The Capital of the Land of Fire.
Daimyō's Mansion.
Lavish music drifted through the air as courtesans in translucent, jeweled silk danced gracefully around the polished floors of the grand hall. The gauzy skirts they wore shimmered with every spin, each one worth more than a civilian's annual income. Gold leaf patterned the pillars, incense of rare herbs wafted in curls from braziers, and golden trays filled with delicacies were stacked in towers.
Sitting on an ornate throne cushioned with red velvet, the Daimyō of the Land of Fire gently waved a lacquered folding fan, his eyes narrowed with delight as he watched the elegant spectacle unfold before him. This was a daily indulgence, nothing extravagant in his opinion—just another evening of "humble" entertainment.
Suddenly, the soft thrum of the shamisen was interrupted by hurried footsteps. A servant scurried through the corridor and entered the hall, falling to his knees on the crimson carpet.
"Daimyō-sama, I have returned."
The fan paused mid-wave.
The Daimyō cast a disinterested glance at the kneeling man, taking a moment to recall that this servant had been sent to Konoha several days ago, tasked with delivering notice of the budget reduction. His smirk widened.
"Tell me." he drawled, eyes gleaming behind the fan. "How did Konoha react?"
He imagined the newly appointed Fifth Hokage—Namikaze Mirai—flailing in a frenzy, drowning in anxiety over halved funding. Perhaps he was pacing holes into the floor of the Hokage's room. Perhaps he'd come crawling, tail tucked, begging to have the budget restored. The Daimyō chuckled to himself, hiding his glee behind the fan's lacquered wood.
But the servant's response was not what he expected.
"He… he had no reaction at all."
The Daimyō's fan stopped.
"What?"
"No reaction." the servant repeated, voice trembling. "Namikaze-dono didn't even flinch. He simply waved me away… as if it were beneath him."
The expression of amusement vanished from the Daimyō's face, replaced by a deep, furrowed frown. The room's atmosphere shifted. Even the dancers sensed the change and gradually slowed, unsure whether to stop or continue.
"No reaction?" the Daimyō muttered, eyebrows twitching in disbelief. "Are you certain?"
The servant lowered his head, sweat beading across his brow. "Y-Yes, Daimyō-sama. He didn't appear angry, surprised… or concerned. He just looked at me… and I-I felt…"
He swallowed hard.
"Felt what?" the Daimyō pressed.
"…like prey." the servant whispered.
The Daimyō narrowed his eyes.
'So Asuma was right', he thought bitterly.
Sarutobi Asuma, one of the Twelve Guardian Ninja who had long served at his side, had warned him repeatedly: Namikaze Mirai was dangerous. Not just powerful—dangerous. Unpredictable. Unbound by old political niceties. Back then, the Daimyō had dismissed it. After all, what could a mere shinobi do to him, the sovereign of the Land of Fire?
Now, for the first time in years, doubt crept into the Daimyō's heart.
Still, he scoffed aloud. "Hmph. Konoha needs our funding to survive. Without my gold, they can't even afford their shinobi's meals. Let him play tough. He'll crawl back soon enough."
And as if summoned by divine timing, a letter arrived the very next morning.
One of the Daimyō's scribes rushed in, bowing deeply and presenting the scroll with both hands. The Daimyō unfurled it, expecting apologies—maybe even desperate begging.
What he read, instead, brought a smug smile back to his face.
The letter expressed regret over the recent "misunderstandings" and spoke of a personal envoy—Hatake Kakashi—bringing valuable gifts as compensation. It was humble, courteous, devoid of arrogance.
"So…" the Daimyō whispered, tapping the scroll with his finger, "The fox has already lowered its head."
The folding fan snapped open again. The dancers resumed. Laughter filled the hall.
"Let's see what gifts this new Hokage brings."
…
Outside the Daimyō's Mansion.
In stark contrast to the opulence within, a group of shinobi clad in black stood at the grand gates of the estate. Kakashi, in his usual masked calm, stood at the front, a scroll tucked beneath his sleeve and his single eye scanning the mansion.
Behind him, the Uchiha squad—elite members handpicked by Mirai—glanced around with poorly disguised disgust.
"Tch," Uchiha Tekka scoffed. "The hell is this place?"
Even the Uchiha clan's mansion—one of the most extravagant in Konoha—seemed pitiful compared to this display of unchecked wealth. Marble fountains, golden statues, guards in ceremonial armor… and yet not a trace of chakra-trained personnel.
"How much blood has been sucked out of the Land of Fire just to build this cesspool?" Tekka muttered. "We bust our asses doing B-rank missions for a few hundred thousand, and these pigs live like gods?"
The crimson glow of activated Sharingan flickered briefly in his eyes. For a second, he looked ready to storm the gates.
"Control yourself." Uchiha Inabi said sharply. "We're here under orders."
Kakashi nodded slightly. "Remember the mission."
The task was clear. Officially, they were here to "apologize" and offer gifts. Unofficially, their goal was far darker—subtle, calculated control.
Control the Daimyō.
Break him from within.
Make him a puppet.
Namikaze Mirai's directive had been explicit: use the Sharingan to place the Daimyō under long-term genjutsu, ensuring he obeyed Konoha without resistance. Not through violence—but through quiet submission.
"If you ask me." Tekka grunted, "We should just kill the bastard and be done with it."
Uchiha Inahu, elder brother to Inabi, crossed his arms.
"That's reckless." he said flatly. "Kill the Daimyō now, and the entire Land of Fire will plunge into chaos. The nobles will scream murder, and the other nations will use the instability as an excuse to invade."
He pointed at the mansion behind the gates.
"This place isn't just wealth. It's a symbol. If we destroy that symbol openly, it could unite every noble against Konoha. And we're not ready for that."
Inabi stepped beside his brother and added quietly, "Besides… this is just the beginning. Mirai-sama doesn't want to destroy the nobility yet. He wants to replace it, piece by piece."
Tekka spat on the ground.
"Feels like a waste of time."
"It's necessary." Inabi said. "One illusion can cripple an entire nation more effectively than a thousand blades."
The team moved forward.
Guards watched them curiously, unaware of the power approaching them.
Uchiha Inahu's Sharingan flared faintly beneath his hood. "Soon, this gilded prison will belong to us."
Kakashi's eye didn't blink.
For a moment, in the silence, the wind rustled the banners hanging from the towers of the Daimyō's mansion.
Soon, this place would no longer answer to the throne in the capital.
It would answer to the Hokage in Konoha.
And no one would ever know the difference.
*****
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