After a few moments of quiet thought, Shanks finally spoke, his voice calm but resolute.

"Lord Daimyō, your proposal is... compelling," he began. "While joining the Land of Hot Water permanently is out of the question for me, I am open to a temporary alliance—on your terms, and for the salary you've offered. So, yes—I accept."

He hadn't needed long to decide. His current objective was straightforward: earn money. And this offer fit that purpose perfectly. More than that, it aligned with a deeper goal he kept quietly guarded.

In two or three years, when his clan brothers and sisters—those still in hiding—emerged from the shadows, they would need support, stability, and opportunity. By establishing himself now, building a reputation, and forming reliable ties with a national power, he could create the kind of foundation they would need to grow stronger and gain real-world experience. And in the process, his growing reputation would serve as a shield, deterring enemies who might otherwise seek to harm them.

The Daimyō smiled, clearly pleased with the answer. "Then welcome, Shanks-san," he said warmly.

Shanks gave a small nod but quickly added, "That said, I hope you've considered the implications of my presence here, Lord Daimyō. You already know—I cut off one of Jūzō Biwa's arms, one of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist, and I've killed a considerable number of Kirigakure shinobi, including more than ten Jōnin. These actions have surely dealt a blow to their image."

His voice grew slightly more serious.

"They won't take it lightly. You can expect them to retaliate. They may send their own elite forces to target me, and if that happens, your capital could face serious disruption."

The Daimyō responded with a confident wave of his hand. "If I've extended this invitation to you, it's not without understanding the consequences. I am well aware of what your presence could bring—and I am prepared to face it."

Shanks studied the man briefly, then gave another small nod. If the Daimyō has accepted the risks, he thought, then who am I to object?

Following his declaration, a few other bounty hunters and freelance shinobi also agreed to join the Daimyō's forces on a temporary basis. Not all accepted—some declined respectfully—but enough agreed to bolster the capital's defenses with a strong, versatile force.

Lunch was then served, and the mood in the hall eased into something more relaxed. Shanks, despite maintaining his decorum, consumed far more than anyone else at the table. Since fusing with the template of the Red-Haired Emperor, his appetite had grown tremendously. He didn't know the exact reason behind it—perhaps it was a side effect of his enhanced Haki, or a simple matter of physical energy demands—but he needed a lot more food than before.

Still, he maintained his etiquette, never appearing impolite or gluttonous. He simply ate... steadily, efficiently, and without pause—until most of the dishes had been cleared by his hands alone.

After the meal, one of the Daimyō's personal attendants guided Shanks through the inner corridors of the mansion and led him to a guest residence.

"This will be your room, Lord Shanks," the servant said respectfully.

Shanks stepped inside and glanced around. The room was spacious, well-lit, and comfortably furnished. Tatami mats lined the floor, and the windows offered a view of a serene garden in the inner courtyard. A small table, a wardrobe, and a futon rested neatly to one side.

It was a good room. More than sufficient for someone planning to stay a while.

Shanks gave a slight nod of approval. Yes, he thought. This will do just fine.

––––

A few hours later, a small entourage arrived outside Shanks's room—several servants accompanied by the Daimyō's assistant, the same man who had delivered the invitation days earlier. Each servant carried a heavy-looking bag, their expressions strained under the weight.

The assistant stepped forward with a courteous bow. "Lord Shanks, this is the bounty payment for the bodies you submitted. It has been processed and counted."

Shanks glanced at the stacked bags with mild interest, then turned toward the servants. "Follow me," he instructed.

Without further explanation, he led the group through the inner corridors of the Daimyō mansion until they arrived at a private training ground attached to the estate. The area was quiet, with a wide clearing surrounded by high walls, designed to accommodate intense combat practice. Here, the servants placed the bags down neatly at his direction.

Shanks took out a slim storage scroll from within his overcoat and laid it open on the ground. With practiced ease, he began sealing the bags of money into the scroll one by one, his chakra flowing steadily into the markings. As the last bag vanished into the scroll's seal, he stood and pressed his palm to the earth.

A ripple of chakra pulsed outward.

Summoning Jutsu.

With a swirl of smoke, a massive form emerged from the summoning seal. A black ring burned into the ground, and in the next instant, a majestic white tiger with icy-blue eyes and a regal mane appeared.

Frosty had arrived.

The tiger gave a thunderous roar that echoed across the training ground, making the very earth beneath them tremble.

The servants, unprepared for the sudden appearance of such a colossal and imposing beast, recoiled in fear, stumbling back instinctively. Even the Daimyō's assistant, a seasoned official who had seen his fair share of battles, was momentarily taken aback before regaining his composure.

The roar drew the attention of nearby guards, who quickly rushed in, weapons ready—only to stop at the sight of Shanks casually patting the massive tiger on the head.

Frosty lowered his head in respect, and Shanks spoke with quiet authority.

"Frosty, take this scroll to Erza. Tell her I'll be staying in the Land of Hot Water for a few years."

He paused, then added firmly, "On the 15th of every month, I'll send a letter through you, and they must send me reports on their progress in return. Make it clear—I expect no slacking."

Frosty growled softly in acknowledgment and gently took the scroll between his jaws. With a final nod to Shanks, the white tiger vanished in a puff of white smoke, leaving behind only a faint whiff of ozone and awe-struck silence.

Shanks turned to the gathered servants and offered a faint smile. "Everything's fine. No need to worry."

The servants nodded nervously, still visibly shaken, and Shanks left the training ground in his usual quiet, composed manner.

––––

Meanwhile, at the Uchiha clan's temporary residence in the Land of Hot Water, a more calculated conversation was unfolding.

Yashiro stood near the window of his quarters, hands behind his back as he looked out over the courtyard below. His expression was thoughtful.

Without turning, he spoke. "Send all the details we've gathered on Shanks to Konoha. A formal report. And send a more detailed version directly to the Uchiha clan head."

His son, Yushiro, who stood at attention behind him, nodded with purpose. "Yes, Father. I'll see to it immediately."

Yashiro's eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to watch the fading light of dusk spill across the horizon. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured:

"Shanks Uzumaki… of the Uzumaki clan. Hmph… interesting."

----

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