After leaving his office, Mū had no intention of resting.
He was nearly thirty years old now.
How could he possibly sleep peacefully at a time like this?
His raw strength may have already reached its ceiling, but that didn't mean he couldn't grow sharper. If his power could not advance, then his arsenal of ninjutsu would. Even after a full day of work and exhaustion, he pushed himself toward further training.
Behind Iwagakure, hidden deep within the mountains, lay a secluded cavern.
Hands flashing rapidly through seals, Mū slammed a palm against the earth. The rocky walls trembled before a concealed doorway rumbled open.
Stepping inside, Mū entered his true sanctuary.
A secret chamber filled with scrolls, notes, and fragments of experiments... his personal laboratory.
Years ago, it was within this very cave that he had nurtured and perfected his proudest creation.
Dust Release.
He ran a bandaged hand across the scrolls.
"It really is true."
"The Second generation in every village were inventors of genius."
He recalled the fragments of memory he carried.
The Second Kazekage, Shamon, puppetry and sand manipulation.
The Second Raikage, creator of the Lightning Chakra Cloak.
The Second Hokage, Tobirama Senju, an endless arsenal of forbidden techniques.
And even that rascal Gengetsu, fusing genjutsu and Water Release into terrifying combinations.
And himself, Mū, the creator of Dust Release.
He placed some of the wood Hashirama had produced into a sealed vessel.
"With my ability alone, I can't yet research Hashirama's cells. That will have to wait."
He exhaled quietly, then turned back to theorycrafting.
One memory in particular stirred.
There was a technique. A deceptively simple jutsu, yet frighteningly effective.
A jutsu used by a boy of the future named Naruto.
The Rasengan.
"I should be able to recreate it."
Mū smirked. Chakra control was his specialty. He had created Dust Release, something far more complex than a spinning ball of chakra.
It was child's play for him.
"Minato Namikaze invented it, basing it on the Tailed Beast Bomb… yes. I know the principle. I know the process."
With his mastery, learning the technique was inevitable.
Hours later, success.
A ball of swirling energy bloomed in his palm, the Rasengan.
"Not difficult. Next… let's add nature transformation."
Concentrating, he infused the orb with Wind Release.
The Rasengan glowed green, the edges razor-sharp.
Within a handful of tries, Mū had formed the Wind Release: Rasengan.
"Good. If I push it further with shape transformation…"
The orb stretched, fracturing into bladed edges, a miniature Rasenshuriken.
Mū's eyes gleamed with pride.
"So this is it. The next step… Sage Mode."
With Senjutsu, even the Rasenshuriken could be hurled, exploding on impact in devastating force.
"Too bad I don't know Sage Arts…"
He let the chakra sphere fade, a faint smile beneath the bandages.
A faint shadow flickered in Mū's eyes. He did not know Sage Arts.
If he had, his talent would surely have allowed him to step past his current threshold. Even his Dust Release might have reached another level entirely.
But such thoughts were nothing more than wishful fantasies.
He had no sage inheritance, no sacred contract with the great toads, snakes, or slugs. He didn't even possess a proper summoning beast.
Gengetsu at least had his clams.
Mū had nothing, his so-called "rock giant" was merely ninjutsu.
"…Could I create Sage Arts on my own?"
The thought came, then was discarded just as quickly.
Impossible. If he had that kind of ability, he wouldn't need the shinobi system at all. He could establish an entirely new path.
Having finished mastering the Rasengan, he shifted his focus to something more practical.
Tobirama Senju's newly created technique, the Shadow Clone Jutsu.
One seal.
That was all it required.
When Mū finally succeeded, however, disappointment clouded his expression.
Compared to his own Split Body Technique, shadow clones felt redundant.
"Forget it. Bite off more than you can chew, and you choke."
Stretching out on the narrow cot in his laboratory, he closed his eyes and drifted into deep sleep.
When he woke again, it was already midday.
Flying swiftly to the Tsuchikage's tower, he found the officials of Iwagakure gathered, clearly waiting for him in unease.
"What's the matter?" Mū asked, settling into the Tsuchikage's seat.
"Lord Mū," one official stepped forward, bowing respectfully, "we've reviewed your proposals. They are excellent, perfect, even. But… the problem is manpower."
The man's voice grew strained.
"The academy requires teachers, the Anbu needs members, the village itself must be maintained, and shinobi must still take missions to generate revenue. We simply don't have enough people."
Mū frowned, reflecting quietly.
They were right. Iwagakure was still in its infancy, desperately short on hands. His plans had leapt ahead too far.
Konoha had succeeded quickly because of sheer population and prime geography, open for commerce from every side.
"…Then we'll prioritize commerce first."
His tone grew decisive.
"Construct two merchant streets. I'll visit the Daimyō and secure investment. If we can draw industries here, the rest will follow."
The officials nodded eagerly.
"As for manpower… this afternoon I'll speak with Lord Ishikawa about loosening immigration. There are still wandering clans across the lands. If we shelter them, Iwagakure may grow."
The council bowed their heads, satisfied with the plan.
Later, Mū visited Ishikawa, the aged Tsuchikage.
"I'm too old now," Ishikawa chuckled.
"This village will soon be yours in name as well as deed. Handle things as you see fit. You don't need my approval."
The meaning was clear. Though Mū did not yet wear the title, in practice he already held the power of Tsuchikage.
That afternoon, leaving a split body behind to manage affairs, Mū took flight.
His true self journeyed to the capital of the Land of Earth, the Daimyō's palace. It loomed like a fortress, its vast halls heavy with wealth and authority.
Led by servants, Mū passed beneath vermilion gates, along winding corridors, and into the rear gardens.
There, across a pond, stood a refined pavilion. Its carved railings and pillars displayed exquisite craftsmanship.
At the water's edge, another smaller hut rested quietly, its thatched roof humble yet dignified.
And there, seated with all the weight of indulgence, was the Daimyō of the Land of Earth. A mountain of flesh draped in a sky-blue ceremonial robe, wide sleeves billowing as if he floated upon clouds.
Upon his head, a tall black court hat glittered with embedded gems.
In one hand, a fishing rod; in the other, a folding fan.
He lounged, fishing with lazy ease, fanning himself as if the affairs of the world were but a summer breeze.