And just like that, Kirigakure's three finest elite jōnin pledged their loyalty to Uchiha Yorin.
Next, they'd undergo Anbu training, debrief their intel, and quietly contact the forces inside Kiri they could absolutely sway—so that when Konoha launched its strike, there'd be plenty of guides opening doors from within.
And with that, this part was pleasantly settled.
Yorin's next stop: Konoha Hospital—to check on Yagura Karatachi.
If he was dead, so be it. If he still had a breath left, maybe they could haul him upright and have him cosplay Gorbachev.
"Um, Yorin-kun."
Then came Mei Terumi.
On the way out of Anbu's underground and toward the hospital, she finally couldn't hold it in and asked, "What you said to them just now—was it true, or was it…?"
"Of course it's true," Yorin replied easily. "The shinobi world is a very traditional, feudal place. Many people won't let go of 'orthodoxy'. And Ninshu is orthodoxy of orthodoxies. Reviving Ninshu is like reviving Rome in a Paradox game.
"We revive Rome in CK, revive Rome in EU, revive Rome in VIC—heck, revive Rome in Stellaris.
"My aim is to unify this world; what banner we use—revive Ninshu or invent something else—I don't really care.
"Ninshu doesn't have Rome's baggage, but if reviving Ninshu lowers the difficulty and cost of conquering the world—even a little—then we're reviving Ninshu."
"Oh."
Hearing this, Mei felt… complicated.
If possible, she preferred following someone cold and rational—their odds of success are higher.
But on the other hand, the hot-blooded with lofty ideals make people feel safe. Contradictory.
Then she reconsidered—world unification and permanent peace are lofty ideals too.
Uchiha Yorin was a very particular breed: an idealist with a pragmatic, hands-on style.
Nice. Very nice.
A man with all the best traits in one place.
Shame she hadn't acted more decisively.
She couldn't help regretting it—if she'd moved faster, she wouldn't be where she was now: listening to Uchiha Yorin and that hussy Pakura giggle through the night while she scratched the paint off the wall next door.
Damn it. Yorin's that sturdy—can Pakura really handle him alone? That witch.
Her only solace: while she was clawing the wall, one door further down, Tsunade was clawing hers too.
As long as the girlies suffered together, Mei felt comforted.
"You go get ready too." Yorin, oblivious to Mei's tangled thoughts, patted her shoulder.
"The war with Kiri won't be massive, but it won't be small either.
"Plan for the worst: assume every last man in Kiri stands firm and resists to the bitter end."
Mei wanted to retort: Kiri isn't that hard-headed—we're cowards. We won't fight to the last man.
As long as Yorin shows off that beyond-Kage power and explains the situation, people will say, "You're handsome; we're listening," and fold on the spot.
But she said nothing—just a muffled "mm" in reply.
"Cheer up," Yorin said, as if sensing her unease. "You'll soon be the First Mizukage of New Kiri."
Hearing that, Mei didn't feel happy at all.
She walked Konoha's streets, watching people hurry by—villagers everywhere with smiles on their faces.
That was the stellar cashflow of Konoha Transport Group at work—signs of a war-scarred village recovering at breakneck speed.
Shopping districts, residential neighborhoods—everything was thriving.
Mei longed for it—and also felt she didn't belong.
Lovely. Truly lovely.
She couldn't help thinking it.
Nothing like Kiri, shrouded in mist all year, with both villagers and shinobi dead-eyed. Here, everyone brimmed with hope and drive. Mei couldn't help thinking: this is a good village.
But pity—no matter how good Konoha is, it's someone else's village.
If Yorin hadn't named her New Kiri's founder and instead just married her as a "little wife," then given time, she'd have settled here—made it home bit by bit.
If she'd had a child, it would have been even easier to settle. Life in Kiri would only return in nightmares.
But Yorin hadn't done that. He'd led her onto a grander—and harsher—road.
Was it really okay?
She could faintly see Konoha's plan too.
If Konoha chose to invade with overwhelming force, fine. But to guard against the other three great nations, Konoha seemed ready to send only a small elite strike force.
Without monsters like Hashirama and Madara—even a monster like the Third Raikage can be swarmed to death. Kiri's numbers don't match Iwa's—but if pushed, they could scrape together eight thousand shinobi.
Could Uchiha Yorin pull it off?
Would his attack on Kiri be a Norman Conquest—or a Bay of Pigs?
Mei didn't know.
She knew only one thing:
She was already on Uchiha Yorin's pirate ship—too late to get off.
So instead of fretting and cursing fate, she'd set her jaw, go all out, and make this war a success.
She hadn't watched K-dramas, but she understood the principle:
Lose—and it's called rebellion.
Win—and it's called a revolution.
Resolved, she strode out of the commercial district on long legs, heading straight for the ninja tools shop.
She would blow her entire savings—most of it Yorin's pocket money—arming herself to the teeth. Anything to nudge the odds.
Not just for herself—for Yorin, for those who'd thrown in with him—and for Kiri.
If they won, she'd abolish Kiri's absurd old policies—let Kiri grow.
Everything she saw in Konoha—Kiri would have it too. Better, even.
With that thought, she tore through the tools shop like a tornado, scaring Tenten into yelping, "Good grief—the God of Wealth descended!"
"Yorin!"
Hauling her loot, Mei rushed back to the hospital and burst into Yagura's ward. "I'm ready! I can march on Kiri now and found the New Kiri—"
And froze.
Yorin was directing Kakashi and Shisui and the boys to pull down Yagura's pants. Nearby, ninja cats were setting up a camera and light panels.
Mei Terumi: "What the hell."