A few days passed quietly after Madara's return shook the clan.
During that time, Uchiha Makoto packed his belongings. No grand farewells, no loud declarations—just the steady rhythm of a man setting off on a path entirely his own.
That morning, as he left the compound with a simple travel pack slung across his back, a few clan members happened to see him off.
Some waved politely, others merely nodded. None tried to stop him.
Makoto forced a small smile. "This isn't so bad. At least the treatment I receive today… is better than what Uchiha Madara will face in the future."
The words were half-jest, half-truth. A way of consoling himself.
Tucked safely inside his pouch was the money Madara had given him—ten million ryō.
By any measure, it was an incredible sum.
To put it in perspective, according to the future mission system Konoha would establish, the commission for a high-difficulty S-rank mission—tasks requiring an elite jōnin squad and carrying the risk of death—was only about one million ryō.
Madara had essentially handed him the reward for ten S-rank missions.
Makoto had to admit: Madara was generous. Whatever else one might say about him, the man didn't treat him poorly.
For an ordinary shinobi, ten million was enough to live comfortably for life, maybe even start a small mercenary group. For Uchiha Makoto, however, it was merely a beginning.
"Too little," he muttered, lips curling bitterly.
The capital required to establish an entire ninja village wasn't in the millions. It would be in the hundreds of millions.
If he relied solely on completing missions—earning one payout after another—it would take him a lifetime of blood, sweat, and danger. By the time he scraped together the necessary funds, he'd already be an old man, or dead in some ditch.
No. He needed a different approach.
He needed… an investor.
"A sugar daddy," he said under his breath, then corrected himself with mock seriousness. "No, no—a benevolent, public-spirited angel investor."
The idea wasn't original. In fact, Makoto was shamelessly copying the future's "homework."
After all, in the ninja world to come, every hidden village had its own angel investor—a daimyo, a nation's ruler, who provided steady financial support.
Konohagakure would be funded by the Land of Fire.
Sunagakure by the Land of Wind.
Iwagakure by the Land of Earth.
Kumogakure by the Land of Lightning.
Kirigakure by the Land of Water.
Of course, no daimyo gave away money freely. Every "gift of fate" came with invisible chains.
The daimyos funded the ninja villages, and in return, the villages swore loyalty to their feudal lords—guarding their lives, protecting their palaces, and upholding their rule.
It was a mutually beneficial relationship born from fear.
For make no mistake—the daimyos needed ninja.
The nobles of this world had always been cruel, squeezing the common people dry. Where there is oppression, there is resistance. And when starving peasants rose in rebellion, it wasn't the daimyos who fought on the frontlines. It was the ninja, blades in hand, suppressing the desperate masses.
In short, ninja were both weapons and insurance.
Makoto sighed. "I need an angel investor… and not just any investor. I need a big one."
He unrolled the travel-worn map he carried and began considering his options.
---
Eliminating the Weak Options
The Land of Wind?
Makoto snorted. The place was nothing but endless dunes, sandstorms, and a population scattered thinly across barren deserts. A poor nation with poor people. Even if he managed to build a village there, who would they protect? Who would pay them?
"Pass. That rotten wasteland isn't even fit for human survival. One gust of wind and your mouth fills with sand. No thanks."
The Land of Water?
Better. But isolated. Separated from the mainland by vast seas. If he established a hidden village there, it would be cut off from the rest of the world. Logistics, diplomacy, and expansion would all be nightmares.
"Not ideal. Backup option at best."
The Land of Earth?
A strong contender. Mountainous terrain, natural defenses, and plenty of mineral wealth. The daimyo there was known to be stern, pragmatic, and cautious—a good match for an ambitious ninja.
The Land of Lightning?
Also promising. Rugged, militaristic, with a proud warrior culture. Its people valued strength, and the daimyo admired powerful protectors.
But there was one nation that outshone them all.
---
The Jewel of the Continent
Makoto's eyes lingered on the map's center, where bold strokes marked a vast territory.
The Land of Fire.
The richest, most fertile, most populous of all the great nations.
Located in the very heart of the ninja world, its fields produced abundant harvests year after year. Its forests teemed with resources, its towns bustled with trade, and its people were numerous and strong.
If Makoto could secure the support of the Land of Fire's daimyo, it would be perfect.
The only problem… was that history already had plans.
The Senju and the Uchiha would eventually build Konohagakure there.
But Makoto chuckled to himself, folding the map.
"So what? The Land of Fire is vast. Can't it accommodate two hidden villages?"
In fact, if he approached it correctly, it might even be an insult to the daimyo if he didn't offer such an opportunity.
Wouldn't a wise ruler prefer competition, two loyal ninja forces vying to serve him, rather than a single monopoly held by the Senju and Uchiha together?
Yes. The key was in framing.
And Makoto had already decided on the theme of his pitch.
---
The Hashirama Senju Threat Theory
"What is the daimyo most afraid of?" Makoto mused aloud.
The answer was obvious.
"That the ninja become too powerful—and threaten his rule."
For centuries, the daimyos had remained supreme while shinobi clans fought tooth and nail for scraps. The system had endured a thousand years, shaken but never overturned.
But now? Things were changing.
Two men had appeared in this generation whose power dwarfed all others.
Senju Hashirama.
Uchiha Madara.
Their strength was not simply "high-level." It was terrifying. Legendary. They were reincarnations of Asura and Indra, heirs of chakra itself, their might brushing the realm of gods.
Even so, if they were locked in endless battle—as past reincarnations had been—the world could continue as always. The daimyos would simply fund their wars, throw missions their way, and watch from their thrones as Uchiha and Senju destroyed each other.
But fate had shifted.
This time, instead of killing each other, Hashirama and Madara had chosen to set aside their rivalry. They dreamed of a new order. A hidden village. Unity. Peace.
Makoto smirked grimly. "Peace, huh? No wonder the daimyos will lose sleep."
Because to the nobles, peace was the greatest threat.
A single village uniting the two strongest clans? Two gods standing side by side? Such a force could sweep across the continent in a single campaign.
Even if Hashirama, naïve and kindhearted as he was, never intended to overthrow the feudal system… that didn't matter.
In politics, perception was everything.
"It's not about whether you want to rebel," Makoto whispered, recalling an old saying. "It's about whether you can."
He thought of history.
Han Xin, Marquis of Huaiyin, had once been the loyal general who helped found an empire. He never plotted treason. Yet Empress Lü feared him simply because he could rebel. In the end, he was strangled to death, not for what he did, but for what he might have done.
And compared to Han Xin, Hashirama Senju was infinitely more dangerous.
The daimyos had no defenses. If Hashirama one day woke up and decided to reshape the world, no army, no fortress, no wall of gold could stop him.
Makoto sighed, almost apologetically. "Although it feels like persecuting an honest man… sorry, Hashirama. I have to use you."
He set ink to paper, carefully outlining his arguments.
The Senju Hashirama Threat Theory.
A simple, brutal idea: Hashirama's very existence endangered the rule of the daimyos.
And if Makoto played his cards right, it would be his ticket to gaining the daimyo's support—and the funds to build his own hidden village.
---
Makoto set his brush down, staring at the written words.
In them lay both betrayal and ambition.
"Senju Hashirama… forgive me. I really do want to advance."
And with that, he folded the paper and tucked it into his pack.
His path was clear.
The world was about to change—and he intended to be one step ahead of everyone.