Wood-style is indeed Wood-style, no doubt about that.
But staring at the small wooden sprout barely sticking out from Yamato's palm, Namikaze Mirai had his doubts.
'Is this really the power that once calmed the chaotic world?'
He tilted his head slightly, eye twitching in confusion. No matter how he looked at it, that tiny Muya—the little wooden bud—was a far cry from the might that Senju Hashirama had once wielded. The First Hokage had summoned towering forests with a gesture. But this? It looked more like a dying bonsai.
'Am I understanding this wrong? Or did someone prank me with a counterfeit Wood-style?'
Mirai frowned, placing his hand on his chin in contemplation. Something wasn't adding up.
"Yamato." he asked curiously, "Use your strongest Wood-style to attack me."
Yamato blinked in confusion, lips parting as if unsure he'd heard right. "Hokage-sama, my Wood-style is… very strong. If I accidentally hurt you—"
He trailed off, concern flashing across his face. After all, Sarutobi Hiruzen himself had praised his Wood-style on more than one occasion. If his attack injured the newly inaugurated Fifth Hokage, it might be seen as treason.
Mirai, however, chuckled softly, waving off the concern.
"If you really hurt me, then I deserve it."
That confidence wasn't arrogance. It was born of overwhelming strength. To Mirai, testing Yamato's jutsu firsthand was the only way to assess its true value.
With a sharp breath, Yamato nodded, stepping into a stance. His chakra surged as he called out,
"Wood-style ∙ Violent Spear Tree!"
A thick rectangular wooden pillar shot forward from his outstretched palm. Like a serpent made of oak, it lunged toward Mirai with impressive force.
*Thud!*
The attack never made it more than a few meters.
Mirai's hand reached out with casual grace and caught the wooden spear mid-air. His fingers closed around the bark, crack!—and the spear snapped like a twig.
Yamato's mouth fell open in stunned silence.
"That… that was my strongest technique…"
His expression screamed disbelief. His ultimate jutsu had been neutralized like it was nothing more than a flimsy training dummy's punch.
Mirai stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then glanced down at the broken wood in his hand.
The fragments did contain some weak vitality. There was potential—but certainly not battlefield potential.
'This kid's Wood-style is practically a placebo compared to Senju Hashirama's.'
It dawned on Mirai then—Sarutobi Hiruzen probably knew the truth all along. He must have continued praising Yamato to preserve morale, avoid crushing a young ninja's heart, or perhaps to maintain the illusion of Hashirama's legacy living on.
Still, there was something here. Something different.
Mirai narrowed his eyes at the wood in his hand. He felt it—not strength, but growth. Pure, untouched vitality. It wasn't suited for battle.
But for life?
"Yamato." he said suddenly, his voice filled with spark, "Maybe your real talent… isn't in battle."
"…Eh?"
The boy blinked again, confused.
"Maybe your Wood-style doesn't belong on the battlefield—but in the fields!"
"My Wood-style… not for fighting?"
Yamato looked completely lost.
Mirai leaned forward, eyes shining with ambition.
"Yamato… be my disciple."
"I want to train you to become the greatest rice breeder in Konoha!"
"Eh?!"
Yamato's jaw unhinged. The words slammed into him like a taijutsu combo from Might Guy.
'Rice… breeder?!'
He searched Mirai's expression for a hint of jest.
But there was none.
Only genuine determination.
"Rice… breeding expert?"
The term sounded alien to him, but the first part—being Mirai's disciple—that he understood very well.
"Yes, Hokage-sama!"
And so, a new seed was planted.
…
As the village buzzed with talk about the new Hokage, a fresh rumor sent fresh ripples through Konoha.
"Did you hear? The Fifth Hokage took the Wood-style ninja as his disciple!"
"No way! That's incredible! I wish I had Wood-style too…"
"You wish. That's a power only Hashirama-sama had!"
"He must've seen immense potential in the kid!"
The villagers were abuzz, filled with admiration and envy. The news didn't just stop at the civilian level.
Within hours, the information reached every major clan in Konoha.
In the political world, it wasn't just a mentorship—it was a message.
To many of the older generation, Wood-style was more than just a Kekkei Genkai. It was a symbol—the spiritual embodiment of Senju Hashirama's will.
By accepting Yamato as his disciple, Namikaze Mirai was seen as extending an olive branch to those who worshipped that legacy.
Some even speculated that Uchiha Itachi, the prodigy of the Uchiha clan, was also slated to become his disciple.
Wood-style and Sharingan.
The two most legendary powers of the ninja world, both under Mirai's wing?
'He's out to surpass Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara!'—so went the whispers.
Tsunade heard the rumors too, sitting in her favorite izakaya with sake in hand.
She raised an eyebrow.
"That guy Mirai… what's he planning?"
As a Senju, she knew better than anyone that Yamato's Wood-style was a pale imitation of her grandfather's power.
'This doesn't feel like politics. That guy doesn't care for cheap tricks.'
She sipped slowly, thoughtful. Mirai was up to something—but it wasn't simple.
…
Meanwhile, in the Hokage's office, Mirai ignored the gossip swirling outside. A fresh scroll had arrived.
From Kumogakure.
It was an armistice agreement.
After their crushing defeat and the capture of Killer Bee, Kumo was desperate for peace. They offered compensation in exchange for Bee's return.
Mirai smirked.
He picked up a brush and scribbled over the offered amount—multiplying it several times.
"Send this back to Kumogakure village," he told Anbu, sealing the scroll.
"Understood!"
The masked shinobi disappeared in a whoosh.
Mirai leaned back in his chair, amused.
He had studied Kumo's leadership. The Fourth Raikage Ai was a man of pride, but even more so—of family.
Minato had once told him: Those brothers would die for each other.
Mirai planned to milk that devotion.
'In a world ruled by chakra… money is still king.'
Even the strongest shinobi village needed rations, gear, funds to support jutsu development. Villages moved on ryō.
It was ironic.
In a world where one man could split mountains with a sword, people still bartered like merchants.
Mercenaries killing for cash.
Black markets paying for heads.
'If you're strong enough to destroy castles, why not build them?'
Mirai tapped his desk, expression turning thoughtful.
This absurd economic structure of the ninja world—it had to go.
"It's time to change the game."
…
Later that day, the Anbu informed the major clans and high-ranking officials: the Hokage had called for an urgent conference.
'So soon?' they all wondered.
Most Hokage spent months before holding their first strategic meeting. Mirai had barely warmed the seat, and already, he was summoning the elite?
Still, curiosity and duty prevailed. One after another, they filed into the council chamber.
At the head of the long table sat Namikaze Mirai—blond, stern, and radiating presence.
When the room fell silent, his voice cut through like a blade.
"I plan to create a company."
A pause.
"Called Umbrella."
The room erupted into murmurs.
A… company?
Umbrella?
The clan heads stared at each other, dumbfounded.
"What… is that?" someone whispered.
Mirai folded his arms behind his back.
"A new division. A revolutionary change in Konoha's structure. A blend of ninja might and economic strategy. A step towards the future."
Eyes widened.
But this was just the beginning.
*****
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