Iwagakure's recruitment office was packed to the brim, like a market mob fighting over discounted cabbages.
Teams of ninja who had come from other villages in admiration all wore dark circles beneath their eyes, their faces full of the fanatical desire to cling to a powerful backer.
To secure even a minor post in Iwagakure, they had torn off their ancestral old vests and squeezed toward the recruitment station bare-chested.
The line circled the village three times. The stench of sweat mixed with dry, hard Military Ration Pill crumbs, making the Stone Village Genin at the gate sneeze nonstop.
Yoru sat in the recruitment office, his foot resting on a metal-burred control lever freshly removed from an Ōtsutsuki Spaceship.
He held a thick stack of application forms in his hand. The paper was terrible quality, and its corners carried a damp, moldy smell.
With a casual flick, he sent his cigarette butt into a battered tin can filled with stubs, producing a dull clang.
"I'm telling you, old man Ōnoki, those people outside look like they're here to scam us out of wages."
Yoru pointed at the ninja from other villages lined up outside the window in a long dragon-like queue.
Most of them were skinny as skeletons, and their shabby, rustic appearance was enough to turn anyone's stomach.
Quite a few did not even have any decent chakra fluctuations. They were only holding themselves up through the brute force of wanting a full meal.
Ōnoki sat on a broken stool beside him, and the old man's back was surprisingly straight at the moment.
He held a half-peeled orange. Some juice from the peel splashed onto his slightly yellowed Tsuchikage robe, leaving an oily stain that would never wash out.
"Yoru, we're now the Shinobi World's first-ever 'Divine Empire.'"
Ōnoki