The news of the Konoha Alliance's founding exploded across the Warring States like a paper bomb in dry grass. In a world already soaked with blood and paranoia, everyone wanted to see what kind of madman dared to unite seven great clans under one banner.
The seven clans themselves hadn't expected such an uproar. What began as cautious cooperation now looked like the spark of a revolution. So, as rumors spread and eyes turned their way, they doubled down—assigning elite shinobi to guard the perimeter, monitor travelers, and ensure that the alliance's founding day wouldn't be marred by "accidents."
For ten days, the roads to Konoha swarmed with life. Ninja caravans, mercenaries, wandering clans—all drawn by curiosity or ambition—trudged toward the new "alliance." Many came expecting to see a half-built fort or a doomed idealist's camp. Instead, what they found left even hardened veterans speechless.
At dawn, three figures sprinted through the misted woods on the backs of massive, dark-furred ninken. They were the pride of the Inuzuka Clan—eighteen-year-old prodigies whose bond with their hounds ran deeper than blood.
"Incredible, right? They say the Alliance is crawling with top-class shinobi," one of them shouted over the wind. "You ready to see how we stack up, Inuzuka Akira?"
Akira smirked, brushing wind-tossed hair from his face. As heir to the Inuzuka clan, the title of "top dog" came naturally—though his father's decision to send him felt suspiciously like a test. Guess even old man Inuzuka wants me to see how big the world really is.
The journey took only a day. By the next sunrise, they emerged from the trees to find an enormous wall cutting through the morning fog. Beyond it—the rumored heart of the Konoha Alliance.
After flashing their clan insignia to the gate guards, they were waved through. And as they stepped beyond the outer forest, the scene before them stopped them cold.
The inside wasn't some hidden military base—it was a thriving settlement. Rows of wooden houses, bustling shops, colorful banners, civilians bartering like the war outside didn't exist.
"What the... it's an actual city," one of them breathed.
"Not just that," Akira said, narrowing his eyes at the variety of emblems above storefronts. "Look—those shops belong to different clans. Uchiha. Hyūga. Even the Yamanaka."
Merchant stalls lined the street, packed with traders and shinobi alike. Children ran past laughing. Smoke rose from ramen stands. It looked… alive.
Hui Inuzuka, the only girl among them, had literal stars in her eyes. "They have fashion stores! Actual fashion stores! Akira, this is paradise!"
Akira ignored her, his analytical mind running ahead. If they're letting merchants and civilians settle inside, then they're planting roots. Trade leads to stability, stability leads to loyalty… and loyalty builds nations.
He clicked his tongue, a grudging smile creeping up. "Smart move, Amamiya Raizen. You're building more than an alliance. You're building a village."
The streets buzzed with energy. As Akira and his team walked deeper, they passed more visiting clans—the Sarutobi, the Hyūga, even members of the Aburame. The more he saw, the smaller his pride felt.
"Look over there!" someone shouted.
Two teenage prodigies walked side by side through the crowd: Hyūga Tennin, the Hyūga clan's brightest Byakugan user in a century, and Sarutobi Sasuke, known for his brutal staff techniques and beast summonings. Passersby whispered and pointed like they were watching living legends.
"That's Tennin Hyūga—killed dozens on the battlefield already," someone whispered.
"And that's Sarutobi Sasuke! I heard he's mastered the clan's mixed-style ninjutsu. His summons are terrifying!"
"Who'd win if they fought?" another asked.
"Hyūga Tennin, obviously! Byakugan gives him the edge."
"No way. Sarutobi's Summoning arts could crush him!"
Akira's jaw tightened. Both were younger than him—stronger, too. For the first time, his title as "Inuzuka genius" felt hollow. "Damn. Talk about reality check…"
"You're right," said a calm, almost spectral voice behind him. "Comparison really is the root of misery."
Akira spun, hand already on his kunai. "Who—?!"
A tall young man stood in the shadow of a gatepost, high-collared coat fluttering in the breeze. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, his expression unreadable.
"My name is Aburame Zhiren," he said simply. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The Aburame clan?" Akira blinked. He'd heard of them—reclusive insect users from the Fire Country, feared more than respected. Low-profile, but deadly.
Akira relaxed slightly and bowed his head. "Inuzuka Akira. These are my teammates. Pleasure's ours."
Zhiren nodded, saying nothing more, the faint hum of kikaichū audible beneath his sleeves. The tension eased as quickly as it came.
All across the Alliance grounds, the same scenes unfolded—young heirs from every clan converging, measuring one another, wondering who this Amamiya Raizen really was and how far his mad dream would reach.
The founding ceremony loomed closer, and in every heart, one thought simmered:
If this works... the world might never be the same again.