Praise as a Trap

The storm that swept through the Capital was far fiercer and stranger than Uchiha Shinya had initially expected.

Following Izuna's instructions, he successfully infiltrated the Biwa Hōshi gathering place, posing as a young musician who was both curious and critical about the new style of biwa playing.

At first, he steered the conversation with ease, deftly stirring up the conservative old players who were already unhappy with Izuna's fingering. He watched them bristle with indignation and denounce it as "an affront to refinement" and "a violation of the rules."

Everything was going according to plan. Voices of opposition were gradually rising in the nobles' small circles, precisely the initial suppression Lord Izuna wanted before acclaim.

But in just a few short days, the situation abruptly spiraled out of control.

The controversial topics that had originally been confined to noble gatherings and the Biwa Hōshi guild were swept up as if by an invisible gale, spreading through every street and alley of the Capital at an astonishing speed.

Drunks in taverns, merchants in the market, storytellers in teahouses, and even women secluded in their chambers all began talking with relish about the "marvelous ninja musician" from Konoha who would soon perform at the Spring Banquet.

"Have you heard? That ninja from the Uchiha Clan plays the biwa with his fingers instead of a plectrum! He's so fast you can see afterimages!"

"That's nothing! They say the music he plays is nothing like those old tunes from The Tale of the Heike. It's so lively it could make the dead jump up and dance!"

"Really? Aren't ninja all killers? They can do that too?"

"The daimyo personally requested him! How could it be false? I hear even the court's master of music has taken notice and wants to see who this remarkable person is!"

Public opinion had not turned toward the "doubt and criticism" Shinya had expected. Instead, it had become an almost fanatical mood of extreme curiosity and anticipation.

When people spoke of it, their eyes shone and their voices brimmed with excitement, as if they were looking forward to an unprecedented spectacle.

Something was terribly wrong.

As Shinya listened to the talk in the streets, his frown deepened.

It was spreading too quickly and reaching too many people. Moreover, the fascination with something novel was uniformly positive or neutral. The fierce opposition from the "orthodox" camp, which should have been deliberately amplified, was almost nowhere to be heard.

Even the occasional remark that it was "against the rules" was quickly drowned out by louder cries of "I really want to see it for myself" and "He must be amazing."

This uniform "anticipation" was more unsettling than outright opposition.

It was like a huge bubble inflated by human hands, dazzling to behold yet exceptionally fragile.

If Lord Izuna's performance fell short in any way, or even merely failed to match the excessive fantasies some people harbored, the bubble would burst in an instant, and the backlash would be a hundred times fiercer than simple criticism.

Praise as a trap.

The phrase flashed through Shinya's mind, sending a chill down his spine.

Someone was fanning the flames from behind the scenes, and their methods were exceptionally skillful. They had seized precisely on ordinary people's love of novelty and admiration for the strong, putting Lord Izuna over a fire to roast.

This was no longer a simple artistic dispute, but a sinister political scheme.

He tried to counter it with the "conservative opposition" he had stirred up, creating some reasonable "dissenting voices," but found that it had little effect.

The small wave of opposition he had deliberately raised was like a stone tossed into the sea before this tidal wave of popular anticipation; even its ripples failed to last.

Shinya felt a surge of frustration and helplessness.

Once public opinion had swelled into a wave of this scale, guiding or calming it would be as difficult as reaching the heavens.

He could only operate more discreetly, gathering information in an attempt to find the source, and send this ominous premonition, along with news of the unusual developments in the Capital, back to Konoha as quickly as possible through the Summoning Technique.

Another person who sensed that something was wrong was Matsuda Hōshi.

Ever since Izuna had awed him on the streets of Konoha, the old Biwa Hōshi had become a devoted supporter and voluntary promoter of the new fingerstyle technique.

After returning to the Capital, he not only worked hard in private to study and imitate fragments of Izuna's fingering, but also told everyone he met about the extraordinary musical genius in Konoha and how groundbreaking his skills were.

He genuinely admired Izuna and genuinely hoped that more people would hear and appreciate this music brimming with vitality.

Yet the wave of admiration that had suddenly swept through the Capital recently left him restless.

He had spent many years immersed in the nobles' artistic circles and knew all too well how things worked there.

Excessive, abnormal adulation often meant that a hidden hand was at work, and that the higher someone was lifted, the harder they would fall.

Moreover, the way the entire populace was talking about it had gone beyond "art appreciation." It looked more like the prelude to a conspiracy against Konoha, or against Izuna himself.

He was deeply worried, afraid that he had unwittingly become an accomplice in fanning the flames, and even more afraid that Izuna, young and headstrong and unaware of the dangers of noble society, would plunge headfirst into this obvious trap.

And so Matsuda Hōshi could sit still no longer.

He dropped everything he was doing, and without even having time to pack properly, relied on his memory and asked for directions along the way as he hurried toward Konoha, traveling day and night and gathering dust from the road.

He gritted his teeth and covered a journey that should have taken five or six days in just three, arriving at the entrance to Konoha.

Meanwhile, in Konoha, Madara had already become wary after receiving Shinya's intelligence.

He went straight to Hashirama and told him about it.

They too sensed a conspiracy.

Although Hashirama was inclined to trust in Izuna's abilities, he also understood the power of public opinion, and at this point, word arrived from Tobirama as well.

Almost at the same time Matsuda reached Konoha, in the Daimyo's Residence in the Capital of the Land of Fire.

The young daimyo put down the confidential report in his hand. The usual ease he wore when appreciating art was gone from his handsome face; his brows were slightly knitted and his gaze was sharp.

"It's too deliberate." He tapped his fingertips on the table as he spoke to the close attendants standing beside him and Tobirama, who had just been urgently summoned. "At first, I thought this Uchiha Izuna showed considerable courage, and his music did have something novel about it. It was only natural that he would draw some discussion.

"But these past few days, every conversation in the streets has centered on him, and all of it has been curiosity and praise. One hardly hears a decent criticism... Heh. Since when has my Capital become so unanimous?"

He looked at Tobirama, his voice calm but carrying unquestionable authority. "Lord Tobirama, you are a clever man. Someone wants to use the Spring Banquet to make a laughingstock of Konoha, and even more than that, they want to see my attitude toward Konoha."

Tobirama pushed up his glasses, a cold light flashing in his red eyes. "Your Excellency sees clearly. Public opinion of this sort could never have formed naturally. I fear whoever is behind this seeks more than the humiliation of one man or one village."

The daimyo nodded. "Precisely. That is why I have a proposal."

He paused. "The Spring Banquet is nearly upon us. What if word were to spread now that Uchiha Izuna had suddenly fallen ill, or had accidentally suffered a serious injury while on a mission, and could not attend? It would be regrettable, but he could lie low until this ill wind has passed, and we could then consider our options at greater length. What do you think?"

The proposal amounted to indirectly protecting Izuna and Konoha, postponing a potential point of conflict and leaving both sides room to maneuver.

Tobirama fell silent for a moment, rapidly weighing his options.

The daimyo's proposal was undoubtedly the safest choice for the moment. No matter how gifted Izuna was, one misstep in the face of this carefully laid public-opinion trap could spell his doom. Avoiding its edge was indeed the best course.

"...I understand. I must discuss this with my elder brother and the Uchiha Clan Head. But thank you for your concern, Your Excellency." Tobirama did not agree immediately, but his tone already showed that he was inclined to accept the plan.

However, they did not know that the person they wanted to "protect" was currently listening to the anxious account of another "messenger," while thinking about something else entirely.

Konoha, the Uchiha mansion.

Izuna sat cross-legged in the living room, facing Matsuda Hōshi, who was panting too hard to even take a drink of water.

Madara leaned against a pillar nearby with his arms crossed, his expression slightly dark as he listened to Matsuda's disjointed but heartfelt warning.

"...That's how it is, Lord Izuna! Everyone in the Capital is talking about you now! They all say you're a once-in-a-century genius, and they're just waiting to see you shine at the Spring Banquet!"

"This isn't right!" Matsuda said anxiously. "Something is terribly wrong! How could the praise be so one-sided? Someone is plainly putting you over a fire to roast!"

"Those true masters of the biwa would never dare openly acknowledge your skill under this kind of attention, even if they admired it in private, much less speak up for you! Because once they acknowledge you, it's the same as rejecting the tradition they depend on for their livelihoods. Their status, their students, and their interests would all be threatened! They'll only band together and wait for you with the pickiest, harshest standards. At the slightest hint that you're 'untraditional,' they'll all attack you and brand you a complete and utter 'heretic'!"

Matsuda grew more anxious as he spoke. He grabbed Izuna's wrist. "So, Lord Izuna! There isn't much time! Please allow me to teach you every orthodox biwa piece I know, especially the classic Heikyoku passages! You don't need to master them, but you must at least know them! You need to be able to play them reasonably well! That way, you can awe them with new pieces and use traditional ones to shut their mouths, leaving them nothing to say! Everyone can save face, and only then will there be hope for your safety and the spread of the new technique!"

Matsuda's eyes were full of earnest concern. He truly cherished talent, and he was truly afraid that Izuna, this extraordinary sapling, would be broken by a storm of conspiracy before he had truly blossomed.

Izuna listened quietly, with none of the anger, panic, or gravity Matsuda had expected on his face.

On the contrary, his gaze was calm.

Izuna suddenly let out a soft chuckle.

"So that's how it is." He murmured to himself, looking into the empty air as though his gaze had pierced the walls and found Black Zetsu, lurking in the shadows and constantly sowing discord.

"What a stale trick."

He looked at the desperately anxious Matsuda, his gaze clear and assured. "Matsuda Hōshi, thank you for coming all this way to tell me this, and thank you for being willing to teach me."

Matsuda had just breathed a sigh of relief when Izuna changed tack. "But as for the situation you described, I can more or less guess who's behind it. And as for what those biwa masters think..." He shrugged indifferently. "I don't really care whether they acknowledge it as 'traditional' or not. The world of music is vast. There's more than one path."

Matsuda grew anxious. "But Lord Izuna! How can you stand against the whole—"

"That's why I'm going to learn." Izuna interrupted him, his smile brightening with confidence and an ease that seemed entirely natural. "Not to prove anything. I just want to learn, and since you're willing to teach me, I couldn't ask for more."

He paused, his tone sincere. "I've never thought learning from anyone was shameful. When it comes to music, whatever the style or school, as long as there's something worthwhile in it, it's worth learning about and absorbing. Only by taking in a hundred rivers can you find your own path and keep breaking through."

Matsuda froze. Looking into Izuna's clear eyes, he suddenly felt that perhaps he had still underestimated this young ninja.

What he possessed was not merely astonishing skill, but also a broader, more perceptive mind.

"Then... what about public opinion?" Matsuda still could not help worrying.

Izuna blinked, and a thoroughly arrogant smile appeared on his face.

"Public opinion? Let them hype it up." Izuna folded his arms and raised his chin slightly. "That sneaking little coward behind the scenes doesn't know shit. Does he think that if he lifts me high enough, I'll look terrible when I fall?"

He gave a snort of laughter, his eyes blazing with fighting spirit. "He doesn't understand at all. A true performer is never afraid of high expectations. What they fear is no one expecting anything."

"Since he's gone to all that trouble to stir up the crowd for me and whet the audience's appetite..." Izuna stood and flexed his fingers, as if he could already hear the cheers of the crowd. "Once I get there, what I have to do won't be as simple as 'playing' anymore."

He looked at Madara, his eyes shining, and said emphatically, word by word:

"I'm going to turn the Spring Banquet—"

"Into my own solo concert."