The sun rose over Konoha, but something was… off.
It wasn't the usual gentle nudge into consciousness. No, this was a peculiar, collective, village-wide sense of unease, a subtle prickle on the back of every married man's neck.
It was the specific, primal feeling that somewhere, a mythical beast of unimaginable greed was eyeing the secret stashes of cash they had hidden from their wives under floorboards and inside hollowed-out copies of forbidden books.
This cosmic disturbance could mean only one thing: after a month of construction that had rattled windows and sparked endless gossip, one of the two colossal new buildings was finally complete.
Now, a new shop or office usually gets a week of mild curiosity before Konoha moves on to the next scandal. But these weren't normal buildings.
These were behemoths, monuments to excess. They were so ludicrously large that rumors swirled each had cost more than a hundred million ryo—a figure so high it made the Hokage Mansion look like a charming, budget-friendly garden shed.
The first, of course, was Azula's treasure: the Uchiha Manga Emporium and Library.
Its construction was funded by the beautiful, beautiful art of persuasion. Specifically, Azula's art, executed by her mother, on the wallet of one Tajima Uchiha.
They didn't just ask for funds; they performed a financial exorcism, successfully convincing Tajima that funding his daughter's dream was more critical than, say, the clan's entire annual budget for new throwing stars.
The second building, still shrouded in scaffolding but nearing completion, was the new Konoha Tribunal.
And wasn't it a surprise that it was also receiving a staggering, unprecedented level of investment? This time, Tajima himself had become a student of the very art used against him. He had so thoroughly and 'persuasively' argued the project's merit to the village elders that they now believed a platinum-plated, diamond-encrusted courthouse was essential for village security.
The Uchiha had sunk over a hundred and fifty million ryo into it, which is precisely why it was taking longer than the manga store. You can't rush perfection—or at least, you can't rush the installation of solid gold toilet handles.
Over the month, Azula's popularity had skyrocketed in the academy. Her classmates weren't just friendly; they were her hype squad, her inner circle, her potential—though they didn't know it yet—unpaid internship program.
They knew all about the store and were arguably more excited for its opening than she was, which was a feat, considering her excitement level was roughly equivalent to a firework factory explosion.
As the crowds began to gather on opening day, a woman in her thirties eyed the gleaming manga palace with a look of pure, unadulterated envy. "Tsk tsk," she clucked, loud enough for her husband to hear. "Truly the Uchiha. I heard this entire monument to paper and ink was built because their little princess wanted to play businesswoman. Must be nice."
Her husband didn't just pale; he achieved a new, transparent shade of white. His head swiveled like an owl's, scanning for the distinctive fan emblem of the Uchiha Police Force. Seeing none, he finally remembered how to breathe, then immediately whirled on his wife.
"Are you insane? Or are you just actively trying to get us exiled to a land of endless rain and misery?!" he hissed, pulling her aside. "If you have a death wish, fine! But think of me and the children! Criticizing that clan? And criticizing their precious princess?"
Meanwhile, a curious thing was happening at the store's grand entrance. Despite the 'Closed' sign, the guards were ushering in a small herd of brightly dressed children—Azula's classmates.
From Azula's shrewd, business-oriented perspective, was there anything better than a dedicated workforce fueled by excitement and the promise of a reward, yet too young to understand concepts like 'minimum wage' or 'workers' rights'?
She was confident no kind of labor union would suddenly materialize to protect a bunch of first-year academy students. Right?
Gathering her tiny team inside the vast, shelves-not-yet-fully-stocked store, Azula addressed them with the inspiring gravitas of a five-star general addressing his troops… if the troops were mostly concerned with when snack time was.
"Okay, listen up!" she began, a gleam in her Sharingan-less eyes. "Today marks the dawn of a new era for Konoha! This isn't just a store; it is the future greatest treasure of this entire village!"
"I expect nothing less than a five-star, ultra-premium, legendary service from each of you. Impress me, and at the end of this day, the commission I pay you will be so vast, you will be able to buy enough dango to not only last a year but to actually become one with the dango. You will achieve a state of sugary, rice-flour enlightenment."
It was a masterclass in managerial manipulation. She wasn't just painting a picture; she was painting a Sistine Chapel ceiling of future sugary rewards.
For its grand opening, the store's main attraction was Azula's own masterpiece: Demon Slayer, Part 1.
This was her adaptation of the first season of the anime, meticulously expanded and 'improved' across six thick volumes. She'd added more lore, more backstory, and significantly more scenes of someone looking cool.
The price for this literary marvel was a cool five thousand ryo. To put that in perspective, that was the entire reward for a risky, C-rank mission… or roughly the equivalent of five hundred dollars back on Earth. It was, by any rational standard, a complete and utter rip-off.
But Azula simply smiled. Different world, different rules. And in this world, she held the monopoly on awesome.
With the finale of the surprisingly well-rehearsed little speech complete, Azula beamed at the assembly of toddlers.
It was time for the main event: the official ribbon-cutting ceremony of the Uchiha district's first-ever manga café, with the slogan "The Sharingan Can Read."
And for this, you couldn't just have any old schmuck with a pair of scissors. You needed gravitas. You needed prestige. You needed a lineup of bigwigs so impressive that people would forget they were essentially celebrating a glorified comic book store.
With the solemnity of a seasoned event planner, she invited up the Uchiha Patriarch, Tajima (tsk), who looked as if he were attending a funeral for his family's dignity rather than the opening of his daughter's whimsical venture.
Next was the legendary Mito Uzumaki, wife of the First Hokage, a woman of such serene and terrifying power that the very air seemed to part for her.
Finally, almost as an afterthought—a symbolic gesture, really—Azula had sent an invite to the Hokage himself.
She'd assumed the Third, young Hiruzen Sarutobi, was far too busy with the weighty matters of state, like paperwork, more paperwork, and occasionally sighing wistfully at his Crystal Ball if it had developed.
Oh, how she had underestimated the Hokage's insatiable thirst for good PR.
For a man who spent most of his time locked in a tower, the chance to wander into a public event, bask in adoration, and deliver an impromptu sermon on the Will of Fire was like catnip to a… well, to a very old and tired ninja cat. It was, as they say, an offer he couldn't refuse.
Well, sort of. The wily young Kage had no intention of actually leaving his office vulnerable.
What appeared in a puff of smoke at the edge of the crowd was not Hiruzen Sarutobi in the flesh, but a perfectly serviceable Shadow Clone.
The real Hiruzen was, at that very moment, likely enjoying a quiet cup of tea and a risqué novel, confident that his duplicate could handle the ribbon-cutting festivities.
After all, he could maintain two clones for a full day, and leaving a clone in the office was just asking for trouble. What if a meteor struck? Or, worse, a council meeting started early? The clone was a necessary sacrificial lamb to the gods of bureaucracy and public opinion.
The crowd, of course, didn't know this. To them, it was the Hokage in all his glory!
They parted like the Red Sea before a very bearded Moses, creating a path for him. The Clone-ruzen, ever the professional, was already deep in a politically charged greeting with Tajima Uchiha, a conversation that probably had all the warmth of two icebergs rubbing together.
It was then that Azula made her appearance. She glided over, a vision of calculated cuteness in a tiny Uchiha-style outfit.
"Good morning, Hokage-sama," she said, her voice a masterclass in feigned awe. "I didn't expect that you would be able to carve time out of your undoubtedly busy schedule to grace us with your presence. It is a profound honor."
She even gave a little bow, the picture of noble deference. It wasn't at the Hyuga level of robotic precision, but for an Uchiha princess, it was a solid A-plus effort.
The effect was immediate. Here was this deadly serious little girl, a five-year-old mogul, trapped in a body that still probably needed help reaching the top shelf of her own bookcases.
The dichotomy was lethal. It melted the hearts of the onlookers like a fire-style jutsu to a snowman. Even the Clone-ruzen felt a surge of unexpected, programmed goodwill. This troublemaker, he thought, she gets it! She understands my hard work!
"It is nothing, little one," the clone boomed with fatherly charm. "In fact, as Hokage, it brings me immense joy to see the Uchiha clan developing in such a... creative direction. Providing wholesome entertainment for the good civilians of Konoha is a noble pursuit indeed!"
His internal monologue, however, was racing: It would be even better if all of them had such abstract, non-combative thinking as this one instead of constantly brooding about battle, assassination, and whose honor was slighted. Why can't they all just open stores? Peaceful, taxable, store-based revenue!
But he kept that part to himself. A leader must be diplomatic.
Besides, he was already fully briefed. The moment Azula started distributing her hand-drawn manga to her classmates, an ANBU report had landed on his desk in front of her father.
After a full, paranoid investigation that likely involved agents hiding in trees to watch a five-year-old draw, they concluded it was, in fact, exactly what it appeared to be: a willful child's expensive hobby.
Hiruzen's respect for the stern Tajima Uchiha had actually dipped a few notches, thinking the mighty patriarch was being utterly henpecked by his daughter. Then he thought of Biwako, his own wife, and sighed.
Perhaps he wasn't one to talk.
Azula, blissfully unaware that the Hokage was a copy and that he pitied her father's lack of domestic control, played her masterstroke.
She reached into a small pouch and produced a meticulously bound little book. "Hokage-sama, your presence is so fortuitous. I have taken the liberty of drafting a foundational charter for the soon-to-be Konoha Tribunal, based on the sacred principles upon which Konoha was founded. I humbly request you give it a glance, to see if there are any areas where its wisdom might be... refined."
This was, of course, complete nonsense.
The Konoha Founding Law was a brilliantly crafted piece of legalistic gibberish designed to do one thing: give the Hokage the absolute right to make suggestions while she retained all actual power.
It was a masterpiece of five-year-old bureaucratic jujitsu, making it look like she was deferring to his ultimate authority while neatly tying his hands behind his back. She was blocking his path to any real changes with the sheer, immovable force of faux respect.
The Clone-ruzen opened his mouth, likely to say something patronizingly approving, when another voice cut through the air, smooth as silk and sharp as a senbon. "Oh, the Law of Konoha? I find myself most intrigued."
It was the lady with red hair. Mito Uzumaki. Before the Hokage's clone could even process the interruption, Mito had plucked the little book directly from Azula's hands, right under his nose. She opened it with an air of casual ownership that brooked no argument.
The Hokage's clone merely stood there, his mouth slightly agape, a faint blush of embarrassment on his cheeks. He looked like a man who had just been pickpocketed by a queen and knew better than to complain.
The real Hiruzen, miles away, probably felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to straighten his posture.
(END OF THE CHAPTER)
Sigh! It's just a little over 2k but I have to stop today because I'm tired but I promise over 3k next time, and thanks for the supports guys.