The formal call for debate did not open a floodgate of chaotic argument, but rather triggered a meticulously choreographed sequence of political warfare.
One by one, clan heads and representatives rose from their seats, their voices calibrated to carry through the vast hall. What ensued was not a discussion, but a series of targeted volleys, each faction manoeuvring to elevate their champion while surgically undermining the others.
For Minato, the praises were hymns to a growing legend. The Senju clan head stated, "Analysis of mission survivability rates shows a quantifiable increase of forty-two per cent in units where Namikaze Minato was present, even in an advisory capacity. His presence is not merely supportive; it is a strategic multiplier."
The Sarutobi contingent added, "Jōnin, from the most grizzled veteran to the newest promotion, report an instinctive willingness to follow his commands. There is no hesitation, no second-guessing. In the heat of combat, this seamless trust saves more lives than any single technique."
A jōnin representative, a scarred man with one eye, stood and said with blunt reverence, "He makes the perfect decision under impossible pressure. Not the best decision—the perfect one.
At the Battle of the Red Gorge, his order to abandon a defensible position seemed like madness until the enemy's containment seal activated exactly where we had been. He doesn't just fight the enemy; he fights the future they're trying to create, and wins."
Another added, "His name alone—'Konoha's Yellow Flash'—now has a flee-on-sight order in two major villages' tactical manuals. He is a deterrent in human form."
But for every paean, there came a precisely aimed critique.
The Hyūga clan head, Hiashi's voice cold and logical, countered, "A deterrent is only effective if it can be everywhere. Namikaze's successes are predicated on his unparalleled personal mobility. He wins battles because he is Minato, not because he has built a system that can win without him. This centralisation of success is a profound strategic vulnerability."
An elder from the strategic logistics division rose, adjusting his glasses. "There is no record of Namikaze-san ever managing a prolonged, multi-theatre campaign. His brilliance is in lightning strikes and decisive interventions. The Jonin Commander's role, however, is often one of grinding attrition, resource allocation over months, and the patient, thankless management of morale during stalemate. These are untested facets of his leadership."
Kurata Hana gently pointed out, "And what of the village behind the front lines? The role requires interfacing with the Daimyo's treasury, mediating disputes between clan-led and civilian-led supply chains, and understanding the political fallout of every casualty report. These are areas where raw battlefield charisma may… not translate."
The discourse around Renjiro was a fascinating study in projected narratives. Supporters, like the Inuzuka Tsume, framed him in deliberate contrast.
"Uzumaki Renjiro operates differently," she declared, her ninken giving a low woof of agreement.
"He doesn't just lead from the front; he builds a foundation. In the Second Division, he didn't just save units—he reorganised their communication protocols, delegated authority based on observed competency, not just rank, and created redundancies. He plans for the war, not just the battle."
A jōnin who had served in the Second Division stood, his voice firm. "He's a stabiliser. When the line was about to break near Stone's border, it wasn't a flashy technique that held it. It was him, in three places at once through coordinated clone-work, delivering specific orders to specific people, anticipating the enemy's push before their commander had even given the signal. He wins wars, not duels."
Renjiro, listening to this portrait being painted, felt a flicker of surreal amusement.
'They're describing a competent, systems-oriented commander,' he thought, 'which is a reasonable archetype. But are they describing me? I was mostly just trying to optimise survival odds and complete the objective with minimal personal entanglement.'
The praise for his delegation skills struck him as particularly ironic, given his deeply ingrained tendency toward solitary action.
The criticisms against him were the expected, traditionalist blows. One stated, "His achievements, while notable, do not erase the sheer deficit of years. Seniority exists for a reason. Will a jōnin with twenty years of service readily take operational command from one who, despite his power, is barely into his late teens? Respect on the battlefield is one thing; respect in the daily chain of command is another."
A minor clan head allied with the Namikaze added, "And one must consider temperament. Where Namikaze is decisively, blindingly fast, Uzumaki's greatest noted successes are defensive, reactive. The Jonin Commander must sometimes be the spear, not just the shield. Is there a danger of over-caution?"
The civilian-appointed candidate, Hayashi Shin, was presented as the antidote to both sets of perceived extremes. His advocate, a calm-faced administrator, argued, "Hayashi-san's record is one of system-focused leadership. He reformed the long-range scout rotation system, cutting fatigue-related incidents by sixty percent. He negotiated the shared-use treaty for the Land of Rivers' training grounds. His mind is geared toward infrastructure, sustainability, and neutral arbitration—precisely what is needed to heal the fractures of war and bind the village's diverse elements together."
The counter-arguments here were blunt and martial. A battle-hardened jōnin snorted, his voice like grinding stone. "Logistics win wars, yes. But only if the front line holds. Hayashi has never stood in a trench as a B-rank earth wall collapses under A-rank ninjutsu. He's never felt the chakra exhaustion that blurs your vision while an enemy spearhead bears down on you. Jōnin are warriors first. They follow strength they can see, leadership forged in the same fires they've faced. A report is not a battlefield."
Another representative from the shinobi clans added, "It raises a fundamental question of authority. If the Jonin Commander gives an order in a crisis, and that order is counter-intuitive to a veteran jōnin's instincts, will they follow? With Namikaze, they would, because he's proven his instincts are superior. With Uzumaki, they might, because his proven tactical foresight commands respect. With Hayashi… would they? Or would they pause, questioning the theoretical mind behind the order? In a shinobi village, that pause is measured in body counts."
As clan heads pontificated, their words weaving grand narratives of leadership, Renjiro had to suppress the instinct to yawn. To him, this was theatre. A carefully staged performance for the benefit of tradition and the illusion of participatory democracy.
'The real lobbying,' he mused, 'happened in quiet tea rooms, sealed offices, and on training grounds weeks ago. Alliances were bartered, favours called in, and threats veiled in polite language. The votes in this room are already tallied in the minds of every major player. This… this is just the ceremonial unveiling of decisions already made.'
He found himself not anxious, but impatient. He just wanted the pageantry to end and the inevitable result to be stamped officially upon the record.
As if sensing the debate had reached its natural, pre-scripted conclusion, Nara Shiba raised his hand from the dais. The murmurs died instantly.
"The time for discussion is concluded. We now proceed to the vote."
A visible wave of relief, mingled with final tension, passed through the assembly. Renjiro's own posture subtly shifted, a faint brightening in his demeanour at the promise of an end.
Shiba continued, "The vote shall be conducted according to the village charter. Each recognised shinobi clan holds one vote. The civilian council, representing the non-shinobi populace and economy that supports us, holds three votes. The elected council of jōnin, those who will directly serve under the Commander, also holds three votes."
He then gestured to the side of the dais, where three large, rectangular stone slabs had been placed, each covered in intricate sealing formulae. "Voting shall be by chakra imprint. Each slab has already been inscribed with the primary kanji of a candidate: 波 (Nami) for Namikaze, 連 (Ren) for Uzumaki, 林 (Hayashi) for Hayashi Shin. In turn, each voting member or their designated proxy will approach, place their hand upon the seal of their choice, and channel a minute, specific amount of chakra into it. The seal will record the unique chakra signature to prevent duplication and ensure validity."
He paused, his eyes sweeping the room. "The seals are encrypted. Only the Hokage and the appointed scrutineers from the Encryption Division will be able to read the immediate feedback. There will be no public tally during the process. You will know only your own choice. The results will be announced in full once all votes are cast and verified."
The atmosphere transformed from one of rhetorical combat to one of solemn, silent gravity. One by one, beginning with the clan heads in order of founding status, figures approached the stone slabs.
The Senju representative walked forward, her hand hovering for a moment before pressing firmly onto the 波 seal. A soft, blue glow pulsed under her palm and faded.
The Hyūga followed, Hiashi's hand moving without hesitation to the same seal, his Byakugan veins briefly bulging as he precisely metered his chakra.
The Aburame went to 連. The Akimichi, with a barely perceptible sigh, placed his hand on Minato's seal. The Yamanaka did the same. The Inuzuka's Tsume slapped 連 with a grin, earning a low growl from her ninken.
Renjiro watched, a dispassionate ethnographer of his own fate. He saw the Namikaze bloc hold firm. He saw the unexpected: a minor clan, the Ishikawa, break from its usual alignment and place their vote on 林, the civilian candidate.
The civilian council members approached in a group, their steps measured. All three placed their hands on 林, a unified front.
The jōnin representatives came last, their faces set in grim professional masks and soon placed their votes. The final chakra imprint faded into the stone. The last voter returned to their seat.
In the echoing quiet, Nara Shiba rose. "The vote is complete. The seals are closed."
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