Azula's master plan was, of course, brilliant.
While lesser minds saw the brewing conflict with the Uzumaki and the looming Ninja War as a problem, she saw a glorious opportunity—a global stage upon which to elevate the Uchiha name from feared to revered.
And her weapon of choice? Something very simple: her manga.
Her manga were no longer confined to the Land of Fire. They were a literary plague, sweeping through the Lands of Wind, Water, Thunder, and Earth with the unstoppable force of a well-timed betrayal.
Did she worry the other Hidden Villages would try to ban her work once the war kicked off? Please. She almost hoped they would.
There's no better marketing than forbidden fruit, especially when that fruit is delivered by a network of greedy, status-obsessed nobles.
Her business model was simple: she sold the volumes directly to the daimyos and nobles, who then acted as her glorified, overpriced street vendors.
Was it the most profitable scheme? Perhaps not. But it was a masterclass in psychological warfare.
She was essentially letting the enemy fund her propaganda campaign, a fact that amused her to no end. Let the nobles hoard the ryo.
She was just letting them babysit her future treasury. Once she took control of their country, she'd be reclaiming every coin—plus interest. It was less a business transaction and more a long-term, involuntary savings plan.
The centerpiece of her upcoming "public relations offensive" was a heart-wrenching, soul-searching biographical manga about Madara Uchiha.
She planned to drop it right in the sweaty, panicked middle of the Second Great Ninja War, when morale was lower than a samurai's opinion of ninja.
She could already picture the effect. The masses, huddled in their bunkers, would devour the tragic tale of a visionary misunderstood!
They'd learn of his noble dream for peace! His heartbreaking decision to leave Konoha! And the devastating, "I-told-you-so" revelation that he was right all along!
The final panel would leave them with a single, haunting question: What if Hashirama had just listened to Madara and united the world under their combined, unquestionable power?
By the time she was ready to execute her own world-domination-by-polite-request, the public wouldn't just accept it; they'd be writing her fan mail, begging for it.
But a main course needs an appetizer. For now, she had a smaller, more pointed story to release—a little something to give the Uchiha and the Uzumaki the moral high ground in the squabble.
Her inspiration? A classic from her previous life on Earth: 300. It was perfect.
The Uchiha, for all their… fervor, were a clan of profound idealism and dramatic flair. They'd get the Spartans. And the Uzumaki, with their naively steadfast belief in "friendship" and "bonds"? They'd weep at the nobility of a last stand.
The plan was set. A slow smile graced her lips as she unceremoniously dumped a sealing scroll onto her desk. With a puff of chakra, it unsealed not shuriken or explosive tags, but her true weapons of mass construction: ink pots, nib pens, and enough high-quality paper to brainwash a continent.
She created a clone who would be in charge of supervising the crew before starting her new masterpiece.
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...
The stretch of ocean between the mainland and Uzushiogakure wasn't much—a solid four-to-five-hour boat ride if you had a good playlist and didn't mind the sea spray.
But news, as the Uzumaki were fond of proving, travels faster than any vessel.
Long before the first Uchiha sail breached the horizon, a frantic, tiny summoning beast had already teleported into the war council, squeaking a message that made Patriarch Shinki's gloomy expression do a complete 180.
The Uchiha were coming. And they weren't just sending a few token edgelords.
They were bringing the main event: Azula herself. The First Uchiha Matriarch, the Flame Queen.
The gloom that had been clinging to Shinki's face like a wet blanket evaporated faster than a water droplet on a Fire Country sunstone.
It was then that a second message arrived, this one from their cousins in Konoha. Mito-sama, her granddaughter Tsunade, and a good number of Senju were also en route.
Let the record show that Patriarch Shinki, in that moment, did a little jig that was strictly off-record. The Uzumaki, the Uchiha, and the Senju.
It was the shinobi world's most terrifying trifecta—a power trio so absurd it sounded like a bad fan theory. The Uzumaki with their seal-based WMDs, the Senju with their literal God of Shinobi, and the Uchiha… well, they were the Uchiha.
"Uncle Shinki!" a small voice piped up, yanking him from his glorious daydreams of allied supremacy. "Is it true? Are Azula-sama and Tsunade-sama really coming?"
He looked down at his niece, Asuka. Her eyes weren't just sparkling; they were hosting a full-blown sun.
This was Azula's self-appointed #1 Uzumaki fan—the keeper of the shrine, the reciter of legendary feats. He'd told her he had a surprise, but he hadn't expected her to short-circuit with joy.
Shinki's grin widened. This was perfect. A seven-year-old girl, armed with nothing but unbridled enthusiasm and the tactical cuteness of a well-aimed puppy, was his secret weapon.
He was betting good money that her sheer, overwhelming fangirl energy would be so potent it would pierce straight through Azula's notoriously guarded heart.
What better way to secure an alliance than by making its most powerful member go, "I must protect this tiny, chaotic creature"?
He patted her head, his expression that of a master strategist who had just discovered the ultimate jutsu: the Power of Adoration. "Yes, Azula will be here first. I'm counting on you to… well, to not let her set anything too important on fire. After all, you know how your idol loves chaos. Just be your charming self."
Asuka looked at him with the profound skepticism only a seven-year-old can muster. "Is that... allowed?"
"Don't worry too much, I heard that she likes children," Shinki said smoothly.
The concern on her face vanished, replaced by the fierce determination of a soldier heading into battle. "I will do my best!"
"That's my girl. Now go, prepare! I'll send for you when our guests of honor arrive."
As Asuka scampered off, likely to rehearse her greeting, Shinki turned back to the preparations. They had to move fast.
Accommodations, food, a welcome ceremony that screamed 'We're grateful, not desperate!'—it was a logistical nightmare, but a happy one.
He needed the Uzumaki hospitality to be so potent, so welcoming, that the Uchiha would forget any past, petty squabbles and start thinking of them as family.
After all, Azula was already aware of the... potential friction that came with mixing Uzumaki and Uchiha. Shinki was no fool; he could see it too.
The Senju were easy—they were practically family, with all the intermarriage and shared holidays. But the Uchiha? Their relationship was a blank scroll with a single, angry doodle in the margin labeled "mutual annoyance," and maybe a few good contacts during the First Ninja War, that's it.
But as Shinki looked out at the sea, a plan and a hyper-enthusiastic child in his arsenal, he felt confident. Nothing could go wrong. Absolutely nothing.
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...
Mizura stared at the spy report from Konoha. His face did that thing where it looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon stuffed with nails.
With a sigh that could wilt flowers, he slid the parchment across the table to his right-hand man, Genji.
"Read it," Mizura grumbled. "I feel a migraine coming on."
Genji scanned the document, his eyebrows performing a slow, dramatic climb toward his hairline.
"Well. This is a cartload of complications," he mused, tapping the paper. "First, a mysterious chakra spike in Konoha. Then the Uchiha clan mobilizes to reinforce Uzushiogakure. And hot on their heels, the Senju? It seems our 'intimidation' strategy didn't work."
Their original plan had been so simple: scare Konoha into staying put. They'd even had a backup plan for if Konoha grew a spine, but this? This was like preparing for a kitten and finding a fully grown tailed beast chewing on your slippers.
A grim, almost feral smile touched Mizura's lips.
"Tsunade," he breathed, the name a ghost and a promise on his tongue. Visions of long-awaited revenge did a little jig in his head. "Well, at least it's just the two clans. We can work with two clans. Probably."
"Look on the bright side," Genji offered, ever the optimist—if an optimist who specialized in arson. "This screams 'internal conflict.' It wasn't Konoha's troops who went to support, but only two clans."
"Hiruzen is a rookie Hokage who probably still sleeps with the hat on. Azula is a power-hungry prodigy who I'm fairly sure sharpens her teeth on kunai. And Tsunade has the birthright and probably her grandfather's stubbornness. It was a powder keg waiting for a spark."
Mizura nodded, pacing. "And we just lit the fuse. But why are the Uchiha helping the Uzumaki? What's in it for them? Do you really think it's just because Azula and Mito have such a good master-disciple relationship? 'Hey Mito-sensei, my clan and I will totally defy the Hokage for you.' I don't buy it."
He leaned in, eyes gleaming with conspiracy. "No, this is politics. Mito must have promised Azula something big. Like, 'I'll support your campaign for the Hokage's chair' big."
Genji's eyes lit up. "The title of Hokage… it's an unrefusable call. We should help the narrative along. Let's have our disposable spies in Konoha start whispering: 'Oh, the village is tearing itself apart!' The other villages will understand this. Kumo, Iwa, Suna… they'll gladly throw their own spies on the bonfire to watch Konoha burn."
"Do it," Mizura commanded, a fresh wave of frustration hitting him. "And light a fire under our 'allies' while you're at it. We're sitting here haggling over who gets which piece of the Uzumaki's while they're building higher walls and probably inventing new ways to stab us! We had the element of surprise, and we've bartered it away for a better percentage point."
He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I'm the only Kage willing to get my hands dirty, and Kiri is bringing the most blades to this party! Is it too much to ask for the biggest slice of the pie we're all too busy arguing to even eat?!"
The tragedy wasn't the coming war; it was the sheer, mind-numbing bureaucracy of it all.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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