Faced with such an enthusiastic Daimyō, what could Yorin even say?
All he could do was put on an awkward-but-polite smile and stay quiet for the moment.
Was he tempted? A tiny bit, sure. But not really.
If this had been right after he first transmigrated, and the Daimyō had put this kind of price on the table to buy him over, maybe Yorin might have considered it.
But now it was already Year 52 of Konoha—about to be 53. He was on the verge of building a Shinobi Empire, and now the Daimyō wanted to "recruit" him? That was… more than a little late.
Of course, to be fair, when he first arrived in this world he didn't have that much value to "united front" with either, so this offer probably wouldn't have existed back then anyway.
…
The Daimyō had thrown out the biggest card he had. Tragically, even so, Uchiha Yorin wasn't moved.
He hadn't refused yet purely for face. If he shot the Daimyō down outright, that really would've been too brutal.
…
The Daimyō stared at him, eyes shining, hoping to see even the slightest sign of wavering in Yorin's gaze.
Even the tiniest hint of interest, and he could keep raising the stakes until Yorin caved.
Unfortunately, the Daimyō of Fire was disappointed.
In Uchiha Yorin's eyes, there was only coldness and refusal.
That hurt. Yorin had already done his best to spare his pride, but it still pierced through the Daimyō's fragile self-esteem.
Thankfully, things hadn't yet gone completely off the rails.
Because the moment the Daimyō played his trump card—honestly something like pulling an SSR out of thin air—not only did Yorin not react, the other officials present couldn't sit still anymore.
The hell are you even saying?!
Sure, back in the Warring States era, taking a son-in-law heir wasn't unheard of. But now, in the era of a fully-formed superpower, how could you casually talk about handing the throne to someone of another bloodline?
And even if you could hand it to another bloodline, the real issue was that Uchiha Yorin was an outsider. He had no real ties to the aristocracy of Fire. Why would the noble families ever trust him to protect their interests?
Had the Daimyō overdosed on something? How did he jump straight to that idea?
They'd agreed beforehand to offer Yorin a noble title—that was the agreed starting point. And if he didn't like it, then they'd throw in some more perks.
These nobles were like impatient, short-sighted businessmen: they wanted a good outcome, but didn't want to invest too much to get it.
The old "Seika" clans insisted they couldn't give him that level of house rank; the Five Regents families felt the same. Even the mid-tier court nobles were reluctant.
In their ideal scenario, Yorin was to become part of the warrior class—lower on the social ladder than the noble court clans.
Functionally, the ruling class of the Fire Country had already merged; the old distinction between "court nobles" and "warrior nobles" was theoretical more than anything.
But nobility is all about ranking people into first, second, third class.
In the age when warriors held supreme martial power, their noble grade was naturally higher. But now? Their era had passed. In this "unified noble" structure, warriors had become the lowest tier among nobles. Whether you were once a great warlord or a no-name grunt, you ranked lower than the court nobles. You were their minions, retainers, gofers.
The nobles of Fire wanted Uchiha Yorin to fill exactly that role—and had the gall to call it "a gracious reward."
Honestly, if the Daimyō hadn't blurted out that adoptive-son gambit first, and if they had really tried to "buy him" with nothing more than a warrior title, Yorin might have flown into a rage, popped his Sharingan, and slaughtered the entire hall on the spot.
Of course, that didn't happen.
"I'm very sorry… but I must refuse," Uchiha Yorin finally said, after a few seconds of silence to show the proper amount of "respect."
That answer left the Daimyō stunned—and furious.
"Why?!"
"All this wealth, status, and power are within your grasp. Why refuse to become one of us? Why not join our ranks? Uchiha—don't tell me that treasonous man has infected your mind too. Are you planning to build one of those 'Shinobi Empires' as well?!"
"It's not like that," Yorin replied calmly.
He said "I'm fearful, I'm humbled," but his face showed no fear, no unease, nothing of the sort.
His explanation was simple: "Because, Your Grace, I'm already engaged. My fiancée is Senju Tsunade. That's something you should already know."
"Ah… that…"
Of course he knew. When Yorin and Tsunade got engaged, the Daimyō's court had sent a delegation with gifts and congratulations.
People liked to forget, but Tsunade was a real princess—the Daimyō's cousin, just a branch of the Senju line.
"True, true… but…"
The Daimyō suddenly realized this would mean openly offending the Senju clan—at least the remnants of them.
In the ninja world, the Senju name had faded. But as a noble lineage in Fire, the Senju still existed in decent numbers and still had influence.
Most of those nobles had drifted away from Konoha and no longer felt much loyalty to it. But to the name "Senju", they were still very attached—being nobles and all.
On top of that, their attitude toward Tsunade herself was complicated. On the one hand, they looked down on a "poor ninja cousin." On the other, her bloodline was the purest of the main Senju line. They were the branch families.
So they maintained a grudging respect for her. In most things that didn't mean much—but when it came to marriage and who had the right to "claim" her fiancé, this was serious. Even the Daimyō couldn't trample that line lightly.
Well… not usually. If the man in question hadn't been Uchiha Yorin, they might have made an exception.
But Yorin was simply too dangerous—too strong for the Daimyō to act as he pleased.
If the Daimyō didn't rein himself in, he'd blow any chance of alliance. If he did rein himself in, he couldn't get that alliance in the first place.
That's what you call a one-track mind ramming itself into a dead end.
The nobles around him all felt the awkwardness. Some even started to suspect they'd just insulted Uchiha by overreaching like this. Several of them privately regretted letting the Daimyō make his offer in public at all.
Maybe Yorin only refused because he didn't want to publicly humiliate them.
Thinking that, the Daimyō actually felt a bit better.
Then another thought hit him.
If all that "I'm engaged" stuff was just an excuse…
In truth, that possibility felt pretty strong.
After all, if Uchiha Yorin really wanted something, would a handful of nobles' disapproval ever stop him?
If he were the type to hesitate over their feelings, he'd never have accomplished what he already had.
Once that thought crystallized, the Daimyō came to a single, stark conclusion:
Uchiha Yorin had played him.
No matter how huge the bait, Yorin wasn't biting. That could only mean one thing:
He really did share the same ambition as Akatsuki's Lin'yō—he really did intend to topple the current order and build a Shinobi Empire.
At that realization, the Daimyō felt a chill run through him.
Only Yorin could counter Lin'yō. If those two ever worked together… the NBA wouldn't be the only league looking at a final season.
With that in mind, he suddenly realized he couldn't think straight anymore. He quickly acted drunk, and his ever-perceptive attendants jumped in:
"Ah, His Grace has had too much to drink!"
"Is that so?"
"The Daimyō is drunk—please help him back to rest."
With that excuse, everyone relaxed. They finally had a socially acceptable way to end this train wreck.
Some nobles breathed a sigh of relief. Others shot Uchiha looks of reproach, silently blaming him for this mess. But with the Daimyō "drunk," the offer of adoption and inheritance was quietly filed away as drunken nonsense.
They bustled the Daimyō out in a flurry of sleeves and attendants and left Yorin aside.
Yorin returned calmly to his seat, sipping his sake as he watched the scene devolve into a comedic farce. From this, he confirmed one thing clearly:
The Daimyō of Fire was not as stupid and useless as the rumors suggested.
From his standpoint, this was almost the optimal move.
If Yorin had wavered even a little—if he'd said, "Let me think about it"—the Daimyō would have doubled down, convinced he could eventually reel him in.
But Yorin never gave him that opening.
Given that, the Daimyō's mind was made up.
Back in the inner palace, once the drunk act dropped, his expression turned cold and dark.
They were never going to be friends.
From here on out, they could only be enemies.