Behind The Tsuchikage Nomination

Finally… Arano Haishōri had done it. After years of sacrifice, countless schemes, and more silent battles than the war itself, he had ascended to the position of Tsuchikage. No longer did he wake in the familiar comfort of his home. Instead, his eyes opened in the cold, paper-strewn office that now served as both his fortress and his burden.

The pale light of morning filtered through the curtains, illuminating a mountain of neglected paperwork. He had spent the night here—again. His cloak, marked with the symbol of Iwagakure's highest office, hung neatly by the door, untouched. He rose from his chair slowly, every muscle in his back reminding him of the weight he now carried. He walked toward the wide windows, pushed the curtain aside, and stared at the rocky terrain of his village.

This… was now his Iwa.

Yet he knew it was only the beginning.

Though he wore the title, the political climate in Iwagakure was still against him. Tensions simmered beneath the surface, and even among his so-called allies, not all were loyal. His election was not welcomed by all—but it had been won. That alone was proof of their strength. Our strength, he thought.

A knock echoed through the room.

"Enter," Arano said calmly, not turning away from the view.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside. It was none other than Onoki—council member, respected adviser… and the very architect behind Arano's rise to power.

Few in the village knew how Onoki and Arano had become allies. Whispers existed, of course. Some said it began when Arano became a Jōnin at the young age of fourteen. That was when a strange cloacked man had first approached him.

The man had claimed to be a former candidate for Tsuchikage—passed over not because of skill, but politics. The First Tsuchikage, unwilling to relinquish power, had chosen instead to elevate Onoki to the role of adviser—a role he accepted, though bitterness lingered.

Years passed. The First Tsuchikage, once sharp and proud, began to decline. His decisions grew rash. He clung to power like a relic refusing to vanish. Onoki endured in silence… until one day, he saw a boy—me—who held the potential to shape the future.

I was training late at the Haishōri clan grounds when he appeared. A stranger. Confident. Mysterious. He introduced himself as Onoki, an adviser of the Tsuchikage, and asked if we could talk. I remember how direct he was. It made me wary—but curious.

At first, we spoke only of trivial things—jutsu, clan customs, history. But before long, the conversation deepened. We discussed the growing instability within the village, the First Great Ninja War, and the possibility of a second. Onoki was impressed. I could see it in his eyes. He had found something he had been searching for—someone.

I was sixteen when he told me I could be Tsuchikage one day. Sixteen.

The idea thrilled me. To lead the village? To reshape its future? It was everything I wanted. But he warned me: the path would not be easy. Sacrifices would have to be made. Blood would have to be spilled—though not always with a blade.

That was how our plan began.

We called it our "political war."

The first step was securing clan support. Fortunately, I hailed from the Haishōri clan, once powerful, now diminished. Their name still carried weight. But one major clan wasn't enough. We needed three minor clans too, and that proved more difficult. Most minor clans remained neutral, unwilling to pick sides and risk reprisal.

Onoki, as a advisor, could guarantee one minor clan's loyalty. Two more required negotiation… and money. Onoki handled that part. He always knew the right amount of money to grease the right palms.

Then there was the Daimyō of the Land of Earth. His approval could tip the entire game in our favor. To win him over, we devised a more subtle plan: bribe his closest advisers and have them whisper praises in his ear, make him believe I was the only viable option.

It was risky. But it worked.

Still, the opposition was fierce. Three major clans fielded candidates of their own. The Shōrihana Clan pushed their heir, Kuzuki Shōrihana—strong, noble, and well-liked. The Kentori Clan hesitated, unable to produce a suitable candidate due to a lack of elite shinobi.

And then there was the Dorohai Clan, who stood behind Nakabe Dorohai—their most formidable member. His strength alone made him a contender.

Each of them courted minor clans and forged alliances, trying to sway the balance in their favor. They offered promises of favor, of elevated status should their candidate rise to power. It was a war fought not with kunai, but with words and coins.

On my side, I had one more unexpected asset: friendship.

During my time at the Ninja Academy, I had forged bonds with many promising shinobi. One of them was Han, the Jinchūriki of the Five-Tails. Others had become Jōnin, Anbu, or Chūnin. Their quiet support among the shinobi ranks added weight to my candidacy. Even whispers from the barracks could reach the ears of the council.

But first—the current Tsuchikage had to die.

He was old, yes, but not frail. He remained strong, and worse—he was cautious. He rarely left the village, staying holed up in his office surrounded by loyal guards.

Then… war came.

The Second Great Ninja War ignited, engulfing the world in flames once more. Hidden Rain. Hidden Grass. The smaller nations burned, and we seized our moment.

I was sent to the Land of Rain. While I fought on the front lines, Onoki enacted our plan.

He split it into three phases.

First, a forged letter—seemingly from Hanzo of Amegakure—offering terms of surrender. It contained a date and place for a secret meeting.

Second, disguised agents posing as Amegakure ninja would deliver this letter to the Tsuchikage.

Third, we would plant forged documents on a fallen Iwagakure shinobi near Konoha territory, making it seem like the Tsuchikage was plotting something—alone.

The situation in Iwagakure was dire. Supplies were low. Casualties high. The Tsuchikage had no choice but to attend the meeting… with only one Anbu squad as escort.

The trap was set.

A week later, it sprung.

The Tsuchikage survived, but barely. His escort sacrificed themselves to ensure his escape. Yet the damage was done—he was gravely wounded. Death came three days later. A solemn burial followed, and with it, the dawn of a new era.

The Tsuchikage election began.

I had the support of one major clan, three minor clans, the Daimyō, and one adviser.

Kuzuki Shōrihana had the same clan support—but not the Daimyō.

Nakabe Dorohai had one major clan, two minor clans, and two advisers.

The Kentori Clan remained neutral. So did Harise Ramoto, one of the four advisers.

It took one month. One grueling, soul-wracking month of negotiations, rumors, and final judgments.

In the end, I won.

Arano Haishōri was named the Second Tsuchikage.

My strength on the battlefield helped. During the war, I defeated ten squads of Konoha Jōnin and completed dozens of high-risk missions—sabotage, recon, infiltration. I had bled for this village. The people remembered that.

The village had chosen.

I had won.

But victory… was never without cost.