slowly replace them, with the particularly incompetent or obnoxious nobles likely finding themselves 'retired' to a quiet life of farming. Or, more accurately, retired to a shallow, unmarked grave.
A symphony of sycophancy erupted, each noble trying to out-simp the other.
"My Lord, Fukuyoshi's brilliance once again blindsides us!" one began, wringing his hands. "He is, of course, correct. Konoha's growing strength is a thorn in our side that is rapidly turning into a full-blown katana."
"Precisely!" chimed in another, nodding so vigorously his jowls wobbled. "These shinobi are brutes! They think every problem is a nail because their only tool is a very pointy kunai. They possess no subtlety, no appreciation for the finer arts of governance, like embezzlement—I mean, tax reallocation! We must leash them tightly, lest they forget who holds the bag of treats."
"All hail Fukuyoshi's foresight!" a third noble declared, throwing his hands up as if witnessing a miracle. "And all hail our most wise and perceptive Daimyo, who no doubt saw this coming from miles away!"
And just like that, Fukuyoshi—and even Yoshiyuki, who had so far contributed nothing but a well-timed look of dread—were showered with enough praise to fill a swimming pool.
This wasn't strange; it was Politics 101. Every man in that room was a graduate-level expert in the art of sucking up to achieve one's goals.
To put it even more plainly, they all understood their Daimyo was about as firm in his convictions as a bowl of pudding.
He was easily swayed, a champion of hesitation, and a man whose courage often went missing when called upon. If they didn't immediately and vocally support Fukuyoshi's alarmist fantasy, Yoshiyuki might get cold feet, terrified of the very ninja power that also kept him safe.
But if they praised Fukuyoshi as a genius and Yoshiyuki as a visionary, well… the Daimyo would feel compelled to act the part.
He'd want to prove he was, indeed, that wise and decisive leader they were all braising in their verbal oven. And, just as predicted, the recipe worked perfectly.
"As expected of you, Fukuyoshi," Yoshiyuki declared, snapping open his fan and waving it with a flourish that was meant to look contemplative but mostly just stirred the air around his heavily perfumed hair.
"These ninja are a troublesome, greedy lot. Their hands are always outstretched, demanding more and more funding, completely blind to the immense efforts we are sparing to maintain this nation's… ambiance." He paused, letting his own boldness sink in.
"To be perfectly candid, I have been concerned about this for some time and was merely waiting for the right moment to address it. Do you have any suggestions on how we might… solve this?"
He said this without a hint of a blush, his face a perfect mask of regal conviction. In his mind, this wasn't a bald-faced lie; it was an alternate reality he had just decided to move into. He was now a proactive leader who had seen it all coming.
And everyone in the room, holding their positions by the grace of his whims, happily helped him pack his mental bags for the move.
"My Lord is as profound as he is wise!" one noble gasped, as if Yoshiyuki had just revealed the secret to immortality. "While the rest of us were preoccupied with trivialities like peasant revolts and trade disputes, your mind was soaring, contemplating the very balance of world power!"
"It is no wonder you are the Fire Daimyo," another added, his voice thick with feigned awe. "The other Daimyos must gaze upon our lands with pure envy, not for our resources, but for the sheer intellectual majesty of our ruler!"
The praise continued to flow like cheap saké until it was finally Fukuyoshi's turn to cut through the verbal frosting.
"My Lord," he began, his voice a low, sobering contrast to the sugary nonsense that had preceded it. "The most prudent course of action is to systematically weaken Konoha's power and influence, but through means so subtle they won't even know they're being weakened until their knees buckle."
He leaned forward, the only man in the room not sweating through his makeup. "We must not be obvious. We must be a whisper, not a shout. I believe that whatever those other four great villages are planning bodes ill for Konoha. We should exploit that. We should, in fact, give circumstance a gentle nudge. Especially since... war is coming."
He said this last part with the absolute certainty of a man predicting rain while already feeling the drops on his neck. And yet, not a single noble panicked at the mention of a world-plunging conflict.
Why would they? The great, unspoken rule of the shinobi world was their ultimate insurance policy: ninja wars were strictly a shinobi problem.
The five great Daimyos had long ago agreed that their glorious capitals were to be treated like neutral, five-star hotels—utterly inviolable. The ninja could tear each other to pieces in the assigned territories all they liked.
In fact, from the nobles' perspective, a good shinobi war was less a tragedy and more a… market correction.
Those houses in the contested territories? Not cheap. If a few fireballs wiped out the current owners, well, that was just prime real estate suddenly back on the market. That was the crudest way to turn a profit.
The more refined methods involved selling supplies, weapons, and information to all sides, a profitable, if morally bankrupt, enterprise where the only thing truly being battle-tested was the limit of their own opportunism.
Konoha was technically just their army, but they didn't feel the slightest remorse talking about weakening it, and they spent half a day refining their plans. ... ... ... Ironically, it was the same problem that gave the Third Hokage himself a headache. He was secretly agonizing over how to 'strengthen' Konoha by resolving its 'internal squabbles' before the inevitable war.
The return of the trio from Azula five days prior had been a welcome relief, especially with Tsunade declared fully recovered now.
But this particular morning, any residual good cheer had evaporated faster than a puddle in the Land of Wind.
Hiruzen's face, usually a masterclass in elderly composure, was graver than a tombstone salesman at a plague convention. The cause of this premature aging was now sitting innocently, yet menacingly, right at his bedroom door: a single, unassuming letter.
This was the Hokage Mansion. This wasn't some flimsy, open-concept treehouse with a 'Welcome, Friends!' doormat.
This was the most fortified building in Konoha, wrapped in so many defensive barriers and seals—many of them the legendary work of Lady Mito Uzumaki herself—that a fly couldn't buzz through without triggering a symphony of security alarms.
It was supposed to be impossible.
And this was all happening at a time when the village was on a razor's edge. The other Kage had been holding secret meetings, and Hiruzen wasn't so naive as to think they were just planning a surprise birthday party for him. Assassination was very much on the menu.
His logical mind knew that no assassin, no matter how skilled, could possibly get into his actual bedroom without turning into a charcoal briquette. But then a more chilling, pragmatic thought slithered into his brain: they don't need to get in.
All a savvy killer had to do was wait. Wait for that exact, unguarded moment in the morning when the Hokage, bleary-eyed and dreaming of caffeine, shuffles out his door.
That's when a kunai, thrown with silent precision, could end it all, right there on his welcome mat. The thought was so vividly unsettling he actually shivered, a full-bodied shudder that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
"Right," he muttered to the empty room. "Let's not be a statistic today."
With a quick hand sign, a puff of smoke heralded the arrival of a Shadow Clone. The clone looked at the original, then down at the letter, its expression a perfect mirror of long-suffering resignation.
It didn't need to speak; its entire aura screamed, "Oh, great. I get to be the explosive-tag-testing dummy. Wonderful."
With the grim determination of a bomb squad technician, the clone picked up the letter, opened it, and held its breath.
After a few seconds of tense reading where it did not, in fact, explode into a million pieces, it simply handed the letter back and vanished in another puff, probably off to complain to the other clones in the great Chakra Beyond.
Hiruzen took the parchment. He wasn't surprised to find the handwriting was completely unfamiliar.
Only a complete idiot would send a secret, potentially treasonous letter in their own penmanship, and the kind of person who could bypass his security, even just to his doorstep, was decidedly not an idiot.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for some earth-shattering revelation, and began to read.
The further down the page he got, the more his composure cracked, his face paling to a shade that rivaled the paper in his hands. Had the Uzumaki leader been reading his own copy, he would likely have been doing the exact same thing.
The letter read:
[To the Hokage of Konoha/The Leader of the Uzumaki]
[Heed this warning, for it is given only once.]
[The recent convergence of the Four Kage was not a diplomatic meeting. It was a war council. Their first and primary target has been chosen for its perceived isolation and the coveted nature of its assets, to be made an example of before the wider war begins.]
[They come for the Land of Eddies. They come for the Uzumaki.]
[Their alliance is forged in the belief that Konoha's resolve has weakened, that it will hide its own triumphs and hesitate to honor its oldest bonds. They believe the Whirlpools will fall before Konoha's aid can ever arrive, that your village will be paralyzed by internal politics until it is too late.]
[This is the truth you were not meant to know until the fleets were on the horizon.]
[To the Hokage: The question is no longer one of if you will be drawn into the war, but when and on what terms. Will you let your strongest ally be crushed, granting your enemies a devastating morale victory and their first strategic objective uncontested? Or will you act now, and show the Elemental Nations that the Will of Fire is not just words, but an inferno that consumes those who threaten its bonds?]
[To the Uzumaki Leader: Your seals are legendary, but they are not invincible against the combined armies of four nations. Do not trust in the sea alone to protect you. Your alliance is a shield, but a shield must be held. Prepare it now. Evacuate your children and your lore. Fortify. The storm gathers, and its name is annihilation.]
[The credibility of this warning is proven by the event you have just sought to bury: the border skirmish. The Kage were not there by chance. They were finalizing their plans. The trio who humbled them did not just stumble into a fight; they interrupted a summit that sealed your clan's fate.]
[You have been given a glimpse of the future. What you do with it will define the history of this world.]
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
This is the bonus Chapter for the 1000 Power Stones