Hearing Temari say that, Rasa studied his daughter closely, trying to judge whether she was just talking big—or dead serious.
When he decided it was the latter, he worriedly cautioned her: "If you push too hard, it may backfire…"
"Relax. I know the line. A man that exceptional won't be won over by cheap tricks anyway."
"So your plan is…?"
"I'll be a good girlfriend. Then I'll genuinely fall in love with him, marry him, treat him tenderly, and bear his children. That's my full plan—and the one with the highest chance of success. Are you satisfied with that, Kazekage-sama?"
"…"
…
It wasn't just Rasa and his guards who were stunned by Temari's bold declaration.
Uchiha Yorin—the man in question—got the intel from an Anbu in a bellhop uniform and blurted, "The hell is this."
Right then, the click of black high heels: Pakura, in sheer tights and a pencil skirt, full "secretary" cosplay, quipped behind him:
"Isn't it perfect? Temari's Suna's top beauty. Throwing herself into your arms like that… what a bargain for you."
Yorin: "She's three years old…"
Pakura: "You're misremembering—Temari's already eighteen."
Yorin: "Oh. Right. In that case, seeing as I even got her age wrong, you won't be jealous, will you?"
He looked at Pakura hopefully, then said, " 'Village flower' sounds more teasing than praise—besides the 'Kazekage's daughter' bonus, I don't think she's prettier than you."
"But she's younger."
"I like mature big sisters."
"Heh-heh~"
At that, Pakura flashed a "you passed—barely" look. Yorin exhaled in relief, confident he wouldn't be getting turned down tonight.
Harem expansion is great—unless it detonates the harem. Better to shore up the rear while drastically raising quality than blindly chasing quantity.
Pakura: "Either way, this pretty much locks in the Konoha–Suna pact."
Yorin: "And how do you feel?" he asked. "I thought you hated Suna to the bone. You're not upset Konoha's allying with them?"
"How to put it… for me, that's in the past," she said. "I once bled for the village and was betrayed by it. But it was the leadership who sold me out—ordinary people still saw me as a hero. So I neither want to serve Suna nor fight it. Keeping polite distance is best. Promise me, if Konoha ever fights Suna, put me on another front, okay?"
"You say that like there will be another front besides Konoha vs. Suna," Yorin couldn't help needling her.
"The answer's obvious. Without a pile-on, Suna wouldn't dare attack Konoha."
The corner of Pakura's mouth curled with a faint, sharp smile. She claimed she didn't care, but opportunities to snipe at Suna were too tempting.
Uchiha Yorin: "Don't worry. It won't happen."
"It won't?"
"Yes. It won't."
"Confident, aren't you. But even for you, beating a village solo is… tough, no?" She'd mocked Suna seconds ago; now she was defending them.
"Not really," Yorin said. "I'm not binding Suna with force—but with something else."
He handed her a stack of documents. She flipped through—and was hooked.
"This is… if it's even plausible, Suna might truly follow Konoha…"
The title: "On Windbreaks and Sand Control: Measures to Combat Desertification."
She skimmed by the handfuls of lines, but even at a glance it wasn't Yorin's idle fantasy—it looked workable. Straw-checkerboard grids, shelterbelt systems… and finally, a wild leap: "On planetary natural-energy balance—speculative feasibility of diverting Land of Rain's natural energy toward Land of Wind."
By then, though she'd left Land of Wind, her blood was singing. Since childhood, those endless dunes—the vast, dead, crushing sands—were what everyone in Wind feared most. If the desert could be tamed and turned to arable land, they could live gently and prosperously like Land of Fire—without waging a single war.
Yet she noticed something else: Yorin's "plans" were all half plans. The critical lower half… wasn't there.
That dangling hook feeling made her itch. Yorin leaned in, grinning; she nearly punched him.
"This enough to lash Suna to Konoha's fight?" he asked.
"…"
"…Enough," Pakura managed, snapping the file shut and handing it back before she resented him into a right hook. Nothing's more hateful than a serial cliffhanger.
"Not just lash them," she said. "Rasa would probably 'offer his daughter with both hands'… oh right, that shameless man already did."
Forgiveness aside, a woman's barbs never dull. Given any chance, she'd still skewer that foolish man—thinking his "sacrifices" help Suna when they really prop up decrepit relics who should've been swept away.
In a sense, Rasa was Wind's Danzō—just wiping old men's backsides. If he weren't that foolish, would he be Kazekage?
Now that he'd met the inhumanly shrewd Yorin, Pakura figured Rasa would get fleeced till he had only his underwear left. She gave him two seconds' silent mourning out of old comrade's courtesy—and moved on.
Compared with Wind's future, the looming Fourth Shinobi War mattered more.
With the Kazekage kowtowing, a Konoha-centered three-village bloc took shape. Next: see how Kumo and Iwa played their diplomatic hands. Would it be a righteous three-on-two—or the more righteous pile-on?
If he could choose, Yorin preferred the latter. The world can have five great nations; four is better. Kumo and Iwa—middle-rich compared to Water and Wind—were juicy bites. And his endgame—reviving Shinshū—meant unifying all five villages.
Four-on-one beats three-on-two. But…
"…Hard, no?" Later, in the Hokage Tower war room, Sarutobi actually floated a "righteous four-on-one" fantasy—and Yorin swatted it without mercy.
"Lord Third, you think Kumo is Konoha? Where's all that hatred supposed to come from?"
Sarutobi regretted it instantly, but too late. He stiffened and muttered, "What if? The Raikage and Ōnoki do have a father-killer feud…"
" 'Just a father-killer feud,' " Yorin snorted. "Pick a dumber Kage and he'll defend his father's killer: 'No one laughs at him!'"
"Ahaha," Minato burst out laughing. "Trust you to tell jokes like that… there can't be that dumb a Kage—wait, you're not joking?"
Even knowing his ideal won't happen, Yorin—as Anbu chief and de facto aide—ran through a string of near-futile diplomatic stunts.
Konoha nudged Iwa: "Kumo's hiding Weapons of Mass Destructions. Bad people need heavy blows!" Simultaneously nudged Kumo: "Father-killer feuds are unforgivable. When's the strike?"
All of it fizzled.
Kumo: " 'Just' a father-killer feud."
Iwa: "And how do you know our great Third Tsuchikage, 'Ōnoki of Both Scales,' isn't the WMD?"
Yorin: "…As expected."
In his cozy nook with Tsunade, eyes on the latest intercepts, he sighed. "Kumo and Iwa have made a pact."
It was a Molotov–Ribbentrop sort of secret deal. Ask them and they'd triple-deny: "Nope." "No way." "Don't talk nonsense."
But denial's useless. With Yorin's upgraded Anbu there are no secrets. His tradecraft may only edge Danzō's—but his money dwarfs Danzō's by 65,535. With that kind of budget, Anbu's capabilities exploded; intelligence—both quantity and quality—shot up.
So Konoha learned first: Kumo and Iwa would join to smash Konoha in the last window before takeoff.
It made perfect sense. With the top-tier aside, Konoha's now stronger than in Hashirama's day—much stronger. Endless cash and resources flow in; more shinobi, more jutsu, more tools. Quantity will become quality. More Kage-class will rise. Soon Konoha will be unstoppable.
Unlike Mist and Sand—either conquered or glued to Konoha's chariot—Kumo and Iwa still had spine and strength. Weaker on paper, but willing to swing.
If you can't beat Konoha alone, then join forces. Take the last shot with a fire fist. For the village's sake, even "father-killer feuds" get pinched noses.
Yorin: "blah… blab… Why can't humans just… understand each other?"
"Other than the last line, I understand none of that. Also, why are you in my house?" Tsunade deadpanned.
Publicly it's "the Senju residence," but Yorin has his own room, works here, receives VIPs—sometimes dragging Tsunade from the gaming tables into a twelve-layer formal robe to play hostess.
If only it stopped there. He also brings women home. Often different women. The racy nun with glasses, the racy Sand defector, the racy Mist Mizukage—who knows how she swam here.
If it was only them (?), fine; Tsunade knows them. Still angry, but she'll smile and pinch her nose.
This time he brought a new woman—and the scheming, sultry type.
Yorin: "Don't stress or you'll age fast."
"Heh. You age; I don't," she shot back—perks of the Yin Seal.
She forgot: he has it too. Truly a marvelous jutsu—ensuring he's still playing the youthful heartthrob past fifty.
Granted, the last person with that talent—Yagura—was ICU-cosplaying a plant at Konoha Hospital. Still, Yorin was sure his end would be better.
…
The new girl? Temari.
Task in mind, she flashed in front of Minato—"diplomatic" formalities done—and then shadowed Yorin. The supremely clever, supremely confident girl was promptly bludgeoned by Yorin's mega-kit.
Desert rehabilitation plan. He actually gave it to her?
Half of it, anyway—the bottom half was missing.
When she opened her mouth to ask, she saw Yorin's sly smile and knew she'd lost. Such force, such insight—and she had dreamed of "capturing" him? Instead, she'd been captured.
For such a being, there's one correct tactic: total submission to his will.
…
Thus the bold, proud Sand princess arrived in Konoha and immediately transformed into a gentle, demure yamato-nadeshiko. It wasn't her nature and would one day be seen through. But before that, let Yorin enjoy the act.
"Temari."
"Mm?"
"Join me on the coming battlefield," he said. She blinked, then smiled, sweet and soft.
"Mm~"
Tsunade clicked her tongue from the doorway, peak levels of displeasure.