Spring Banquet × Beginning

The convoy slowly entered the main gate of the Capital of the Land of Fire.

Almost the instant it entered the gateway, a deafening roar surged toward it like a solid tide, piercing the thick carriage walls and pounding against the eardrums of the three people inside.

"They're here! They're here!"

"Is that the group from Konoha?"

"Look at the main carriage! Uchiha Izuna himself is in there, right?"

"So grand! Are all those mounted guards ninja? They look so impressive!"

"I heard he plays the biwa without a plectrum, so fast you can see afterimages!"

"I can't wait to hear him!"

Cheers, chatter, curious exclamations, children's excited shrieks...

The sounds mingled into a torrent of nearly frenzied noise.

Both sides of the street were packed shoulder to shoulder. Commoners, merchants, peddlers, and even some well-dressed townspeople crowded along the narrow passage the soldiers could barely keep clear, craning their necks to get a look.

Farther away, shadowy figures filled the windows and rooftops of the buildings, too.

Madara's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. He had been on battlefields and seen far more harrowing sights, but this seemingly harmless attention made him a little uncomfortable.

Having countless eyes fixed on him felt entirely different from being targeted in battle. It was more like the strange sensation of being put in a transparent container for people to stare at.

He glanced instinctively at Izuna beside him.

Izuna sat upright, his back straight and his hands folded in his lap. His eyes were lowered, and his expression was perfectly calm.

He even had the leisure to reach over and gently adjust the biwa beside him, making sure it would not be affected by the jolting.

Madara felt somewhat reassured. His younger brother seemed more composed than he had expected, able to remain calm even in a situation like this.

What Madara could not see, however, was that beneath his wide sleeves, Izuna's folded fingers were digging fiercely into his own palm, his fingertips icy cold.

Holy shit! Holy shiiiiiit!!!

In my previous life, I saw all kinds of outrageous scenes online of stars being mobbed by fans at airports. I saw plenty of pictures and videos, and I could even snark about how crazy it was. But experiencing it firsthand is a whole different story!

There are way too many people!

I can't even see where the crowd ends! It's nothing but heads packed together! They're so loud my brain is buzzing!

I can't take it! Help! I don't want to go onstage, I don't want to go onstage, I don't want to go onstage, aaaah!

Don't be scared, don't be scared! Uchiha Izuna, calm down! He frantically encouraged himself. It's just a few more people, right? It's about the same as the opening ceremony at a school sports day!

Right, about the same! Just think of them as radishes and cabbages! Background scenery! NPCs in a game!

Think about your sheet music! Think about the story you adapted! Think about putting Black Zetsu in his place! Think about Brother Madara and Brother Hashirama being right beside you!

He forced himself to draw his attention away from the thunderous roar outside and began silently reciting the carefully adapted passages of melody.

Once his thoughts turned to music, the tension and discomfort that had nearly overwhelmed him finally receded a little, like the tide.

Although his heart was still racing, he could at least maintain a calm appearance.

Amid the countless gazes and earth-shaking clamor, the convoy proceeded slowly and solemnly through the Capital's main streets, finally arriving at a luxurious Waystation reserved for honored guests.

The next half day brought a brief quiet after the uproar.

Izuna finally saw the "stage" he would take the next day.

With public enthusiasm at an unprecedented height, the Daimyo had taken the opportunity to upgrade the Spring Banquet into a grander "Spring Festival" that would allow more people to attend.

The festival's main venue was a broad square in the center of the Capital.

At the far end of the square stood a raised platform. It was rather lavishly decorated, covered in red felt and bordered with brocade, the kind of platform used for solo performances of traditional theater or court music.

Izuna stood at a distance, studying the platform, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

So... so small!

It was high enough and presumably afforded a good view, but the platform itself really looked only big enough for one person to move around comfortably, with room for an accompanist or attendant at most.

It fell far short of what he had envisioned for a "stage play" that would need to accommodate multiple performers and might even have to depict scenes of war.

Still, his gaze swept over the area around the platform.

Fortunately, there was a fairly open space on all sides of it, currently cordoned off and presumably to be packed with spectators the next day. The ground was level and free of obstacles.

Looks like... we'll have to make some last-minute alterations.

He immediately found Hashirama and explained the situation.

"Make the platform bigger?" Hashirama rubbed his chin as he looked at it. "No problem! Leave it to me! How big do you need it?"

Izuna gestured as he described roughly how much space he needed.

Hashirama's eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly. "Got it! You can count on me! But I'll have to wait until right before your performance tomorrow and do it discreetly. That way it'll be enough of a 'surprise,' and it won't attract unnecessary attention beforehand."

"Yeah! I'm counting on you, Brother Hashirama!" Izuna breathed a sigh of relief. With something as unscientific as Ninjutsu available, the stage itself was indeed an easy problem to solve.

That afternoon and evening, Izuna conducted a final coordination rehearsal with the five Uchiha on the Genjutsu team, then confirmed the sequence and instructions with the other key ninja participating in the performance.

Every part was repeatedly checked in a tense but orderly fashion.

Once he had done all that, Izuna returned to his room.

To Madara and Hashirama's surprise, he was not too nervous to sleep as they had expected, nor did he practice over and over until late into the night.

Following the habits he had developed in Konoha, he washed up thoroughly, changed into comfortable sleepwear, and then...

He went straight to bed on time.

Almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, his breathing grew deep and even.

He looked so peaceful in his sleep, as though he were not the one who would face tens of thousands of gazes and give an unprecedented performance the next day.

Madara came to give him a few more reminders, but when he saw Izuna like that from the doorway, his lips curved silently before he turned and left.

That was fine, too. Being able to sleep was a blessing. Only by getting enough rest could he face tomorrow's tough battle.

Deep night settled over the prosperous Capital, where undercurrents stirred.

Some waited eagerly, some were curious, some sneered, and some waited with bated breath.

And when the first rays of dawn pierced the clouds and lit the eaves of the Waystation—

The next day had arrived.

The bustle of the Spring Festival began to build early in the morning. People who had heard the news had already packed the area around the square, and more were still pouring in from farther away. Soldiers maintained order, their faces slick with sweat.

Inside the Waystation, Izuna had long since risen.

He changed into a formal dark blue kimono and put on a haori, his hair tied up immaculately.

After a simple breakfast, he checked the biwa's tuning one last time and carefully put away a stack of sheet music covered in various symbols and markings.

Madara and Hashirama came to his room. Both were dressed formally today as well. Madara was as stern as ever, while Hashirama looked steady and dependable.

"Are you ready?" Hashirama asked gently.

Holding his biwa, Izuna raised his head, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

"Yeah." He nodded, his voice steady. "I'm ready."

Madara said nothing. He simply stepped forward, reached out, and gave Izuna's shoulder a firm squeeze.

Nothing needed to be said.

The time was near.

Under countless gazes and amid the steadily swelling clamor, Uchiha Izuna held his seemingly unadorned biwa and walked, step by step, toward the platform that held everyone's attention.

His steps were steady, his bearing composed, his back straight as a slender bamboo.

Sunlight fell on him, casting a soft sheen over the dark blue fabric and illuminating his calm, focused profile.

The platform was close at hand.

He lifted his eyes slightly and looked out at the boundless sea of faces before him.

His heart beat steadily and powerfully in his chest.

Then, let's begin.