Naruto: IHCS Ch. 123

The squads were formed. Muramasa, Kojiro, and Genraku stood in a line with their respective ten team members.

"What are we going to do next?" Genraku asked.

"We're going to buy buns," Shiratori said as he looked at them.

"Buy buns?"

The ninjas and samurai stared blankly at him.

Shiratori nodded. "That's right, we need buns to gather the refugees. First, we'll pick the largest inn in Aomine."

His tone shifted.

"The largest inn in Aomine…"

"That has to be the Okura Inn on the east side!"

Someone from the crowd immediately replied.

Muramasa frowned, worry clouding his eyes. "The Okura Inn is indeed the largest in Aomine. But the owner, to save on labor costs, forces refugees into indentured servitude, making them work for him. A day's pay is barely one or two buns. Refugees, desperate to survive, have no choice but to depend on him. For work like this, there are still plenty of refugees fighting to get in, because at least it's better than dying. To keep them in line, prevent slacking off or rebellion, the owner keeps two fairly strong ninjas on his payroll."

Genraku nodded in agreement and said, "Ninjas like us are usually hired by merchants to eliminate their enemies. Only the strongest ones stay by their sides, serving as bodyguards."

Shiratori nodded.

What Muramasa and Genraku described was pretty much what he had already guessed. After all, he had studied history. He knew what kind of lives refugees endured in times of war.

Helpless refugees were no different from the slaves of old.

"Precisely because the Okura Inn holds so much influence, that's why I chose it as the place to get buns."

A faint smile appeared on his face.

Genraku tilted his head, his eyes rolling as he said, "But the buns at the Okura Inn are ridiculously expensive. Even a glass of water costs a fortune there! We can't afford their buns, it would cost a lot of money."

Shiratori's gaze fixed on him. "Who said we were going to buy them?"

Genraku: "…"

At that moment, he understood the deeper meaning behind the words.

"All the food at the Okura Inn is made by the refugees. It's the fruit of their labor. How could such hard work be exchanged for nothing but a bun tossed at them like charity?"

"We're going to return all of the Okura Inn's food, buns, dumplings, pastries, everything, back to the refugees."

Shiratori looked at everyone, speaking each word clearly.

His voice landed heavily on their hearts.

A smile flickered in Kojiro's eyes as he nodded. "That's a good tactic. First, it shows our strength and warns those plotting in the shadows. Second, it makes the oppressed people of Aomine believe we truly have the power to change things. That way, more people will be willing to join us."

Shiratori glanced at Kojiro. The ninjas and samurai had chosen their own leaders well.

Muramasa was steady and thorough. Kojiro was quick-witted and clever. Genraku might not match Muramasa in strategy, but he was excellent at rallying the team, with strong charisma and leadership.

It was clear that the leaders chosen by the ninjas and samurai themselves were more suitable than any leader he, an outsider to them, could have appointed.

"This is only the beginning."

"Rest assured. We are comrades fighting side by side, and I will use my life to protect you all."

He looked earnestly at the ninjas and samurai before him.

[Faith detected]
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"Good! Let's move out!"

Shiratori waved his hand.

They filed out of the room and headed downstairs.

The innkeeper, hearing their footsteps, shrank back into a corner, desperately trying to make himself invisible.

Luckily, Shiratori's gaze merely swept over him without stopping, and he did nothing more.

Watching their backs gradually disappear into the distance, the innkeeper let out a sigh of relief. But in his heart, a realization slowly dawned: a great upheaval was about to come to Aomine.

---

Okura Inn.

Tsuyoshi Sato sat in a wicker rocking chair, holding a long smoking pipe. He squinted through the white smoke, his already small eyes sinking into layers of fat until they completely vanished.

If not for the two sharp rays of light flashing in them, no one would even know his eyes existed beneath that bloated face.

"Get up. No slacking."

Sato frowned.

The ninja standing at the kitchen door cracked his long whip.

Snap!

A bright red welt, like a centipede, crawled across the back of a refugee.

Already dizzy from exhaustion, the refugee collapsed to the ground.

The other refugees trembled but no one stepped forward to help.

"What's this? Is he dying?"

Sato waved his hand in disgust. "Throw him out on the street. Then go fetch another one."

The ninja nodded and left.

Sato took another drag of smoke, then said with feigned earnestness as he gazed at the busy refugees in the kitchen.

"You should learn to be grateful. If it weren't for me, would you even have such a fine job? If I didn't give you work to fill your stomachs, you'd all be dead of hunger by now. In all of Aomine, who else is as merciful as I am? There are countless people outside fighting for this job! So work hard. Otherwise, I can replace you anytime!"

He couldn't help but grin, flashing two golden teeth.

The refugees in the kitchen moved like numb machines.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Without turning around, Sato exhaled a puff of white smoke. "Back already?"

Without waiting for the ninja behind him to answer, he went on speaking to the refugees:

"See? I told you, people like you are a dime a dozen in Aomine…"

He finally turned to look at what kind of refugee the ninja had brought this time.

Bang!

A black shadow flew at him.

Before he could even make out what it was, he and his chair were sent sprawling.

The lone ninja left in the kitchen glanced at Sato, then calmly went back to standing in place as though nothing had happened.

"Ughhh…"

Sato, like a beached whale, reeled from the blow, his head spinning. Struggling to sit up, he finally saw who had struck him.

It was the very ninja he had sent out.

Sato's pupils widened sharply.

"Ughhh…"

The ninja had been beaten black and blue.

If it weren't for the fact that Sato had lived with him for a long time, he probably wouldn't have been able to recognize this swollen, bruised face at first glance.

Sato's trembling gaze slowly shifted upward, toward the doorway.

Reflected in his pupils was a mass of dark, looming ninjas.

At the very front stood two youngsters. One had short black hair and eyes as blue as peacock feathers. The other had orange-yellow hair, with obvious anger written on his face.

These two youths…

He knew them both.

In fact, all the bosses of Aomine knew them. They were outsiders who had broken the unspoken rules. Because of this, last night many ninjas had been mobilized in Aomine.

Yet they were still alive!

What's more, those dispatched ninjas were now standing behind them.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He was both shocked and enraged, though in his heart flickered a trace of fear he didn't want to admit.

Clambering up from the ground, his fleshy body trembling, Sato stretched out fingers like short white radishes and angrily pointed at Shiratori and the others.

His gaze locked onto Muramasa, clearly, he recognized him.

"Muramasa!"

"How could you betray Tomita!"

"Have you forgotten who's been feeding you?"

Tomita was Muramasa's boss, and also an associate of Sato.

In other words, the two colluded for mutual benefit. All the crooked merchants of Aomine were in league with one another.

Muramasa looked calmly at Sato. "Of course I know who's been feeding me. It's these refugees. The wealth you hold was created by them, you simply seized it for yourselves."

Unconsciously, his eyes fell on Shiratori.

If not for him, Muramasa might never have realized this truth in his lifetime.

Shiratori nodded in approval. Very good. Seeing more and more people awaken, he felt at ease.

"You're spouting nonsense!"

Sato's face flushed. He was so furious he stomped his feet.

"Do these refugees have the brains for business? Even if you handed them wealth, they couldn't keep it! It's our existence that gives them jobs! This wealth rightfully belongs to us!"

He raised his chin high, arrogant and overbearing, and retorted, "Tell me yourself, can they create wealth? They can't even fill their stomachs! What wealth could they possibly create?"

Muramasa frowned and glared at Sato.

These merchants looked down on the poor and on ninjas from the very depths of their bones.

Shiratori could not let such words pass.

"The potential for ability and development is fundamentally equal. The reason refugees become refugees is because war, persecution, and disaster stripped them of the opportunity to live and develop normally in their homeland. Their wisdom and abilities were never taken away."

"The working people possess infinite creativity and intelligence."

"Before they became refugees, they were laborers of all trades, some could cook, some could lay bricks, some could farm, some could paint, some could build houses…"

"Disaster only pushed them into hardship temporarily. It doesn't mean they lost their abilities."

The refugees in the kitchen froze in their tracks.

They stood stiffly in place, their pupils trembling.

"The true measure of a person's strength is shown in their ability to protect the weak. People like you are nothing but parasites of society."

He glanced at the flabby, bloated Sato before looking at the gaunt, skeletal refugees.

"You fucker! You know nothing!" Sato shouted.

Shiratori exchanged a look with Kojiro and Muramasa. The two nodded and began walking toward Sato.

"Kurumi! Kurumi! What are you standing there for? Are you blind?"

Sato backed away step by step, glaring at the approaching two men.

Muramasa paused, a flicker of caution in his eyes.

Kurumi, a kunoichi, jonin-level with a bloodline limit.

Kurumi cast Sato an impatient glance. "Hey, that's enough! If you're such a miser, then don't hire ninjas to protect you. You think the pittance you pay every month is worth me risking my life? What a joke! Has the fat in your skin seeped into your brain?"

Sato stared wide-eyed at the usually quiet kunoichi.

Shiratori: "…"

So sharp-tongued?

"Hey, how's the treatment you offer? Don't tell me you're like this guy, skimming off the wages?" Kurumi asked, looking toward Shiratori.

He shook his head. "Of course not. Our rule is simple: more work, more pay. Distribution according to labor. Ninja, samurai, commoners, it's the same for everyone."

Kurumi raised an eyebrow. "Sounds fair."

"Kurumi! You whore! How could you betray me? You'll be killed for this!" Sato roared, eyes nearly splitting with rage.

"I'll be just fine. You're the one who's headed for hell," Kurumi shrugged, completely indifferent.

"...Aaaargh! Bastards! You're all whores and bastards!"

Muramasa and Kojiro reached out for Sato.

---

One minute later, Sato was tied up together with the ninja who had already been beaten to a pulp.

Shiratori turned to the refugees and said, "We are the reformers of Aomine! Our purpose is to restore justice here, confiscate the wealth of the black-hearted merchants, provide relief to refugees, and ensure that everyone has the right to an equal life. We've come here to distribute the food from the Okura Inn to those in need."

"Will you join us?"

The refugees looked at one another.

"Those ninjas are strong…" a hoarse voice murmured from among them.

A smile spread across Shiratori's face. "We are stronger."

The refugees fell silent for a long while. He patiently waited.

In truth, the refugees could find no reason not to join. They had long wanted to resist, but lacked the strength.

Now that strength had appeared, would they continue to endure?

"I'll join you."