Kyoto's Supply Crisis and the Nobles' Cold Sweat

Kyoto Prefecture, the Daimyo Residence.

The fire roared in the hearth. Expensive ambergris filled the air with a warm, cloying sweetness that seemed to melt into the bones. Hojo Tokugawa reclined against a cushion made from white bear fur presented as tribute by Cloud Country, his eyes half-closed. His old, bony fingers tapped idly against the smooth jade teacup on the low table before him.

Everything was under control.

A bounty of five billion ryo was enough to set every dark corner of the Shinobi World seething. He did not even need to lift a finger. Soon, countless sharks drawn by the scent of blood would tear that arrogant Fifth Hokage to pieces.

As for the raving liaison officer Konoha had sent back... that was nothing but an empty threat.

Shinobi were tools, after all.

"My lord."

A guard captain in samurai armor hurried in from outside. He dropped to one knee, unable to keep the panic from his voice.

Hojo Tokugawa did not even raise his eyes. He leisurely lifted his teacup, blew the floating leaves aside, and asked in a languid, condescending tone, "Good news from the Underground Black Market? Go on. Which lucky fellow took that brat's head?"

But the guard captain's next words sent a sudden chill through the warm room.

"M-my lord." The captain lowered his head further, his voice trembling. "There's... been no response from the Underground Black Market."

"Hm?"

Hojo Tokugawa paused with the cup at his lips and slowly opened his shrewd, clouded eyes. "What do you mean, no response? Five billion ryo would tempt even the Kage of the Five Great Nations. Have those desperadoes all turned into harmless sheep?"

"N-no, my lord!" the guard captain explained hurriedly, fine beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. "The bounty shook the