Rational Choice Theory
Come spring, Madara makes it clear that their priority is to compensate for all the loss they have to incur in the winter when they must spend money on food and ways to stay warm before they are able to earn it back. After long discussions with his most trusted advisors, Madara decides to seriously set about reestablishing their intelligence network as a commodity, and also starts devising ways to expand their operation up north and into the Land of Iron.
The Land of Iron is something of a double-edged blade for such an expansion. As the heart of the samurai civil wars, it has famously been a veritable landmine to navigate safely. The only reason Madara is able to argue his case for this move is that now that they aren’t sinking as much manpower into the Uchiha-Senju conflict—and he made it quite clear that they will not be going out of their way to seek the enemy clan out behind its barriers anytime soon—they can afford to invest it elsewhere.
And Iron could indeed turn out to be an investment. Now that the samurai are too busy fighting each other to offer their services, the people of Iron are starting to turn to shinobi clans to fill that void. Madara hopes to take advantage of this need and establish friendly relations with Iron early on to guarantee another source of income for his clan while also boosting Uchiha standing in the Daimyo’s court for having foreign connections with a country that has been difficult to enter for decades now.
It will require some careful manoeuvring, but if it’s done right, there is plenty of profit to be made.
Their first mission from Iron is to help guard a new colony that the Daimyo is trying to establish for the people displaced by the samurai conflicts. Since the settlement will require guarding from external threats as well as internal disputes that might erupt when so many upset people of all sorts of backgrounds are forced to gather, Iron’s native Hatake clan as well as Fire’s Shimura clan will also be present. Both present opportunities for new allies if things go well.
In such an instance when both strength and significant amounts of diplomacy will be needed, it is unsurprising that the mission is entrusted to Izuna. As one of Madara’s highest ranking ambassadors and the clan heir, logically, he is the only one who could be trusted with such a venture.
It is just as well. Izuna’s favourite missions have always been tricky diplomatic ones. Where he has to forcefully propel himself to keep up with his brother physically, politics comes to Izuna far easier. He had learned first at his mother’s side her gentle manipulations, and then later the art of battling with words alone from his grandmother.
Besides, it’s nice to get away every once in a while. Madara has been getting restless lately which unfortunately means that it is Izuna who gets dragged out to spar with him at wretched times of the day. It has also been Izuna’s responsibility to make sure that some of their opposition factions don’t do anything stupid to sabotage the tentative amity their clan has been granted now that the Senju have seemingly truly retreated behind their barriers for the foreseeable future.
It had been difficult to believe at first. Izuna cannot help that he has gotten too used to expecting the worst when he has been proven right for his suspicion too many times for comfort.
“You cannot trust the enemy to do right by you, Izuna,” Akio used to say. “Never trust the Senju.”
And Izuna still stands by that; he doesn’t trust the Senju to do right by them because they have no logical reason to. But perhaps he can trust them to do right by themselves. Now that he has had time to think about it with a cooler head for three months, Izuna can see that the barriers are clearly a defence rather than a disguised attack. It marks a shift in typical Senju tactics which for decades involved more initiative and damage, but he can begrudgingly acknowledge that perhaps the evidence Madara had shown him does paint Hashirama out to be a different kind of commander. Under him, the Senju seem to prefer to respond rather than attack first, and now, they are refusing even that.
Izuna doesn’t believe that the war has ended between them just because a few barriers have been put up. There are grievances on both sides that have piled up for so long that simply declaring peace could never be enough. Reparations would have to be made and scores settled one way or another. Besides, they are shinobi—there are more ways than one to incite conflict and no one knows that better than them. For now, he will simply have to wait and see.
The Daimyo of Iron—Asahi Yama—is a stern looking man in his fifties who has a perpetual air of exhaustion about him. Though he is dressed in silks, Izuna knows from a glance that the fabric is nowhere near as expensive as the pieces worn in the Capital of Fire. Aside from the rings on his fingers that look like official signets, the only other jewellery he wears are a pair of heavy gold earrings. His hair has no lustre to it and his skin has a pale undertone despite the ample sunlight Iron is known to get.
This is a man who has clearly been under duress for quite a while and has no time or resources to be flaunting on luxury that has no place in a glorified refugee camp. It is in stark difference to the Daimyo of Fire who is known for his wealth and opulent inclinations.
“I know the Uchiha are a noble clan of Land of Fire,” Yama acknowledges, eyes wary, “but I hope you will take no offense to the lack of larger reception. We are stretched very thin, I’m afraid, and there is much to see to. You will have to excuse my poor hospitality.”
Izuna smiles beatifically and shakes his head slightly. “Not at all. This is not a social call anyways; you are our client. I understand the need for sensitivity. Besides, Uchiha are shinobi first and nobility second. You need not worry, Asahi-sama.”
The man relaxes marginally. “Thank you for your understanding, Uchiha-dono. Once things are more settled, you will have to let me treat you to a traditional Iron welcome. For now, allow me to show you to your quarters.”
His quarters turn out to be in the boxy looking, three-storey building that has been reserved as the office residence of the higher ranked officials in the settlement. He shares a floor with the leaders of the Hatake and Shimura entourages, along with the Daimyo’s daughter who will be left in charge of overseeing the settlement once her father leaves in a few days’ time to return to his home court. Since the building is with a courtyard at its heart, they each get a wing to themselves essentially. The rest of the shinobi are led to a temporary camp of sorts that is set up further into the village.
Izuna hums as he surveys his new residence. He will have to set up a guard rotation since they are being separated this way. Introductions to the people he is sharing the floor with will have to be made soon too. One of the Daimyo’s potential heirs, a Hatake general, and a Shimura from the main line—each an important connection so long as he plays his card right, and a good first impression could go a long way. Izuna intends to make the best of it.
Tobirama jerks awake from dreams of war and despair with the taste of blood and ash on his tongue, his ears ringing as he tries to blink away the glowing crimson of sharingan that he still sees lurking in the dark.
Nightmares are inevitable in their line of work, and he too has his fair share every now and then, but Tobirama hasn’t dreamt so vividly of the Uchiha in years in either life. He had become too desensitised to fear much of anything after Itama’s death, and then too used to coexisting alongside his once enemies. Tobirama had grown up and found ways to manage his mental state enough to ward the dreams off with meditation, exercise, and his research. It is not foolproof, but it manages his stress levels enough that he hardly has such intense dreams anymore.
Perhaps he is more thrown off than he thought by the idea of fighting the clan that had become an ally to him for over half his life. The clan that Kagami came from; a boy that Tobirama came to see as close to his own child as he could get.
He couldn’t possibly continue to fear the sharingan after seeing it set in Kagami’s young face, looking up at him with a gap-toothed smile and puffed up for a compliment that the boy believed would be sure to follow.
Still, he is unable to reason with the thundering of his heartbeat as the itch of restlessness settles under his skin. His instincts tell him to move, to fix, to do something. Tobirama sighs into the stagnant quiet of his room and sits up. From experience he knows that sleep will be lost to him for the remainder of the night. Since he is awake, he may as well start his day and get some work done.
With their new policies on agriculture and export, the clan’s entire budgeting system had to be modified to account for the new economic venture. The quarterly budget projection must be verified and approved, payroll tax withholdings will need to be altered, disbursements reformed and accepted. It is not as though there is any shortage of things to be done. He also agreed to having tea with Elder Hanabi of the neutral faction later in the afternoon.
And all that is without even counting Tobirama’s personal research. He is currently in the middle of trying to recreate several unfinished projects from his future, but it is difficult since some of the relevant technologies and advancements have not been made yet, and despite his remarkable memory, it is impossible for him to remember everything. Even so, sitting around in wait is not an option if he wants to elevate the Senju into economic and academic circles instead of just military ones. Though they are on par with noble clans in terms of wealth and might, their influence needs to spread beyond just the military to gain enough traction with other shinobi clans to convince them of founding a village together.
“Tobirama?”
His eyes snap open, immediately finding the doorway where Hashirama lingers, droopy eyed from sleep and still tracking the room as though looking for threats. “Anija,” he frowns, “why are you awake?”
Finding no immediate danger, Hashirama blinks at him and admits, “I felt you. Your chakra was distressed. Are you okay?”
His brother was sensing him? With mokuton lingering in the very wooding of their house, it becomes difficult to parse for Hashirama’s chakra specifically, but Tobirama still can’t believe he didn’t notice. He clears his throat and assures, “It was only a dream, anija. I am well. I apologise for waking you.”
Hashirama looks sheepish as he leans against the door frame, cheek creased from his pillow. “I was the one keeping track. It’s hardly your fault you had a nightmare.”
“Why were you doing that anyway?”
He shrugs. “I like to make sure you’re alright. Helps me.”
Clearly Tobirama is not the only one with strategies that help keep his nightmares at bay. How odd that Hashirama has developed this habit when Tobirama never knew if he did the same in his other life. He hadn’t realised just how much his brush with death almost a year ago—when his souls first merged—might have affected his brother.
Allowing a small smile to curve his lips, he regards Hashirama with an open softness as if to prove that he is truly unharmed. “Well, I promise I am fine. You should go back to sleep, anija. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Hashirama groans but nods, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. “I will see you in the morning then.”
“Sleep well,” Tobirama calls after him. He pauses and frowns, the lingering fondness for his brother instantly evaporating as he realises, “Anija, you left my door open again!”
Of course, Hashirama has already disappeared down the hall into his own room. Tobirama throws his pillow after him anyway. It does not make him feel better unfortunately. The door stays open.
There’s a lot that goes into making the glorified refugee camp a permanent settlement for its residents, even beyond just the infrastructure—though it still leaves much to be desired in Izuna’s humble opinion.
As the people are relocated from their temporary accommodations to what is to be their new home, all sorts of disputes arise. Land disputes, conflicts with resource allocations, exaggerated misunderstandings from minor cultural differences, fights born of heated emotions like jealousy, grief, misery, restlessness. Peace, as it turns out, is a tenuous little thing that is difficult to establish and even harder to maintain.
Izuna thinks it is ironic that it is the responsibility of the shinobi to do so now for this little backwater village that will hopefully blossom into a full-fledged self-sustaining community if all goes per plan according to the Daimyo of Iron.
“Do you think this will work?” he wonders aloud.
At his side, the Shimura emissary—Shimura Gen—crosses her arms and regards the valley that the village is nestled within. “If they want to survive, they will make it work,” she states flatly. “No one here has anywhere else to go unless they want to try their luck with the mountain passes.”
Izuna snorts. Unlikely given the reputation these passes have developed as a lair of bandits. It would be challenging even by shinobi standards; these civilians stand no chance. “I suppose desperation is as good a motivation as any.”
“Nothing quite like it,” Gen agrees.
There is the sound of an approach behind them as they are joined by the last shinobi representative. “They will endure,” Hatake Eizan declares. “Man is a tenacious species. Once the panic of crisis has worn off, they will adapt.”
“You sure have faith in your countrymen,” Gen notes.
Eizan shrugs. “Everyone here has already lived through the worst that is likely to happen to them. They will soon realise that too. It’s nature.”
Eyeing the tinge of rust red buried under the man’s fingernails, Izuna changes the subject. “I see your hunt was successful.”
His observation is rewarded with an approving smile. “You have a keen eye, Izuna-san. We brought back a doe, boar, and a couple of rabbits. Some meat ought to cheer these people right up.”
“Big game,” Gen notes, eyebrows rising.
“A token of good will,” Eizan admits, sighing. “Shinobi are not common in Iron. They make people skittish and has them expecting the worst, just as they would from a samurai. We are all the same to them, after all. Providing them some good food every now and then will go a long way to setting them at ease.”
With some amusement, Izuna realises that the general is aiming to condition the people of this settlement into accepting their presence as a good thing. It’s a good way of painting the Hatake as friendly benefactors while simultaneously establishing their strength as hunters. A dubious but possibly effective way of keeping peace.
It seems like Gen realises the same thing, though she is less subtle in her surprise when she accuses, “You’re basically domesticating them!”
To his credit, Eizan is not fazed or ashamed as he says, “Humans are just another kind of animal.”
Which isn’t wrong even though it makes Izuna laugh and has Gen blinking in bewilderment.
His new colleagues are a little strange; Gen is too formal and uptight, while Eizan is too relaxed. Even so, Izuna finds them interesting and welcoming enough that he is not regretful of this mission being assigned to him. If he does well, perhaps it will finally get Madara to stop skulking around him like some overly concerned, overgrown cat.
Dear Tobirama,
I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, I am writing to you of a serious matter that is of great consequence to our clan: Obaasan has fallen ill. For a few months now, she has been reporting severe headaches and nausea. She became forgetful and fitful, often complaining of her vision blurring. We thought it might be age, but the civilian doctor tells us that it might actually be a tumour in her brain. She does not have the resources to determine the location or severity of this tumour, however, which is why I must turn to you.
Even we have heard of your clan’s growing fame for supposedly wielding miracles instead of chakra. I hope it is not too much of a favour to ask you to help with Obaasan’s treatment. So long as you can help her manage through a succession rite, we will be grateful for your help.
Yours humbly,
Iroha
“All well?” Elder Hanabi asks, watching him impassively over the rim of her cup.
Tobirama makes a noncommittal sound and carefully folds the letter, slipping it into the pocket beneath his collar. “My mother’s clan is requesting my assistance,” he admits, finger tapping against the delicate porcelain of his own cup. “My honourable grandmother has fallen gravely ill with no formal heir to her mantle.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Tobirama-sama,” she says solemnly. “Will you go?”
“I should.” He purses his lips. “Though I am…unsure if I will be able to save her. Her treatment would be complicated. It is a malady of the brain.”
Hanabi’s face contorts in understanding. “Always tricky, those are.”
“Indeed.” Tobirama sighs. “Still, I will not know until I can see and diagnose her for myself.”
For a moment, the elder is quiet as she refills both their cups with a floral tea. Finally, she says, “You will be missed here.”
Tobirama does not visibly pause, though he wants to. “The barriers will keep our enemies at bay, Hanabi-san. My honourable anija is more than capable of handling the rest in my absence. There is no cause for worry.”
“Perhaps,” she acquiesces. When she smiles at him, it is wry and does not reach her eyes. “The Senju need you more than you think, Tobirama-sama.”
They finish the rest of their tea in silence.