(Azula's POV)
The meeting of the Uchiha adjourned with the subtlety of a dying firework—a few sputters and a lot of lingering smoke in the form of glares from the elders. Their looks practically screamed, "Explain yourself, you terrifying child!"
I gave them the same attention I'd give a fly buzzing near a lightning bolt. I had real work to do.
I finished organizing the reports, my mind already a league away, dissecting the Uchiha clan's greatest strength and its equally grand stupidity.
We were the undisputed masters of Fire Release. We could turn a battlefield into a personal human barbecue with three to four hand seals.
But although fire was beautiful, passionate, and about as subtle as a brick to the face—
And that was the joke, wasn't it? The clan blessed with the all-seeing Sharingan, the pinnacle of predictive vision, fought with the tactical nuance of a drunk badger.
Fireball!
Grand Fireball!
Bigger Fireball!
It was a one-hit wonder on a loop. It worked—right up until it met someone who appreciated a good dodge.
The solution had been simmering in my mind for years—a single, perfect jutsu: the Chidori.
Back then, I'd kept it to myself. Handing a loaded gun to a room full of ambitious, pyromaniacal relatives with magic eyeballs? Not my idea of a smart survival strategy.
But now? Oh, the tables had turned so hard they'd spun a full circle. I was no longer just playing with fire; I was practically wearing lightning as a second skin.
Sure, I wasn't completely immune like that walking power grid, Sakumo, but with my Lightning Chakra Mode, the list of people who could shock me and live to tell the tale was a very, very short one. Him, maybe the Third Raikage… and that was about it.
A slow, wicked smile spread across my face. The mental image was too delicious: a legion of Uchiha, their crimson eyes blazing, hands crackling with raw lightning.
We'd advance not just with the warmth of a bonfire, but with the sudden, terrifying finality of a thunderclap. It would make a Kage sweat and a god check over his shoulder.
The cherry on top? The technique was practically tailor-made for our dysfunctional family. Without the Sharingan's precision, your chances of pulling it off were less than ten percent.
It was the perfect, gatekept weapon for the clan that loved exclusivity.
Resolved, I sat and began to write. I poured every detail onto the scroll—the chakra mold, the acceleration... It was a gift-wrapped revolution for any Uchiha with a spark of Lightning Release talent. According to our records, that was 138 lucky candidates.
Not an army, but a perfect, terrifyingly precise spear.
As the ink dried on my manifesto of mayhem, I leaned back.
"What's next on the agenda for world domination?" I mused.
This war was a golden ticket—a buffet of merit, a PR campaign for the Uchiha brand, and most importantly, the perfect excuse to politically disembowel Hiruzen and charm the populace into making me Hokage.
My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar chakra signature stomping toward my office like an angry bull. I didn't even have time to sigh before the door was nearly ripped from its hinges.
Sensei always complains about Nawaki's lack of decorum, but she's clearly suffering from a case of selective amnesia about who his role model is.
In barged Tsunade, who—just by looking into my eyes—knew my thoughts.
"Oh, stop mentally drafting your complaint form," she said, flopping into the chair opposite me. "Formality is for people who aren't about to go punch a small army."
"I just finished plotting the future of my clan," I said, not bothering to hide my amusement. "I thought you'd be busy losing your inheritance at the blackjack tables. It's your last chance before we ship out."
This siege could take months, maybe a year. A girl's gambling addiction is a serious thing to interrupt.
The situation with Uzushiogakure was... interesting. The village was an island, which was its saving grace. Think of it as Konoha's moat, but with more whirlpools.
It put Suna and Iwa on the wrong side of the water park, leaving only Kumo and a very determined Iwa to deal with.
And since Uzushiogakure is basically a stone's throw from the Land of Fire, it's less of a separate nation and more of our very fortified, very irritable next-door neighbor—a neighbor everyone suddenly wants to throw a very violent party at.
A smirk danced on Tsunade's lips, a look I knew all too well. It was the same expression a cat gets right before it knocks a priceless vase off a shelf.
"Once we hit Uzushiogakure," she declared, striking a pose that would've been majestic if it weren't for the glint of pure, unadulterated avarice in her eyes, "the world will learn the true meaning of 'Gambling Goddess.' This title is destined to echo far beyond the petty borders of the Land of Fire!"
I couldn't stop the ocular marathon that forced me to roll my eyes so hard I saw the back of my own skull.
Goddess?
Oh, her reputation in the gambling world had certainly spread beyond the Land of Fire, all right. On every continent, in every shadowy betting den, she was known by a different, far more accurate title: The Golden Sheep.
The only deity she served was the God of Bad Odds. Honestly, watching her gamble was like watching someone try to bail out a boat with a sieve—a thrilling, financially catastrophic spectacle.
But in this grim world of blood and betrayal, the clatter of dice was one of the few things that made her genuinely light up.
A part of me—the part not currently weeping for her future finances—had to wonder: if she ever found a high that rivaled the thrill of losing a small nation's worth of ryō, would she finally quit?
Maybe if someone invented a game where you could punch fate directly in the face.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Another sight at Azula and Tsunade daily life although still short.