"Then it's decided.
"I'll cooperate with your plan. When do you intend to start?"
The Daimyō grinned; he could hardly wait to begin the tulip scheme.
Once a man's bottom line is breached, he slides straight down the moral sinkhole. In any case, the ones who end up bankrupt won't be me.
"We can start anytime. Everything was prepared before meeting you."
"Your Highness, we're going to make a great deal of money this time. Afterward, fifty percent of the profits will be delivered to the account you've prepared."
"Fifty percent?"
The Daimyō frowned, wondering if he'd misheard.
Fifty percent?
Do you shinobi even understand the rules our Land of Fire gentry use when raking in money?
My stake is returned in full, and the remainder we split thirty–seventy—with me taking seventy.
And for that thirty, you'd still have to kneel to get it.
"Your Highness, it is fifty."
"Lord Makoto specifically stressed that although Your Highness will do comparatively little and earn a great sum while sitting in the palace, that must not reduce your dividend. Thirty percent or forty won't do; it has to be fifty–fifty to show Lord Makoto's sincerity about long-term cooperation with you."
"And he emphasized something else. All profits from this time will be invested in building the village. Only a strong village can guard the Land of Fire and protect the Daimyō."
"Can't Your Highness see Lord Makoto's sincerity?"
Kazuma blinked innocently.
He knew perfectly well what the Daimyō meant and the gentry's rules, but Uchiha Makoto had instructed him: fifty percent is the hard floor; not a percent less.
Given Akatsuki's current weakness, he could only play dumb—and apply a quiet bit of pressure.
For that reason, he deliberately underlined Uchiha Makoto's sincerity in cooperation.
The measure was just right, not enough to cost either side face.
Summing up: Daimyō, building a village takes a lot of money; it's only natural if we eat while we work, so to speak.
I'm not asking for your money; I'm using your money to handle your business. You don't want Hashirama Senju dominating the Land of Fire, do you?
The Daimyō's face darkened; he understood the subtext—if he wanted to keep working together, this split had to be fifty–fifty.
The demon-whisper of the Hashirama-threat echoed in his heart again.
If Hashirama couldn't be checked, if their village became the sole dominator of the Land of Fire and advanced further, the consequences would be incalculable.
"Your Highness, no need to agonize. Lord Makoto is firm: a fifty–fifty split—not a percent less for you."
Watching the Daimyō's shifting expression, Kazuma added another line. Both of them knew what that really meant.
"Then I will accept Uchiha Makoto's sincerity."
In the end, bolstered by the Hashirama-threat, the Daimyō forced himself to accept the split. Shinobi, one and all, are disloyal.
Kazuma nodded, exhaling silently. He had worried about what to do if the Daimyō refused. Fortunately, everything proceeded smoothly. Hashirama really is useful.
"I have matters to attend to; I'll go. I won't keep you for a meal."
Though he had reluctantly agreed to the terms, the Daimyō still had a fire in his chest; his mood was foul and needed venting. As for a meal—Akatsuki had just swallowed two extra tenths from him, an astronomical sum, and they still expected him to host them?
Not a chance.
Kazuma watched the panting Daimyō leave without a hint of displeasure. He was the Daimyō, after all; a temper was normal.
The next day, the tulip-bubble operation officially began.
Though displeased with Makoto's voracious take, the Daimyō opened every green light, supplying both money and manpower.
Makoto had planned to divert some village-building funds to buy tulips, but with the Daimyō's support, the bottom-fishing capital became plentiful. The Daimyō was a proper man after all.
Over the next few days, Kazuma, flush with cash, began buying tulips across the Land of Fire.
Though still relatively cheap, tulips weren't something commoners could afford; supply on the market was very limited.
A flood of money could easily spike prices.
To avoid trouble and tipping people off, the process had to be fast. For days Kazuma led a team, running with shadow clones across the Land of Fire and neighboring countries, eating wind and sleeping dew. When tired they curled up in trees; when hungry they chewed soldier pills, buying tulips without pause.
They had to accumulate enough tulips before the market reacted and prices soared.
The details were grueling. In this era, shinobi traveled on two feet.
A few soldier pills down—bad taste, but effective. They could run all night.
Shinobi were miniature supermen. The world was vast, but shinobi moved fast.
During the First Shinobi World War, the Second Mizukage of Kirigakure led a forced march, skirting most of the Land of Fire in a short time, weaving through several small countries, and in a lightning strike raided Iwagakure—ultimately perishing together with the Second Tsuchikage.
A glance at the map shows how absurd such a route was, yet shinobi legs could work miracles.
"At last… we've stockpiled enough."
Kazuma felt hollowed out, relief on his face as he looked at warehouses full of tulips.
Heaven be merciful. The world was vast, but shinobi were fast, and with shadow clones—and with limited communications in this era—they had exploited a perfect timing gap. Few realized someone was hoarding tulip spot goods.
Prices had risen with the buying, but only a bit more than double, nearly twice—small potatoes compared to the frenzy to come.
"Darkness, inform the Daimyō and prepare the next phase."
Kazuma spoke. Next, the Daimyō would step onstage and make tulips resound through every noble circle.
As for signing contracts with the growers, that could wait—if he kept working day and night, Kazuma felt he might drop dead.
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