Imagine you are in a car, steering through the unknown. Before you lie two paths: on one road stands a single person, and on the other stand five. Regardless of which path you choose, the people on that road will meet with misfortune, while the other side will survive.
In other words, choosing to save five means one must die. Choosing to save one means five must perish.
Back then, as a young boy, the current Daimyo had answered instinctively: "I would kill the one to save the five. That way, the sin would be lesser."
He still remembered the look of profound disappointment in his father's eyes that day.
Now, as the Daimyo approached the twilight of his years, having weathered the storms of history, he finally understood his father's intent.
If I sacrifice only one person, the crowd will point their fingers and curse me. They will subject me to their moral judgment.
But if I sacrifice the five, the remaining one will be paralyzed by fear. He will not dare to lift a finger against me, and I will remain the exalted, morally irreproachable Daimyo.
I am the Daimyo. Why should I play by your rules?
The most important thing in this world is to maintain the Equilibrium. One must ensure that those loyal to the throne are neither too weak nor too powerful. One must ensure that factions like Konoha are neither strong enough to overshadow the crown nor weak enough to fail in their duties.
Desire is like a boulder rolling down a mountain; once it begins its descent, it only accelerates. Since it is impossible to truly distinguish the loyal from the treacherous, the only solution is to keep them on the same level, acting as checks and balances against one another.
Snapping back to the present, the Daimyo turned mildly to his Finance Minister—a man known to be close to the Leaf—and remarked, "The weather today is perfect for tea."
He knew the Minister was loyal to him; after all, everything the man owned had been bestowed by the crown. However, the Minister had grown far too cozy with Konoha. Ever since the Fourth Hokage took office, even those who once held grudges against the Hidden Leaf had to admit that Minato Namikaze was a man of grand spirit and charisma.
Konoha had nearly dismantled the Stone and Cloud, and while the Mist had intervened to halt the momentum, the trend of Konoha leading a unified front of hidden villages was already beginning to surface. This was exactly what the Five Great Daimyos did not want to see.
Therefore, after a series of secret consultations, the Daimyos had decided to covertly manufacture "trouble" for their respective hidden villages. It wasn't necessarily about driving them to ruin, but rather keeping the situation in a state of manageable friction. If the "blades of grass" at the bottom unified, what good would that do for the monarchs sitting at the top?
It was much like a CEO asking employees to do something absurd—or even asking them to give the boss a "red envelope" gift—just to test their obedience. Regardless of what the employees thought, if they completed the task, the "test" was passed.
The Wind Daimyo, however, opted out. He had already squeezed the Sand Village to the brink of death. He'd even slashed the budget for their ninja forces. If he pushed any harder, god only knew what they would do—they might actually storm the palace and take his head.
The Fire Daimyo maintained an impassive facade, but he knew that as long as he leaked even a hint of his stance, the major figures waiting to see Konoha fail would make their move. Within the Four Villages, Minato Namikaze, persuaded by Hiruko, was no longer stingy with wealth. But the Finance Minister, once Konoha's best friend, was now the target of the Daimyo's subtle irritation.
The portly Minister quickly caught the Daimyo's drift: find a way to create complications for Konoha.
In the Land of Water, Yagura felt the weight on his shoulders growing heavier by the day. The world had entered a new era, and hidden villages could no longer afford to operate in isolation. Whatever the pretext, war between a village and its nation eventually devolved into an attrition of national power.
The Land of Water was isolated across the sea; its domestic resources couldn't compete with the inland powers. To gain an advantage, they had to industrialize and commercialize. Their greatest resource was fish, but cold-chain logistics remained a massive hurdle. Some suggested relying on the Land of Fire's merchants, but that would strip the ninjas of their control. Yagura didn't want the Mist to become a mere warehouse of inferior products, ruining their reputation for top-tier seafood.
With limited national power, the Mist needed foreign investment, which meant complex negotiations over joint-stock ventures. Konoha had the most idle capital and the fastest return rates. In the coming years, their influence on the world would be absolute. Logically, Konoha was the best partner, but their stance was notoriously "hard" and difficult to crack. They wouldn't let the Mist have its way easily.
How should I handle this? Yagura wondered.
Sensing the Mizukage's dilemma, the ANBU operative Mei Terumi stepped forward with a smile. "My Lord, you seem troubled."
Yagura sighed. "Indeed. There is a very troublesome task, but I cannot give it to you."
"Do you doubt my loyalty to the Mist?"
"No. It is specifically because of your loyalty that I cannot give you this mission."
Meanwhile, Hiruko frowned as he looked over the late-night reports. His current headache was Konoha's runaway growth. The rapid construction was drawing in a massive influx of people from the surrounding territories, and signs of a food shortage were starting to emerge.
Hiruko's goal was to launch large-scale agricultural projects around the village, using the superhuman strength of ninjas to reorganize the farmland. Combined with the fertilizers and "ripening technologies" developed in his lab, he intended to solve the food crisis in record time, allowing the hyper-city to accommodate even more residents.
As he worked on the logistics of the project, Yagura—dressed as a merchant—and his "bodyguard" Mei Terumi arrived at his door, requesting a meeting.
Yagura certainly had nerve. He was dressed normally, but Mei was a different story. Her outfit was scorching. While female ninjas typically wore revealing clothes for mobility—hot pants, midriff tops—Mei had gone a step further.
She wore a chestnut-colored, wavy chiffon shirt paired with high-end black silk stockings—a specialty product of Hiruko's own territory. The texture of the stockings was glossy and smooth, catching the light with every movement. She wore elegant high heels, and every step she took seemed to strike a rhythmic chord on Hiruko's heartstrings.
This woman really knows how to manipulate people, Hiruko thought, before glancing at the busy Tsunade and shaking his head. Tsunade's face was dark, veins nearly popping on her forehead at the sight of the visitor. Hiruko had to quickly call the "lady of the house" over to handle the social friction; Mei's attire had clearly triggered Tsunade's hostility.
Hiruko forced a pleasant smile and turned to Yagura. "Yagura, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
Yagura was blunt. "I want the Land of Fire's capital to flow into the Land of Water. We plan to build a vast network of canning factories."
It was a direct play. Thinking it over, Yagura was a dangerous man—ruthless enough to "sneak-attack the home base" during the war, yet shameless enough to ask for money from the man he'd crossed. But that was Yagura's strength: he knew when to strike and exactly when to bow.
Konoha couldn't force the Land of Fire's gentry to invest in the Mist, but they could certainly make the investors lose interest if they wanted to.
Hiruko mused aloud, "Canning factories... that is a sound direction for development. But Konoha has already invested in several plants. Is that not enough?"
In the shinobi world, villages and nations were intertwined, but Hiruko knew Yagura cared primarily for the Mist. Yagura nodded. "Correct. It is not enough!"
"Fine," Hiruko agreed readily.
This stunned Mei. She hadn't expected the man who usually butt heads with the Mist to agree so quickly without a second thought. After all, Yagura had deeply offended both Hiruko and Konoha in the past. Mei sensed there was a deeper play here, but she knew her place as a bodyguard and remained silent.
Yagura was also incredulous. "You... you actually agree?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Hiruko countered.
The relationship between the Mist and the Land of Water mirrored that of the Leaf and the Land of Fire. They were close, but not one entity. Hiruko intended to eventually integrate all village forces and national resources anyway; he wouldn't leave much room for independent development in the long run. Giving the Mist a few "sweet dates" now didn't hurt his endgame.
"Tell you what—if you give Mei Terumi to me, I might even give you a discount!" Hiruko said, half-joking.
"Absolutely not. Mei is the next—" Yagura stopped mid-sentence, realizing he was about to say too much. He didn't reject the banter, though.
Konoha's military dominance was established; the real problem was ideology. The "old guard" ninjas were like stones in a latrine—stubborn and foul. They often held high positions and were hard to move. War could kill some of them, but not all. If mishandled, they would sabotage the peace from within. Hiruko didn't want a thirty-year "stability war" after he unified the continent.
So, he was consciously supporting the "Reformist" factions in every village. Yagura was a smart man and a firm Reformist. He would rather deal with political headaches now than an total collapse later.
Of course, this was also a masterstroke of Divide and Rule. The Great Nobles believed the world was their personal treasure chest. By bypassing them to seek foreign investment, Yagura was ensuring their animosity. Over time, the rift between the Mist Village and the Land of Water's government would widen.
Even as a victor, Minato had almost clashed with his own Daimyo. Yagura knew his situation was even more fragile. But once a path is chosen, one must walk it to provide a better life for their people.
"Thanks!" Yagura said.
"Don't mention it," Hiruko replied. He wanted the children of the Leaf to have more fish in their diets anyway. If Yagura wanted to build the supply chain, Hiruko wouldn't block him. Better to let Yagura do the heavy lifting and take a cut of the profits than to enter a protracted dispute.
With sufficient capital, Hiruko could accelerate his technological development. Furthermore, these commercial ties provided a foundation for long-term stability. In the original timeline, "mutual understanding" after the war was a fairy tale; ninjas still had each other's blood on their hands. But with shared interests and profit, peace might actually have a chance.
"However, Yagura," Hiruko added with a smirk, "understand that when the money starts flowing in, people tend to lose their original 'stance.' You know what I'm talking about."
"I understand," Yagura replied. He hated the reality of politics, but he knew Hiruko was right.
The two continued their meal, reaching a silent understanding.
Three days later, in Hiruko's lab.
Despite his efforts, Hiruko had hit a wall with his Uchiha clones; he couldn't awaken the higher-level eyes.
The problem was fundamental. Cell division is finite. Growing a cell into a full individual consumes massive life force. Furthermore, harvesting cells from a clone to make a "second generation" resulted in a drastic drop in vitality. The samples were degrading rapidly.
Even after extracting cells from Shisui Uchiha and using the "Universal Serum" combined with "Life Medicine," the body couldn't sustain the life-force drain required to manifest the Rinnegan. The physical form collapsed before the evolution could complete.
He theorized he needed the fresh cells of Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha—the transmigrants of Indra and Asura. Only by combining them could he hope to stabilize a Rinnegan clone.
As the "Universal Serum" continued to show stunning results in the field as a recovery agent, Hiruko kept its full potential a secret—even from Orochimaru. He knew the serum's "well-known" side effect of shortening one's lifespan made it a desperate man's tool, which kept it rare and strategically valuable.
Hiruko reflected on his own journey. Why had he traveled into this body? Perhaps because he had dreamed of being a scientist as a child. He and the original Hiruko shared a mental resonance—a bottomless hunger for the unknown.
His past life was dark, and his current life wasn't much better. He was plagued by inferiority and arrogance, a man who cared little for those around him. He realized he was becoming more like the "original" Hiruko every day. They were truly two sides of the same coin from parallel worlds.
The original Hiruko was born into a mad world; he was born into a peaceful one. But in the crucible of the shinobi world, even a traveler's will can be warped. He no longer viewed others as NPCs. In a world of human emotion and complex relationships, underestimating anyone was a death sentence. He was careful, fearing the day his luck might run out.
But there was one thing he had that the original Hiruko never did...
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