Konoha × Music

The bustle and change in Konoha were not limited to its streets and shops.

After that unconventional "street concert," the old Biwa Hōshi named Matsuda seemed to have had his artistic mind, closed off for so many years, split open by a thunderbolt.

He had spent most of his life sitting in that corner, playing and singing ancient melodies passed down through generations, full of the sorrow of parting and laments for inescapable fate. He had thought that was the limit of the biwa's art, the only solace and sigh to be found in an age of war.

But there was Izuna's utterly unorthodox performance, those rhythmic, energetic, somewhat noisy melodies.

Those fingers that seemed to dance across the entire face of the instrument, using techniques completely unlike traditional fingering.

And those straightforward, cheerful lyrics, like a dazzling light, tore brutally through his understanding and showed him a new world of infinite possibilities.

So the biwa could be played like that? Stories could be told like that? They didn't always have to be full of bitterness and hatred, didn't always have to lament fate; they could also praise life, celebrate home, and make people laugh?

The impact was revolutionary.

Born in the Warring States Period, they had no concept of true happiness.

There were intense pieces for the biwa, but the melodies played were either full of murderous intent or mournful and plaintive.

So when Izuna's purely uplifting music appeared, Matsuda Hōshi was stunned.

After his initial shock and the discomfort of feeling somewhat offended, Matsuda Hōshi felt an irrepressible excitement and desire to explore well up inside him.

All his life, he had pursued fresher stories and more moving melodies.

Izuna's playing might have seemed too unconventional, too unorthodox to him, but the vigorous life and astonishing power to move people within it were undeniable.

Not long afterward, Matsuda Hōshi left Konoha.

Still deeply shaken, and carrying a short passage from Izuna's performance that he had managed to imitate from memory, he went to the capital of the Land of Fire.

The country's finest Biwa Hōshi, musicians, and performers gathered there; it was one of the gathering places for people in their trade.

At a gathering of his peers in the capital, Master Sanwei, both nervous and excited, demonstrated that brief passage and eagerly described what he had seen and heard in Konoha.

How that young Uchiha ninja had used a single biwa to ignite the enthusiasm of an entire street, and how he had made the ancient instrument produce an effect as rich and stunning as an entire band.

The reactions... were sharply divided.

Some of the older musicians who adhered strictly to tradition scoffed, believing it was not biwa art at all, but merely crowd-pleasing juggling, the behavior of a "player" who degraded an elegant art to entertain the masses.

How could music be so frivolous? How could a story be so blunt? It was an outright desecration of tradition!

But others, especially the younger musicians and performers with more active minds, were deeply captivated.

They could hear the unique rhythm and vitality contained in that clumsy imitation of the melody, and could imagine the lively, joyous scene Matsuda had described.

Who said music had to be full of melancholy? Who said stories had to be obscure and convoluted? Wasn't music that struck straight at the heart, making people tap along and smile involuntarily, another kind of powerful force?

Yet appreciating it was one thing; imitating it... was as hard as climbing to heaven.

Izuna's fingering was a fusion of modern fingerstyle guitar techniques, emphasizing the independent division of work between both hands, complex rhythmic patterns, and percussive techniques.

To Biwa Hōshi accustomed to playing with a plectrum, it might as well have been an incomprehensible text.

Their eyes were dazzled and their hearts stirred as they watched and listened, but once they tried it themselves, their fingers grew stiff and refused to obey. They simply could not reproduce that richly layered effect, combining motion and stillness.

Matsuda Hōshi himself had managed to make his imitation of the most striking little rhythm at the start of Izuna's performance only thirty or forty percent similar, and that was after racking his brains and practicing day and night, driven by his love of music and his refusal to admit defeat.

Yet when Matsuda Hōshi nervously played this mere thirty-or-forty-percent-similar "defective product" as an "attempt at a new piece" during an entertainment performance at a noble banquet, it caused an unexpected sensation.

Those nobles, accustomed to elegant ancient melodies and tired of hearing the same old tunes, had never heard such a bold piece.

It was no longer background accompaniment, no longer an outlet for sorrow, but a performance full of power, as if one person alone had created the atmosphere of an entire ensemble.

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!"

"Such fingering is unheard of!"

"One person forming an entire ensemble? What a brilliant idea! What marvelous skill!"

"Which master composed this new piece? Where did it come from?"

Exclamations of amazement and questions rang out without end.

When they learned that this extraordinarily novel style of playing and melody had actually originated in a newly built ninja village on the frontier—Konoha—and had been created by a young Uchiha ninja, the nobles were even more astonished.

A ninja? Those taciturn "tools" who moved through the shadows and knew only killing and missions had actually created such refreshingly original music?

It completely overturned the stereotypes they had long held about ninja.

Tobirama Senju, who had remained in the capital to represent Konoha in another round of supply allocation and diplomatic discussions with the Land of Fire's bureaucracy, heard the discussion himself and saw firsthand the keen interest the nobles showed in the melody.

His feelings... were complicated.

Over the past half month, he had traveled back and forth between Konoha and the capital, keenly sensing the changes taking place in Konoha.

The streets had grown lively, people's smiles had become genuine, commerce had begun to take root, and the village's planning and construction were gradually getting on track under the strong impetus of his elder brother and Madara.

An "atmosphere of daily life" full of vitality and hope, unlike that of any previous ninja clan settlement, was spreading through Konoha.

And the source of nearly all these changes pointed to the same person—Uchiha Izuna.

This unexpected visitor was subtly influencing every aspect of Konoha in his own way.

Tobirama was somewhat unconsciously avoiding these changes.

After all, they were changes brought about because of "Izuna."

Even though his old archenemy and the man here now were different in every way.

But he had always felt that if that really was Izuna, then the changes he brought were bad.

He knew that stereotype was wrong, and the benefits brought by Izuna's actions forced him to admit that Izuna had done very well.

But precisely because of that, Tobirama had chosen to avoid it, hardly ever staying in the village except to submit documents.

Yet now even the capital had changed because of him. His influence had crossed a great distance and reached the capital's noble circles.

Tobirama recalled a private conversation he had with the Land of Fire minister responsible for assessing Konoha's condition, half a month ago, on the eve of his departure for the capital.

The minister's attitude then had been entirely different from his initial businesslike coldness and detachment, carrying a rare note of emotion.

"Lord Tobirama, to be frank, during my first days in Konoha, all I saw at first was an alliance of ninja forcibly cobbled together through military might, its members still full of wariness and schemes.

"It was quiet, but that quiet was tense and oppressive.

"Everyone looked like a sword wound up and sharpened, waiting only for orders.

"That only strengthened my previous view: ninja were, in the end, merely tools."

"I had originally planned to make one final inspection, then return and report as much to the daimyo."

The minister paused, a peculiar look entering his eyes.

"But then I saw that Uchiha Izuna."

"He really is a remarkable man. In the blink of an eye, he stirred up the emotions of the entire street."

"He pulled those young people into the sunlight one by one and introduced them to everyone in the most straightforward way."

There was a hint of laughter in the minister's voice. "Even now, I can still picture that lively scene."

"At that moment, I suddenly realized that what I was seeing were no longer 'swords,' but living, breathing people of flesh and blood.

"They feel joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness. They get embarrassed and shy, have abilities they take pride in, and ordinary worries too.

"They are no different in essence from the young people chasing and playing in the capital, except... they chose a more dangerous path and took on a heavier duty."

"Perhaps I'm softhearted, but I can't treat the living people I saw before me as tools." The minister looked at Tobirama, his gaze frank. "Lord Tobirama, I don't know how many of my colleagues, or how much I can persuade the daimyo, with what I've seen and heard.

"But I'll do my best to describe the Konoha I saw, and those young people full of possibilities for the future."

Those words left Tobirama silent for a long time.

So... this was what it felt like to be treated as a person.

Over the past few days, Tobirama and the minister had lobbied and negotiated throughout the Land of Fire's bureaucracy, trying to secure a more favorable allocation of resources and policy support for Konoha.

They brought Konoha's organized construction plans with them, presenting the village's development potential and blueprint for the future.

Yet they had made little progress.

What obstructed them was not any specific clause or conflict of interests, but a deeply ingrained stereotype.

The lofty nobles and the officials under them viewed ninja in a way strikingly similar to certain stubborn prejudices Tobirama held deep down about "Uchiha Izuna."

—Difficult to erase, and not even regarded as prejudice, but as a self-evident fact.

In the nobles' eyes, ninja were a group of tools or weapons who moved through the shadows, skilled in killing, infiltration, and destruction, risking their lives for money.

They were dirty, crude, and lacking in refinement and taste, "components" necessary for maintaining order and handling dirty work, but they never belonged in the category of "people" who could be treated as equals, much less admired.

That notion was ingrained in their bones, a social convention mutually understood without needing to be stated.

Thus, no matter how Tobirama demonstrated Konoha's potential, they merely listened politely, while inwardly feeling detached and faintly contemptuous.

They thought it was nothing more than weapons trying to imitate human life, a ridiculous and futile sight.

Changing that perception was far more difficult than securing specific benefits.

Yet just as Tobirama was beginning to feel defeated, believing this would be a long and arduous tug-of-war, a breakthrough appeared in a way he had never expected.

When Izuna's music rang out at the nobles' banquets, they seemed to forget how much they feared and despised ninja, and competed to praise it.

That very afternoon, Tobirama received a summons.

It came not from a minister, but from the daimyo himself, the highest authority in the Land of Fire, whom Tobirama had been unable to meet since arriving in the capital.

In a reception room that was lavishly decorated yet exuded a dull, old-fashioned air, the young daimyo of the Land of Fire dismissed his attendants, leaving only Tobirama and the minister who had introduced him.

The daimyo looked young, perhaps in his early twenties, with handsome features, but his gaze held the scrutiny of someone long accustomed to high office and a trace of barely perceptible weariness.

He dispensed with pleasantries and went straight to the point, and his question took Tobirama completely by surprise.

"Lord Tobirama, that ninja named 'Uchiha Izuna'... just who is he?" The daimyo made no attempt to conceal the curiosity in his tone.

Tobirama paused briefly, then answered cautiously, "Your Excellency, Uchiha Izuna is the second-in-command of Konoha's Uchiha Clan and the younger brother of its clan head, Madara Uchiha. He is an exceptionally powerful ninja."

"Powerful? Well, he's a ninja; naturally he should be." The daimyo waved a hand, clearly uninterested in this "standard answer." "That's not what I'm asking. The piece Matsuda Hōshi played... have you heard it? That... ah, very special biwa piece."

Tobirama fell silent for a moment. "...I've heard a little about it." He had done far more than hear about it; he was part of that ridiculous song.

"Only heard a little about it?" The daimyo leaned forward slightly, his eyes lighting up. "Matsuda said what he played was merely a 'defective product' he had barely managed to imitate, not even a tenth as good as the original! I can only imagine how exquisitely masterful, how deeply stirring the original must be when played by Uchiha Izuna himself!"

His tone was full of an art lover's longing for a priceless masterpiece, as though he were not talking about a ninja at all.

Tobirama's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He was not accustomed to this way of speaking, especially when the subject was a ninja.

"Your Excellency, Uchiha Izuna is first and foremost a ninja, and an exceptionally powerful one," Tobirama stressed. "His duty is to fight and protect, not... play music. I'm afraid he wouldn't, for something like this..."

"What do you mean, 'something like this'?" the daimyo interrupted, his tone carrying a hint of frustration at Tobirama's inability to understand. "How can you call such exquisite art 'something like this'? Lord Tobirama, you really are a blockhead!"

He paused and looked at Tobirama's still-calm, expressionless face. Seemingly realizing that talking to a ninja about art was like talking to a brick wall, he tried a different approach:

"Listen, Lord Tobirama, let me put it plainly. I know that no matter how winding the process, the Land of Fire will ultimately have to cooperate closely with your Konoha. Konoha's military strength is indispensable for maintaining stability on the Land of Fire's borders and deterring neighboring countries."

"But," the daimyo continued, changing tack as his fingers tapped lightly on the table, "Konoha's image in our eyes has never been very good. Too hard, too cold, full of an unpredictable air of danger.

"You also know the attitude of those old conservatives, and quite a few of my advisers."

He spread his hands. "I would very much like to truly bring Konoha into the Land of Fire's system and give you the status and support you deserve.

"But those old fellows are difficult to deal with. They're unwilling to admit 'ninja' into the circles they recognize."

"And now," the daimyo lowered his voice, with an air of "you know what I mean," "the piece Matsuda Hōshi brought back, and the scene he described that Uchiha Izuna caused on the streets of Konoha... have shown me a possibility."

Something stirred in Tobirama's heart. He understood.

"Your Excellency means... Izuna's... music might provide an opportunity to break the ice? A way... to change Konoha's image?"

"Exactly!" The daimyo gave him an approving look. "Military might inspires fear, and shared interests bring cooperation, but what truly makes people let down their guard and develop goodwill is often culture, art, and 'beauty' that resonates with them."

The minister added from the side, "If Uchiha Izuna, this powerful ninja, can also display such astonishing, such compelling artistic talent... it will absolutely overturn many people's fixed impressions.

"People will be curious, amazed, and unable to help wondering, What sort of place could produce someone like that? Such curiosity and goodwill are worth their weight in gold."

Tobirama fell silent.

He had to admit that this was indeed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to soften Konoha's image as a "cold weapon" in the eyes of the Land of Fire's upper echelons.

But...

Would Izuna agree?