Hokage:Overturning Ninja world

"I don't want to leave yet."

"I want to stay with him for a few more days."

The Six Paths of Pain—six pairs of Rinnegan eyes—stared silently at Konan. Then, in perfect synchrony, all six heads turned sharply toward Logan.

"You haven't lifted the illusion yet?!"

For the first time since his appearance—throughout the entire battle, the destruction of the Planetary Devastation, and even Obito's escape—Pain's stoic demeanor cracked. His face twisted, his eyes narrowed, and his voice carried something it never had before.

Emotion.

And behind that emotion was something deeper. Darker.

Murderous intent.

It was raw and heavy, crashing like a tsunami, roaring like an avalanche. A suffocating, inescapable pressure.

Yahiko was gone.

The old Akatsuki—his comrades, his friends—were either dead or long departed.

Konan was the only one left. The last thread tethering him to the world he once knew.

"It's not his fault," Konan said quickly, stepping in front of Logan as though to shield him. "The illusion was lifted a long time ago. I've been following Logan by choice. I've seen so much—witnessed more in these days than I ever did in years of battle."

She glanced around at the shattered remains of Kirigakure.

"I want to see this through. To the very end."

Pain's expression tightened. For several long seconds, he was silent. Then he gave a small nod, reluctant but respectful.

"I will return in ten days."

"I'll be ready," Konan replied.

With that, Pain gave Logan one last warning glance. The Six Paths turned and began to depart.

And just as the tension began to ease, a sharp, petulant voice rang out from the back of the battlefield.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?! After all that fighting, you didn't kill a single rebel! I give you money every year—real gold—and this is what I get? A bunch of useless mercenaries playing ninja theater?!"

Everyone turned toward the source of the shouting.

"You—yeah, you! The freak in black with the weird eyes! Stop right there! I'm not finished with you. Don't even think about leaving until you've earned your commission!"

Pain blinked slowly, glancing down at his Akatsuki robe. It took him a moment to realize the outburst was directed at him.

A wave of disbelief swept across the battlefield.

Everyone's eyes shifted to the source of the arrogance—the Daimyo of the Land of Water.

Surrounded by hundreds of samurai, the man sat comfortably in a lavish palanquin. Two maids flanked him: one pouring tea, the other peeling grapes and feeding him like a spoiled child.

He hadn't moved the entire battle. Not one step. He hadn't lifted a finger, let alone a blade.

While ninjas bled and died for the future of the village, the daimyo watched like it was a puppet show. Detached. Smug. Untouchable.

It was a perfect image of the dynamic that had ruled the shinobi world for generations—ninja fighting, daimyo ruling.

The daimyo didn't recognize Pain, nor did he care. His advisors had whispered something about the Akatsuki, but he'd forgotten already. In his mind, they were just another group of thugs wearing fancy robes.

The destruction? The Planetary Devastation? Tricks. Illusions. Ninja showmanship.

And now they were leaving?

Not on his watch.

He was angry. Not because of the bloodshed, not because of the lives lost, but because he didn't get the ending he wanted.

"You think you can just leave?" he barked again. "Finish your job—or I'll deduct your pay!"

He raised his hand with all the pomp of someone born to power, unaware of the line he had just crossed.

Then another voice answered him, low and calm:

"Yeah… don't think about leaving just yet."

The voice belonged to Logan.

But he wasn't speaking to Pain.

His gaze was fixed directly on the man in the palanquin.

"I almost forgot about you," Logan said, stepping forward slowly.

The daimyo scoffed. "Forgot about me? What nonsense are you talking about?"

"I forgot to kill you."

"What?!"

The samurai reacted instantly, drawing their swords with a clatter of steel. Dozens formed a defensive line between Logan and the daimyo.

Too slow.

A sudden gust of wind howled across the field.

Logan's stand—Star Platinum—exploded forward. With a single sweeping punch, it sent a dozen samurai flying like broken dolls.

Logan stood before the palanquin in a flash, his eyes meeting the daimyo's.

The noble opened his mouth to speak—

And Logan kicked the palanquin over.

The luxurious chair flipped violently, sending fruit, cushions, and tea scattering through the air. The daimyo's robe caught on the edge, and he tumbled gracelessly to the ground, landing face-first in the dirt.

For a few seconds, the world was still.

The daimyo lay in stunned silence. He had never known pain. Never known humiliation. For his entire life, he had been revered, pampered, insulated.

Now he was breathing dust.

Finally, his pride roared back to life. He scrambled upright, face red with rage.

"You… You dare—"

A katana appeared at his throat.

Logan had snatched the blade from a nearby samurai. It was thin, elegant, and deadly sharp—clearly the work of a master blacksmith.

But in Logan's hands, it felt too light.

"You dare to kill me?" the daimyo shouted, more indignant than afraid. "You can't do this! I am the Daimyo! I am a man of power!"

Logan hesitated. Not because of fear or doubt, but because he noticed something in the corner of his eye—Terumi Mei and Zabuza shaking their heads.

Not yet.

Fine.

"You want to know why?" Logan said quietly. "Then I'll show you."

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a memory disc—the one he'd taken from Cardo.

He tossed it to Baishe, who caught it with a flick of her tail.

The white snake conjured a splash of liquid into the air, waxy and translucent like melted candles. Logan flicked his fingers, and a searing wave of heat vaporized the liquid into a fine mist.

Above them, a giant projection formed in the sky.

A film began to play.

At first, the images were fuzzy. But the more people focused, the clearer they became. Murmurs spread through the crowd. The mist showed scenes of a secret conversation—Cardo and the Daimyo of the Land of Water.

"If you mix drugs into the salt... people will be addicted in half a year."

"If we raise the salt price slowly, we'll rake in money. Nobody will suspect a thing."

"We've tested it. People who eat the salted food... they'll die by age 40. Hehehe…"

"What about the population issue?"

"Oh, don't worry. Drug addicts tend to have strong urges. The country will be full of babies—cheap labor for the future."

"Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

Silence.

The projection continued—transport routes, profit-sharing plans, risk evaluations.

The truth was impossible to deny.

Illusions could fool the eye. But this wasn't illusion. This was evidence.

Real conversations. Real depravity.

Zabuza clenched his fists, veins bulging in his neck.

"You son of a—"

Before he could finish the curse, another samurai was launched into the air—this one didn't get back up. His chest caved in. Blood pooled around his still body.

Logan lowered his fist.

He pointed at the screen in the sky.

"Anyone who still tries to protect the daimyo after seeing that... I won't hold back."

The samurai stood frozen, unsure.

They had followed orders all their lives. They were swords and shields—never minds of their own.

This?

This was too big.

Still, some of them began to steel themselves. They remembered their training, their creed.

No matter what, a warrior must be loyal to his master.

"Protect the Daimyo!" a voice cried out.

Swords raised. Feet pounded.

Hundreds of samurai rushed toward Logan in a last act of blind devotion.

Logan sighed.

"Blind loyalty... It really is a relic of the past."

Star Platinum: The World.

The battlefield exploded with sound.

Samurai flew like ragdolls. Some screamed. Others fell without a sound.

Logan didn't even look at them.

Instead, he turned back to the daimyo, who was now pale and trembling.

"If you die," Logan asked, "is there someone to succeed you?"

The daimyo could barely breathe.

"I—I have sons! Three! If you kill me, they'll hunt you down!"

Logan gave him a warm, almost gentle smile.

"Oh, I'm sure they will. After all... the ones who want you dead the most are probably your own sons."

"Wha—"

The flash of steel ended the sentence.

The Daimyo of the Land of Water collapsed, his head rolling into the dust.

Silence fell.

Not a word. Not a breath.

The daimyo was dead.

The once-unreachable symbol of power and wealth, the man who treated lives like coins on a table, now lay lifeless in the dirt.

Blood soaked his robes. Dust clung to his face.

He didn't look noble.

He looked like what he had always been beneath the silk and gold.

A parasite.

All of Kirigakure watched in stunned silence.

The diehards. The reformists. The spies. The villagers.

And for the first time in decades, they all felt the same thing.

Relief.

A long-awaited breath of air in a drowning world.

Logan turned toward Pain, who still stood at the edge of the battlefield, unmoving.

"This," Logan said softly, "is the happiness brought by pain."

Øóffer going on for diamond tier

pàtreøn (Gk31)