Raizen slept like a corpse and woke like a waking blade. Morning had barely leached the night's cold from the courtyard when frantic footsteps hammered at his door.
He opened to Kitahara‑san, lungs burning, eyes wide. "Young patriarch—bad news. Kashiwagi and Jinen are fighting in the streets."
Raizen's appetite for trouble perked up. He stepped aside and let Kitahara‑san in, listening as the older man spilled what he'd heard between gasps and hurried bows.
"Someone broke into the Kashiwagi compound last night," Kitahara‑san said. "They killed Kashiwagi Mujing and left evidence pointing to Jinen. Now the Kashiwagi are accusing Jinen outright. Young ninjas on both sides have already clashed in North Street—today it's skirmishes, tomorrow it could be war."
Raizen folded his arms and let the news settle like smoke around his shoulders. "When do you think they'll go full‑scale?" he asked.
Kitahara‑san hesitated. "If things keep sliding—if the elders can't hold the clans down—maybe two months. At most."
"Two months." Raizen repeated the number as if tasting it. Too long. Too slow. He turned this over in his head; the logistics, the power plays, the way a city like Uicheng could be reshaped by flames if someone had the nerve to shove.
"What if both clans bleed out?" Raizen mused aloud. "If Kashiwagi and Jinen wreck each other, could Amamiya step in and take control?"
Kitahara‑san's face went pale. "Control Uicheng? Impossible—if both sides fall, the rest will swarm in. The big families don't want the city, they just use it as a trade hub. But the middling clans? They'll fight tooth and nail for a prize like this. If Amamiya moves in at the right moment, we could become the power others have to reckon with. But we'd need a deterrent—someone stronger than elite Jōnin to hold the field."
Raizen's lips curved. That was the missing line in his strategy. Strength wasn't just muscle; it was timing, reputation, and the authority to make others blink. He pictured a battered Uicheng, its two dominant houses exhausted, while a single, purposeful clan stepped forward to mend and claim the trade routes. No fanfare—just a clean, strategic takeover.
"Kashiwagi and Jinen have owned this city for too long," Raizen said softly, almost to himself. "Time for a new landlord."
Kitahara‑san inhaled sharply at the audacity, but Raizen only smiled, the kind of smile that had ruined many comfortable nights for larger men. He waved Kitahara‑san out, then set to work.
Plans built themselves in his head: provoke the feud, manage perception, time the Amamiya intervention when both clans were weakest. Sowing chaos was an art—one he'd practiced—and now the seed had sprouted. Over the next hours he would lay bait, station eyes, and prepare the clan's few reliable forces. He'd push Kashiwagi and Jinen toward the cliff's edge and, when they teetered, he'd shepherd Uicheng into Amamiya hands.
No poetry. No idealism. Just a ledger: risk and reward, blood and profit. He had a war to choreograph.
...
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