"How much is this rice per kilo?"
"Three hundred ryō per kilo."
"What?! How much?!"
Inside the underground black market of the Land of Fire, Kakuzu froze. His hooded head tilted slightly, and the faint green glow of his stitched eyes widened in disbelief.
Three hundred ryō a kilogram?
Was this man selling gold?
"Are your rice stalks made of gold?" he asked slowly, his voice dangerously calm. "Or are the grains carved from emeralds?"
The black-market vendor yawned. "Buy it or don't. Rice is scarce everywhere. These are hybrid grains from Konoha's experimental fields—far more valuable than ordinary rice."
Kakuzu's jaw twitched beneath his mask.
Three hundred per kilo. Ten kilos—three thousand. One hundred—thirty thousand. One ton—don't even ask. He did the math automatically, and his temples throbbed.
'If I killed every missing-nin in the region, I still couldn't afford a week's shipment.'
His fists clenched. For a moment he had the irresistible urge to rip off his cloak, expose his stitched-together body, and terrify this arrogant merchant senseless.
If this fool knew the man in front of him had once battled Senju Hashirama himself, he'd be paying Kakuzu to take the rice instead.
But Kakuzu restrained himself.
Beating up a rice vendor would not improve his dignity.
He turned slightly, muttering under his breath. "Damn leader… making me do such humiliating errands."
Tendō Pain's latest order had shattered whatever remained of Kakuzu's patience: acquire rice through the black market and secretly transport it back to the Land of Rain.
Ever since Namikaze Mirai's economic blockade cut off food exports to Rain, the price of rice there had exploded. Food riots erupted daily. Entire villages bartered their belongings for a single bowl of grain.
Pain—the so-called god—had been forced to send his "divine" agents out to buy food like common smugglers.
Kakuzu clicked his tongue in disgust.
'A god who has to queue for groceries. Wonderful.'
He considered refusing, but the memory of Pain's power, the Rinnegan that could erase him in a heartbeat, quickly extinguished that idea.
So here he was, one of Akatsuki's most feared members, bargaining for rice in a filthy marketplace.
The humiliation was physical.
Just as his irritation reached its peak, movement on a nearby wall caught his attention. A battered television flickered to life above a stall, the grainy image showing a news broadcast.
"Land of Fire's experimental fields yield a bumper harvest! Hybrid rice production sets a new historical record!"
Kakuzu turned sharply.
On screen, Yamato appeared in a crisp black suit, standing before acres of golden farmland. Behind him, mechanical harvesters hummed, reaping endless seas of ripened rice.
"The new hybrid strains developed by Konoha's agricultural department," Yamato declared confidently, "have tripled the output of our national reserves. At current capacity, the Land of Fire can feed seven-tenths of the ninja world's population."
The image changed: workers cheerfully bagging rice, fields gleaming under the sun.
Kakuzu's eye twitched.
'Seven-tenths of the world? They're stockpiling food while we're scraping bowls!'
Yamato's voice carried on, calm and persuasive.
"In this world, many still suffer from hunger. Konoha, as the most prosperous nation, bears humanitarian responsibility. We will ensure that no one in this world goes hungry."
He spread his hands, smiling for the camera.
"If you can't eat your fill—come to the Land of Fire."
"If you are suffering from hunger—come to the Land of Fire."
"If you want a better life—come to the Land of Fire!"
The speech resonated beyond the black-market walls.
Across towns and border villages, people paused to watch. In Konoha, citizens beamed with pride. In the Land of Rain, gaunt faces stared at screens through cracked windows, mesmerized.
In the slums of Amegakure, children clutched their empty bowls as their stomachs rumbled loudly. The promise of full bellies echoed louder than Pain's divine sermons.
On one side stood a god who preached suffering as salvation.
On the other, a nation offering bread, warmth, and safety.
And hunger was the strongest persuasion of all.
A mother whispered to her neighbor, "If we go there… maybe our children could live."
No one answered. But the silence was heavy with temptation.
…
Kusagakure.
Within a mold-stained tent near the village edge, two rough-looking Kusagakure ninja sat watching the same broadcast on a flickering screen.
"Damn Konoha!" one spat. "What scheme are they plotting now?"
"'If you're hungry, come to Land of Fire'? What a joke. They just want more laborers."
Neither man noticed the shadow crouched outside the tent flap.
A thin red-haired woman pressed herself against the torn canvas, peeking through a small gap. Her sunken cheeks and pale skin spoke of years of malnutrition. Both her arms were covered in faint scars and bite marks, reminders of the blood drawn daily from her veins.
Inside, Yamato's speech continued, his words glowing across the dim tent like a cruel kind of hope.
The woman's lips trembled.
'Eat your fill… a better life…'
That was all she had ever wished for. But in this world, even survival was expensive.
Every day, the Kusa-nin drained her blood because it possessed healing properties. To them, she was livestock—kept alive only to be used.
Her name was Uzumaki Kana.
On a crude wooden bed behind her lay a small girl, fast asleep, red hair tangled across her thin face. Karin. Barely four years old.
Kana stared at her daughter, fear tightening her chest.
'If she inherits my bloodline-ability… they'll use her too. They'll break her the way they broke me.'
She bit her lip until it bled. Outside, the announcer's words repeated: "The Land of Fire welcomes all refugees."
Kana's heart pounded.
Should she run? Could she reach Konoha before being caught?
If there was even a chance—just one chance—to save Karin from this life, she had to take it.
…
Land of Fire — Konoha.
The camera lights dimmed. Applause erupted across the small studio as Yamato stepped down from the podium, his face flushed with excitement.
He turned toward Namikaze Mirai, who stood offstage with arms folded. "Sensei, did I do well?"
Mirai's calm expression curved into a faint smile. "Very good."
Spreading the news through mass broadcast had been his idea. To use words instead of kunai—to lure instead of conquer. A silent invasion disguised as mercy.
"Tsunade," he said, glancing to his side, "it's your turn."
Tsunade sighed, straightening her long golden hair. "You really enjoy making me do things that don't suit me, don't you?"
"You're the chairwoman of the Red Cross Relief Society." Mirai reminded her mildly. "You're its public face."
"Fine, fine." She stepped forward, adjusting the microphone, her white coat gleaming under the lights.
Moments later, the broadcast resumed across the continent.
People who had just finished listening to Yamato's promises now gasped as another figure appeared on-screen—one known to nearly every shinobi alive.
"Tsunade…? Tsunade-hime?!"
In every corner of the ninja world, voices rose in astonishment.
Compared to the unknown official before her, the Princess of the Land of Fire—the legendary healer, one of the Sannin—was a symbol of credibility.
Her image commanded attention instantly.
On-screen, Tsunade exhaled softly and began to speak.
"Oh, those who are suffering," she said, her tone calm but resolute. "The Land of Fire will become your new home."
"I, Tsunade, as the chairwoman of Konoha's Red Cross Relief Society, swear to lead all who are in hardship toward a better life."
*****
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I am working on the following projects:
✓ Killed For 100 Years in Hueco Mundo, Aizen Invited Me To Soul Society!
✓ Naruto: Senmei Asahi
✓ Naruto: Uchiha's Intelligence Dealer
✓ Naruto: The Fifth Hokage Is Naruto's Uncle
✓ Naruto: Who Made Him a Ninja?
✓ Bleach: In My Second Reincarnation, I Became The Ninth Kenpachi
✓ To Love-Ru: Spoiler Route [R-18]
✓ Naruto: The Accidental Incubus [R-18]
✓ The Academy's Saint Is Too Popular, But He's Not the Protagonist [R-18]