In the early spring of Konoha Year 53, when the snow had yet to fully melt, a shocking piece of news arrived from the Land of Snow.
The Daimyo's own younger brother—commander of Yukigakure, Kazahana Dotō—had launched a spectacular coup against him.
When Dotō led the Snow ninja corps and a bunch of mercenaries of unknown origin into the Snow Country's capital, the daimyo Kazahana Sōsetsu was still completely in the dark.
The few banner samurai serving under him were no match for the rebels to begin with—and on top of that, the defenses of the daimyo's palace had long since been compromised.
The Yukigakure ninja assigned to the daimyo as "guardian shinobi" were all actually Dotō's people. When Dotō gave the order, they betrayed Kazahana Sōsetsu without hesitation and chose their real master…
Of course, that didn't mean Sōsetsu had no loyalists.
Even in the original timeline, more than ten years later when Sōsetsu was already dead and his daughter Koyuki had taken the throne, there were still enough faithful retainers to fill several vans who were willing to die for her. All the more so now.
Tradition and the idea of legitimate rule ran deep. And Sōsetsu himself was no incompetent fool.
In Dotō's eyes, Sōsetsu was just a useless big brother, a weak, sickly loser who got lucky and was born first.
But in reality, Sōsetsu's mind and compassion made him extremely capable in civil governance and winning hearts.
Even in a place as harsh and unforgiving as the Land of Snow, he'd somehow managed to produce high-tech wonders like a climate control device and geothermal absorption machinery.
If not for Dotō's military coup, and if Sōsetsu's rule had continued, the Snow Country's economy was on the verge of a huge leap forward.
The snow melted by geothermal power would become rivers, lakes, and vast stretches of arable land, turning the Land of Snow from a bitter, barren wasteland into something close to a hidden paradise…
Of course, if that prosperity attracted external predators and triggered an invasion, that would be a different story.
At times like that, you'd expect Dotō to step up—lead Yukigakure in defending Snow's borders.
The two brothers, one civil and one martial, governing Snow together… it could have become the stuff of legend.
But sadly, in the face of human desire, "brotherhood" isn't even worth fifty cents.
As his brother slowly approached him, Sōsetsu asked, voice shaking:
"Brother… what are you trying to do?"
The answer was the ring of steel and Dotō's twisted, excited expression as he spoke that timeless truth:
"To inherit your throne… brother."
Frostmourne fell. The crown rolled across the floor with a clatter, dented by the icy stone steps, then was casually picked up by Dotō and placed on his own head.
His attitude was utterly nonchalant, as if he were putting on a hat with no special meaning at all, not the symbol of the Snow Country's royal authority.
"This…"
"…is only the beginning."
Sitting atop the frozen throne, fully cosplaying Arthas, Kazahana Dotō said those words.
Then came his Snow ninja, eyes burning with fanaticism, dropping to one knee under their jōnin's command and shouting:
"Salute the new king!!"
As one, they kneeled and cried, "You are the new Daimyo of the Land of Snow!!"
Unlike the Yukigakure shinobi, the mercenaries—wearing no badges or insignia—looked at one another, then gave a somewhat reluctant bow. That was about as far as their "respect" went.
"Well then," the pale-skinned woman in slinky clothes standing to the side smiled, "are you satisfied now?"
"Quite the opposite."
"I just feel hungrier."
…
"Okay—cut!"
Seeing the whole sequence go through perfectly in one take, director Uchiha Yorin nodded in satisfaction.
"This is a great opening for the Legend of Kazahana Dotō. Next, make ten million copies of that tape. I want the whole world to see the heroic visage of Snow's new daimyo."
As soon as he finished, "Dotō", "Orochimaru", and the "dead" Kazahana Sōsetsu all dispelled their Transformation Jutsu.
As you'd expect, they were just Yorin's buddies: Minato, Shisui, and the others. For ninja, disguise and acting are everyday skills; even professional actors couldn't do better. It looked completely real…
No—once Yorin runs off ten million copies and broadcasts them everywhere, even if it wasn't real, it'll become real.
Hearing Yorin say that, the bros all looked at each other with complicated expressions, not quite sure how to evaluate what they were doing.
All in all, we're… doing a good thing, right?
We're helping the rightful daimyo and condemning his treacherous younger brother… right?
Sure, the plot's had a bit of artistic embellishment, but rounded up, it's basically correct most of the time… right?
"Yes, that's right. It's completely correct!"
Just as everyone was wavering, a voice full of fury cut in.
It belonged to Kazahana Sōsetsu—the "corpse" lying on the floor just now.
He hadn't actually died. In Yorin's script he perished, but in reality he'd been pulled out by Konoha's people and rescued.
Sōsetsu was a smart man. When he realized the ones saving him were Konoha shinobi, he immediately guessed a few things.
But he didn't shout, "So the plot to overthrow Snow was orchestrated by Konoha from the shadows?!" or some other embarrassing line.
Instead, he rapidly sized up the situation, then—ignoring the dignity of his station and the huge gap in status between a daimyo and a shinobi—grabbed hold of Yorin's leg and bawled:
"Yorin-sama, you must uphold justice for the Land of Snow!"
And yes, he literally grabbed the man's thigh—because he was kneeling.
To bend and stretch is the mark of a real man; to read the winds and currents is the mark of a smart one.
Yorin quickly judged him: this guy's worth helping. Not a wasted rescue.
Dealing with clever people is always easier. Of course, Yorin also hoped Sōsetsu would stay sensible.
In the future, maybe don't be a daimyo—a job with a very short life expectancy—and go be a scientist instead, a career with much better prospects.
…
That was the truth of it: Kazahana Dotō's coup had "succeeded", but not completely. Konoha had quietly extracted Sōsetsu and his daughter, Koyuki, and brought them to Konoha.
That gave Konoha a strong legal claim on the Land of Snow—a casus belli to intervene, "set things right", overthrow Dotō and extend its influence into the country.
Granted, it would actually have been more advantageous for Konoha to let Dotō kill Sōsetsu and only save his daughter—the way it went in the original timeline.
A minor girl sitting on the throne is basically a neon sign flashing Puppet Ruler; Konoha could have siphoned far more benefits out of Snow that way.
But that's only in theory.
Precisely because they could grab that much, they shouldn't. After the end of the Fourth Shinobi War, Konoha had already expanded too far, too fast. The Five Daimyo were on high alert about all Konoha's moves, and even Konoha's own allies—the other four Great Villages and the smaller hidden villages—were getting nervous.
If they pushed it too far, maybe the ring wouldn't close around Konoha entirely—but Konoha's diplomatic environment would seriously deteriorate, which would be very bad for Yorin's long-term plan to unify the world.
So rescuing Sōsetsu was the better option.
Of course, if Sōsetsu refused to read the room and insisted on talking too much truth, Yorin had ways of handling that.
The ICU at Konoha Hospital still had a Kokujō Yagura lying in it.
If Sōsetsu pissed him off, putting him into a permanent-genjutsu vegetative state wouldn't be that hard.
Rain Country already had one daimyo under Yorin's mental leash; one more Sōsetsu wouldn't make much difference.
…
Still, getting Sōsetsu to cooperate didn't change the fact that Konoha's planned military action needed to be done "right".
Yorin needed two things.
First was to completely destroy Dotō's reputation, turn him into a kind of "Northrend Arthas" of the shinobi world.
For all the world's daimyo, fratricide-deposition is an absolute taboo among taboos.
Sure, back in the Warring States, ritual and law had collapsed—fathers killed sons, sons killed fathers, eldest brothers killed youngest brothers and vice versa. If Dotō just kept his head down and didn't blow it up, people might slowly stop paying attention to whatever happened in some frozen backwater like Snow.
But what if, at that moment, some extremely rich, extremely "just" guy took that story, turned the fratricide up to eleven, added artistic flair, then pressed ten million copies and distributed them worldwide?
Dotō's reputation would plummet like a rock, down to the level of, say, your average South Asian netizen.
The daimyo might personally think "what Dotō did isn't that big a deal," but under the pressure of public opinion—and their own interests—they'd all have to shout in unison that he was a beast, a monster, a bastard and a parasite.
And would that alone be enough?
Of course not.
But that was all right—Yorin had another secret weapon.
Its name was Akatsuki.
Because Akatsuki wanted to slaughter every last daimyo and noble, they were at the very top of the daimyo's blacklist.
These days, plenty of mercenaries, missing-nin, and assorted underworld types claimed to be part of Akatsuki, but wearing the brand and actually being in the organization were two different things.
Once it was confirmed that Dotō really was collaborating with Akatsuki, then—even knowing that attacking him would inevitably expand Konoha's influence—the daimyo would still pinch their noses and agree that Dotō had to go.
~~~
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