Whether it was the Third Kazekage, Rasa, or even Pakura, who was responsible for executing the espionage plan, they all believed their decisions were correct. This recent operation—to openly integrate Rasa into Konoha—was seen as a stroke of genius.
Centered around the succession of the Kazekage position, a ninja-style power struggle had erupted. Crude, direct, and utterly unsubtle—this was the Shinobi World's version of *Game of Thrones.*
But honestly, that's exactly the sort of thing the Shinobi World eats up. Or rather, it's the kind of straightforward "power politics" that's easiest for shinobi to grasp. Anything too high-concept? They'd get lost.
If this had happened in the Warring States period instead of the current era of Hidden Villages, you'd have seen events even worse than the infamous Red Wedding. Which is precisely why inter-clan marriages were rare back then—one wrong move and your entire family would get wiped out at the wedding.
To Uchiha Kei, this whole operation was riddled with holes and amateurish. But surprisingly, a lot of people in Konoha actually bought into it. Even Tsunade, after hearing about Pakura, commented with amazement, "Didn't expect him to be that ambitious—trying to become the Kazekage."
Kei could only stare blankly at the sheer gullibility of the shinobi world.
The truth was clear: lacking a history of complex political maneuvering, the shinobi world's power game was at toddler level. And even when *Boruto* rolled around, the story never introduced any truly intelligent political drama—just flashy powers normal people couldn't hope to understand.
In worlds filled with superpowers, subtleties tend to get bulldozed. When someone can kick you across the continent, scheming becomes irrelevant.
Take Uchiha Sasuke in the *Boruto* era: he ditched *Susanoo*, the ultimate power of his generation, because these days even a random kick could break through it.
Of course, that's the high-IQ explanation. Realistically? The *Boruto* animation team was just bad at choreographing fights. Without Kishimoto's direct input, the battles felt abstract and uninspired.
Not that *Boruto* had zero hype moments—but those rare gems were either penned directly by Kishimoto (like the battle against Ōtsutsuki Momoshiki), or at least based on his concepts (like Kurama's self-burning particle form).
The infamous "kick through Susanoo" scene? Just cost-cutting. You could call it a return to simplicity… but really, it was just lazy.
In real-world terms, the equivalent would've been a Kaguya-tier attack vaporizing Susanoo in one blow—flashy, devastating, expensive to animate. In reality? They cheaped out.
Anyway, Kei didn't know how this kind of thing might translate to reality… but he was confident: the Susanoo-breaking kick existed, just not in such a lame form.
And don't expect the Ōtsutsuki Clan to show up here either. Kei had already had people investigate—and most of the stuff that existed in *Boruto* simply didn't exist in this world.
To that, Uchiha Kei simply said: "Good. Let's keep it that way."
It couldn't be helped. When Kei transmigrated, the power scaling in *Boruto* had already gone off the rails.
It wasn't even Naruto anymore—it was Superpower Showdown.
Back to topic: when Sunagakure pulled this stunt, Kei had his suspicions. But to be sure, he asked White Zetsu to investigate. After all, Pakura *was* a named character in the original. Even if minor, still worth looking into.
The result? Exactly what Kei had suspected—it was all a setup. Sunagakure staged the whole thing so Pakura could sneak into Konoha under the guise of betrayal.
Kei just chuckled. "Fine then. Let's welcome our new 'spy.'"
Pakura had real talent. And a guy like that, even if technically a spy, would still work hard to climb the ranks—meaning he wouldn't leak anything until he had real power.
So, to Konoha, he was actually a top-tier workhorse.
"Thanks for the free labor, Sunagakure. Much appreciated.jpg."
Meanwhile, as Pakura was 'disappearing' and planning to rebrand himself for his Konoha application, an ANBU from the Leaf had already arrived in the Land of Rōran to negotiate a mineral trade.
That ANBU? A shadow clone of Minato Namikaze.
And this wasn't just any clone—it had been imbued with an enormous amount of Nine Tails chakra.
Upon arrival, Minato's clone surveyed the area. Rōran was now a single city surrounded by towering earthen walls. The architecture, made of dirt and stone, featured spires and multi-story towers connected by ropeways, forming a labyrinthine 3D cityscape.
An underground river kept the water supply flowing. Though there was barely any greenery and the buildings were cramped, Rōran somehow still managed to sustain a decent population.
In sheer functionality, it was far more advanced than Sunagakure.
Of course, the better comparison would be other large cities in the Land of Wind—not the Hidden Village itself.
Minato infiltrated the city, observing its people and governance.
Kei had given him a mission: confirm whether Rōran's citizens were normal and whether a minister named Anrokuzan existed.
Minato didn't understand why his best friend had asked this. But if Kei needed it done, he'd get it done.
The outcome? The people were dirt poor, visibly malnourished, and had the hollow-eyed look of desert dwellers. But they were still human—not puppet-like.
And Anrokuzan? Didn't exist.
Rōran's current leader was a young queen named Sara. Her mother, the former ruler, had died of illness just a month prior, forcing the eighteen-year-old to ascend the throne prematurely.
Now, the country was embroiled in classic noble infighting. Sara had no real power but also wasn't in immediate danger. The court was locked in aristocratic power games—another rerun of the same old story.
Without a big bad like Anrokuzan to crush the hierarchy from above, Rōran's internal politics were painfully mundane.
Even with the country in shambles—yearly famine, hopeless citizens—the upper class kept playing their games.
Minato's conclusion? "This place is done for."
The nobility was rotten to the core. Starving citizens? Not their problem. Economy in freefall? Who cares. With no resources and no allies, Rōran was a lifeboat stuck in the sand.
And in a world of chakra, where normal people can't even fight back, rebellion wasn't just hard—it was impossible.
Minato found that the citizens were so hungry they'd begun eating corpses. When someone died of starvation, their body would be divided among those still living—scavenged like a carcass. Even tales of cannibalism had become real.
Meanwhile, the nobility—though not exactly living in luxury—had more than enough to eat. They lived in a different world.
Minato's brows furrowed, his expression dark with anger.
In the past, he might've just felt pity. But after spending time with Kei and reading his recommended books, Minato now had a deeper understanding of things like class, exploitation, and social systems.
Konoha had its issues, sure. But at least it was prosperous. The Fire Country was the wealthiest of the Five Great Nations—its people, even the poor, rarely starved.
But in Rōran? Total systemic collapse.
And worse, even when oppression was unbearable, the people lacked the strength to rebel. Because the nobility held all the power. Puppet techniques were their secret weapon, giving them overwhelming dominance.
Rebellion? A pipe dream.
With no way to vent their frustration upward, the people turned inward. Trust between commoners had vanished. Everyone looked at each other with suspicion and hostility.
Crime syndicates were everywhere. The desperate fought each other to survive. Humanity itself had eroded.
In the movie version, Anrokuzan's puppetification covered up all these contradictions.
Here? They were laid bare.
Minato sent his findings back using the Reverse Summoning Technique.
When Kei read the report, even *he* was stunned.
He had expected Rōran to be bad. But *this* bad? No shōnen anime would dare show this level of darkness.
In retrospect, Anrokuzan claiming to have 'saved' Rōran didn't seem so villainous anymore. At least turning everyone into puppets hid the ugliness of human despair.
Minato's real self also saw the report—and his expression turned grim.
What he saw in Rōran lit a fire in his heart.
It wasn't his country. He owed them nothing.
But he still wanted to help.
Kei smiled at his friend's reaction.
"If you really want to do something, Minato... then do it."
Minato's face lit up with a gentle smile. The anger and frustration in his heart eased.
Then, he began planning how to intervene.
Tsunade frowned.
"Kei... are we really going to let Minato interfere with another country's internal affairs?"
Her meaning was clear: this would be a political incident. If other nations found out, the consequences could be severe.
But Kei simply smiled.
"No worries. Minato's clone already explained that this country's like a lone boat stranded in the desert. No one's watching it. No one *can*."
"Besides, Minato doesn't need to use his real name or face. He can act in disguise."
"And if we've already decided to reshape the Shinobi World… why hesitate now?"
"One day, Konoha will stop hiding. When that happens, we'll be responsible for managing a much bigger world."
"So why not treat Rōran as a test run?"
Tsunade frowned again. She didn't like the way Kei treated an entire nation like a disposable experiment.
But Kei, sensing her disapproval, simply said:
"I know you don't like it, Tsunade-sama. But even if it's just a practice run—under our leadership, the people of Rōran will live a hundred times better than they do now."
"They have nothing left to lose."
Tsunade said nothing. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
This was the Shinobi World's cruel reality. And Kei's unflinching logic was a brutal indictment of everything it stood for.
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