Land of Fire, Capital City, Daimyō Residence.
The afternoon sunlight was warm and gentle. By the edge of the refined garden pond, fish swayed their tails leisurely in the water as the Daimyō of the Land of Fire fished at ease.
An elderly man dressed in formal attire, looking every bit like a steward, approached quietly. He stopped several steps away and bowed respectfully.
"Your Highness, preparations for this year's Taketori Festival are basically complete. Registration for the culinary competition has also closed. Renowned chefs from various regions and heirs of culinary families have gathered—an impressive event can be expected."
The Daimyō of the Land of Fire gave a slight nod, his gaze still fixed on the fishing float on the water's surface.
The old man paused briefly, lowering his voice slightly. A subtle note entered his tone.
"In addition, there is one more matter. This old servant believes Your Highness may find it of interest."
"Oh?"
The Daimyō's gaze remained on the float as he responded casually.
"Among the contestants registered for this competition, there is a ninja from Konohagakure."
"A ninja from Konohagakure?"
Hearing this, the Daimyō of the Land of Fire paused slightly with the fishing rod in his hand. At last he turned his head, a trace of genuine interest appearing on his face.
He raised his hand. He snapped open the delicate hinoki fan and half-covered his lips with it. Behind the fan ribs, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"If I remember correctly, Konohagakure no longer maintains a position for Ninja Chef, does it?"
As the ruler of a nation, he naturally knew of the little-known, nearly forgotten ancient profession known as a Ninja Chef.
But he also knew very well that a mere ninja from Konohagakure entering the competition would never be enough for the old steward to report personally.
With a glance, he signaled the man to continue.
The steward bowed slightly and continued respectfully: "The attendant accompanying this ninja contestant to the capital… is Tsunade-hime."
"Tsunade?"
The hinoki fan in the Daimyō's hand stopped.
Tsunade was called "Tsunade-hime" not only because she was the granddaughter of the First Hokage and the Second Hokage, the princess of Konohagakure.
She was also an officially invested princess of the Land of Fire.
In the past, when Senju Hashirama forged an alliance with the Land of Fire and established the system of one country, one village, several years passed after Konohagakure was founded before Tsunade was born. To demonstrate the unbreakable bond between the two and the importance placed on Konohagakure, the previous Daimyō of the Land of Fire specially bestowed a favor: he formally invested the infant Tsunade as a princess of the Land of Fire and granted her the title "Hime."
Despite the fact that Tsunade herself did not seem to care much about this title and had long been active primarily as a ninja, this status had always continued to exist within the official structure of the Land of Fire.
And now, this princess—who had never publicly appeared in the capital and was even rumored to have fallen into decadence and despondency after the Second Shinobi War—had actually come to the capital personally, accompanying a ninja chef participating in the competition?
The Daimyō slowly folded the hinoki fan and lightly tapped it twice against his palm. The interest in his eyes deepened.
"This ninja…" he pondered for a moment before saying, "Tell me in detail everything you know about this person."
"Yes, Your Highness." The steward bowed slightly and began to report in an orderly manner. "This ninja from Konohagakure is named Higashino Shinichi. He is currently…"
Higashino Shinichi?
Hearing this name, a flash of recognition appeared in the Daimyō's eyes.
He had an impression of the name. It seemed to be somewhat connected to the trouble that had occurred earlier in Narumi City on the border—an incident involving a heretical cult and the disappearance of children. In the reports at the time, a young ninja from Konohagakure who had performed outstandingly had been vaguely mentioned.
However, he had not paid much attention to such trivial matters then.
The Daimyō of the Land of Fire did not interrupt the steward's report. He simply listened quietly, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on his knee.
As the steward's plain narration continued, the pieces of information gradually linked together: at the age of nine, he had independently developed an A-rank ninjutsu without hand seals, shaking Konohagakure; last year, during the Chūnin Exams held in Sunagakure of the Land of Wind, he had overwhelmed all competitors and taken first place; and now, his guiding jōnin was none other than Tsunade-hime herself—the disciple of the Third Hokage.
The more he listened, the more playful the light in the Daimyō's eyes became.
With his experience and the instincts of a politician, he immediately sensed a deeper implication.
This was not merely a genius ninja. The Third Hokage, Sarutobi Hiruzen, clearly valued this youngster far beyond the ordinary. This was almost a public declaration through action that this child was one of the key candidates being cultivated for the future core leadership of Konohagakure—perhaps even for the position of Hokage.
As long as he did not die prematurely, given enough time, even if he did not become Hokage, he would inevitably become a pivotal figure within the future power structure of Konohagakure.
"Interesting. Truly interesting," the Daimyō murmured to himself, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.
"A young genius on whom the Third Hokage places such high hopes—yet instead of focusing on perfecting the path of the ninja and accumulating merit, he has the leisure to come and participate in my culinary competition…"
"Looks like this year's Taketori Festival will be more interesting than usual," the Daimyō of the Land of Fire said with a soft chuckle. He then turned to the steward. "Remember this—when the competition officially begins, remind me. I'd like to go and see for myself what kind of dishes our genius ninja from Konohagakure can present."
"Yes, Your Highness. This old servant will remember," the steward replied respectfully.
"And another thing." The Daimyō thought briefly, then snapped the hinoki fan shut. "Chamberlain, use your judgment. As long as what this genius from Konohagakure makes isn't outrageously inedible—or he doesn't set the stove on fire on the spot—then for the sake of the Third Hokage and Konohagakure, it wouldn't hurt to give him a fairly decent placement at the right moment. Young people, after all, sometimes have unusual hobbies. It does no real harm. Who knows—it might even become a story people like to tell."
He spoke lightly, as if he were merely giving a slightly unusual flower in the garden a bit more water.
"Understood, Your Highness. This old servant knows how to handle it," the steward said, immediately grasping the meaning. He bowed deeply once more, then withdrew soundlessly, leaving the quiet leisure of the courtyard once again to the contemplative Daimyō.
At that moment, a cool breeze passed beneath the corridor and swept across the courtyard. The previously calm pond rippled as the wind brushed over it, spreading layer upon layer of fine waves. The reflection of the elegant pavilion and the clear sky wavered and shattered with it, light and shadow scattering in disarray.
The Daimyō quietly gazed at the pond's autumn water, disturbed by the wind. His eyes were distant, as if beyond the surface he could see a broader, more unsettled picture.
"A storm is coming," he murmured softly. "The waters of the shinobi world are about to be stirred muddy again."
"Who will start it this time? Sunagakure? Iwagakure? Kumogakure? Kirigakure? Or some ambitious schemer who can no longer hold himself back?"
After a moment of silence, he suddenly let out a faint scoff.
"Go on, stir it up. Stir it up as much as you like. Turn the world upside down—let the winds rage and the blood flow like rivers… In the end, won't it still be people like us who must clean up the mess and calm the hearts of the people?"
After this brief reflection, the Daimyō of the Land of Fire shook his head, casting aside those tangled thoughts and irritations.
Leaning back in his chair again, the familiar calm and inscrutable ease returned to his face.
As though that moment of insight and reflection just now had been nothing more than a ripple on the water's surface—one that would soon fade away after the passing breeze.
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