The news of the establishment of the Red Cross Relief Society in Konohagakure spread like wildfire throughout the shinobi world.
Founded on the principles of humanitarianism, the Red Cross aimed to provide medical assistance and aid to refugees suffering from war, injury, and illness—regardless of their allegiance.
At its helm stood Senju Tsunade.
A legendary figure. A Sannin. The granddaughter of the First Hokage.
With her name attached, the Red Cross was bound to be heard, respected, and feared. The moment Tsunade was announced as its chairperson, the credibility and prestige of the organization soared beyond imagination. Within days, the words "Red Cross" echoed in the ears of daimyōs, village heads, and rogue factions alike.
But while the streets of Konoha buzzed with cautious optimism, the wider shinobi world responded with a chorus of mixed opinions.
Some saw hope.
"If Konoha is truly leading this change, maybe... maybe our children won't have to grow up in blood anymore." murmured a war refugee clutching his son's frail body in the outskirts of the Land of Rivers.
Yet others sneered.
"Humanitarianism? From a shinobi village? Don't make me laugh."
In the conference room of Kumogakure's Raikage Tower, the Fourth Raikage, Ai, slammed his thick fist on the desk. The reinforced oak splintered violently under his strength, sawdust scattering like snowflakes.
"Damn it! This 'Red Cross' is nothing but Konoha's propaganda! Using peace and kindness as a mask?!"
His muscles bulged as he seethed. The veins on his forehead pulsed. The tension in the air was thick enough to suffocate the aides standing beside him.
Konoha's so-called "benevolence" was a bitter pill to swallow for Ai. He had grown up knowing that every Great Village was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He'd seen Konoha seize lands, negotiate peace through subjugation, and now—now they had the gall to call themselves saviors?
Ai's eyes darted to the table, where a scroll marked with Konoha's insignia sat.
It was the post-war compensation agreement.
An outrageous number stared back at him—compensation so steep, it could bankrupt his village for years.
And the worst part?
If he refused to pay, his brother, Killer Bee, would never leave Konoha's custody.
He gritted his teeth so hard it echoed like a rock cracking.
"Tch... Humanitarianism, my ass. If they're so righteous, then why is Bee still their prisoner?"
His fury brewed into something colder.
Resentment.
…
Far to the south, in the opulent Daming Mansion of the Land of Fire, the Fire Daimyō gently waved a silk folding fan, his narrow eyes flickering with disdain.
"The Red Cross Relief Society...?" he mumbled. "What a noble name. Almost... too noble."
He leaned back on his golden tatami seat, expression unreadable.
Konohagakure establishing a global humanitarian organization without his endorsement?
Even if it sounded benevolent, it tread far too boldly into his political domain. Konoha may be the military fist of the Fire Nation, but it was still, in theory, his subordinate.
'They have grown bold under this Fifth Hokage.' he thought.
And that name—Namikaze Mirai.
'He didn't even show up to greet me upon succession. Hmph. Even his older brother Minato paid proper respects.'
He snapped his fan shut with a loud snap.
It echoed ominously through the grand hall.
"What a shame." he whispered, a wicked smile spreading across his aged face. "Has Konoha received its annual allocation yet?"
An aide beside him shook his head cautiously.
"No, Daimyō-sama. The funds are pending approval."
"Then approve only five billion ryū this year." he said.
"But... that's barely half of last year's—"
"I said five billion!" the daimyō snapped.
A long silence followed. The fan opened once again.
"Let's see how this Namikaze Mirai grovels. Let's see him kneel."
…
Meanwhile, in Konohagakure.
Deep underground in what was once the base of Root—the now-defunct, clandestine organization once led by Shimura Danzo—Namikaze Mirai stood silently, arms folded, surveying the brand-new facilities.
The scent of fresh polish and machinery filled the air.
Gone were the old, rusting cages, the sinister labs, the remnants of Danzo's tyranny.
In their place stood pristine research pods, chakra-powered terminals, and rows of crystal-clear tanks for bio-medical research.
This would be the Umbrella Company's heart.
"The first step has finally begun..." Mirai muttered to himself, a satisfied glint in his sapphire eyes.
The Umbrella Company wasn't just a medical front—it was an economic juggernaut in the making.
Medical services would become Konoha's dominant export, replacing traditional weapons and missions. In turn, Umbrella would build Konoha's economic independence.
But there was more.
Hidden within Umbrella's projects were weapons far beyond traditional shinobi tools. Mirai had already proven that chakra could be converted into electrical and thermal energy with his prototype Electromagnetic Railgun. Chakra was a miracle fuel, and he intended to power Konoha's new age with it.
The shinobi world wouldn't know what hit them.
Suddenly—
*Whoosh!*
A masked Anbu dropped behind him, kneeling.
"Hokage-sama. The daimyō's envoy has arrived."
Mirai blinked.
'Oh? That fast?'
He smirked knowingly. 'So, the old man is finally making a move. Cutting our funds, are we?'
"Let's go meet our esteemed guest." he said, brushing imaginary dust off his cloak.
…
Hokage Office. Moments later.
The scene inside was... chaotic.
"Sir Messenger, that seat is reserved for the Hokage—!"
"Sir Messenger, those documents are classified—!"
Four Anbu agents had surrounded the daimyō's envoy, trying to manage the man's arrogant behavior.
The envoy—clad in luxurious brocade and golden jewelry—was sitting with one leg over the arm of the Hokage's chair, flipping through confidential files as if he were reading a restaurant menu.
"Tch, and where is this so-called Hokage of yours?" he barked.
"He should be arriving any moment now." one Anbu said, visibly holding back their anger.
Just then, the heavy doors swung open.
All heads turned.
"Hokage-sama!"
Mirai stepped into the room.
His sharp eyes swept over the disheveled table, the nervous Anbu, and finally the pompous envoy lounging in his seat.
His mouth curled into a smile.
But it wasn't warm.
It was sharp. Measured.
Like a sword pulled halfway from its sheath.
The envoy froze.
Something about that smile—those eyes—sent a chill down his spine.
He'd intended to belittle the Fifth Hokage.
But now, in this man's presence, all bravado fled.
For the first time, he realized—
'This man is dangerous.'
Namikaze Mirai approached calmly.
The envoy, suddenly sweating, scrambled to pull out a scroll.
"A-Ahem, here... This is the financial allocation for this year."
One Anbu took the scroll and handed it to Mirai.
He opened it, skimmed the contents.
Five billion.
Exactly as expected.
"Got it." Mirai said blandly, rolling the scroll back up.
The envoy stared at him in disbelief.
"Th-That's it? No objection?"
Mirai raised an eyebrow.
"What, did you expect me to cry?"
The sapphire eyes sharpened slightly.
"I heard you the first time. You can return to your master now."
The air in the room grew heavier.
The envoy's back was drenched in cold sweat.
Mirai hadn't raised his voice.
Hadn't even scowled.
But that pressure...
It was suffocating.
He bowed low, lips trembling.
"Y-Yes, I understand. I shall report everything accurately to the Daimyō-sama!"
And with that, he stumbled out of the Hokage's office like a man fleeing from a predator.
The Anbu remained frozen in place, stunned by how quickly the power dynamic had flipped.
Namikaze Mirai stood still for a moment, then chuckled softly.
*****
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