The primary conference room in the Kazekage Building was once again shrouded in a heavy, suffocating atmosphere. However, unlike the high-level strategic discussions of the previous months, this session wasn't focused on enemy movement or battlefield telemetry. This time, the room was filled with a more practical, desperate sense of poverty. Fourth Kazekage Rasa sat in the main seat, his expression as unyielding as a stone block, listening as the Finance Elder reported a series of figures that sounded like a total system crash report.
"...The budget cuts from the Daimyo have officially hit the ledger," the Finance Elder began, his voice sounding like dry parchment. "The shortfall is even greater than our initial projections. Pensions for the 'Cloud Strike' casualties, medical supply replenishment, puppet maintenance, and daily logistics... every item is redlining. Our current inventory of exploding tags, kunai, and Military Rations Pills can, at most, support one medium-scale defensive battle. If Iwa launches a full-scale 'DDoS' attack on our northern border, we won't have the hardware to respond."
The elders remained silent, their brows tightly furrowed. These were ninjas who had weathered decades of war, and they knew better than anyone that a village without material support was like a shinobi stripped of chakra, a legacy system left to be deleted by the first scavenger that came along.
"This cannot continue," Rasa finally spoke, his voice low but carrying a resonance that cut through the gloom. "We cannot wait for the National Government to re-enable our permissions. We must save ourselves. We must optimize the internal code."
He slowly scanned every high-ranking official present, his eyes flashing with the cold light of a man about to execute a "Hard Reboot." He then proposed a series of "Optimization Protocols" that sent a chill through the room:
"First: Effective immediately, the volume of village-assigned missions will be reduced by forty percent. Priority will be diverted to border patrols and essential supply-chain escorts. All low-rank, non-essential civilian tasks are temporarily suspended."
"Second: All mission rewards... will be reduced by one-third. Every shinobi will be expected to bear the 'Tax' of our survival."
"Third: The Medical Squad will reorganize to re-evaluate all injured personnel. Those flagged as permanently disabled, those whose 'Hardware' can no longer execute frontline scripts will be advised to retire. They will be given a small, one-time pension and sent back to their civilian homes."
As soon as the last command was issued, a collective gasp echoed through the stone hall. It was a "Security Alert" for the village's soul.
"Kazekage-sama! Reducing rewards will cause a massive drop in user retention!" an Elder responsible for mission assignment argued. "The lower-ranked Genin and Chunin are already running on low morale. This will trigger a full-system panic!"
"And forcing the wounded to retire... this is a 'Kill Process' on our own heroes!" another Elder voiced his objection, his voice trembling. "They shed their blood to keep Suna online! We cannot just de-allocate them like old data!"
Rasa's hands, resting on the table, clenched into white-knuckled fists. He knew the cruelty of these decisions. He was the "Root Administrator" who had to delete files to keep the OS from crashing.
"Dissatisfaction and panic are better than having our warriors die for nothing because their kunai broke or their ration pills were empty!" Rasa's voice suddenly rose, carrying a hint of suppressed, metallic fury. "Forcing ninjas who cannot fight to retire is allowing them to leave the 'Meat Grinder.' It is giving them a chance to live as civilians rather than having them drag their crippled bodies into the desert to die meaninglessly for a paycheck we can't afford! That is the ultimate mercy!"
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his emotions. "This is an order. Carry it out. I will bear the weight of the condemnation. I will be the one the village hates, as long as the village still exists to hate me."
The meeting concluded under immense pressure. As the orders were relayed through the squad captains, the village entered a state of "Undercurrent Turbulence." Complaints, confusion, and even quiet curses began to circulate. In the training grounds, I saw Shiori looking at the retirement list with tears in her eyes, one of her mentors had been flagged for "De-activation." The air was thick with pessimism.
Rasa heard the rumors, but he showed no reaction. He knew that explanations were just "Low-Bandwidth" noise. Only tangible "Input" could stabilize the system.
A few days later, deep within the vast, boundless sea of sand in the Land of Wind, a solitary figure appeared. Rasa had stripped off his official Kazekage robes, wearing only high-performance combat gear. He stood atop a massive, shifting dune, the sun baking the sand until the air shimmered with 404-error heat-haze.
He slowly closed his eyes, and vast amounts of chakra began to surge, his Magnet Release frequency rising to a pitch that made the air itself vibrate. He slammed his palms onto the scorching sand.
"Magnet Release: Gold Dust Grand Funeral!"
Boom--!
Centered on Rasa, the desert within a three-kilometer radius came alive. It was a massive "Search and Extract" script. Millions of silicate grains were repelled by a negative magnetic pulse, while the microscopic, high-density gold particles buried deep within the strata were precisely adsorbed and extracted.
The sight was terrifyingly spectacular. It was as if a golden river was erupting from the depths of the planet, converging above Rasa into a dazzling, brilliant cloud of metallic dust. Sunlight hit the cloud, reflecting a mesmerizing, lethal light.
This process was a catastrophic load on Rasa's chakra reserves. Fine beads of sweat turned into rivers down his face, and his complexion turned a sickly, pale gray as he hit 90% CPU usage. But his eyes remained sharp. He meticulously filtered the adsorbed gold, stripping away the "Noise" of the impurities.
Finally, suspended before him was a massive sphere of high-purity Gold Dust, radiating a rich, metallic luster. It was hard currency, the "Resource" needed to restart the village.
Rasa took out a specialized sealing scroll and changed his hand signs. "Seal!"
The mass of gold was sucked into the scroll with a hollow shloop. He breathed heavily, looking at the scroll in his hand. There was no joy in his expression, only the cold calculation of a man who had just traded his own lifespan for the village's operating budget.
Thereafter, Rasa ventured into the deep desert alone at regular intervals. Every time he returned, he brought back a heavy scroll of gold. This gold was secretly funneled through black-market merchants to exchange for grain, medicine, and steel.
The news eventually leaked through the "High-Level Data Channels" to the Jonin. When they realized the Kazekage was personally "Panning for Gold" to fund their missions, the voices of dissatisfaction died out. They were replaced by a complex mix of guilt and resolve.
I heard the news while visiting Granny Chiyo's workshop. Two Elders were whispering about Rasa's "Extraction Cycles" and the toll it was taking on his health.
I fell silent, my mind running a simulation of that lonely figure in the sand. Rasa was the "Battery" for the entire village, burning himself out to keep the lights on.
"It seems... the 'Mirage' plan must be accelerated," I muttered to myself, my hand tightening into a fist.
The "Mirage" wasn't just a combat platform anymore. If I could optimize its Magnet-Levitation sensors, I could automate the gold-finding process. I could build a "Mining Protocol" that would take the load off Rasa's shoulders. It wasn't just about my own power anymore; it was about fixing a broken economy.
I turned back to my workbench, the blueprints of the Mag-Lev chassis glowing under my lamp. "Logan, let's stop playing with toys," I whispered to my previous soul. "It's time to build a solution."