"Crude, clumsy Senju Tobirama. Did you think I couldn't see through you? All this jumping around over a mere village spokesman's title?"
"I'm not like you. Hashirama and I are different."
There was no doubt—Uchiha Madara was still an idealist, brimming with hope for the village's future. This village was something he and Hashirama had built with their own hands. In his eyes, whether Hashirama became the village's spokesman or he himself did made no difference. What mattered was carrying out their way of the shinobi, keeping children off the battlefield, and, in the end, bringing peace to the ninja world.
A title was trivial. As if Hashirama would be shackled by fame or profit. He and Hashirama had great ambitions—something a crude mind like Tobirama's would never grasp.
"Hmph. Hashirama, your good little brother already prepared everything for you. In that case, I have no objections. Let's do it that way."
Madara's voice was as cold and distant as ever. Hashirama, I don't care about the title. I care about your attitude. I hear you're spending tonight with Uzumaki Mito—so you'd better handle this properly.
"Madara… that's not what Tobirama meant! I've always thought you were more suited to be the village's spokesman than I am."
Hashirama grew anxious; he caught the subtext at once. Madara was sulking. What to do?
"Enough. I have things to do. I'm heading back."
Madara shot Tobirama a frosty glance, then gave Hashirama a meaningful look and walked out without turning back. Hashirama, there are too many people here. I'll wait for you somewhere else.
Seeing this, Tobirama felt pleased. His scheme hadn't landed quite as decisively as he imagined, but the result was, in the end, acceptable. Hashirama, however, looked flustered. He set the survey report down and hurried after Madara.
In the corridor:
"Madara, wait—listen to me. I truly support you taking the position."
"I already said it's settled. I, Uchiha Madara, never go back on what I agree to."
Arms folded, Madara kept up his cool facade. It wasn't the title that mattered to him. It was Hashirama's stance.
"All right then… Madara, are you free tonight?"
"Aren't you supposed to be with Mito tonight?"
"Another day. Mito won't mind. Since I'm going to be the village's spokesman, tonight's perfect for us to plan the village's future."
"Hmph… honestly. Fine."
Hearing Madara relent, Hashirama beamed, slung an arm over his shoulder, and shouted back toward the office, "Tobirama—please tell Mito I won't be home tonight!"
Tobirama thought: So I'm going to be the one Sister-in-law vents at again?
That evening, Uzumaki Mito waited with a full table set, eyes bright with expectation, sitting like a living "waiting-stone." As expected, she would be alone again. Only Tobirama came back.
Because Tobirama was a bachelor with no wife to cook for him, he'd always freeloaded at his big brother's home. Seeing only Tobirama come in, Mito asked, puzzled, "Tobirama, where's your brother? Why didn't he come back with you?"
"Sister-in-law, Big Brother asked me to tell you he'll be with Uchiha Madara the whole night, so… he won't be back for dinner."
"Ahhh—innately evil Uchiha Madara—!"
"And Tobirama, didn't I tell you over and over? Keep an eye on your brother and make him see less of that reeking man! I made a whole table of food. Now what am I supposed to do?"
Tobirama said, "Sister-in-law, that's hard to handle." He thought, You can't even keep your own man in check and that's on me? Also, I'm starving. If Big Brother ran off with Madara again, I worked all day—this entire table is going to end up in my stomach.
"Hard to handle? Then don't handle it!" Uzumaki Mito flipped the table.
Meanwhile…
Uchiha Makoto lay in bed, aching and elated at once, too keyed up to sleep. After days of effort, he had finally secured the sponsorship of the Fire Daimyō. The Daimyō highly praised Makoto's plan to found a shinobi village, keep a way out for the Uchiha, and check the Senju. He was willing to provide a slate of support—funding, land, favorable policies, and more.
For the Daimyō, balance in the ninja world was vital. Senju Hashirama's attempt to gather the Uchiha, build a village, and then sweep the ninja world was dangerous; the thought alone had kept the Daimyō from sleeping soundly.
Even so, support had limits. For funding, the Daimyō had initially granted Makoto only one billion ryō. Makoto was still too weak right now; his pitch smelled a bit like multilevel marketing—just threats and big promises—so the Daimyō would not commit fully.
One billion ryō sounded like a lot. For an individual, it was astronomical. At the base rate of at least one million per S-class mission, that was a thousand S-class missions—work like a beast of burden, scrimp to the grave, and maybe you'd earn it.
But for a village—especially a startup village bleeding money everywhere—that was just seed capital. Still short. Painfully short.
Makoto felt the headache coming on. Yet the heavens had not been blind. His efforts had paid off. Beyond winning the Daimyō's support, he had also absorbed a third-rate minor shinobi clan—the Satō. Their patriarch was Satō Kazuma, and the entire group numbered only a dozen or so. Even so, the village was, at last, formally established.
And more importantly, tonight his system finally met its activation conditions.
"System—activate!"