Uchiha Nan's expression darkened.
He had already reduced the amount three times in a row, and the Daimyō still refused to budge.
Did he really think that just because he had money, Nan wouldn't dare touch him?
Daimyō's face twitched slightly. Feeling Nan's displeasure, he cursed inwardly—but no matter how unhappy he was, he could only compromise again.
After all, Nan's fist was bigger.
Damn ninja…
The Daimyō cursed silently, yet his expression instantly shifted back to one of indulgent ease.
"Since Hokage has spoken," he said with a lazy smile, "then I'll take a step back as well. This time, the funding will be three hundred and twenty billion ryō."
"Hahaha! Splendid!"
"As expected of the wise and enlightened Daimyō of the Land of Fire!"
"A ruler destined to lead the nation beyond its former glory—"
"…"
Uchiha Nan immediately put on a flawless Sichuan-opera face change, pouring out flattery as if it cost nothing.
The client had paid up—what was a little praise?
If the funding was sufficient, Nan would gladly perform stand-up comedy just to sing the Daimyō's praises.
A model乙方, wasn't he?
This trip had exceeded Nan's expectations. Squeezing another ten billion ryō out of these rotten parasites would greatly accelerate the Uchiha clan's recovery.
And there were also ten precious gacha pulls.
As for the pair of twins…
Well—uh—those could be set aside for now.
"Too kind, too kind," the Daimyō replied, staring wide-eyed at Nan.
This Uchiha was nothing like the one in his imagination.
Aloof, cold, arrogant—those traits still fit.
But there was now another one.
If said kindly, it was unrestrained.
If said bluntly, it was shameless.
The Senju brothers had never uttered such syrupy praise, yet Nan delivered it with a straight face.
If it were some scheming minister, that would be one thing—but now even the Hokage had mastered this art.
That was…
a little dangerous.
The Daimyō studied Nan with a new, unreadable look.
"Hokage praises me too much," he said slowly.
"However, I have one small request."
"The eminent monk Xuankong of the Fire Temple has long wished to experience Konoha's ninjutsu firsthand, but has never had the opportunity. Might Hokage be willing to grant him some guidance?"
The Land of Fire didn't sponsor only Konoha.
Konoha was simply the largest recipient.
The Fire Temple enjoyed endless incense offerings, and in terms of wealth, its income likely wasn't far behind Konoha's.
In a world like this—filled with yokai, curses, and strange horrors—when ordinary people encountered trouble, what else could they do besides burn incense and pray?
Bit by bit, the offerings piled up. Over years, it became a staggering sum—especially with nobles frequently visiting temples to seek blessings.
And Fire Temple monks weren't just bald men chanting sutras. Their talismans and charms actually worked.
Truly a river of wealth.
In Nan's previous life, similar institutions had often been targeted precisely because they were such massive hoarders of money.
Hm?
So this was a test.
Nan kept his expression calm. He understood the Daimyō's thinking well enough.
Relying on a single armed force was dangerous. If another faction could be cultivated, why not support it as well?
It was just spending more money—suffering the common people a little more, that was all.
"No problem," Nan said with a gentle smile.
"I've long heard that the monks of the Fire Temple cultivate a unique power known as the Talent of the Sage Lineage."
"I'd like to see it for myself as well."
"Hahaha! Then it's settled!"
The Daimyō pulled the girl from before back into his arms and returned to his seat, focusing wholeheartedly on eating and drinking—turning the bitterness of being extorted into appetite.
Ten billion ryō.
Just for one meal.
An expensive meal indeed.
Seeing the Daimyō no longer paying him any mind, Nan finally started eating in earnest. Earlier, he'd been busy drinking with the Daimyō and hadn't had time to savor the dishes.
When the banquet ended, the chubby attendant escorted Nan back to his room—without forgetting to bring Feng and Ling along.
The moment Nan spoke earlier, the two sisters had already been marked as his.
That night, Uchiha Nan naturally had a wonderful time.
Very… moist.
The next day.
Nan climbed out of bed groggily, having no idea how long he'd been busy the night before—only that he was utterly exhausted.
Seeing him wake, Feng and Ling moved by habit, helping him dress and wash.
Their parents had died long ago. With nothing but good looks—and the selling point of being twins—they'd been taken in by the Daimyō and carefully trained, all for the sake of entertaining powerful figures someday.
Perhaps even being sent to another country's Daimyō.
Being given to Nan was hardly unacceptable. Hunger had already completed their ideological education.
Nan stood still, doing nothing, while the sisters finished everything—including serving him breakfast.
Feudal rot really does erode the human spirit…
Nan felt as if his entire shinobi career had been a waste. Years of living on the edge of a blade, grinding himself into a killing machine—
And now he'd finally made it.
"You'll follow me from now on," Nan said seriously, looking at them.
What was done was done. Responsibility was responsibility.
Two more mouths, two more pairs of chopsticks—
He, Uchiha Nan, could afford that much.
Feng and Ling nodded obediently, clearly relieved.
They'd been afraid that after enjoying himself, Nan would simply vanish. If that happened, their future would be bleak indeed.
After Nan closed the door, the chubby attendant was already waiting outside.
"Let's go," Nan said. "Take me to see the Daimyō."
Soon enough, Nan was led to a training ground.
The Daimyō was chatting happily with a monk, bare-chested, muscles exposed.
From afar, Nan almost thought he'd run into Fahai—same bald head, similar markings on the body.
"Hokage," the Daimyō said with a grin, "did you sleep well last night?"
"Quite well," Nan replied frankly. "Your beds are big and soft—much better than the ones at my place."
"Hahaha! If Hokage likes them, I can send you the finest bed there is!"
"…"
After a few rounds of meaningless pleasantries, they finally got to the point.
"This," the Daimyō said, gesturing, "is the eminent monk of the Fire Temple—Master Xuankong."
"Greetings," Nan said.
—To be continued
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