Negotiations and the Magic Crest
"Unfortunately," Aoki shook his head and said, "I'm sorry, Emiya-san. This isn't something I can decide on my own. Let's complete this transaction first. It will still be calculated at one million ryō. I'll report this cooperation to the family head."
"Alright. Thank you, Aoki-san."
By this point, Shirō already knew the outcome. The chance of success was slim.
After all, although his household bore the name Weimiya, in truth, he was the only shinobi left. The so-called Weimiya Family existed in name only, with Shirō struggling to keep its image alive.
Rejection was understandable. This only made Shirō realize that he couldn't afford to put himself at the forefront of this project. The wisest move was to secure benefits quietly without exposing too much.
The reality was simple: the entire "Hawk Project" hinged on him. No one could bypass him completely. All he had to do was negotiate for slightly more than his original share, without appearing greedy.
Balance was everything. Luckily, he had approached the Yuan Lai family first. Because of his mother's relationship with Zhi Zi, news of this deal would likely remain contained. Otherwise, the Weimiya name might not survive in Konoha's unforgiving political climate.
Reflecting on it, Shirō felt a strange sense of relief. He had been too arrogant. At his current stage, the Hawk Project was far beyond his reach. Greed had clouded his judgment.
Sharing the profits was best. Fortunately, he hadn't announced it publicly; otherwise, he would've lost face.
With that settled, he returned his focus to cultivation. Strength—that was what he truly lacked. If he had the overwhelming power of Uchiha Madara, no one would dare try to claim a share of his efforts.
---
Half a Year Later
Time slipped by. In six months, Shirō made remarkable progress.
First, his spiritual training had borne fruit. He could now project four or five Noble Phantasms simultaneously without strain.
Second, his magecraft had advanced steadily. His Reinforcement was refined, and he had begun experimenting with Territory Creation—a technique more suited to magi than shinobi, forming pseudo-workshops to stabilize his craft.
Finally—and most importantly—he had spent the past half year preparing the materials for a Magic Crest. Today, he will attempt the implantation.
Knowing the dangers, he called on Sakumo Hatake, asking him to be ready to intervene if anything went wrong. After hearing of the risks, Kushina informed Tsunade, who returned temporarily from her travels—her expertise in medical ninjutsu unmatched in Konoha.
Seeing Tsunade there gave Shirō peace of mind. Though he owed yet another favor, he couldn't afford recklessness.
Once everyone was gathered, Shirō projected Ruler Breaker, Medea's cursed dagger. Without it, the Crest's implantation would have almost no chance of success. There was only one set of materials; failure wasn't an option.
"System, prepare for assistance."
"System ready. Assistance available at any time."
With that, Shirō pressed the prepared Crest into his right forearm.
"Ahhh!!!"
The pain was immediate, as if his bones were being crushed from the inside.
"Shirō!" Kushina's voice cracked with worry, and she tried to rush forward.
"Stop." Tsunade raised her hand firmly. "This pain is normal. Don't disturb him now."
"That's right, Kushina," Minato added softly. "He warned us about this. We need to trust him."
Taking a shaky breath, Kushina nodded. "You're right… I just—he feels like family already. I lost my head."
Inside, Shirō gritted his teeth. Meditation training kept his mind sharp, but the pain was still blinding. He monitored the process calmly in his thoughts, though his screams echoed uncontrollably.
After a time, the pain dulled slightly. He quickly swallowed a prepared potion and set up a surgical array on his arm—a blend of sealing technique and magecraft—to reduce rejection. The implantation itself was only the beginning; the real trial was assimilation.
Normally, a Magic Crest passed down through generations adapted slowly to each heir, its burden lessened. But Shirō had no lineage to inherit from—he had to assimilate it all at once. To accelerate this process, he relied on the System.
The risk was enormous. The pain, unbearable. Without half a year of meditation and endurance training, he would have broken long ago.
Taking a steady breath, he commanded: "Begin, System."
"Assistance function activated. Accelerating assimilation."
"AHHHHHHHH!!!"
The agony surged severalfold. His vision blurred, but he clung to consciousness.
Outside, Minato's fists clenched, Kushina trembled, and even Sakumo's expression grew grave. Tsunade's eyes narrowed. This is the critical moment.
Shirō had warned them: if anything went wrong, they were to rush in immediately and sever his right arm. He had promised he had a way to restore it, but hesitation could mean death.
Thankfully, the preparations held. The System forced the Crest into harmony with his circuits, pushing through the rejection.
"Assimilation is complete. Assistance function deactivated."
The blue glow in his forearm slowly dimmed, and Shirō collapsed unconscious.
"Shirō!" Kushina rushed in, but Sakumo was already there. With speed that rivaled even Minato's, he scooped Shirō into his arms and vanished toward the hospital.
"I'll take him there first," his voice echoed as he disappeared.
"…Sakumo-senpai's speed hasn't dulled one bit." Minato exhaled. "That boy should be alright."
"I'm leaving," Tsunade said bluntly, already turning away.
"You won't report to Hokage-sama?" Minato asked.
"The old man doesn't need to hear about everything. He'll be fine."
"Alright then. Goodbye, Tsunade-nee."
"Mm. Goodbye."
As silence fell, Minato let out a tired sigh—mirroring the weary sigh that, at the same time, escaped from Hiruzen Sarutobi in the Hokage's office.
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