Chapter 92: Rent, Roots, and Responsibility
The second day of Madara Uchiha's tenure as "Elder M" began with even more vigor than the first. The Strategy Hall was packed; word had spread that the new Dean didn't just teach history—he taught the brutal mechanics of survival.
Madara stood at the center of the sand table, his charcoal-grey sleeves pushed back as he manipulated the shifting dunes to represent the treacherous terrain of the Land of Wind. His voice, though still raspy, had regained a sharp, commanding edge.
"The desert is not your enemy," Madara lectured, his eye tracking Kushina, who was currently trying to calculate the wind-resistance of a sandstorm on her notepad. "The desert is a neutral force. Your enemy is your own thirst and the arrogance of thinking your chakra can overcome the sun. If you are caught in a pincer movement near the Suna border, you do not fight. You vanish into the heat haze."
Nagato sat in the front, leaning forward so far he nearly fell off his cushion. To the boy, the shifting sand looked like a dance. He didn't see maps; he saw the "rhythm" of the world that Madara was describing.
The Landlord's Visit
While Madara was busy traumatizing the youth with tales of desert attrition, Rimon was standing on the observation balcony, looking down at a very confused White Zetsu.
"So," Rimon said, leaning against the railing. "You like the hot water, right? You like the sandalwood soap? You like the fact that I haven't turned you into a decorative hedge yet?"
"Oh, yes!" White Zetsu chirped, his head bobbing. "Uzushio is very comfortable! The pipes hum a song, and the soil in the flowerbeds is very nutritious!"
"Glad to hear it," Rimon smiled, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "But here's the thing, Zetsu. In Uzushio, there is no such thing as a free ride. Not even for ancient plant-clones. You've been living in a high-tier University suite, eating Kana's honey-buns, and using our grid. It's time to pay rent."
White Zetsu froze. "Rent? But... I don't have any money. I only have seeds and information about underground tunnels!"
"I don't want your tunnels," Rimon said, grabbing White Zetsu by the shoulder and steering him toward the exit. "I want your labor. You're a plant, right? You understand photosynthesis, soil composition, and cellular growth better than any human. You're going to work."
The Agricultural Sector
Rimon led White Zetsu down to the Lower Plateau, where the massive glass domes of the Hydroponic Caverns glittered in the sun. This was the heart of Uzushio's food security—a place where seasons didn't exist, and crops grew three times faster than normal thanks to resonant seals.
At the entrance stood Kana, Yahiko's mother. She wasn't wearing an apron today; she was wearing a sturdy jumpsuit, her red hair tied back with a bandana, and she was currently scolding a group of trainees for over-watering the medicinal herbs.
"Kana-san!" Rimon called out. "I brought you a new specialist."
Kana turned, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek. She looked White Zetsu up and down with the sharp, judgmental eyes of a mother. "This is the 'specialist'? He looks like he's half-starved and made of clay."
"He's a biological prodigy," Rimon lied with a straight face. "He can communicate with the roots. He's here to earn his keep. Give him a station, some shears, and if he tries to slip into the floor, just hit him with one of those high-frequency sealing tags."
White Zetsu looked at Kana, then at the massive rows of tomatoes and strange, glowing grains. "I... I get to touch the plants?"
"You get to fix the plants," Kana corrected, grabbing White Zetsu by his leafy arm. "We've got a blight starting in the Sector 4 greenhouse, and if you're as good as the Patriarch says, you'll have it sorted by sunset. Move it, 'Leafy'! No work, no dinner!"
"Yes, Ma'am!" White Zetsu squeaked, his natural instinct to obey a strong authority figure kicking in. He was whisked away into the greenery, already rambling about how the nitrogen levels were all wrong.
The Observation
Rimon stayed behind for a moment, watching White Zetsu start to frantically prune a vine while Kana watched him like a hawk.
Black Zetsu manifested in the shadow of a nearby pillar, his voice a low hiss.
"Mockery?" Rimon didn't even turn around. "I'm giving him a purpose, Zetsu. He's happy. Look at him—he's already making those tomatoes grow an extra inch. If you want to join him, I'm sure the waste-management department needs someone who can blend into the sewage pipes."
Black Zetsu went silent, retreating further into the dark.
Back at the Academy
The afternoon bell rang, signaling the end of the strategy session. Madara walked out of the hall, leaning on his staff, looking surprisingly satisfied. He found Rimon waiting for him by the fountain.
"Where is the white idiot?" Madara grunted. "Usually he's popping out of the floor to tell me about the cloud shapes."
"He's currently the Junior Supervisor of Greenhouse 4," Rimon said, falling into step with Madara. "He's earning the credits for your honey-buns and that sandalwood soap he likes so much."
Madara stopped, blinking. "You put a Zetsu to work? In a garden?"
"He's a plant, Madara. It's literally what he was born for," Rimon shrugged. "Besides, Kana is his boss now. If he tries to spy for you, she'll make him pull weeds for sixteen hours straight. He's terrified of her."
Madara let out a short, dry bark of laughter—a sound that made several nearby students stop and stare in awe. "You are a truly petty child, Rimon. Using the tools of Ten Tail to grow cabbages."
"The cabbages are delicious, Elder M," Rimon grinned. "Now, come on. Kushina is waiting for you in the Sealing Lab. She wants to show you how she can 'vibrate' a target's internal organs without touching them. She calls it 'The Ghost-Touch.' I think she named it after you."
Madara's eye flared with interest. "A technique that bypasses the outer shell? Perhaps your 'Golden Generation' has some bite after all."
As the two walked toward the labs, the "Ghost" and the "Sovereign" looked less like enemies and more like a grandfather and grandson arguing over the family business.