The Daimyo of the Land of Fire sat stiffly on his ornate chair, his face unreadable as sunlight poured in from the tall windows of his audience hall. His fingers tapped against the lacquered armrest in a steady rhythm, betraying the storm raging in his mind.
Should he do it?
Should he take part in this Tulip Game—a scheme so bold, so dangerously uncontrollable, that even he, the highest authority of the Land of Fire, hesitated?
The Daimyo prided himself on composure. For decades, he had been a man who valued restraint, order, and balance. Yet, when it came to money—especially wealth on the scale being dangled before him—his heart grew restless.
He knew those parasites all too well. The nobles, the courtiers, the merchants who fattened themselves on the labor of others… insects who wore fine silk robes but reeked of greed. He despised them. He despised how they bowed before him in public yet schemed behind his back in private.
And he knew this much—when interests were at stake, those insects would abandon all rationality. They would become demons, gnawing at anything for profit, even their own dignity.
The Tulip Game was bound to spiral out of control. That truth gnawed at the Daimyo's reason. A bubble this large would consume everything in its path—wealth, power, even stability. It would breed chaos, something he hated above all.
But there was another undeniable truth.
The initiators of the game—the Akatsuki Ninja Village, spearheaded by that sly Uchiha Makoto—would stand at the very heart of the scheme, reaping unimaginable profits.
As the operator, the Daimyo himself would also be in on the ground floor. The wealth promised wasn't just "a lot." It wasn't merely billions of ryō. No—this was wealth that could tilt nations, numbers so great they made even the Land of Fire's yearly war budget look like pocket change.
The Daimyo swallowed hard.
Even he was tempted.
---
On the sofa opposite him, Kazuma sat with the composure of a seasoned gambler, legs neatly crossed, hands folded, his sharp eyes studying the Daimyo's conflicted expression.
He could practically hear the war raging in the man's chest—greed versus fear, ambition versus caution.
Perfect.
This was the moment to strike.
Kazuma straightened, his voice calm but tinged with persuasion.
"Your Highness," he began, his tone respectful yet pressing, "please allow me to remind you of one truth: this Tulip Game does not force anyone to participate. The gates are wide open, yes, but no one is dragged in. Those who join do so willingly."
The Daimyo's gaze flickered toward him, but Kazuma continued smoothly.
"And who are these people who will rush in first? Not peasants, not commoners. No, it will be the immensely wealthy—those pampered nobles and fattened merchants. The very insects you loathe. They will see tulips as another means to flaunt their status, another excuse to climb over each other. And when they lose? It will be their own sin. Their greed, their arrogance. Lord Makoto once said something to me: when a person's wisdom does not match their wealth, that wealth will inevitably find its way back into the market."
Kazuma leaned forward slightly, his smile razor-sharp.
"Tell me, Your Highness. Do you truly wish for those greedy fools to keep enjoying wealth that does not belong to them?"
The words landed like daggers.
The Daimyo's fingers clenched the armrest.
For years—decades, even—he had watched his so-called subordinates grow fat and arrogant. He had once been a young ruler, ambitious, determined to reform the Land of Fire. He had dreamed of streamlining taxes, cutting corruption, and building a system where his word truly ruled.
But reality had crushed those dreams.
The aristocracy of the Land of Fire had roots older than his dynasty. For centuries they had entrenched themselves, weaving a bureaucratic web so thick it strangled anyone who dared resist. Even he, the Daimyo, could not uproot them alone.
Unless… unless he allowed ninjas to interfere in politics. But that was unthinkable. To "invite the wolf into the house" was suicide. Nobles were greedy for money and power, yes, but ninjas… ninjas could take lives.
So he had compromised. He had restrained them in his youth, tightening their leash. But now, as his body aged and his vigor waned, those leeches had grown bold again. They clustered together, cheating taxes, forging accounts, even daring to deceive him directly.
The Daimyo's jaw tightened as memories surfaced.
False reports. Missing funds. Nobles pocketing billions while pretending poverty.
"Bastards…" he muttered under his breath. His face darkened, his heartbeat quickened.
"They're all thieves!" he growled inwardly. "Three hundred billion taels in tax collected, and they keep two hundred for themselves, handing me only a hundred! And they expect me to smile? To thank them? Do they really think I don't know?!"
His fingernails dug into the lacquered wood.
"That money… it was mine. It is mine! Mine!"
His thoughts boiled over into a silent scream, his vision tinged red with rage.
Kazuma watched him carefully, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. Perfect. The bait had landed.
He pressed on.
"Your Highness, this opportunity comes once in a lifetime. Those insects cannot hold such wealth responsibly. Destiny itself has handed you the means to reclaim what is rightfully yours."
The Daimyo's chest rose and fell heavily. His heart pounded with the rhythm of temptation. He saw it now, clear as day.
Not tens of billions. Not even hundreds.
Trillions.
A mountain of gold that dwarfed all others.
His hands trembled, not from fear, but from desire.
At last, his resolve snapped into place.
"It's decided!"
The words thundered through the hall.
Kazuma's eyes gleamed. He lowered his head respectfully but allowed himself a victorious smirk.
"Your Highness," he said smoothly, "this is the wisest decision."
---
The tension dissolved instantly, replaced by a rush of excitement. Plans unfurled rapidly.
Once the Daimyo's approval was secured, the rest of the Tulip Project moved like clockwork.
Step one: Legitimacy. The Daimyo's own daughter would purchase tulips with a staggering sum. A public spectacle. One so outrageous that word would spread like wildfire through aristocratic circles. If the Daimyo's household endorsed tulips, then surely tulips were divine.
Step two: Scarcity. Actors would be hired to line up outside tulip sales offices, forming crowds that stretched for streets. Tulips would appear in short supply, every bloom fought over like treasure. Prices would rise, shipment after shipment, each cycle lifting the market higher.
Step three: The contracts. The true heart of the scheme. Akatsuki would secretly sign agreements with flower farmers, locking in tulips at dirt-cheap prices before the bubble peaked. When word of these contracts spread, nobles and merchants would scramble to trade them, each resale multiplying the profits. A frenzy would ignite across not just the Land of Fire, but the entire Ninja World.
And the best part?
The Daimyo's wealth would be untouchable. His investment would be returned in full. Any losses would fall squarely on the insects who leapt into the fire of their own greed.
"Good! Good! Good!" The Daimyo exclaimed, slamming his palm on the table, his voice thick with satisfaction.
The plan was flawless. Diabolical, yes, but flawless.
Even he, the Daimyo, admitted privately—if he hadn't been at the core of the scheme, he too would have been lured in by greed. The design exploited human weakness so perfectly that no wealthy man could resist.
Kazuma bowed his head. "As long as Your Highness is satisfied."
But satisfaction alone wasn't enough. Now came the most delicate matter of all—distribution of profit.
Even among allies, accounts must be settled clearly. And here, the "ally" was none other than the Daimyo of the Land of Fire.
Uchiha Makoto, the mastermind, had originally dreamed of a seventy-thirty split. Naturally, seventy percent for Akatsuki Village, thirty for the Daimyo. A bold ambition.
But reality was cruel.
Akatsuki was still young, weak, and in need of the Daimyo's support—financial, political, even symbolic. To think the Daimyo would risk his name, fund the scheme, and only take thirty percent? Makoto could dream, but that dream belonged in the clouds.
The Daimyo, on the other hand, saw it differently.
Why should he settle for less? He was the ruler. Without him, the project would die before it began. In his eyes, a seventy-thirty split made sense—except with him taking seventy.
Yet Makoto had his pride too. He was the architect of the entire Tulip Bubble. He had designed every step, every manipulation, every exploitation of human greed. To give up the lion's share? Impossible.
At minimum, Makoto demanded fifty-fifty.
No less.
The Daimyo's money might be returned in full, but the insects' money? That would be split right down the middle.
Fifty-fifty.
And in the silence of that conclusion, the first great bubble of the Ninja World prepared to bloom.
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