Deep within the night, inside the sprawling mansion of the Fire Country Daimyo, the lord bolted upright with a choked gasp. Sweat plastered his night-robe to his back. His heart pounded like an enemy drum.
A nightmare clung to him like a curse.
The split Land of Lightning.
The Uchiha and Senju—two ancient titans—gathering momentum in Konoha.
The way history whispered warnings into the ears of rulers too slow to listen.
He wiped his brow and swung his legs over the bed, muttering as he nudged aside a sleeping concubine. The polished wooden hall reflected cold moonlight, its pale beams slicing across the gardens outside.
He paced.
The daimyo both loathed and depended on Konoha.
Without the village, his borders would crumble.
Without Konoha's shinobi, even his grand agricultural riches were defenseless.
But Konoha had grown frighteningly independent.
The old days—when rival clans could simply be hired to kill one another—had vanished with Hashirama's dream of village unification. Now ninja villages were domains unto themselves, and feudal lords lived in the shadow of their military might.
(We must not behave like that blundering fool in the Land of Lightning…)
That daimyo had angered his shinobi so badly that now the entire country was cleaved into North Cloud and South Cloud, each ruled by dangerous men with tailed-beast power.
The Fire Daimyo shuddered.
(If Konoha ever splits—Uchiha on one side, Senju on the other—my own palace walls won't save me.)
He pictured Uchiha blades cutting through noble retainers like grass.
He resolved to act.
He would strengthen his own household guard.
He would revise militia training.
He would keep tighter surveillance on ronin and ex-soldiers wandering the countryside.
Modern weapons and temple monks offered no true defense against shinobi. But he could at least pretend dignity.
Then a brighter idea struck him.
Uchiha Soren.
The prodigy who awakened the Mangekyō Sharingan.
The newly acknowledged Uchiha Young Lord.
Unmarried.
By dawn, the daimyo had formulated a plan.
He would send his heir to Konoha at the head of a diplomatic mission.
And with them—his most graceful, most flawless daughter.
Even better: he would formally propose that Senju Tsunade be adopted as his foster daughter. A political link to the Senju would shield his house from any potential upheaval.
(If we become relatives, negotiation replaces bloodshed. That is the way of rulers.)
He smiled bitterly to the moon.
"The Hokage may hold the sword, but I hold the purse. Let's see how loudly democracy speaks when its rice bowl is empty."
He returned to sleep—at least this time warmed by his own cunning.
At first light, Uzumaki Mito—regal in white kimono—ascended the steps to the Hokage office. After a night of contemplation, she released a proclamation that rippled across the entire village:
"Due to the death of Second Hokage Tobirama Senju, Konoha shall hold a public election for the Third Hokage in seven days."
A shockwave tore through the clans.
Inside the Uchiha compound, Uchiha Soren sat with Uchiha Shikata, Uchiha Kaken, and Uchiha Shihō. Soren calmly chewed a steamed bun as the broadcast rang through the hall.
"They're staging a public election to keep us out," Soren said at last, wiping his fingers. "The Senju want to use popularity as a shield."
"Popularity does not slit throats," Kaken replied dryly. "Strength does."
Shihō—always the moderating presence—cleared his throat.
"If the election is unfavorable, we have precedents. The southern Cloud schism proved that… political improvisation is possible."
Hardliner Shikata slammed the low table.
"If the vote is rigged, we'll simply take the seat! Enough of pretending."
His voice had the confidence of a man whose clan had once shaken the shinobi world.
The elders exchanged glances. Everyone understood the danger:
A civil war could rip Konoha apart.
But with Soren in their midst, the Uchiha's confidence surged higher than it had in decades.
"We'll move," Shihō concluded. "If diplomacy and money fail… other paths remain."
Soren smiled—slow, cold, certain—and reached into his robe.
From it, he unfolded a beautifully detailed parchment.
His "Paradise Map."
A map of ambition, alliances, and actions.
He spread it across the tatami floor.
The four Uchiha elders leaned close, their shadows joining across the ink.
Their voices dropped to a whisper—plans already taking shape like kunai drawn in the dark.
The first stroke toward the Hokage seat had begun.
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