To the Fūma Clan, Genma was neither a good man nor a bad one—he was simply an outsider with ambition and a goal.
After all, if he wanted to gain a foothold in the shinobi world, Genma knew that relying on their group of less than twenty ninja wasn't going to cut it.
In many situations, the strength of an individual wasn't nearly as convincing as the more visible—and often more intimidating—size of a group.
In a way, it wasn't much different from a street brawl: ten people on one side, a hundred on the other—the advantage was obvious.
Genma understood clearly: if he wanted to make their side look like an actual ninja force rather than a ragtag band of strays, then a headcount under twenty simply wouldn't suffice.
But if they had fifty, then to outsiders—especially those unfamiliar with their true capabilities—they might at least look "decent on the outside, even if hollow inside."
That was why now was the perfect time for Genma to start promoting certain founding ideals—that unity was key to survival, that friendliness and inclusivity were vital, that all were equal and treated fairly, and that anyone who "joined" was essentially a founding member. A "startup" ideology, if you will.
It was with that goal in mind that Genma had completely caught the other side off guard when they first made contact.
Not to show off power or throw down a gauntlet, and definitely not to bluff with false bravado—he simply wanted to control the conversation.
And sure enough, his words left the other side speechless. A certain tension began to spread.
Just when the others were mentally bracing for inevitable conflict, Genma spoke again:
"Just a little joke," he said lightly. "You all look exhausted. There's no need to move—we'll set up camp a little further off."
He waved his hand, signaling his shinobi to back off and give the appearance of peaceful intentions.
Seeing this, Fūma Gorō visibly relaxed. So the other party wasn't the kind who would senselessly beat someone while they were down.
Of course, Genma's so-called retreat was more symbolic than practical—he pulled back, yes, but just barely.
He led his group to the northern side of the Fūma camp, no more than a hundred meters away.
To shinobi, that distance was far from "safe."
They were upwind, and soon Genma's people began preparing dinner.
While they were merely cooking, the Fūma side visibly stirred in agitation.
Just as Genma was giving perfunctory orders for setting up night sentries, the Fūma Clan leader walked over—his face awkward, his steps hesitant.
He came alone, practically raising both hands to show he carried no hostility.
Genma signaled his men to let him through. The clan leader stopped in front of him.
"Mr. Genma, would it be... possible to spare us some food?"
Fūma Gorō, still a young man lacking the thick skin such a request required, spoke so softly it was as though his voice was stuck in his throat.
He couldn't even look Genma in the eye, bowing his head so low it nearly scraped the ground.
No need to ask—he knew this was an unreasonable request. But his people were starving.
In the shinobi world, asking for supplies was rare. When people lacked resources, they didn't ask—they took.
Unfortunately, the Fūma Clan didn't have that kind of strength anymore.
In this world, if you can't take it by force, you likely won't get it by pleading either.
Genma feigned a surprised expression, a trace of sympathy in his tone.
"This... Clan Leader Fūma, I sympathize with your situation. But as you can see, we're not in great shape ourselves. We're not even sure if our meager supplies will last the journey ahead."
Fūma Gorō lifted his head, trying to speak, but ultimately said nothing. He could only nod silently, and turned to leave with heavy steps.
But he hadn't gone two paces before Genma suddenly called out, as if moved by a last-minute pang of conscience:
"Clan Leader Fūma, how about this—I'll give you some grain and broth. I hope it'll help, even just a little. We really are doing all we can."
Fūma Gorō stopped abruptly, eyes wide with surprise as he turned back.
"Really...? I mean—thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Genma."
Refusing at first, then offering just a little—that made even a minor favor feel invaluable.
The supplies themselves weren't worth much. But what Genma offered wasn't just food—it was a gesture of sincerity in exchange for trust.
He immediately ordered his men to follow Fūma Gorō back and deliver the provisions. Before long, a cheer rose from the Fūma camp.
After arranging for the distribution of the food, Fūma Gorō returned once more to thank Genma personally.
Genma took the opportunity to invite him to join them for dinner. Of course, Gorō had no reason to refuse.
The smell of hot food tugged at the heart. Every bite he ate here meant one more mouthful to spare for his people.
Genma didn't pry into how they'd ended up in such a sorry state. Instead, he asked about their future:
"Clan Leader Fūma, what are your plans from here on out?"
Cradling a bowl of hot soup, Fūma Gorō shook his head with a dazed look in his eyes.
"To be honest... I don't know what path is left for our clan."
His situation wasn't all that different from Genma's. Both had been thrust into leadership unexpectedly. And if you asked whether he had any vision or long-term planning... well, that was basically nonexistent.
"The survival of your clan rests solely in your hands," Genma said, leaning in slightly. "Every step you take now must be carefully thought out. One misstep, and the consequences could be disastrous."
Gorō's face turned even more bitter. He clearly wasn't someone who handled pressure well.
So, in an instinctive act of avoidance, he deflected:
"Mr. Genma... what about your group? What's your situation?"
"Us? We're just wandering ninja now," Genma replied with calm candor. "My people come from all walks of life. Their stories are different, but the pain is the same. In the end, we had no choice but to band together."
The words were vague, but Gorō understood them clearly. It was a fellowship of the forsaken.
Then he chuckled bitterly to himself. Compared to them, the Fūma Clan might be in even worse shape.
"Wandering ninja, you say?" Gorō asked. Something about Genma's phrasing struck a chord.
Genma nodded and elaborated:
"We've just finished resting up. We're planning to head west in search of a suitable employer."
"Do you think there's hope?"
"That depends on how hard we work for it."
Fūma Gorō fell silent once more. Mr. Genma looked even younger than him, but everything he said and did was calculated, composed, and purposeful. His sense of leadership and control was clearly remarkable.
And then, a thought began to take shape in Gorō's mind.
"Our situation... isn't all that great either. Honestly, maybe we're just a bit more optimistic than your group."
"The ninja here come from obscure clans, or from ancient lineages they no longer speak of. We're all different—but what unites us is the sincerity we hold in our hearts.
That's the only reason I was willing to offer you what little help I could...
We've all been caught in the rain before. So if I can, I'd like to hold up an umbrella for someone else."
Genma's "sales pitch" had just the right amount of emotional pull—and more importantly, it was backed by reality. The diverse shinobi gathered around him had done so genuinely.
And right now, Fūma Gorō was lost and adrift, vulnerable to any kind of hope. His emotional resistance was at rock bottom.
So almost without thinking, he blurted out:
"Mr. Genma... would your 'ashes' truly accept ninja from any background... without discrimination?"
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