Shanks felt deeply satisfied with the pace at which his village was taking shape. To others, progress might have seemed slow, but to him, it was steady and meaningful. He understood better than anyone that a village once destroyed and left in ruins could not be rebuilt overnight. Such a task demanded patience, careful planning, and meticulous attention to every detail if it was ever to reach its former glory—or perhaps even rise beyond it. For that reason, he harbored no sense of impatience. Every step, no matter how gradual, was another brick laid upon the foundation of the Uzumaki clan's future.
Breaking his silence, Shanks turned his attention toward one of his brothers.
"Benimaru," he asked in a calm but firm tone, "how is the matter of the Ninja Academy progressing?"
Benimaru straightened, his expression showing both respect and quiet pride. "The construction of the Academy is well underway," he replied. "If all continues as planned, it will be completed in time for our re-establishment celebrations—exactly one month from now. On that day, the Academy will be ready to open its doors."
Shanks listened carefully to Benimaru's report, then gave a slow nod of approval. His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command as he spoke.
"That is very good. At present, our greatest shortcoming lies in manpower—specifically, the number of trained shinobi we can call upon. We have managed to recruit a handful, but only ten so far, all of whom are being instructed by our uncle, Nakamura. Yet, he is only one man. No matter his skill, he cannot teach more than a few students at once. To rely on him alone would not only strain him but also breed resentment among the villagers, who may believe we are favoring one group over another."
His gaze swept over his siblings, sharp and thoughtful.
"This is why the establishment of the Ninja Academy is not just important—it is essential. With it, we will be able to give every child in the village the opportunity to learn, to grow, and to one day serve as a shinobi. In doing so, we will not only nurture the future of our people but also build the foundation of a proper army to defend our village."
The weight of his reasoning settled heavily in the hall, and one by one, all ten of his siblings nodded in agreement. Each of them understood perfectly well the significance of numbers. For warriors of their caliber, sheer quantity mattered little—each among them was a force who could stand against hundreds, even thousands of enemies. Yet Shanks's point was undeniable: numbers brought convenience, deterrence, and stability.
An army of trained shinobi would ensure that the Uzumaki siblings would not need to waste their strength on minor missions or trivial disputes. More importantly, it would free them to focus on greater threats, while the growing generation upheld the daily responsibilities of protecting and sustaining the village. Even in times of peace, shinobi would be needed for countless tasks, including missions that could bring much-needed revenue into the village's coffers.
It was clear to all: the Academy would become not only the heart of the village's future but also a symbol of its rebirth.
Shanks turned his gaze toward Guy, his expression calm yet carrying the weight of responsibility. In a steady voice, he asked,
"Have all the invitations been sent to the nations for the day of our village's re-establishment celebration?"
Guy, who had been entrusted with the crucial task of delivering those messages far and wide, straightened his posture before replying with confidence,
"Yes, Onii-chan. I've carried out your orders. Every country has received their invitation, with the exception of the Land of Thunder and the Land of Water, just as you instructed me earlier."
He paused for a moment, as though remembering something, and then added,
"I also visited the Uchiha clan personally. They too have received our invitation to attend the celebration."
At that instant, Yoko, who had been quietly seated beside Guy, raised his voice with concern. His tone carried both hesitation and foresight as he said,
"Onii-chan, there is something that troubles me. On that day—on the day of our celebration—I fear the shinobi of Kumogakure or Kirigakure may attempt to sabotage us. They might not confront us openly but instead resort to underhanded schemes."
Hearing Yoko's worry, Shanks' expression hardened. His reply came swiftly, sharp as a drawn blade:
"Do not concern yourself with such matters. Should they dare attempt anything, there is only one fate awaiting them—death. Whoever seeks to disrupt our day of celebration will meet the same end."
His words were not empty. A chilling wave of killing intent surged from him, pressing against the air, carrying a promise as heavy as steel. His siblings, moved by his conviction, allowed their own aura of hostility to unfurl, their bloodlust resonating with his. They shared the same unshakable resolve: no one would be allowed to mar the day of their village's rebirth.
But soon, the siblings allowed their killing aura to fade, pulling it back like a storm retreating into stillness. The sudden shift was not out of hesitation, but because they sensed another presence drawing near. Being naturally skilled in sensory perception, most of them already knew who it was before the figure even appeared.
It was a boy—one they recognized well. He came from one of the first families brought to the village by Antares after being displaced by the war. Two years ago, his family had arrived in search of refuge. At that time, Shanks himself had taken the boy under his wing, recognizing his talent and potential to become a Ninja. Since Shanks was mostly free while overseeing the village's affairs, he had trained the boy, teaching him the fundamentals of ninjutsu and guiding him on the path of a shinobi. Now, he stood as a symbol of their new beginning—the very first Genin to be trained and nurtured within the reborn Uzumaki Village.
From outside the hall came the sound of footsteps, light but steady. Moments later, a young boy of about twelve years entered, his appearance still holding the trace of childhood, though his eyes reflected determination. Tied proudly to his forehead was a shinobi headband engraved with the spiral crest of the Uzumaki, gleaming under the light of the hall. He stepped forward respectfully, giving a short but proper bow to Shanks before speaking in a clear voice:
"Clan Head, there is someone from the Land of Water who requests an audience. He claims to be an envoy, sent directly by the Daimyo of the Land of Water."
The moment his words reached their ears, Mereoleona's eyes narrowed, and her voice rose in sharp anger.
"They dare to come again?" she spat, her tone filled with disdain and hostility.
Shanks, however, remained composed. With calm authority, he lifted a hand, signalling Mereoleona to hold her tongue. His gaze then returned to the boy, his voice steady yet carrying a weight that silenced the room.
"Very well. Bring him in."
…
A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed across the corridor outside, steady and deliberate. The great doors of the hall opened, and the envoy from the Land of Water stepped inside. He carried himself with the practiced confidence of someone who believed he spoke with authority. His expression was composed, almost smug, as he made his way to the center of the hall, directly facing Shanks, who sat with the quiet dignity of a clan head.
The envoy came to a halt, lifted his chin slightly, and spoke in a formal yet cold tone, his words cutting through the silence of the chamber.
"I come on behalf of the Daimyo of the Land of Water. I am here to deliver his decree. The territory upon which you are rebuilding your so-called Uzumaki Village—the land you call your ancestral home—is no longer recognized as belonging to the Uzumaki Clan. It now falls under the dominion of the Land of Water."
He paused briefly, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing with a faint, patronizing smile.
"You have but one choice before you: accept the benevolence of our daimyo and become a vassal of the Land of Water. His Excellency is generous. He requires nothing unreasonable—merely that you surrender twenty percent of the taxes collected within this land as tribute. In return, you will be acknowledged as retainers under the Land of Water's protection."
His words, spoken with false magnanimity, hung in the air like poison, daring anyone in the hall to challenge them.
----
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