Of course, to the daimyo, nobles, and landowners, the plant catalyst Orochimaru developed was bad news—but for the Hidden Leaf, it was unquestionably a blessing.

As a military stronghold, the Hidden Leaf didn’t rely much on farming. While they did grow some crops, it was mostly done by civilians in surrounding areas, and usually involved vegetables and fruits rather than staple grains. Grain and other essentials were mainly acquired through trade, and a large portion of the village’s annual budget was spent on buying food.

This setup wasn’t because shinobi couldn’t farm—it was just that their job had always been to complete missions and go to war. Even participating in wars was handled like a mission, reinforcing the mercenary nature of the shinobi profession.

That said, it wasn’t like ninja couldn’t farm. If missions were assigned for it, plenty of shinobi would happily accept agricultural assignments. Every year, land-owning nobles and wealthy individuals hired ninja to help with agriculture, especially land development. With their abilities, shinobi were a perfect fit, and they always got the job done.

The real reason shinobi didn’t farm was time. Crops took too long to grow and required constant care. It wasn’t a good return on investment compared to taking on missions.

Worse yet, farmland was a vulnerable target. In times of conflict, enemy villages could easily sabotage crops and fields. Investing long-term in agriculture was like painting a bullseye on your back.

Throughout shinobi history, many villages tried to grow their own food, but every attempt ended in disaster. Farming on a quarterly cycle was basically inviting the enemy to ruin your harvest.

That’s why most ninja never bothered. Some had small gardens in their yards or just outside the village for personal use, and if those were destroyed, it wasn’t a big loss.

This was the core reason they didn’t use their incredible abilities to farm. No matter how flashy your jutsu was or how fast you could clear a field, if you couldn’t protect the crops or make them grow faster than nature allowed, it was pointless.

But now, with Orochimaru’s new plant catalyst—which didn’t harm soil fertility and could even enhance it—suddenly all those previously impractical ideas were viable.

—

In the Hokage’s office…

The Hidden Leaf’s top brass were already gathered. With a nod from Lord Third, Tsunade, now officially the Hokage’s assistant, stepped forward to chair the meeting. She looked directly at Orochimaru.

“Orochimaru, are you sure about the effects of this catalyst? Are you certain the food grown with it is safe for humans?”

Orochimaru, eyeing the now-Hokage-worthy Tsunade and the serene, retired-grandpa vibe of Hiruzen Sarutobi, couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

So it actually worked.

The old man, though aged, was more decisive than expected. When Tsunade approached and asked to take on the Hokage’s role, he’d only shown mild surprise before handing off some responsibilities. After just three days, he named her his assistant and even passed on command of the Anbu.

It was clear he was completely handing over the Hokage position, eager to retire and enjoy life.

It turned out Lord Third’s grip on power wasn’t as tight as it seemed.

Maybe his previous indecisiveness stemmed from not knowing who should be the Fourth Hokage. Orochimaru had once been the most likely successor, but his personality made Hiruzen wary. That caution had looked like power-hunger.

But Tsunade was different—her character, her reputation, and her qualifications made her the most fitting among the Legendary Three.

Even in the original series, after Hiruzen’s death, the advisors initially suggested Jiraiya, simply because he was the only viable choice. But once he offered to bring back Tsunade and promised he could persuade her, they immediately agreed to her appointment—even before she’d overcome her hemophobia.

So it was clear—Tsunade becoming Hokage had always been the will of the people. Granddaughter of the First Hokage, one of the Legendary Sannin, the strongest medical-nin, well-connected with nobility, and respected among civilians and shinobi alike. The only thing stopping her before was her own refusal.

Now, things had changed. Driven by her will to protect her brother, Tsunade had stepped up. With Orochimaru withdrawing, no one from the Third Hokage down to the average villager had any reason to object.

Seeing how smoothly the transition was going, Orochimaru couldn’t help but feel sentimental. He realized that Hiruzen’s hesitation in the past wasn’t about control—it was about not trusting *him*.

“How disappointing…”

“If I hadn’t met Kei-kun and figured out the old man’s true feelings, I’d probably have been furious. I’d have joined Root without hesitation.”

“Or I might’ve gone down some other path just to prove myself right…”

“But now? I’ve seen the greater picture. Petty rivalries, the Hokage title, validation from Hiruzen… none of it matters anymore.”

Smiling calmly, Orochimaru replied, “All theoretical data checks out. Lab tests are also successful. Animals fed with crops grown using the catalyst showed no adverse effects.”

“As for humans, I recommend testing on the inmates in the Hidden Leaf prison—or captured enemy shinobi.”

“Also, I plan to establish a test field next to the Uchiha Research Facility. That way we can monitor both crop yield and consumption results simultaneously.”

“If everything goes smoothly, we should be ready to implement the catalyst at the start of next year. By then, the Hidden Leaf could transform from a grain-importing to a grain-exporting village, creating a new revenue stream—and allowing us to recruit more outsiders.”

Tsunade nodded seriously, then turned to Hiruzen, Koharu Utatane, and Homura Mitokado.

“I support Orochimaru’s proposal. What about you three?”

All three nodded without hesitation.

Hiruzen, despite his PTSD around human experimentation, only took issue when it involved Leaf villagers. If Orochimaru wanted to use prisoners and foreign spies? That was just efficient resource use.

Hiruzen Sarutobi was a good man.

But only when it came to the Leaf.

To outsiders, he had never been merciful.

Afterward, Tsunade summoned an Anbu and gave instructions. Then, the discussion shifted to the production and sale of the new aphrodisiac.

This project had been backed by Uchiha Kei’s investment group and developed under Orochimaru’s private lab. The profit structure had been pre-arranged: part for the village, part for the Leaf’s Game Merchants Guild, and part for investors like Uchiha Kei.

A classic Uchiha Kei play—align all stakeholders into one interest group so everyone gets rich together.

Smaller personal profits, maybe—but a wider market, built-in protection, and shared gains meant higher total earnings.

To put it simply: if Uchiha Kei’s group did everything alone, they’d control a market worth 10 points and get 10 points of profit. But by bringing in more people, they could grow the market to 100 points or more. Even with just 10%, they’d earn more than going solo.

And in reality, they weren’t getting 10%—they had 30%.

In Earth terms, that’s unheard of. In the real world, capital usually squeezes founders out. But in the shinobi world, people were “pure-hearted” enough to feel guilty if investors only got 30%, even offering to give them more.

When Uchiha Kei insisted on just 30%, everyone praised him as wise and magnanimous. If he had more strength, he’d probably have a strong chance of becoming Hokage.

It really showed how “wholesome” ninja could be. There was no aristocratic exploitation or capitalist greed to speak of.

Uchiha Kei just hoped this beautiful investment climate would last—at least until he had enough power to dominate the entire shinobi world.

In any case, once the aphrodisiac passed safety checks, production was greenlit. The village would handle manufacturing, while the Leaf’s Game Merchants Guild managed sales. Revenue and taxes would be processed accordingly—especially with Tsunade herself overseeing things.

Once that was settled, Orochimaru got ready to leave. But Tsunade stopped him.

“Orochimaru, Jiraiya still hasn’t come back. You know what I mean, right?” she said with a scowl.

Orochimaru: “…Where is he?”

Tsunade: “Tanzaku Street.”

Orochimaru nodded. “Understood. I’ll go fetch him.”

“Thanks. Bring that idiot back ASAP,” Tsunade huffed. “I’m already drowning in work while he’s out gallivanting. He better get his butt back here and do his share!”

Her tone was full of grievance. She even shot a sharp glare at Lord Third, who coughed awkwardly and muttered something about training and testing her.

But that only made Tsunade more annoyed. She interrupted his “explanation,” shooed Orochimaru out, and summoned her personal guard—Minato Namikaze.

Then she dumped a mountain of tasks on him.

Thus, Minato entered the hellish world of overtime, embodying the radiant hope of a bright, overworked future.

Watching it all unfold, Orochimaru couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

“Good thing I didn’t become Hokage. Otherwise, I’d be the one buried in paperwork.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep