After a relatively short wait—but one that clearly only existed in the first place as part of a powerplay—Sakura and her party were met at the gates by the Financier of the Land of Mushrooms.
The man was old, a former Samurai, and very, very proper; the sort of man who fondly reminisced about the time, centuries ago, when his country controlled the Box of Ultimate Bliss. He was the sort of man who viewed etiquette as a sign of respect, who saw his country as more noble than any of its neighbors. He was the kind of person who could best be described as refined, or even genteel.
Sakura… was not.
The introductions were short, and every word dripped with condescension: the man, Saigo-sama, clearly believed their mission to be either a powerplay on Konoha's part specifically meant to weaken their ally or a half-hearted attempt to help them with as minimal resources as possible.
Sakura could see why.
That didn't make the reality any easier to deal with.
The guest house, at least, was nice. Immaculate, with plenty of privacy and good views from all directions, it had clearly been designed with shinobi—or at least warriors—in mind.
Aiko shrugged off her knapsack and watched as the two genin continued to haul in the rest of their paperwork and general paraphernalia.
"What do you think? Because I think bad."
The Mitokado who had finished checking over his half of the quarters grunted in agreement. Sakura really wished she was better at telling them apart. "You can talk at them all day but he looked to me like he'd already decided to ignore all your suggestions."
"I agree. I just… need to find a way in. Where's the information packet we have on Saigo?"
Saigo was a relatively new advisor, at least compared to many of the others—he'd only gotten the job four months before, and he hadn't even been considered the top contender at the time (there was a scandal, something about poaching, which had ruined the heir apparent's chances) so their actual information on him was… slim. In fact, T&I hadn't even been sure he would still be in power when they arrived—his tenuous grasp being yet one more reason for him to distrust them.
"I've got it… here."
"Well, it's still as slim as I remember."
"Did you think it would grow through osmosis?"
"One could hope." Sakura sighed, then grabbed it and started flipping through.
She could feel her nephew's eyes on her, desperate to say something but lacking just enough courage for him to say silent.
Well, that wouldn't do. He had to learn how to speak up at some point.
"Any ideas, Hisa?"
"Oh, yes. How about infiltration?"
"Be kind of obvious, given that they know all of us." Aiko answered for Sakura. "Plus if we did have anyone currently under cover this wouldn't be worth risking them being exposed. What we do have in that packet is all, more or less, publicly available information. It won't be suspicious that we know any of it."
That was true, but it wasn't usually—even when Sakura had gone to the Capital, the packets had had far more information than what could feasibly be known without infiltration attempts, and she and her fellow diplomats had simply been taught or known enough not to expose what they knew while still using the information to press towards their goals.
Saigo… well, he'd been a (relative) non-entity until recently.
They were, more or less, operating blind.
Infiltration information, then, was a not half-bad idea, but all the same—"while it would still be helpful, if we did have anyone they wouldn't have much to go on. Saigo wasn't a person of interest until this summer and while he has no doubt spent the past four months doing a great many things I don't think existing agents would want to divide their attention too much from their primary targets."
"Oh."
"Not a bad idea, though."
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rento's mouth open, then shut.
"How about you, Mitokado cousins?"
One shrugged, and then the other.
Very helpful.
Sakura glanced at Aiko, but she'd been convinced the mission was doomed from the start—she thought that they could do a good enough job to not be seen as the reason for that, but really Aiko had just wanted an escape from Konoha and did little to hide that.
Rento was nearly vibrating.
"Alright, then, if there's no other ideas—"
"I have one!"
"Yes?"
"He's an old man! Wait, that didn't come out right. What I meant was—I mean, he's a samurai, and old, and I bet he plays shogi. A lot."
That…
Wasn't a bad idea.
Sakura had considered it herself, actually, but she'd never actually been that interested in shogi or go. She'd played it with Shin, of course, and during festivals and the like with other Naras, but she didn't feel nearly practiced enough to use the board to prove her intelligence.
She said so.
"But that's the thing—I'm really good at shogi. And I'm really good at reading people. Or—as good as any Yamanaka, anyway. You sit and play and I'll watch and we can figure out a way to give hints—maybe hand signals."
"Chakra." Aiko murmured. She was leaning forward now, eyebrows furrowed. "The Land of Mushrooms has few chakra sensors, and those they do have are tied to their Daimyo or on their borders. None have great range. How good's your sensing?"
"I can detect location, amount, type, and whether it's being actively used. My location… I can probably get it down to specific parts of the body: arm, hand, foot… we can have Rento try different amounts to see how much of a margin will be needed, and he's got undiluted and fire chakra, so that's two options… it'll be a relatively complex code. How good are you at shogi, really?"
"I play a lot, aunt Sakura. I played with Kayo constantly when we were little and then when I started beating him regularly he had me play his uncle instead—you know, the Nara Nemuri who's blind? And then he thought I was good enough that—" Rento cut himself off with a snap, suddenly aware that all eyes were on him.
"Advisor Saigo will have played for his entire life, or near enough. And for him to give Sakura even the slightest bit of respect we need at least a tie, if not an outright win. Can you do it?"
Rento hesitated. Sakura caught his eye. He nodded. "Yes, I can."
"Alright. We'll start work on the cypher immediately. Hisa, Aiko, Mitokado cousins—review the economic material. I'll ask him for a game tomorrow and if it goes well then we need to be ready with reform suggestions immediately."
"Hai."
.
When shogi was played in the Nara compound, there was little emphasis on formality. The more senior would get the king's piece to the more junior's jewel, of course, and generally there would be an emphasis on sitting seiza, but even that tended to be on a case-by-case basis.
All this meant that Sakura had only ever really played casual games—her lack of interest, and the general lack of emphasis on the game outside the Nara clan, had meant that it wasn't necessary to practice at playing formerly.
Some, though—her nephew included, apparently—would play for hours, would play timed, would play in formal settings because most of the elders of the Nara clan would only ever play when perfect shogi etiquette was followed.
Advisor Saigo was far more like the latter.
He had, thankfully, accepted her offer of a game more or less immediately, and within two hours they were settled in a courtyard with various onlookers from both parties and an official timekeeper to both keep them on track (the game was not to last more than nine hours) and perform the coin toss.
Keeping everything together for such a long period—monitoring her opponent and how he was reacting, playing the part, watching for Rento's suggestions, and sensing for danger as well—would be a monumental effort.
Sakura really wished she'd spent more time on shogi when trying out hobbies.
The first moves were made without much hesitation by both parties—Advisor Saigo went for a static rook opening while Sakura opted for a ranging rook.
Then the middle game started.
The pace was slow.
Saigo was a bit theatrical, it turned out, and liked to put each piece down with an aplomb not necessarily merited by the move.
Sakura, meanwhile, was just trying to keep track of Rento's messages, which themselves were delayed by her nephew having to decide which piece to move himself.
There were… advantages for the Leaf shinobi, however.
Chief among them was Saigo himself.
Saigo, as it turned out, was a very good shogi player.
Good enough for it to be obvious to Sakura, and good enough for Rento to start fidgeting until a sharp elbow from Aiko snapped him back to a neutral countenance.
But he was also—
He knew he was good, for one.
He didn't believe Sakura was any good, for another.
And—and this was the important bit—because of that, he'd decided to flaunt his skills. Show off to the audience.
The Mitokado clan valued expressionlessness so much for a reason: it was far easier to read someone, to take advantage of their whims and thoughts and worries, when those whims and thoughts and worries were plastered on their face.
Saigo had not played ninja before.
Saigo would glance at each piece as he considered it, stare at certain pieces like anyone would a threat if Sakura's hand drifted too close.
Rento and Sakura were Yamanaka, and even if it would be impolitic to invade his mind—not that they could, given their branch of their family—they'd still been taught, trained, and practiced in the art of reading expressions.
Almost seven hours into the game—nine hours since its beginning, when accounting for breaks—Saigo's hand hesitated over the board.
There was no good move for him—even Sakura could see that.
The wait for his turn to finish had gotten increasingly longer in the past hour, as his position had begun to dawn on him.
The timekeeper, Sakura, and the onlookers all watched impassively.
His fingers moved toward one piece, and then another.
He made a move.
Sakura didn't even hesitate for Rento's suggestion: she played the obvious counter in seconds.
Advisor Saigo's eyes darted to each piece—his and hers—in turn.
His teeth grit.
His sweat, far more obvious than hers or Rento's—this was a game that required significant effort—forced him to rub his forehead again.
His hand, once more, hovered.
Rento's chakra, nearly exhausted now—even moving it within one's body for seven hours was no small amount of work—stilled entirely.
Sakura shut off her sensing too.
There was no need for it any longer, hadn't been for a while.
Another move.
A quick counter.
She was playing it out now, intentionally. Removing every possible attack he had before going for his king. She gave it three, four moves until there wouldn't be any choice.
He was a flamboyant man, and one who put just as much stock in the game as they'd predicted, but he didn't seem too prideful either—the more painful the defeat, the more likely it was that he would give her suggestions due thought.
In some ways, Sakura knew, their seven-hour battle was unfair.
It was two against one, for one, and he didn't even know who his main opponent was. They were also reading him, treating his expressions and eye movement as a playbook that gave away both his plans and his fears with barely a glance.
Sakura really was as poor at shogi as he assumed.
And yet—
Sakura didn't view it as cheating, not really. Using shogi as a test of intelligence wasn't necessarily the most unreasonable, but it also had little to do with economics and finance. Her playing wouldn't destroy his career, or leave him penniless—
All it would do would force him, in his own mind, to consider her opinions to be of possible worth.
"I resign." His hand fell, and the timekeeper nodded. The game ended with bows, polite conversation about nothing, and the promise of an evening meal to be scheduled in several days to begin discussing her suggestions.
They went back to their quarters quietly, not a peep the whole way.
Rento passed out the second he was close enough to his futon that most of his body landed on it on the way down.
Sakura didn't do much better.
.
By the time Sakura found it within herself to wake up, Aiko had taken command with gusto. Everything was neatly organized, a short scroll had been sent to Advisor Saigo outlining the very basics of the economic theory Konoha was trying to push on the Land, Hisa had been sent out to make friends and learn things, and the Mitokado cousins had figured out a new shift rota to account for the Land of Mushrooms practice of ending their day with the sun—unlike Konoha there was not nearly enough fuinjutsu lighting to allow streets to be lined.
Sakura, meanwhile, had been cordially invited to accompany Advisor Saigo on a trip across his Land's countryside before their scheduled dinner to give her a better idea of what problems, exactly, they were facing.
It was a good idea.
She wished she'd thought of it.
Instead, she and Aiko (Rento was still out cold) kneeled across from each other on one of the provided tables and made their way, once more, through her various theories: any lack of cohesiveness or explanation would be attacked on sight, so it was very important that Sakura knew exactly how to respond before any questions arose.
None had summons, either, so Sakura spent the time to dash off a quick coded message for one of the genin to hand to the next passing Konoha messenger caravan.
The next two days passed in similar fashion, with the exception of Rento waking up, puking, being diagnosed with chakra exhaustion, and being confined to his futon.
He still demanded to do some work, so Sakura set him to summarizing some of her past work.
Of them all, Hisa made perhaps the most use of the days: she took to the order to socialize with gusto.
While the rest worked on their economic proposal—the elder of the Mitokado cousins had made a particularly poignant suggestion about how to avoid tax evasion—Hisa had been busy.
Very, very busy.
She'd ended up, somehow, ingratiating herself with the launderers of the Daimyo's palace, and had been invited to spend the day with them and aid with her rather modest water jutsu whenever she liked. She'd used that in to full effect, listening in on the gossip of the women to the point that Sakura was fairly sure she'd be given additional infiltration pay when they got back.
In exchange for some kind words and a minor expulsion of chakra, Hisa had learned a great many things that were only possibly relevant: the Daimyo was expecting his first grandchild but an oracle had predicted it to be female, leaving him so angry that he smashed a very expensive vase—his son was nearing fifty and an only child, so the rumors of infertility issues were frequent.
There was also the already known disagreement with the Samurai, who constantly pushed for a draft, and several of the noble families, who wanted to establish their own Hidden Village of ninja, had been exacerbated by the war to the point that when two teenagers from either side had been caught together,r both had killed themselves rather than spend a lifetime apart; and—most importantly—the son's wife was from the Land of Claws, a vassal of Earth, and being blamed for the (supposed) gender of the fetus, thereby leaving the Daimyo even less keen on Iwa than he had already been.
Sakura didn't actually know how much of the information was already known—she'd gotten a fairly accurate report on the Land before arriving, but some topics simply hadn't been covered—but Hisa's ability to worm the information out of women who knew she was from a different, more powerful country was definitely… useful.
Hisa turned bright red when Rento raved about how productive she'd been, and then he'd done the same when she'd pointed out how well he'd done at the shogi game.
.
Juro frowned, leaning against the wall as he stared at the row of dead bodies in front of him.
Cardiovascular damage was some of the worst—if the heart stopped there was little they could do, and if it was too damaged they were even more constrained.
This was known.
When given an option, then, enemies—and allies—always aimed for the heart.
Orochimaru and Jiraiya had been by the week before, had torn their way through enemies and given the frontline some breathing room.
Between battles, Orochimaru had made it a point to stop by the medical tent, to advise on and seek advice on his various inventions.
He'd mentioned, in passing, an idea he'd had to deal with some of the damage he saw—making the body so cold that the heart would slow enough to be easily worked on, more or less—but when Juro had inquired about a possible timeline the Sannin had snorted.
The Hokage had decided that there would be too many human deaths in testing the technique, so he'd banned its creation.
Juro stared at the bodies, and found himself agreeing with Orochimaru.
Sacrifice of the few for the many, right?
Wasn't that what being a shinobi was all about?
Juro was sure that some with failing hearts would volunteer to be test subjects, and even if none did they had prisoners, had people locked up who had murdered their comrades, neighbors, friends, families.
Half of them—far more than that, actually—would end up dead anyway, either by their own hands or Konoha's, so why not eke out even more good from their lives?
But no.
The Hokage had said no.
Juro could hear shouting outside—a new offensive had just begun.
It'd be minutes, now, until the next barrage of patients came in.
Most lived, he knew.
Most were back in battle in short order.
It was the only way they were able to manage wars as long as these, injuries as severe as what they saw on a daily basis.
Konoha excelled in medicine.
It had the most surgical techniques, the most medical instruments and devices, the most medicine, the most iryoninjutsu…
But a lot of that had been relying on Uzu fuinjutsu, on their ways of substituting writing for human bodies.
And now that was gone.
