Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

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A letter bearing a warning landed on Ōnoki’s desk. After reading it through, he could only let out a long sigh. More bad news. Nothing else came to mind.

Rōshi’s resolve to leave had gone far beyond anything Ōnoki had imagined. Ever since information about the Flying Fortress surfaced, Ōnoki had ordered him back. Rōshi did return—he lingered outside the village for a few days—but the moment he heard the fortress had vanished, he left again.

Ōnoki had dispatched Anbu to track him, sending warning after warning. He’d told Rōshi the enemy was powerful, that what they’d seen so far was only the tip of the iceberg. As the Jinchūriki, the vessel of the Four-Tails, Rōshi shouldn’t be training outside the village. Ōnoki truly hoped that by using this reason, he could force Rōshi to come back.

Judging by the outcome, if Rōshi had been moved at all, it only showed in the fact that he hadn’t yet crossed the border of the Land of Earth.

What else could Ōnoki do?

When Rōshi first left, his attitude had already made it clear: he didn’t care even if Ōnoki decided to kill him. If they dragged him back now, locked him up for a while, and then nothing happened with the Jinchūriki abductions, Rōshi would still leave—and next time, it would probably be in a way that Ōnoki could never reel him back from.

Aside from watching to see what results Rōshi could gain from training outside, there was no other option.

”Old man!”

The door burst open with a loud bang as Deidara kicked it in.

Ōnoki’s expression hardened at once.

”Why was my application rejected?” Deidara strode up to the desk, yanked a paper from his pocket, and slapped it down in front of him.

The Third Tsuchikage didn’t even glance at it. His face blank, he asked, ”Why do you want to take part in this kind of competition?”

”I made a promise with that Uchiha. I’m going to defeat him in the arena!”

”The Joint Combat Exercise has strict requirements for both Genin and Chūnin participation—three years of service,” Ōnoki said. ”Do you know how many years that person has been a Chūnin?”

”Furthermore, genjutsu is forbidden during the exercise, and Bloodline Limits are restricted.”

”You should have heard all this at the meeting.”

”Hmph, I heard it loud and clear, old man,” Deidara shot back. ”As the host, we can keep our own unique rules as long as the Bureau approves. Back then, Fūga insisted on retaining the regulations from the Iwagakure Western Exchange Activities, and in the end they only settled on damage control.”

”Besides, as long as I, his opponent, don’t report it, the use of genjutsu won’t be investigated, hm!”

”Although I don’t know his exact age, judging from his build, even if he has become a Chūnin, it hasn’t been more than three years.”

The blond boy’s face was full of smug confidence.

Ōnoki’s expression immediately darkened. ”I told you to pay attention at the meeting. After listening to all that, this is what you came away with?”

”I’ve made all the preparations for payback!” Deidara slapped the application form again. ”Hurry up and approve it, old man. My art is about to bloom in the arena…”

”Absolutely not!” The Tsuchikage slammed his palm on the table. ”All you ever think about is…”

Ōnoki’s anger flared, then abruptly cooled as he remembered Rōshi, who had already slipped away.

”Ninjas participating in the exercise have to submit their identity information to the Bureau for review. That Uchiha is from the Anbu—their files are confidential. It’s even less likely he’d falsify his personal data for some trivial competition.”

”As for you, it’s the same problem. The ninja who attended that meeting were all jōnin-level. Even if the village hasn’t officially promoted your rank, having your information suddenly appear in the Bureau would draw suspicion from the other villages. Even if we approve it on our side, they’ll question Iwagakure’s intentions.”

His tone eased slightly as he turned to Deidara. ”If you really want to challenge an Uchiha, I’ll give you the chance.”

Faced with this rare concession, Deidara finally left, clutching his application.

Watching the boy go, Ōnoki—the oldest of the current Kage—felt his burdens only growing heavier.

The ninja world was full of strange new things, and both overt and covert methods were multiplying. Even though they had obtained some Flying Wing technology through the Bureau, Iwagakure was only just getting started. Konoha and Kumogakure had at least a year’s head start.

The Flight Technique was a secret art of the Tsuchikage, and it, too, was no simple matter… Ōnoki set the warning letter aside and drew out another document: this year’s list of exchange students bound for Konoha. After a long moment of thought, he quietly added two more names.

—

Ōnoki, bound by a written warning, had worries on every side. By contrast, A, who had only received an in-person reminder, was more perplexed than troubled.

After wrapping up his business, Roshi checked into a hot spring inn in Kumogakure, where he did nothing but soak and eat.

He waited three days, saw that A hadn’t raised any new issues, and in the end, A came to him in person.

Roshi wore a dark blue yukata-style casual robe, leaning against a veranda pillar. On the low table before him sat a white porcelain teapot and two teacups, with a few delicate pastries arranged beside them.

In the distance, Kumogakure’s tiered buildings climbed the mountainside, and beyond them, the ever-present clouds and mist veiled the surrounding peaks.

”Darui isn’t as lazy as you are now, Roshi.”

”After working hard for so many years, I’m planning ahead for a leisurely life. Would you like some tea, Raikage-sama?”

A eyed him skeptically. ”At a time like this? You’ve just delivered several pieces of bad news, and you expect me to believe you’re preparing for retirement?”

”So it’s just preparation.”

”What are you scheming now? Forget it, I don’t care enough to dig. There’s something I need to tell you since you’re here.”

”During the preparations for this year’s Joint Combat Exercise, Kumogakure discovered someone was secretly organizing gladiatorial matches.”

Roshi took a quiet sip of tea and waited for him to continue.

”The venue is on an island overseas. According to our preliminary intel, the spectators are big shots from multiple countries—nobles not just from the Land of Lightning but from the Land of Water as well.”

”It’s a completely lawless place. They use ninjas as gambling chips, even dealing in human trafficking.”

”Doesn’t the joint investigation squad have enough authority to shut it down?” Roshi asked.

”From what we’ve found, some Bloodline Limit ninja that the Hidden Mist ’lost’ in the past have shown up in that gladiatorial arena…”

Roshi immediately understood what A was implying.

”You suspect the Hidden Mist might also be involved with this overseas gladiatorial arena?”

”Because they were shunned and driven out by the Hidden Mist, those young Bloodline Limit ninja were left without protection and eventually forced into becoming gladiators for others—this is an entire industry chain,” A said. ”Until we confirm what role the Hidden Mist plays in it, the joint squad can’t move recklessly. Otherwise, it could trigger a diplomatic incident between villages.”

”On top of that, there’s another power at sea now. You should know who I mean.”

”The Land of Snow. Akatsuki.” Roshi set his cup down.

—

”Why didn’t you stay and play a few more days?” a sarcastic voice drawled as Roshi returned.

Tsunade lounged in her chair, one hand propping up her chin while the fingers of her other hand tapped a steady rhythm on the desk. Sunlight poured in through the window, but it couldn’t reach the depths of her amber eyes, which were now fixed on him with a clear, wordless challenge: let’s see how you explain this.

”Something unexpected came up, so I had to cut it short and come back early.” Roshi’s expression stayed as calm as ever. He set the documents he’d brought from the Hidden Cloud on Tsunade’s desk, then went back to his own seat.

”Oh… so you’re not even going to deny you were out having fun?” Tsunade blinked in brief surprise, muttered under her breath, then pulled herself together and opened the file.

The intel was thorough, accompanied by several blurred sketches drawn from long-distance observation.

The written report detailed the Coliseum’s operating model: regular underground tournaments, partial guest lists of invited dignitaries from various nations, and breakdowns of the ”merchandise” sources for ninja forced to fight… Tsunade’s brow slowly knitted, her expression growing more and more grave.

”The chances of the Hidden Mist being directly involved are very low,” she said at last. ”But we still can’t determine whether this has anything to do with Madara.”

Roshi shook his head. If Obito had the capacity to run an industry chain like this, he wouldn’t have struggled to keep the Hidden Mist under control.

”It’s more likely just fallout from the Bloody Mist policy.”

”The way you see it,” the Fifth Hokage said, ”the Coliseum itself is an independent gray zone.”

”At least in the beginning, it had nothing to do with Akatsuki,” Roshi replied.

”The problem,” Tsunade said quietly, ”is the timing.”

Right now, vast stretches of islands out at sea have become a buffer zone—caught between the true spheres of influence of the Five Great Ninja Villages and the Akatsuki. It’s a lawless vacuum. In places like that, the rise and spread of these kinds of dark industries is almost a natural ecological outcome. As for the people running the Coliseum, with the Five Great Ninja Villages tightening the blockade and stepping up investigations, they’ll instinctively start looking for powerful backers and an escape route.

”As for the Akatsuki Organization,” Roshi tapped the tabletop lightly with his fingertips, ”after the destruction of the Flying Fortress and the failure of their expansion into the Land of Snow, they need fresh funds and resources to keep operating and rebuild their strength. When a ready-made, highly profitable black market business is handed to them like this, they have no reason to refuse. In fact, they might do the opposite and actively try to seize control of more similar channels.”

Tsunade immediately saw the problem. If that happened, cutting off Akatsuki’s funding would become extremely difficult.

”Tsk, this is going to be a pain.” Tsunade clicked her tongue and raised a hand to rub at her temples.

”This isn’t just about cracking down on an illegal coliseum,” she went on. ”It also involves our relations with the Daimyō and the aristocracy. The dignitaries watching those matches fall under the direct authority of each country’s Daimyō, not the ninja villages.”

”Yes, it’s far from simple,” Roshi agreed.

Tsunade lowered her hand and glanced over at him, only to find that he didn’t look as serious as she expected. Instead, his expression was faintly contemplative.

”…So?” She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair again. ”Our great Lord Roshi travels all the way from the Land of Water to the Land of Lightning and brings back such a hot potato—surely it’s not just to tell me ’things are troublesome,’ right?”

”I was just thinking this might be a new opportunity, Lady Tsunade,” Roshi said. ”In the name of the Bureau, we could formally submit a proposal to the Daimyō of every country.”

”We request that all Daimyō issue a joint declaration, collectively denouncing any private tournaments in which ninja are the main participants, where life-and-death combat is involved, and which are held for profit or public entertainment—aside from those officially recognized, hosted, or registered by the Bureau, such as the Joint Combat Competition and the Joint Chūnin Exams—as illegal.”

”The declaration must clearly state: no aristocrat, official, or merchant of any country may organize, fund, or take part in such illegal tournaments; no port in any country may provide facilities to ships transporting personnel or materials related to these events; and any country discovered to have such illegal tournaments within its territory or territorial waters is obligated to abolish them and report the matter to the Bureau.”

”The Bureau shall have the authority to investigate all individuals involved in such illegal tournaments—regardless of whether they are shinobi, merchants, or aristocrats—and, in accordance with the union’s agreements, either submit recommendations for how they should be handled or directly take the necessary measures.”

Tsunade, who had been somewhat relaxed, immediately straightened in her seat.

She narrowed her eyes at Roshi. ”Do you know what you’re saying?”

”You’re suggesting that we shinobi—even under the banner of the union—take the initiative to create an entirely new set of rules that will bind the whole shinobi world. Then you want the Daimyō, who hold political power, to publicly acknowledge and obey these shinobi‑led rules in the name of their nations.”

Roshi listened quietly to Tsunade’s analysis, then gave a small nod.

”Yes, I understand.”

”This is what has to be done to solve the problem, or rather, what must be clearly defined as the union reaches its final stage.”

”The forms of conflict and the main parties involved have always changed with the times, Lady Tsunade.”

”In the Warring Clans era, it was clan against clan, locked in endless bloodshed at the whim of the Feudal Lords’ commissions, when human life was as cheap as grass.”

”In the era of the hidden villages, it became Village against Village. One Shinobi World War after another broke out over missions, resources, and national interests.”

”And now, what we’re trying to do is integrate and coordinate the power and interests of the Five Great Shinobi Villages to a certain degree—reduce internal losses and face external threats together. If we can keep moving in this direction and actually achieve results...”

He drew back his gaze and looked straight at Tsunade, his black eyes appearing bottomless.

”Then in the next stage, where will conflict erupt?”

”When the hidden villages are no longer the primary actors in conflict, the contradictions will most likely shift to the nations behind them. When that time comes, what should the already united Five Great Shinobi Villages do? Continue acting as tools of force and get dragged into the Daimyō’s struggles?”

”That would just be a new cycle of the same thing.”

”So we should make an attempt now—using the current situation with the Land of Snow and its established status as a common enemy—to gradually deepen the union.”

”Take a tentative step toward building rules and order. Even if that step is small and cautious, even if it ends in failure, it still points toward a path that might break the old cycle.”

Tsunade stared at him for a long time. The surprise and scrutiny in her eyes slowly faded, finally turning into a resigned sigh.

”Before you brought me back, you never said things would get this troublesome.”

Then she added, ”We’ll need a detailed plan for drafting the proposal and for how to approach the Daimyō afterward.”

”Mhm.”

Tsunade grumbled, ”I’m not taking responsibility for how this turns out later.”

Roshi smiled. ”There’s no escaping it, Lady Tsunade. You’ve already been dragged in.”

”Tch, what a troublesome guy.”

Tsunade rolled her eyes at him, though there was little real resentment in her gaze.

She picked up the scroll again and let her eyes run over the records, falling silent for a long moment.

A letter bearing a warning landed on Ōnoki’s desk. After reading it through, he could only let out a long sigh. More bad news. Nothing else came to mind.

Rōshi’s resolve to leave had gone far beyond anything Ōnoki had imagined. Ever since information about the Flying Fortress surfaced, Ōnoki had ordered him back. Rōshi did return—he lingered outside the village for a few days—but the moment he heard the fortress had vanished, he left again.

Ōnoki had dispatched Anbu to track him, sending warning after warning. He’d told Rōshi the enemy was powerful, that what they’d seen so far was only the tip of the iceberg. As the Jinchūriki, the vessel of the Four-Tails, Rōshi shouldn’t be training outside the village. Ōnoki truly hoped that by using this reason, he could force Rōshi to come back.

Judging by the outcome, if Rōshi had been moved at all, it only showed in the fact that he hadn’t yet crossed the border of the Land of Earth.

What else could Ōnoki do?

When Rōshi first left, his attitude had already made it clear: he didn’t care even if Ōnoki decided to kill him. If they dragged him back now, locked him up for a while, and then nothing happened with the Jinchūriki abductions, Rōshi would still leave—and next time, it would probably be in a way that Ōnoki could never reel him back from.

Aside from watching to see what results Rōshi could gain from training outside, there was no other option.

”Old man!”

The door burst open with a loud bang as Deidara kicked it in.

Ōnoki’s expression hardened at once.

”Why was my application rejected?” Deidara strode up to the desk, yanked a paper from his pocket, and slapped it down in front of him.

The Third Tsuchikage didn’t even glance at it. His face blank, he asked, ”Why do you want to take part in this kind of competition?”

”I made a promise with that Uchiha. I’m going to defeat him in the arena!”

”The Joint Combat Exercise has strict requirements for both Genin and Chūnin participation—three years of service,” Ōnoki said. ”Do you know how many years that person has been a Chūnin?”

”Furthermore, genjutsu is forbidden during the exercise, and Bloodline Limits are restricted.”

”You should have heard all this at the meeting.”

”Hmph, I heard it loud and clear, old man,” Deidara shot back. ”As the host, we can keep our own unique rules as long as the Bureau approves. Back then, Fūga insisted on retaining the regulations from the Iwagakure Western Exchange Activities, and in the end they only settled on damage control.”

”Besides, as long as I, his opponent, don’t report it, the use of genjutsu won’t be investigated, hm!”

”Although I don’t know his exact age, judging from his build, even if he has become a Chūnin, it hasn’t been more than three years.”

The blond boy’s face was full of smug confidence.

Ōnoki’s expression immediately darkened. ”I told you to pay attention at the meeting. After listening to all that, this is what you came away with?”

”I’ve made all the preparations for payback!” Deidara slapped the application form again. ”Hurry up and approve it, old man. My art is about to bloom in the arena…”

”Absolutely not!” The Tsuchikage slammed his palm on the table. ”All you ever think about is…”

Ōnoki’s anger flared, then abruptly cooled as he remembered Rōshi, who had already slipped away.

”Ninjas participating in the exercise have to submit their identity information to the Bureau for review. That Uchiha is from the Anbu—their files are confidential. It’s even less likely he’d falsify his personal data for some trivial competition.”

”As for you, it’s the same problem. The ninja who attended that meeting were all jōnin-level. Even if the village hasn’t officially promoted your rank, having your information suddenly appear in the Bureau would draw suspicion from the other villages. Even if we approve it on our side, they’ll question Iwagakure’s intentions.”

His tone eased slightly as he turned to Deidara. ”If you really want to challenge an Uchiha, I’ll give you the chance.”

Faced with this rare concession, Deidara finally left, clutching his application.

Watching the boy go, Ōnoki—the oldest of the current Kage—felt his burdens only growing heavier.

The ninja world was full of strange new things, and both overt and covert methods were multiplying. Even though they had obtained some Flying Wing technology through the Bureau, Iwagakure was only just getting started. Konoha and Kumogakure had at least a year’s head start.

The Flight Technique was a secret art of the Tsuchikage, and it, too, was no simple matter… Ōnoki set the warning letter aside and drew out another document: this year’s list of exchange students bound for Konoha. After a long moment of thought, he quietly added two more names.

—

Ōnoki, bound by a written warning, had worries on every side. By contrast, A, who had only received an in-person reminder, was more perplexed than troubled.

After wrapping up his business, Roshi checked into a hot spring inn in Kumogakure, where he did nothing but soak and eat.

He waited three days, saw that A hadn’t raised any new issues, and in the end, A came to him in person.

Roshi wore a dark blue yukata-style casual robe, leaning against a veranda pillar. On the low table before him sat a white porcelain teapot and two teacups, with a few delicate pastries arranged beside them.

In the distance, Kumogakure’s tiered buildings climbed the mountainside, and beyond them, the ever-present clouds and mist veiled the surrounding peaks.

”Darui isn’t as lazy as you are now, Roshi.”

”After working hard for so many years, I’m planning ahead for a leisurely life. Would you like some tea, Raikage-sama?”

A eyed him skeptically. ”At a time like this? You’ve just delivered several pieces of bad news, and you expect me to believe you’re preparing for retirement?”

”So it’s just preparation.”

”What are you scheming now? Forget it, I don’t care enough to dig. There’s something I need to tell you since you’re here.”

”During the preparations for this year’s Joint Combat Exercise, Kumogakure discovered someone was secretly organizing gladiatorial matches.”

Roshi took a quiet sip of tea and waited for him to continue.

”The venue is on an island overseas. According to our preliminary intel, the spectators are big shots from multiple countries—nobles not just from the Land of Lightning but from the Land of Water as well.”

”It’s a completely lawless place. They use ninjas as gambling chips, even dealing in human trafficking.”

”Doesn’t the joint investigation squad have enough authority to shut it down?” Roshi asked.

”From what we’ve found, some Bloodline Limit ninja that the Hidden Mist ’lost’ in the past have shown up in that gladiatorial arena…”

Roshi immediately understood what A was implying.

”You suspect the Hidden Mist might also be involved with this overseas gladiatorial arena?”

”Because they were shunned and driven out by the Hidden Mist, those young Bloodline Limit ninja were left without protection and eventually forced into becoming gladiators for others—this is an entire industry chain,” A said. ”Until we confirm what role the Hidden Mist plays in it, the joint squad can’t move recklessly. Otherwise, it could trigger a diplomatic incident between villages.”

”On top of that, there’s another power at sea now. You should know who I mean.”

”The Land of Snow. Akatsuki.” Roshi set his cup down.

—

”Why didn’t you stay and play a few more days?” a sarcastic voice drawled as Roshi returned.

Tsunade lounged in her chair, one hand propping up her chin while the fingers of her other hand tapped a steady rhythm on the desk. Sunlight poured in through the window, but it couldn’t reach the depths of her amber eyes, which were now fixed on him with a clear, wordless challenge: let’s see how you explain this.

”Something unexpected came up, so I had to cut it short and come back early.” Roshi’s expression stayed as calm as ever. He set the documents he’d brought from the Hidden Cloud on Tsunade’s desk, then went back to his own seat.

”Oh… so you’re not even going to deny you were out having fun?” Tsunade blinked in brief surprise, muttered under her breath, then pulled herself together and opened the file.

The intel was thorough, accompanied by several blurred sketches drawn from long-distance observation.

The written report detailed the Coliseum’s operating model: regular underground tournaments, partial guest lists of invited dignitaries from various nations, and breakdowns of the ”merchandise” sources for ninja forced to fight… Tsunade’s brow slowly knitted, her expression growing more and more grave.

”The chances of the Hidden Mist being directly involved are very low,” she said at last. ”But we still can’t determine whether this has anything to do with Madara.”

Roshi shook his head. If Obito had the capacity to run an industry chain like this, he wouldn’t have struggled to keep the Hidden Mist under control.

”It’s more likely just fallout from the Bloody Mist policy.”

”The way you see it,” the Fifth Hokage said, ”the Coliseum itself is an independent gray zone.”

”At least in the beginning, it had nothing to do with Akatsuki,” Roshi replied.

”The problem,” Tsunade said quietly, ”is the timing.”

Right now, vast stretches of islands out at sea have become a buffer zone—caught between the true spheres of influence of the Five Great Ninja Villages and the Akatsuki. It’s a lawless vacuum. In places like that, the rise and spread of these kinds of dark industries is almost a natural ecological outcome. As for the people running the Coliseum, with the Five Great Ninja Villages tightening the blockade and stepping up investigations, they’ll instinctively start looking for powerful backers and an escape route.

”As for the Akatsuki Organization,” Roshi tapped the tabletop lightly with his fingertips, ”after the destruction of the Flying Fortress and the failure of their expansion into the Land of Snow, they need fresh funds and resources to keep operating and rebuild their strength. When a ready-made, highly profitable black market business is handed to them like this, they have no reason to refuse. In fact, they might do the opposite and actively try to seize control of more similar channels.”

Tsunade immediately saw the problem. If that happened, cutting off Akatsuki’s funding would become extremely difficult.

”Tsk, this is going to be a pain.” Tsunade clicked her tongue and raised a hand to rub at her temples.

”This isn’t just about cracking down on an illegal coliseum,” she went on. ”It also involves our relations with the Daimyō and the aristocracy. The dignitaries watching those matches fall under the direct authority of each country’s Daimyō, not the ninja villages.”

”Yes, it’s far from simple,” Roshi agreed.

Tsunade lowered her hand and glanced over at him, only to find that he didn’t look as serious as she expected. Instead, his expression was faintly contemplative.

”…So?” She raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair again. ”Our great Lord Roshi travels all the way from the Land of Water to the Land of Lightning and brings back such a hot potato—surely it’s not just to tell me ’things are troublesome,’ right?”

”I was just thinking this might be a new opportunity, Lady Tsunade,” Roshi said. ”In the name of the Bureau, we could formally submit a proposal to the Daimyō of every country.”

”We request that all Daimyō issue a joint declaration, collectively denouncing any private tournaments in which ninja are the main participants, where life-and-death combat is involved, and which are held for profit or public entertainment—aside from those officially recognized, hosted, or registered by the Bureau, such as the Joint Combat Competition and the Joint Chūnin Exams—as illegal.”

”The declaration must clearly state: no aristocrat, official, or merchant of any country may organize, fund, or take part in such illegal tournaments; no port in any country may provide facilities to ships transporting personnel or materials related to these events; and any country discovered to have such illegal tournaments within its territory or territorial waters is obligated to abolish them and report the matter to the Bureau.”

”The Bureau shall have the authority to investigate all individuals involved in such illegal tournaments—regardless of whether they are shinobi, merchants, or aristocrats—and, in accordance with the union’s agreements, either submit recommendations for how they should be handled or directly take the necessary measures.”

Tsunade, who had been somewhat relaxed, immediately straightened in her seat.

She narrowed her eyes at Roshi. ”Do you know what you’re saying?”

”You’re suggesting that we shinobi—even under the banner of the union—take the initiative to create an entirely new set of rules that will bind the whole shinobi world. Then you want the Daimyō, who hold political power, to publicly acknowledge and obey these shinobi‑led rules in the name of their nations.”

Roshi listened quietly to Tsunade’s analysis, then gave a small nod.

”Yes, I understand.”

”This is what has to be done to solve the problem, or rather, what must be clearly defined as the union reaches its final stage.”

”The forms of conflict and the main parties involved have always changed with the times, Lady Tsunade.”

”In the Warring Clans era, it was clan against clan, locked in endless bloodshed at the whim of the Feudal Lords’ commissions, when human life was as cheap as grass.”

”In the era of the hidden villages, it became Village against Village. One Shinobi World War after another broke out over missions, resources, and national interests.”

”And now, what we’re trying to do is integrate and coordinate the power and interests of the Five Great Shinobi Villages to a certain degree—reduce internal losses and face external threats together. If we can keep moving in this direction and actually achieve results...”

He drew back his gaze and looked straight at Tsunade, his black eyes appearing bottomless.

”Then in the next stage, where will conflict erupt?”

”When the hidden villages are no longer the primary actors in conflict, the contradictions will most likely shift to the nations behind them. When that time comes, what should the already united Five Great Shinobi Villages do? Continue acting as tools of force and get dragged into the Daimyō’s struggles?”

”That would just be a new cycle of the same thing.”

”So we should make an attempt now—using the current situation with the Land of Snow and its established status as a common enemy—to gradually deepen the union.”

”Take a tentative step toward building rules and order. Even if that step is small and cautious, even if it ends in failure, it still points toward a path that might break the old cycle.”

Tsunade stared at him for a long time. The surprise and scrutiny in her eyes slowly faded, finally turning into a resigned sigh.

”Before you brought me back, you never said things would get this troublesome.”

Then she added, ”We’ll need a detailed plan for drafting the proposal and for how to approach the Daimyō afterward.”

”Mhm.”

Tsunade grumbled, ”I’m not taking responsibility for how this turns out later.”

Roshi smiled. ”There’s no escaping it, Lady Tsunade. You’ve already been dragged in.”

”Tch, what a troublesome guy.”

Tsunade rolled her eyes at him, though there was little real resentment in her gaze.

She picked up the scroll again and let her eyes run over the records, falling silent for a long moment.

------------------

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