Konan dispersed the sheets of paper, her gaze intense. "The same thing could happen across every sector:"
"Agriculture, mining, crafts... Any field where we might have a comparative advantage. Once a great nation steps in with its vast capital, advanced technology, and control of distribution, we'll have almost no way to fight back."
"Economically, the strong take everything, while the weak can barely get the scraps. Worse, the problem is structural."
"Small nations lack resources from the outset, making it difficult to accumulate the capital needed to upgrade their industries."
"They're too weak to invest vast sums in cutting-edge technology or Ninjutsu the way great nations can."
"Without resources or a peaceful environment, they're even far less likely to produce top-tier fighters."
"Look at the Canopy Screen. Apart from the Jashinist Cult, nearly all the strongest fighters of the future come from the Five Great Nations or what they left behind."
"That means even our last resort—fighting to the death to force a compromise—is almost beyond our reach."
"We can only be absorbed and squeezed out step by step, until we become suppliers of raw materials, sources of cheap labor, or are simply forgotten."
Pain fell silent.
The rain continued outside the window. Now it sounded like countless faint sobs, or the dull beat of fate's drum.
Even the eternal indifference in his Rinnegan seemed to ripple.
"Then," he asked, his voice lower than before, "is there truly no way forward for small nations? Were Yahiko's dream and our struggle doomed to be in vain?"
Konan walked to the window and held out her hand. Cold raindrops struck her palm, soaking it at once.
"Unless..." Her voice was soft, but it cut like a poisoned shard of ice. "Unless the future brings an upheaval that sweeps across the entire Shinobi