The next day, Kirigakure's skies rang once more with a village-wide broadcast.
Yagura again took the stage—doing his best Gorbachev impression.
Unlike before, this time there was television as well as radio.
The boyish, grief-stricken face, carried by the new medium, reached every home.
Everyone who saw it came to the same conclusion: the coup in the Mist had succeeded; Yagura's rule had been overthrown.
They didn't quite understand why, after Yagura, the next Mizukage wasn't called the Fifth but the First—or why the village now had the prefix "New." But as said before, shinobi are simple; most of these grade-school-dropout chūnin and civilians couldn't parse the nuances and instead grinned foolishly at the news.
The main forces of the Yuki and Hōzuki clans had surrendered and were sealed tight like rice dumplings—naturally they couldn't object.
…
As for the Kaguya clan: wiped out to the last—save a single Kimimaro.
That genius boy—"little Uchiha Light"—was raised by his clan as a bloodless, tearless weapon.
On the day of the coup he was bedridden, and thus escaped the purge.
Having been treated as a weapon, Kimimaro felt nothing for the Kaguya. No matter—Yorin had already written to Orochimaru, sent via ninja hawk post-haste. Let the Snake Princess come "pick up the child": it suits her hobbies and gives Kimimaro a home—a karmic good deed.
At the same time, Yorin wrote to Minato to put his mind at ease, so that next time he returned to Konoha Minato wouldn't stare at him so plaintively.
Of course, besides reporting safety, there was more to discuss with Minato: a full reform plan for the Mist. Yorin had a sweep of ambitious, grand designs.
He intended to form the Konoha Banking Group with Konoha at its core, to provide economic aid to Kiri.
Per the plan, capital, bankers, and industrialists from Konoha and the Land of Fire would generously provide the Mist everything it needed.
Battered half to death by Obito's policies, Kiri would revive at top speed; Yorin would see his promises fulfilled and the outcomes he wanted realized.
Naturally, the price was that every artery of Kiri's economy would be controlled by Konoha. The entire system would be tied inextricably to Konoha and could never be pried loose again.
…
It was, in essence, a Marshall Plan.
Marshall may have been average at war, but he was a virtuoso politician.
After the plan's success, Europe became America's back garden. Even nearly a century after WWII, with America a mess, Europe remained firmly in its grip—politically, diplomatically, militarily, economically… Old Europe had no self-reliance at all; it was America's drooling patient.
Uchiha Yorin: "Naturally, I won't treat Kiri like that."
Hearing this, Mei didn't just meekly accept as before. She rolled her eyes, sultry as ever, and teased:
"You say that as if Konoha were yours. But, Yorin-kun, right now you're just the Anbu Commander. Save it for when you're Hokage."
Was it a mere quip—or a trace of subtle provocation? Considering that on another timeline she herself becomes Mizukage, Yorin marked it as the latter.
He couldn't help a laugh, slipped an arm around Mei's waist, and said:
"Don't talk like that. Konoha, the Mist—none of it 'belongs' to anyone. They're everyone's homes. Aren't they?"
"Is that really so?" Held against him—like this and that—Mei's cheeks flushed, expectation in her gaze as she asked:
"But facts are facts, Yorin-kun… The Mist is already yours. Konoha is not—yet.
Are you truly prepared to damage Kiri's interests for the sake of a Konoha that isn't yours?"
She looked at him the way Cleopatra might look at Antony.
In an instant, Yorin understood—she didn't want him to be George C. Marshall.
She wanted him to be Julius Caesar.
Let Kiri be Gaul; when the time came, cross the Rubicon, march on Konoha, drive out the Senate, become perpetual dictator.
Yorin grasped her meaning at once.
She feared he'd treat Kiri like a colony—wring it dry like the British did India. As the brightest jewel in the Crown, the Raj suffered terribly—famines of millions, massacres of millions, trillions looted. The shinobi world had no "benevolent monarchs" or "Viktorias," but analogous things existed: the Five Great Nations toward their "allied" small countries. In peace they watched their manners; in turmoil you were on your own—if you weren't annihilated like Uzushio, with that noble clan reduced to refugees, you were lucky.
Yes, the Land of Water had many problems. Yes, Mei herself couldn't stand many in the Mist. They were stuck in the Warring States, ill-tempered and crazed—unlike Yorin's wry madness, these madmen killed freely. Why did commoners hate bloodline clans so deeply? There's no love without cause, and no hate without cause. Bloodline clans like the Kaguyas weren't rare; even the best-reputed Yuki had their share of monsters.
But, despite that, they were comrades—part of Kirigakure.
Mei feared from her heart that her beloved village would become a Konoha colony. So she hinted: treat the Mist as yours, and hope Yorin would think more from Kiri's side—even a little was better than nothing.
"I know. I understand your worry," Yorin said. "But rest assured: the times have changed. As I said—I'll be very gentle, very gentle with Kiri."
He handed her his Marshall Plan dossier.
She opened it skeptically—and was dazzled by the line of zeroes.
She fought to keep a straight face, fought hard, and then burst into laughter. "Seriously? Konoha is really willing to lend the Mist this much?"
Uchiha Yorin: "Of course."
Genji: "And the price?"