Chapter 15 — The Land of Snow Requires Your Sacrifice
"Asama Sandayū? And Princess Koyuki Kazahana?"
Oda Nobunaga, who had been buried in an endless pile of administrative and military documents, looked up in surprise.
The name was familiar — the exiled princess of the Land of Snow, appearing here, of all places?
Even though the confiscation of the aristocrats' fortunes had made him extraordinarily wealthy, Nobunaga knew well that money alone could not solve every problem.
Some matters required vision, timing — and sometimes, opportunity itself.
He rubbed his temples, sighing quietly. The number of state affairs on his desk seemed to double by the day. For the first time, he truly envied the ninja art known as Shadow Clone Technique.
If only I could divide myself into five right now…
"Is that right, Lord Nobunaga!"
His loyal retainer, Zōmajirō, stood respectfully at his side, his expression full of worry and guilt. He couldn't share in the work of governance — his strength was for battle, not bureaucracy.
And seeing his master's exhaustion only deepened his frustration.
He bowed stiffly.
"If this so-called princess and her retainer have come uninvited, shall I have them removed at once?"
He was already turning to leave when Nobunaga's calm voice halted him.
"Wait."
Nobunaga raised a hand, eyes still on the parchment before him. He had just been reviewing a progress report on the ninja academy — one of his most ambitious projects.
In this world where everything revolved around shinobi, the allure of becoming one was nearly universal.
Everyone dreamed of harnessing chakra, of mastering jutsu, of wielding power.
But the truth was harsh.
Not everyone possessed chakra.
Some had too little. Others simply couldn't control it.
Without his pledge to bring ninja education to the masses, those people would have been forgotten — permanently excluded from the future.
Yet Nobunaga's vision demanded more.
For his reforms to succeed, the power of the shinobi had to be democratized.
The people had to see and feel that the new era included them — that the great gap between ninja and commoner was closing.
If the power remained in the hands of a rare elite, resentment would fester.
His support among the people would falter, and the stability of the Land of Fields would crumble.
And it just so happened that the seemingly insignificant Land of Snow held a potential key to this dilemma.
Their technology — primitive by his world's standards, yet remarkably advanced in chakra engineering — could help him bridge that gap.
Mass-produced chakra converters, artificial control devices, temperature and energy regulators... all tools that could allow even an ordinary farmer to feel chakra flow through their veins.
Oda Nobunaga leaned back in his chair, rubbing at the corner of his eye, his mind racing ahead.
"So that's why they've come…" he murmured, half to himself.
Then, aloud:
"Let them in."
Zōmajirō blinked, surprised. "My lord?"
Nobunaga waved him off, already reaching for another document.
"Plans never keep up with change. It seems our preparations must move faster than expected."
He straightened in his seat, his expression calm yet sharp, eyes glinting with the spark of a strategist already three steps ahead.
As his pen danced across the next decree, Nobunaga's mind began piecing together his next move — quietly, precisely, relentlessly.
The Land of Snow… their technology, their politics, their desperation.
A nation that cannot protect itself needs a patron.
And as the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly, Oda Nobunaga whispered — almost as though to himself:
"If they've come seeking help… then the Land of Snow must be prepared to pay the price."
As Zōmajirō left the office with Oda Nobunaga's permission to summon Princess Koyuki Kazahana and her retainer Asama Sandayū, the two exiles — stripped of their homeland and titles — were themselves debating the wisdom of their visit.
"Let's go back, Sandayū," said Koyuki softly, her eyes flicking toward the grand mansion ahead.
The last thing she wanted was to come begging to this so-called rising star of the Land of Fields.
She had long resigned herself to a quiet life — acting in cheap melodramas in the Hidden Leaf Village. She hated the roles, the scripts, the falseness of it all… but it was still preferable to reliving the horror of her kingdom's fall.
"I said no, Princess!"
Sandayū, usually deferential to the point of servitude, spoke with rare firmness. Once a loyal vassal of the former Daimyō of the Land of Snow, now her self-appointed manager and guardian, his voice quivered with conviction.
Ever since he had read the reports in The Fields Daily about the young Oda Nobunaga — the teenage daimyō who had been cornered, humiliated, and betrayed by his own nobles before rising up to reclaim his nation — Sandayū's heart had been in turmoil.
In Nobunaga's struggle, he saw his princess's own story reflected.
The only difference was that Nobunaga had triumphed through will, intellect, and blood.
While his princess… was still waiting for salvation that never came.
In the years since their exile, Sandayū had secretly approached the great nations — even Konoha, once their supposed ally.
But neither the Five Great Nations nor the Leaf showed the slightest interest.
To them, the Land of Snow was just a forgotten speck on the map — a pawn not worth saving.
He glanced at the young woman beside him, her face clouded with a mix of pride and despair.
"Princess," he said gently, his voice trembling, "you are the rightful heir of the Land of Snow. You must return — for your people, and for the late Lord's dying wish."
"I've read of Lord Nobunaga's governance," he continued, eyes alight with desperate hope. "He is said to be merciful and just — a ruler of compassion. If you present yourself with grace and sincerity, I am certain he will not turn you away."
"If the late Daimyō's spirit watches from Yomi," he added solemnly, "he would never forgive us for giving up."
It was rare for Sandayū to speak to her so sternly — rarer still to invoke the dead.
But he was out of options.
He knew how easily the memory of a fallen ruler faded from the hearts of the people.
Once, in another timeline, their pleas for aid had gone unanswered for years — until, at last, Konoha had relented and offered secret support under false pretenses.
But this time was different.
This time, the Land of Fields existed — a living example of rebirth, proof that a lost nation could rise again.
And in Nobunaga's young face, Sandayū saw the glimmer of a miracle.
Even if hope was faint, it was still hope.
He stole a glance at his princess.
The Land of Fields and the Land of Snow were equals — small, distant nations with no territorial conflict. If all else failed… perhaps the two could unite through other means.
If a child bearing the name Kazahana were to one day inherit both legacies —
Well, that wouldn't be such a terrible fate, would it?
When Zōmajirō finally returned to summon them, Princess Koyuki said nothing more of turning back.
Her kingdom had fallen not long ago; she wasn't yet the jaded woman history would remember.
Somewhere deep inside, she still carried a spark of belief.
---
The moment she stepped into Nobunaga's office, that spark flared.
Piles of documents surrounded the young lord, his pen moving swiftly across parchment even as he spoke with aides. His eyes, sharp and determined, flicked from one report to the next — the embodiment of purpose.
He couldn't have been much older than she was.
And yet here he sat, commanding a nation, reshaping the future.
Koyuki felt her heartbeat quicken.
For the briefest moment, he seemed to blur with the image of every perfect male lead she had ever been forced to play opposite in those films — the noble, untouchable hero who saves the world with a smile.
Steady yourself, Koyuki. This isn't a movie.
But her heart refused to listen.
---
Beside her, Asama Sandayū saw the flush on her cheeks and — utterly misinterpreting it — felt his hope ignite.
He had been her caretaker for years, part father, part mother, wholly devoted.
Now, seeing her lower her gaze shyly, he convinced himself that fate was smiling on them.
Perhaps... this could work.
Before anyone could stop him, Sandayū threw himself forward in a spectacular display of humility —
A legendary ninja-world dogeza that sent him sliding several meters across the polished floor, leaving two long marks in his wake.
"Wh—what the hell?" muttered Zōmajirō, wide-eyed.
Even Nobunaga paused mid-signature, his pen hovering as the thundering THUD! of Sandayū's forehead striking the ground echoed through the chamber.
With tears streaming down his face, the old retainer cried out,
"Glorious Lord Nobunaga of the Land of Fields!
Please, extend your righteous hand for the survival of our fallen homeland, the Land of Snow!"
"The usurper Kazahana Dotō — that vile traitor — has plunged our nation into ruin,
just as the corrupt lords once conspired against your noble rule!"
"My lady, Princess Koyuki, stands before you as you once stood —
exiled, betrayed, and yet still unbroken!"
His words rang with passion, every sentence heavy with emotion.
And for a fleeting instant, even Oda Nobunaga — calm, calculating Nobunaga — allowed himself a small smile.
So that's how you plan to move me, old man? Appealing to shared pain? Clever.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he closed his pen, leaned back slightly in his chair, and observed the kneeling pair in silence — the faintest glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.