When Amamiya Raizen arrived at the temporary camp, dozens of wandering ninja turned toward him at once. Their eyes burned with the same hunger — not for food, but for belonging.
Raizen could read it instantly. He smirked.
"The Patriarch's made it official," he announced, voice carrying through the smoky air. "From today, you're members of the Amamiya clan."
"Really?!"
For a heartbeat, silence — then the whole camp erupted in cheers. Men and women who'd lived half their lives on the road, nameless mercenaries for hire, were suddenly shinobi with a home. A banner. A future.
Raizen watched them celebrate with a faint smile. Within the hour, clan scribes arrived to register names, ages, and chakra affinities; others distributed blankets and assigned tents. The newcomers didn't complain. They lined up like soldiers being reborn.
Evaluation came next.
No one knew how strong these recruits actually were, so Amamiya Gen sent several Jōnin and a few dozen Chūnin to test them through live combat.
By midday, the clan courtyard was a blur of movement — twenty sparring matches happening at once, fire and water and steel clashing under the autumn sky while evaluators shouted notes.
"Maya Goshima, thirty-one! Proficient in kenjutsu and close-quarters combat — Jōnin level!"
"Jinji Aoki, twenty-two, female! Excellent with Clone Technique — Chūnin performance!"
Each new name drew murmurs. Even hardened Amamiya shinobi couldn't hide their surprise.
Wandering ninja weren't supposed to be this competent.
Then came the man with silver hair.
"Hatake Gintama," one examiner read — and before the name finished echoing, the Jōnin sparring him had already been disarmed, flipped, and pinned by the throat.
The crowd went dead silent.
Gen himself, watching from a distance, narrowed his eyes. "…Hatake… clan?" he muttered. The samurai-born family from the western provinces — famous for turning blades into jutsu. Interesting.
By sunset, all recruits had been ranked and recorded: several Jōnin, nearly thirty Chūnin, the rest Genin still rough around the edges. Not elite, but sturdy — the kind of numbers that could change a minor clan's fate.
That night, under a star-strewn sky, laughter rolled through the camp for the first time in years.
Men leaned close to the fires, swapping stories and rice wine, smoke curling upward like ghosts of old battles.
"It'd be nice," someone murmured, "if this moment lasted forever."
Across the flames, Hatake Gintama smiled faintly, his silver hair catching the light. For once, his eyes softened.
Raizen noticed. "Gintama?" he called, tilting his head.
Gintama turned. "Hm?"
"You left the Hatake clan behind. I'm guessing you had a family there, maybe even children."
"I do," Gintama admitted easily. "My son's still with them. I left because… the pressure was too much."
"Pressure?" Raizen echoed, skeptical.
"The Hatake have roots as samurai," Gintama explained, staring into the fire. "Half the clan wants to embrace the ninja path, the other half clings to bushidō. The air was suffocating. I couldn't stand the divide, so I walked away."
Raizen studied him quietly. "Is that so?"
He didn't buy it. A man that strong doesn't abandon blood for mere discomfort. There was more beneath the surface, but Raizen didn't push.
He looked instead to the flickering firelight reflecting off armor and tired smiles. These people — these wanderers — were now his true foundation. The clan might respect him, but loyalty still flowed to Amamiya Gen. When the time came for hard choices, most would follow their patriarch without hesitation.
But these newcomers? They had no roots, no allegiance yet. If he nurtured them right, their loyalty would belong to him alone.
While Raizen mulled over his next move, a commotion rose near one of the fires.
Two Chūnin were sparring in the dirt, laughter giving way to shouts as chakra flared.
Raizen stood. "Come on," he said to Gintama, and the two men walked closer.
The duel wasn't elegant — raw chakra, mud flying, fists clashing — but there was heart in it.
Raizen couldn't help himself. "Rock," he called out to one fighter, "your Earth Release is strong, but your chakra focus is sloppy. You're wasting half your energy every cast. Tighten your flow, or you'll gas out in minutes."
The younger ninja blinked, then nodded seriously.
Beside him, Gintama's eyes lit up. "He's right. Try shortening your seal sequence — you're overcompensating."
The two seasoned shinobi offered quick corrections between blows, and within minutes, the spar had transformed — more control, sharper timing, real progress.
Raizen watched the firelight dance over their faces and allowed himself a small, tired grin.
For the first time since his reincarnation, he wasn't just surviving.
He was building.