The Mizukage Is Strong But Overly Cautious

Hope of the Kaguya Clan

The Kaguya Clan compound was alive with its usual chaotic energy. Battle-hardened warriors clashed violently in sparring matches, their bones protruding and retracting as they tested their Shikotsumyaku against one another. Spectators cheered with savage excitement, their voices echoing through the settlement. The arrival of a masked Anbu operative barely registered—outsiders knew better than to interrupt Kaguya warriors in their primal rituals.

The Anbu ninja maneuvered through the brawlers, heading directly to the chief's chamber, where Teru Yoruichiro, the Kaguya Clan's current leader, sat waiting.

"Lord Yoruichiro," the Anbu spoke in a firm, deliberate tone. "I bring orders from Lord Yagura. The operation will commence tomorrow. You know the terms—eliminate Mizuki Taki, and Yagura will ensure your ascension as Mizukage."

The words were spoken with calculated precision, laced with a subtle manipulation. Yet, Yoruichiro remained unmoved, his expression unreadable.

"Tell Yagura that I understand." His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so.

The Anbu nodded, but he couldn't shake the odd sense that something was off. Without further inquiry, he turned and vanished into the night.

From behind a wooden partition, a young man emerged—Kaguya Yuta, the heir to the Kaguya Clan. His muscular frame carried the unmistakable lineage of their warrior bloodline, and his thick eyebrows furrowed in deep concern.

"Father," Yuta spoke, his tone edged with frustration. "Why accept Yagura's offer? You don't actually believe he'll share power once the coup succeeds, do you? We're just being used as pawns!"

Yoruichiro gazed at his son, eyes filled with something more than mere wisdom—something akin to regret.

"You're right," he said. "Yagura has no intention of stepping aside. And even if he did, the Mist Village would never allow a Kaguya to rule. We're feared for our power, despised for our arrogance. Even if we kill Mizuki Taki, the seat of Mizukage will never be ours."

"Then why?!" Yuta clenched his fists, his frustration growing.

"Because we no longer have the luxury of choice," Yoruichiro said. "This war has already begun, and our clan is caught in its current. Do you really think remaining neutral will save us? If Yagura fails, Mizuki Taki will retaliate against us. If we do nothing, we are already dying—slowly, silently."

Yuta's anger wavered, replaced by confusion.

Yoruichiro continued, his voice heavy. "Look at our numbers. Our newborns have dwindled by a third compared to the last generation. The death toll among our warriors has doubled in just a decade. Do you understand why?"

Yuta swallowed hard but remained silent.

"The village leadership has been cutting our missions, restricting our resources. Without work, we have no income. Without income, we can't sustain our warriors. The Shikotsumyaku is a gift, but it is also a curse—our bones require nutrients, our power demands constant replenishment. Without it, we weaken. Without it, we die."

Yoruichiro's expression darkened. "And even if we endured, tell me, Yuta—who in Kirigakure would help us? We have made too many enemies. We have slaughtered too many allies. To the rest of the village, we are madmen, warmongers, beasts who revel in bloodshed. Who would dare to stand beside us now?"

Yuta lowered his gaze. He had seen it himself—how the other clans recoiled from them, how the village elders hesitated before assigning them missions. They were feared, yes—but also discarded, left to rot in their own hubris.

"The worst part?" Yoruichiro let out a bitter chuckle. "Even if someone did extend a hand to help, the Kaguya Clan would refuse. Our pride will not allow it. We would rather steal, kill, and die than accept charity. We are stubborn to the core—blinded by the past, unwilling to face the present."

Yuta collapsed onto the floor, the weight of his father's words sinking in.

"Is there… truly no hope for us?" he whispered.

Yoruichiro placed a firm hand on his son's shoulder, his eyes burning with a rare, desperate determination.

"There is hope, Yuta," he said. "But it is not in Yagura. It is not in the coup. It is not in Mizukage's seat."

"Then where?" Yuta's voice was almost pleading.

Yoruichiro smiled—a soft, rare expression on his hardened face. He pointed a calloused finger at Yuta.

"You."

Yuta's breath caught in his throat.

"Me?"

"Yes," Yoruichiro affirmed. "The Kaguya Clan will not survive by taking power. It will survive by evolving. By changing. And you, my son—you are the one who can lead that change."

For the first time, Yuta saw something in his father's gaze that was neither battle lust nor resignation. It was faith.

And for the first time, he wondered if he was truly ready to bear the burden of that hope.

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