All of Uchiha Yorin's schemes had now paid off. The moment Kazahana Dotō stepped into the trap, his death sentence was essentially signed.
"So terrifying… seriously terrifying… good thing this guy isn't our enemy but on our side, or we'd never sleep soundly again."
Watching Yorin so full of momentum and confidence, all the guys present were silently breathing a sigh of relief in their hearts.
Thank goodness he's one of us. If someone this dangerous were an enemy, none of us would get a decent night's sleep.
If anyone had reason to feel their legs go weak with dread, it was Kazahana Sōsetsu.
He kept telling himself, "I don't have to be afraid. I'm also Yorin-sama's man now."
But a collaborator, even a vassal, is not the same as a sworn brother.
For all he knew, Yorin might already be planning how to "deal with him"—tie up loose ends by killing him off.
The thought alone made Sōsetsu's heart sink. He practically wanted to grab Yorin's leg and shout:
"No, please don't! I can't die yet, I still have a daughter to raise!"
But the moment he thought that might remind Yorin to get rid of him, he forced himself to hold back.
That push-and-pull in his expression, that helpless indecision, was almost funny—but also undeniably sad.
This was still a man who had been a head of state.
Then again, stuff like this—things a lot worse than what Sōsetsu was going through—would be happening over and over in the next few years.
Every daimyo, every noble, and every other "big shot" would sooner or later be crushed by Uchiha Yorin. Dotō had merely gotten there ahead of them, and unlike those lords, he'd also had the second identity of being a shinobi.
The other daimyo would write this off as "internal shinobi business," trying to convince themselves it had nothing to do with them.
But they all knew that wasn't really true.
…
In the spring of Konoha Year 52, video tapes of Kazahana Dotō spread to every corner of the world. His reputation plummeted overnight.
Rumors about Dotō circulated everywhere: murdering his brother for the throne, harboring ambitions to dominate the world, eating children and not even spitting out the bones, never washing his hands after using the toilet, kicking in widows' doors, digging up the graves of childless households… and, of course, colluding with the villainous organization Akatsuki.
…
Some of those labels were true, some were false; some crimes were massive, some petty. But for the de facto ruler of a country, only one point was truly fatal:
He had "joined hands with Akatsuki."
You're a daimyo, a noble—and you collude with a group whose stated goal is to overthrow the rule of nobles and daimyo. Are you insane?
From that point on, Dotō's political life was over.
Konoha's army could now kill him openly with a clean conscience—without paying any political price.
That left just one last problem: once the war started, would Dotō run?
There were no omnipresent surveillance cameras in this era, and even if there were, Disguise Jutsu made escape trivial for a high-level shinobi. If Dotō panicked and fled, it wouldn't be easy for Yorin to keep chasing him down.
So—would Dotō run?
"No. Absolutely not. I can die as a ruined daimyo, but I will never be a fleeing daimyo!!"
Deep inside the Snow Country palace, when Orochimaru subtly "suggested" that he could still escape, Dotō flushed red like a monkey whose balls had just been squeezed and shouted:
"I shall lead the army of the Land of Snow and crush the invading enemy!"
"Even so…" Orochimaru thought heh inwardly, but outwardly he wore a worried expression.
"Just Konoha's forces would be hard enough to handle, never mind that this time Konoha has also 'invited' the other four great villages.
This is a super-alliance of all Five Great Hidden Villages. With Yukigakure's strength, trying to oppose that kind of army is… well, frankly, it's pushing your luck."
"If you say it like that…" Dotō's eyes flashed dangerously.
Right now he was dressed in a full formal court robe fit for a daimyo, but it couldn't hide the cords of muscle all over his body.
If some people "put a crown on a monkey," then Kazahana Dotō was "putting a crown on a gorilla."
He might be wearing daimyo finery, but in his bones he was still the same brutal, power-worshipping monster.
Because of that, he quickly came back to his senses instead of roaring, "Then what are we supposed to do?!"
He just grumbled through gritted teeth:
"Aren't you Akatsuki supposed to be so powerful? Didn't you say you were 'capable of anything'?"
"That's where you've made a mistake," Orochimaru replied. "It's because we can't beat Uchiha Yorin that we chose the Land of Snow as a hidden base, hoping to use it as a springboard when we rise again.
And honestly, isn't this mess your fault?
If you'd tightened your control properly over your brother, things wouldn't have gotten to this point."
It had been Orochimaru's operation that smuggled Sōsetsu out, but with a gentle twist, he dropped the blame squarely onto Dotō's shoulders.
Even Dotō himself felt that things had escalated because he'd underestimated his brother. He hadn't taken precautions, and now it was biting him.
"There really isn't any other way?" Dotō asked hoarsely. "Akatsuki's invested so much here, the secret base is already under construction. If you give up now, your losses are just as huge, aren't they?"
"Of course they're huge. But the organization knows how to prioritize," Orochimaru answered. "Compared to money and resources, preserving strength is what matters most.
So we should retreat—for now. When Akatsuki rises again, what's yours will still be yours."
He kept laying it on thick, putting on an almost earnest tone. Anyone who didn't know better might really think he was worried about Dotō's wellbeing.
"I'm not going anywhere."
After a fierce inner struggle, Dotō's expression finally settled. "I'm staying right here. Because I am the Daimyo of the Land of Snow."
"…"
Looking at this man who had clearly steeled himself to go down with the ship, Orochimaru's eyes grew complicated, tinged with a bit of incomprehension.
To him, only by living do you retain any possibilities.
No matter how talented, how gifted, how remarkable you are—if you die, it's all over.
"Well then… farewell, Kazahana Dotō. Daimyo."
With that, Orochimaru vanished with a Shunshin, along with all the "Akatsuki" nin—who were, in fact, Shinobi Sect members wearing Akatsuki's skin.
Only Dotō's personal confidants, the Yukigakure ninja, were left.
They glanced at each other, then looked at Dotō with pleading eyes.
"Dotō-sama…"
"If you want to leave, then leave," Dotō said in a low voice.
"Go. Leave this place, and never come back."
After he said that, the Yukigakure ninja stared for a moment, then finally, a few stepped forward, gritted their teeth, bowed deeply to Dotō, and turned to leave…
And Dotō really didn't react at all.
Seeing that, more snow shinobi chose to depart—one, two, three, ten, dozens.
At first, those who stayed behind shouted after them:
"You cowards! Where is your pride?! Do you call yourselves ninja?!"
But as time passed and more comrades slipped away, the shouting died down.
In the end, even the ones who'd just been condemning others bit their lips and ran. Some didn't even bother to bow or say farewell to Dotō as they slipped away—worse than those who had left earlier. It was almost darkly funny.
"…Heh heh… heh heh heh ha ha ha ha…" Dotō suddenly laughed. "You lot aren't leaving?"
A handful of Yukigakure ninja still stood before him.
He looked at them and asked.
"We swore to live and die with you," one of them said. "If you flee, we'll protect you. If you resolve to die in battle, we'll follow you all the way to hell."
"Heh heh heh… heh heh heh ha ha ha!" Dotō laughed loudly. "Good. Very good. For a man to have a few loyal retainers at the end of his life—he hasn't lived in vain!
Come, then. Let's live and die together—and let them see the spirit of the Land of Snow!!"
As he shouted those last words, Dotō stood tall, chest out, fully restored to his old swagger…
And the next day, he woke up tied up like a rice dumpling, layers of sealing tags slapped on him so he couldn't move a muscle or muster an ounce of chakra.
When he looked up, he saw those same "loyal" subordinates from yesterday standing around Uchiha Yorin, faces full of obsequious smiles.
"Yorin-sama, we've captured Kazahana Dotō for you!" they said.
"WHAT?! You traitors!!"
Dotō finally exploded. They'd betrayed him—them—after he had such trust in them?!
At first, the Yukigakure ninja looked a bit embarrassed, but they quickly recovered.
The one with the best tongue stepped forward and said:
"Why did you think you had such charisma and prestige that we'd gladly die for you?
What have you ever done for us?
Did you train us? Offer us help? Save our lives? Give us any real benefits?
You didn't do any of that.
Meanwhile, Yorin-sama gives the Konoha ninja insurance, leads them into battle and wins glory. He shares the techniques and secret jutsu he's taken. Konoha ninja enjoy incredible benefits—injuries, disability, even death are covered by generous compensation. During holidays they get bonuses and gifts.
That's the kind of man worth following. He treats people as his own, not as disposable tools.
You treated us like tools, so we treated you like a tool. Seems fair, doesn't it, Kazahana Dotō?"
Dotō was speechless. He was still furious, but he had no convincing counterargument.
All he could do was lower his voice and glare at Yorin:
"If they can betray me today, they can betray you tomorrow!"
"Such a tired line," Yorin sighed. "You say that like I'm as weak as you are. …Take him away."
To Yorin, Dotō had never been anything but a tool—a piece of disposable equipment.
Now he was ready to wring out the last bit of value and toss him aside like a rag.
And just like that, Kazahana Dotō's "reign" was over.
From the moment he launched his coup to the moment Yorin led the army, crushed him, and "restored order," the entire affair took only thirteen days.
Later historians would call it the "Thirteen-Day Kingdom," using it to mock Dotō as a clownish would-be king.
As for how things really happened… by then, nobody cared anymore.