Hiruko let out a low chuckle. The essential oil pouring into his palm carried a faint floral scent; as he rubbed his hands together, the warmth began to seep into her skin.
The moment his fingertips touched her shoulders, Tsunade let out a soft "mm," reacting like a cat being scruffy-held by the scruff of its neck.
"Here?" He pressed his thumb against a knot of tight muscle with surgical precision.
"Or... here?" His fingers slid downward, intentionally grazing a sensitive point along her spine.
Tsunade's breath hitched. She let out a scoffing laugh. "...Brat, you doing this on purpose?"
Hiruko's breath brushed against her golden hair. "I just want you to fully relax."
"You bastard, let go of me!"
"Let go? Not a chance!"
Looking at the Hidden Mist through Hiruko's current perspective, although the surface appeared stable, its recovery speed was agonizingly slow. Following the series of devastating blows dealt to the Hidden Stone, the Mist could arguably be considered the strongest village after Konoha.
However, the Great Nations were capable of mutual communication, and there was still an ocean between them. Hiruko put himself in their shoes and felt a headache coming on; even if he moved to the Mist personally, solving their current market issues would be an uphill battle. The present didn't represent the future—if the Land of Fire decided to play hardball, how would the Mist respond?
Once a "siphoning monster" like modern Konoha began to grow, its momentum became unstoppable. This was one of the reasons the United States had been so powerful in his previous life: its ability to absorb resources was simply too strong. Its development speed was so frantic that even when it made mistakes, capital would still instinctively flock to it.
How can the Land of Fire change this dynamic?
Tsunade pondered for a long time without finding an answer. She felt a sense of stifling frustration, as if no matter what they did, the fault would eventually lie with them for being "too successful."
Seeing her distress, Hiruko pulled her into a broad, comforting embrace. "It's fine. You don't need to worry about these things. Just leave them to us."
Tsunade felt that ever since Minato became Hokage, life had become much more complicated. Everyone had to consider problems they never would have dreamed of before. To this, Hiruko was speechless; the people of the shinobi world seemed to dislike thinking, preferring to solve everything with brute force.
But Hiruko wouldn't sit idly by and wait for others to surpass him. He knew that only by constantly pushing to become stronger could he maintain a foothold in this chaotic world. The Mist lacked a powerful backer like the Land of Fire, making their situation increasingly desperate.
"Do you think Yagura will fail?" Tsunade asked.
Hiruko curled his lip. "Hard to say. Personally, if Yagura were willing to join Konoha, I'd pull him up no matter how difficult it was. But he's the Mizukage; he has his own stance. I can't tell if he's genuinely playing the victim or digging a hole for me. Think about it—he's a Mizukage, yet he entrusted a beauty like Mei Terumi to me. If I accept that, the water in that pond gets very deep, very fast."
Tsunade shook her head, deciding to drop the complex political maneuvering. The world truly had changed.
The next day, at a formal gala, Hiruko shifted his plan. He tracked down the Minister of Finance, who was laughing and chatting amidst the crowd.
The Minister was an old acquaintance of Hiruko's, and their relationship was excellent. Hiruko didn't mince words, stating he wanted an audience with the high-level representative from the Land of Fire. The Minister hesitated briefly but didn't block him. He led Hiruko through the crowd to an elderly man who looked ancient enough to be the Daimyo's grandfather.
This was the official Land of Fire representative. He was truly decrepit, a testament to the ruthlessness of time. The Minister enthusiastically introduced Hiruko and Princess Tsunade, but the old man remained frigid, showing zero interest in the Senju princess. Clearly, he was a member of the "Old Guard" and had little desire to associate with Hiruko's clique.
Eventually, the Daimyo stepped in. The Daimyo was a master of mediation; knowing this matter benefited both the village and the nation, he smoothed over the introductions. The portly Finance Minister acted as the lubricant, and soon the parties were conversing amiably. At the end of the day, Konoha and the Land of Fire were brothers wearing the same pair of pants.
Hiruko proposed that Konoha and the Land of Fire's Ministry of Defense co-found a technology conglomerate to address the current climate. The old man finally agreed. That previous display of coldness was merely a negotiation tactic to squeeze out more benefits.
Tsunade hurried over afterward. "Are you okay?"
Hiruko smiled. "Fine. I've got about a 70% to 80% certainty of pulling this off."
The ninjas of the Hidden Sky were different from ordinary shinobi; they were at the cutting edge of technology. In a fight against standard ninjas, they held a massive advantage: air superiority. They could rain destruction down on Konoha from above, and without a counter-strategy, the Leaf would be unable to mount a decent defense.
Ninjas designed for flight didn't have to worry about the non-combat risks of ground travel. In the shinobi world, flying summoning beasts capable of combat were extremely rare. In modern warfare, air superiority was everything.
However, this came with a massive resource drain. In a dozen years, the Sky ninjas would build multiple aircraft carriers. Based on the requirements for such vessels, they had to be starting construction now—or at least have the blueprints ready. They were currently at their peak demand for metal. While other industries might compromise, cutting off their resource supply meant cutting off their path to revenge. They were bound to act.
These Sky ninjas were like rats in the dark—hard to find, but once they moved, Konoha could crush them easily.
"The shinobi world is unrecognizable now because of you," Tsunade said seriously. "Our past experience doesn't count for much in this new era. I can't help you with the details, but just call me when it's time to fight."
"Of course," Hiruko replied. "But Tsunade, you're my wife. How could I let you take risks on a real battlefield? Beating up some small fries is one thing, but I won't let you face a real master."
Tsunade was quite satisfied with that answer.
Meanwhile, Kakashi took Hiruko's script and headed to the capital to seek out a top director. This was the first "blockbuster" Hiruko was determined to produce, and he intended to flood it with capital.
Leaf ninjas were elite; even if Hiruko insisted on casting only the most handsome and beautiful, he had plenty of options. Funding wasn't an issue; he could just squeeze a bit from the military base budget. The conditions for a grand war epic were ready. During the Fourth War, Hiruko had specifically ordered people to film combat footage—chaotic as it was, a good director could edit it into a masterpiece.
Leaf had the warriors; it just needed a visionary behind the camera.
Just as Kakashi left, two visitors arrived at Hiruko's office: Fugaku Uchiha and Shikaku Nara.
Even Hiruzen Sarutobi had realized he was a relic of a bygone age. He watched Minato and Hiruko's decisions from the sidelines, only intervening if the village's survival was at stake. Instead, he focused entirely on trying to get Asuma married. He'd introduced a Sarutobi girl to him, but Asuma was being stubborn, leading to a cold war between father and son.
Orochimaru was currently a shut-in, obsessed with the "wild ideas" Hiruko had fed him. He hadn't been seen in weeks.
Fugaku wasn't there to demand anything. During the war, he had secretly awakened the Mangekyo Sharingan, thanks in part to the serums Hiruko provided. The Uchiha had already profited immensely. Meanwhile, the Hyuga were getting jealous and were even considering marrying the Clan Head's daughter to Hiruko. Age gap be damned; they wanted a "Battle Valkyrie" to catch Hiruko's eye, knowing his preference for strong female ninjas.
Shikaku Nara was there purely for business.
"I heard you're pouring the war reparations from the other villages into hot-air balloon research and pensions for retired ninjas?" Shikaku asked.
"Yeah. Any problem?" Hiruko countered.
"If the people knew this was your decision, they could die happy. It's a kind gesture," Shikaku admitted. "Your welfare plan is comprehensive, and the ninjas see it. No one will oppose you openly. But... I'm here because I'm worried. At this rate, Konoha's treasury won't be able to keep up."
It was a bold thing to say to someone he wasn't close with. But the Nara were politically savvy. Shikaku knew that while the Leaf was flourishing, Hiruko's radical pace was dangerous.
"I didn't have time to explain the details before," Hiruko said. "And the Nara have always been skeptical of my abilities, so we haven't associated much. Even with my inventions, your clan—as a core Pillar of the Hokage—doesn't exactly lack for benefits."
Now that the war was over and Hiruko's prestige was at an all-time high, these "hardcore" loyalists wanted to probe his intentions.
Shikaku followed Hiruko's lead. "Once the treaties are signed, the Land of Fire will be the center of the world for at least five years. After that, another war is inevitable. If Konoha wants to stay on top, we have to ride this wave and gather strength now."
The Stone and Cloud were bankrupted by reparations and would have to "downsize"—essentially laying off ninjas. These unemployed warriors would likely become rogue ninjas within their own borders, destabilizing the political environment of the Earth and Lightning countries.
Konoha, however, would be the target for risk-averse investors seeking safety and technology. Hiruko planned to use the entertainment industry to drain the wealth of the rich. Top actors, realistic effects, and professional distribution.
"This is our first script," Hiruko said, handing it over.
All Quiet on the Shinobi Front
The script subverted the typical "hero narrative." It told the story of a protagonist and his classmates, fueled by the "nationalist" rhetoric of their teachers, rushing into a war to "defend the home." Over four years, they witnessed the visceral dehumanization of war. The patriotic fervor vanished, replaced by physical trauma and a deep questioning of militarism.
In Hiruko's writing, there was no "glory," only the filthy, cruel reality of the trenches. Shikaku pondered over the script, realizing it was a powerful tool to bridge the cracks left by the war.
Unbeknownst to Hiruko, his influence was far deeper than he realized.
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