In the reception room at BETA, two cups of steaming tea sat on the low table before Minato. He was waiting for a visitor—an envoy from the Fire Capital.
A herald's call sounded outside. Moments later, a man in court robes was led in: Fujiwara, a confidant of the Daimyo.
"Minato-sama." Fujiwara accepted a gold-silk-wrapped scroll from his attendant and, holding it with both hands, presented it to Minato. "An express letter from the Daimyo. I have already reported Konoha's finances ahead of time. Please review this."
Minato reached out and took the scroll.
It was written on the finest paper, the brushstrokes bold and powerful. One glance at the opening lines told him its contents were anything but ordinary.
It wasn't an invitation so much as a transfer of power.
After a long preface praising Konoha's achievements over the past year—calling Konoha "the pride and jewel of the Land of Fire," the cornerstone of its future—the letter's tone shifted.
The Daimyo had made a decision—one that would alter the Land of Fire's political landscape.
He would grant the Namikaze clan a special status "equal to the Daimyo."
This meant the Namikaze were no longer a ninja household subordinate to the Daimyo's court, but rulers on par with the Daimyo himself.
The letter's final line was written in gold dust:
"As the sun and moon are to the heavens, so is the Namikaze to the Land of Fire. Henceforth, the decisions of the Namikaze shall be the decisions of the Land of Fire."
This was no mere delegation; it was a proclamation that the Land of Fire was entering a new era—jointly governed by the Daimyo and the Namikaze.
Minato slowly rolled the scroll and retied it. He looked up at Fujiwara. He was surprised—yet, deep down, it felt inevitable.
He knew the Daimyo's concession wasn't because Minato's "face" carried such weight, nor because Konoha's military alone was overwhelming.
The true reason was his son, Namikaze Shinju.
Shinju's capabilities—the power to conjure wealth seemingly from nothing, to reshape an entire economic order—were beyond common comprehension. Not just in the Land of Fire; nowhere in the shinobi world could a second such person be found.
The Daimyo was a wise man. He chose to share power, not oppose it. It aligned with the times—and safeguarded himself.
Behind a folding screen in the reception room, Shinju sat quietly. He heard every word. The result stirred no visible emotion.
To him, when an organization's economic strength and influence grow enough to grasp a nation's lifeline, elevation of status is not a surprise—only a matter of time.
Fujiwara had been watching Minato's expression carefully. He saw Minato restore his composure almost immediately, as if he had read a routine memo. Fujiwara's respect deepened. To remain this calm in the face of such a transfer of authority—this clan's measure was unfathomable.
He cleared his throat and leaned forward, his tone yet more reverent. "Minato-sama, the Daimyo also bade me relay this…"
"He said he knows Konoha's present glory rests entirely on 'Shinju-sama's' world-shaping talents. He hopes that one day he may personally pay his respects to Shinju-sama and receive his instruction."
Fujiwara gave special weight to the honorific "Shinju-sama."
At last, a father's pride touched Minato's face. Though he stood at the fore as Konoha's leader, everyone truly in the know understood: the year's earthshaking changes sprang from his eldest son's unseen hand.
"I will convey the Daimyo's kind regards to Shinju," Minato replied.
Hearing this, Fujiwara relaxed as if a great task had been completed. He then presented several chests of treasures as the Daimyo's gifts, and respectfully took his leave.
After the envoy departed, Minato stood a moment with the scroll in hand, then walked behind the screen.
Shinju was seated there with a treatise on chakra nature transformation in his hands.
"You heard?" Minato asked.
"I did." Shinju turned a page without looking up. "The Daimyo chose rationally. Trade a nominal honor for the stability of the entire national economy—that's a profitable exchange."
"This is no nominal honor," Minato said, placing the scroll on the table beside Shinju. "It is substantive authority. From today on, any decision you make will directly affect the whole Land of Fire."
"Father, the size of power is never decided by a piece of paper or a title," Shinju closed the book and met Minato's eyes. "Power is decided by strength. We have the strength—that's why they sent the paper. If one day we fall from the clouds, these same people will kick us while we're down."
Minato looked at his son with both admiration and a twinge of ache. Such clarity came with a burden few could bear.
After this meeting, a new epithet began to circulate among the nobles and ministers of the Fire Capital.
They no longer called Shinju "the Namikaze heir," nor resorted to vague phrases like "mysterious prodigy."
They chose a more precise term—one that captured their awe for the youth whose influence already surpassed both "Hokage" and "Daimyo," even from behind the scenes:
"The Uncrowned Shadow."
In law and in esteem, Shinju had received the highest recognition—laying the firmest foundation for the grander design yet to come.
At Training Ground Seven, Kakashi gathered Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura.
He looked different from usual. The normally languid teacher who was always late, Icha Icha Paradise in hand, had arrived precisely on time—a once-in-a-millennium blossom. His expression was stern; the orange book was nowhere to be seen.
"All right, you little bundles of energy," Kakashi began, voice lower than usual. "Catching cats, weeding, dog-walking—you've done enough of those dull D-ranks. Feeling tired of them? Good. It's time to hand those off."
"I've watched you for a while. Your recent performance—individually and as a team—has reached the top tier among genin. It's time to face real waves. An eagle never soars without trials."
Naruto beamed at the praise. Sasuke maintained his cool facade. Sakura, unlike the boys, was nervous; she sensed danger in what was coming.
Kakashi produced a mission scroll, its seal stamped with ten bold "gate" marks.
"So," he said, shaking it lightly, "I've accepted your first C-rank."
At the words "C-rank mission," Naruto literally jumped, fists pumping. "A C-rank?! Awesome! We finally get to leave the village and see the world!"
Anticipation flickered across Sasuke's face. D-ranks were mind-numbing—he craved real combat, a true test, and another chance to measure himself against Naruto. He could lose to anyone—just not to Naruto.
Only Sakura wore lingering worry. "Kakashi-sensei… a C-rank—will it be dangerous?" She knew real battles carried the risk of injury—of death.
Kakashi looked to her. "Being a shinobi means walking with danger," he said evenly. "This mission is simple: escorting a client back to his country."
"A client?" Naruto stopped cheering, curious.
"Mhm." Kakashi nodded. "Tazuna—from the Land of Waves. A master bridge builder."
"Our task is to protect him en route. If nothing unexpected happens and he reaches the Land of Waves safely, the mission is complete."
"Get ready. We meet at the village gate in thirty minutes."
He gave them no time for more questions. With a soft poof, his body dispersed in smoke—it had been a Kage Bunshin (Shadow Clone). His real body had likely left long ago.
"Yesss! Out-of-village mission!" Naruto whooped. "Feels like I'm getting closer to Father and Big Brother—gotta work even harder!" He sprinted home to pack, yelling as he went.
Sasuke said nothing, hands in his pockets, but his steps were quicker than usual.
Sakura watched their retreating backs, and her worry eased into a smile. The team's first proper mission was a milestone; she wouldn't rain on it. She drew a steadying breath—then ran home to prepare as well.
None of the three yet knew: this "just-travel" C-rank escort would become the first battle where their lives were truly on the line.
And on that small island of the Land of Waves, a storm that would sweep the shinobi world was about to begin.
(End of Chapter)
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