Uchiha Yorin suddenly felt a chill run through him, then sneezed several times in a row—enough to make Mei worry.
"The sea breeze is strong—let me put something over you."
Just like the gentlest newlywed wife, she said it as she started to slip off her ceremonial robe to drape over him.
(Probably best that Mei never hears that comparison—otherwise a dose of Boil or Lava Release might erase him from the map. Then she'd correct him: "What do you mean 'like'? I am.")
"How odd…"
His Body stat was already up to 12—superhuman. In theory, germs, viruses, anything entering him should be shredded on contact by his white blood cells.
Given all the weird, occult nonsense in the shinobi world, he had reason to suspect some hostile nation had hexed him.
"Cloud, huh… besides that terrifying Chakra Cannon, they actually cooked up this sort of thing too? Really not to be underestimated."
So he thought, glancing around. "I'm fine," he told Mei, who'd halfway slipped her robe from her shoulders to cover him. "A little chilly, but nothing. Since it's nothing, let's proceed as planned."
They weren't here to date; Mist's foggy, clammy coast had little to stroll. They were here to inspect naval readiness.
It isn't Boruto-era yet—no carrier groups dueling wooden-atakebune absurdities—but Mist's navy is the strongest among the Five.
Obvious reasons: as the only island great power, Mist can be weak at anything except sea power.
As for Yorin's earlier surprise landing and "home invasion"—beyond stealth, Mist was politically chaotic at the time. The navy was rattled—like the mutinous sailors at Kiel at WWI's end—no heart to patrol or fight. Otherwise, the "Norman Conquest's" first battle should've been at sea, not outside the village.
New Mist was different. Morale surged; the navy could do its part.
That satisfied Yorin. With this, he could safely return to Konoha's army to command the frontal war against Cloud.
"Mm. Be careful," Mei said. She didn't want him to go, but she knew what mattered. A good woman doesn't drag people back at moments like this.
Though she wanted him longer, she knew the Fourth Great Ninja War mattered more. So she watched him leave and swore—win this, kick that slacker Tsunade off the throne, and become Yorin's official First Lady.
Flying Thunder God is convenient: a blink later Yorin was back in Konoha's camp. He found his command tent among rows of pavilions, called a council, unfurled maps—everything looked proper—but his mind stuck on one thing:
"What curse did Cloud use to hex me? This is really weird."
He certainly didn't know Cloud planned to send two absolute monster brothers to gang up on him, bag him alive, and… "breed stock." That takes imagination.
And it wasn't that they underestimated him, really.
To outsiders, the man who split the Turtle and beheaded the Kage had proven himself. Cloud rated him Kage-class—even strong Kage-class.
But "perfect jinchūriki" Killer B and "surpassing-his-father" Fourth A were Kage-class too. And brothers in arms—1 + 1 > 2.
So beating—or even capturing—Uchiha Yorin wasn't unthinkable.
Since Hashirama and Madara died, the world hadn't really seen the unthinkable "super-tier." Truth be told, even Yorin would not be favored against their heyday.
So Cloud's thinking was… rational.
"Whatever. I'll smash Cloud to its knees, then hypnotize them with the Sharingan. The answers will present themselves."
With that, he waited in his command tent until his jōnin arrived.
These were not the "take three kids on a C-rank" types; they were professional officers. They smelled of blood and soldiering.
Thanks to his uniform reforms, no green flak vests—black service tunics, eagle-crowned caps. Not for charging, but sharp, a fine marching dress.
A long table, a map—a scene that'd make some outsider wonder if they'd stumbled into a Wehrmacht staff meeting.
…
"Current situation—let's hear it. How do we proceed?" Yorin's eyes swept the room.
The jōnin traded looks. No one spoke—not out of modesty; they'd simply nothing useful to say.
Plenty could fight, a few had skimmed ancient art-of-war scrolls; but professional war? No.
There's no West Point, no German Kriegsakademie, no Frunze here.
Decades of conflict, yes—but "low-intensity, sloppy wars." Ask them to conduct a real campaign—hands went numb.
"Ahem…"
Tsunade coughed, poised to speak. She'd never been a field marshal, but her fellow Sannin—Orochimaru, Jiraiya—had commanded corps. If she hadn't eaten the roast, she'd at least seen the pig walk. She felt she had a say.
Yorin cut it off.
"If there are no proposals, I'll present mine."
"First, we must preempt Cloud's general mobilization by entering the Land of Hot Water and building a first defensive line there.
"Once it's firmed up, send elite teams to spread our control toward the Land of the Moon—our second line against Cloud.
"The second line buys time while we perfect the first.
"We want Lightning to crack its head on Konoha's iron wall. Problems?"
Silence; eyes shifted toward Tsunade. The plan wasn't genius, but it was coherent—refreshing compared to the usual "march till you bump someone."
Even Tsunade, who'd planned to grandstand, had to admit she probably couldn't have laid it out as crisply. It stung.
As their standings shifted—from "big sister and her junior" to something more in Yorin's favor—the "Senju son-in-law" script bent his way; it weighed on her.
She asked, tartly: "No issue with the rest—but where are our allies?"
She meant Mist; everyone wondered how much the hard-won ally would matter in this world-shaping war.
"They're mustered," Yorin said evenly. "They'll operate against Earth."
"Earth?"
"Not our front?"
"That far…?"
Yorin lied. He didn't know these officers yet and wouldn't reveal his true play in a room this large.
"Konoha's main strategy is Fourth leading a concentrated strike—merge with Mist and Sand, crush Iwa first, then bring the victorious army north to finish Cloud.
"Our task is to hold Cloud in the Land of Hot Water until the main army returns. Any other questions?"
"…No," Tsunade managed, unhappy. The plan was sound—high odds. But it cast their force as the shield while Fourth took the glory—they would eat the blows. Not fun to be the Astra Militarum waiting for the Astartes. She understood; she still didn't like it.
No one else vented; few had a grandpa named Hashirama.
"Gentlemen," Yorin looked around, voice rising. "Is your confidence lacking? Without Mist's help, can Konoha not win?
"With only 1,500, we pacified Mist and founded New Mist, firm allies of Konoha.
"Now we field 15,000, ten times as many. Is Cloud ten times stronger than Mist?
"Has Konoha's army no backbone?!"
A mix of provocation and sleight of hand—but it worked. Officers stood, fists to chests:
"Loyalty!"
(He didn't know who started it—well, actually he did; it was him. Never mind.)
…
With morale rallied, Konoha surged first into the "peace-loving, permanently neutral" Land of Hot Water, seized Yugakure as a core, and began building a defensive base.
A village of hot springs and soft hands—eventually wiped out by one Hidan—was about to become a wrestling ring for giants.
All those baths meant for rest, leisure, and honeymoons would be filled with blood. Hot Water would sink into a blood pool hell.
Naturally, none of that involved obtaining Yugakure's permission.
This world is that cruel. Your destruction often has nothing to do with you.
~~~
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