"Too kind, too kind."
"This was nothing more than a trivial trick."
"Not just anyone is qualified to challenge Konoha."
Uchiha Ren smiled faintly, his tone modest—but his scarlet Sharingan locked onto the Daimyō.
The pressure was immediate, unspoken, yet unmistakable.
Daimyō felt a chill creep up his spine.
"Yes, of course… of course! The Uchiha Sharingan is renowned across the entire shinobi world—who wouldn't know of it?"
He nodded repeatedly.
He understood the message.
Even if Konoha had declined, it still stood as the unquestioned strongest force within the Land of Fire.
"Take him away."
"Useless trash."
The Daimyō turned his head, his expression shifting instantly from warm hospitality to cold indifference.
Xuankong was dragged away like discarded baggage.
Ren watched calmly.
His purpose had been achieved.
The message was clear.
There would be no further probing.
The atmosphere relaxed again.
Ren's smile returned as he resumed casual conversation with the Daimyō.
Topics drifted endlessly.
The Daimyō complained about governance—corrupt officials, false accounts, land seizures, tax evasion.
"They're stealing my money!"
Ren nodded along, offering appropriate sympathy.
In turn, he spoke of his own struggles.
Being a shinobi was hard.
Being Hokage?
Harder.
Bloodshed. Danger.
One mistake—and death followed.
Strangely, their complaints aligned.
Two men from completely different worlds, yet sharing similar frustrations.
They talked about history, war, and strategy.
Eventually, as always, the conversation turned to women.
"Were you satisfied with my gift last night?"
The Daimyō smiled knowingly.
Ren met his gaze.
A silent understanding passed between them.
"If you have a preference for that kind…"
The Daimyō's tone carried an invitation.
For men like them, women were the cheapest currency.
If they could strengthen ties, he would provide endlessly.
For a brief moment, Ren's mind flashed to the system mission.
Three widows.
He immediately dismissed it.
Too much.
Even he had limits.
"Ah… no need."
"Moderation is important."
He waved it off.
The Daimyō showed a hint of disappointment, but said nothing.
By noon, they dined again.
Ren didn't refuse.
After all, the palace chefs were exceptional.
When the meal ended, he even packed a portion.
For Feng and Ling.
Food like this—they had likely never tasted before.
Back in the room, the two girls stood quietly, waiting.
Nervous.
They didn't fully understand the title "Hokage," but they understood shinobi.
Killing with ease.
Rogue ninja slaughtering civilians—they had seen it.
Lived it.
"Thank you… Master…"
Feng stepped forward, accepting the food carefully.
The aroma escaped even through the container.
Both swallowed unconsciously.
They were starving.
After last night—and barely eating breakfast—their hunger was unbearable.
Yet they didn't dare open it.
Not without permission.
"Eat."
Ren said simply.
"Why are you looking at me?"
"There's cake at the bottom."
"I thought you might like it."
"I have something to handle. Stay here after you finish—don't wander."
He gave a few instructions, then left.
The moment the door closed, the box was opened.
They devoured the food eagerly.
"Big sister… it's so sweet…"
Ling licked the cream from the cake, her eyes lighting up.
Sugar—a luxury.
For most civilians, survival was already difficult.
Sweets were unimaginable.
"Mm…"
Feng nodded.
The sweetness softened something inside her.
Perhaps… their future wouldn't be so frightening.
Ren left the palace.
With the Daimyō's approval slip in hand, he headed straight for the Ministry of Finance.
Inside, the room was filled with ledgers.
Stacks upon stacks.
Clerks worked tirelessly, abacuses clicking nonstop.
At the center, a plump, middle-aged man in black robes lounged lazily, sipping tea.
Idle.
Relaxed.
Ren walked straight up to him.
"Where is your minister?"
The man looked up, saw the Hokage robe, and immediately stood.
Smiling.
"The minister is inside. I'll take you there."
Ren nodded.
They entered.
Inside sat another man—also drinking tea.
The Finance Minister.
He stood quickly, greeting Ren with enthusiasm.
Ren didn't waste time.
He stated his purpose directly.
The minister's smile froze.
"…This is… difficult, Lord Hokage."
His expression turned bitter.
"The treasury is empty."
"Disaster relief. Refugee resettlement."
"Drought in the north. Floods in the south…"
Excuses flowed endlessly.
In short—no money.
Or rather—not now.
Delay.
That was the plan.
Ren's eyes narrowed.
The minister's fingers rubbed together subtly.
A clear signal.
He wanted a cut.
Even military funding wasn't spared.
Bold.
Reckless.
"One million ryo."
Ren raised a finger.
A gesture of courtesy.
After all, the man held a high position.
The minister chuckled.
Then raised five fingers.
"Fifty million."
Silence.
Ren's Sharingan activated.
Cold.
Sharp.
"Lord Hokage, no need to be upset."
"It's standard practice."
"I'm not asking for more than usual."
"We'll handle the accounts perfectly."
"No one will notice."
Ren smiled.
Calmly.
Moments later, the minister collapsed to the ground, trembling violently.
His eyes filled with terror.
When he regained himself, he didn't mention money again.
Not a word.
The funds were processed immediately.
Accounts fabricated flawlessly.
Receipts stamped.
Procedures completed at astonishing speed.
"Disgusting."
Ren spat on the minister's face.
Then turned and walked out without looking back.
"P-Please take care, Lord Hokage…"
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