Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

The rain fell in heavy, freezing sheets over the Uchiha compound. It was past midnight. The cafe’s front doors were locked for the evening, but inside, the kitchen was still operating at a low, steady hum as Kenji and Sayuri prepped for the morning rush.

In the back office, Ren pulled a thick, dark gray traveling cloak over his shoulders. He slung a heavy leather satchel across his chest and tied a thick pouch of silver ryo securely to his waist.

Seven-year-old Itachi stood by the desk, watching his older brother pack.

”The shop stays completely operational while I am gone,” Ren instructed, checking the clasp on his coin purse. ”Keep pushing the standard bentos to the military. We need every single ryo to maintain the baseline revenue.”

”If you are absent for multiple days, Mother will come looking for you,” Itachi noted, his young face completely serious. ”What is the cover story?”

”Tell her I went to secure a new rural supplier to fix the shortage,” Ren said bluntly. ”It’s the truth, mostly. She knows how important the supply chain is right now. Just keep the line moving, Itachi. I’ll be back before the end of the week.”

”Traveling to the borderlands during a blockade is dangerous,” Itachi warned. ”Casualty rates are currently at eighty percent.”

”Don’t worry about me kid. Even if world ends I will be the last person to die,” Ren said, pulling his hood up.

He opened the system interface with a thought, navigating to the cheap consumables tab.

[PURCHASE: Basic Sound-Dampening Talisman - Cost: 25 BC]

A small paper tag materialized in his palm. He slipped out the back door and into the freezing rain. He slapped the talisman against his chest, instantly muting the sound of his footsteps and the rustling of his cloak.

Relying on his system-purchased physical strength, Ren scaled the massive outer walls of Konoha in total silence, dropping into the dense forests beyond the village borders. He ran for four hours straight, his enhanced stamina ignoring the burn in his legs.

By three in the morning, Ren reached his destination: Tanzaku Outpost.

It was a sprawling, muddy shantytown built right on the edge of the Fire Country border. It was a neutral, lawless zone—a haven for smugglers, missing-nin, and bounty hunters trading goods too dangerous for official routes.

Ren pulled his hood down low to hide his face and walked into the mud-slicked streets.

The atmosphere was tense. Men with missing eyes and jagged scars stood in the alleyways, trading stolen weapons and military rations. Ren kept his head down, his hand resting near his heavy coin purse. He relied entirely on his nerve to hide the fact that he was an unarmed thirteen-year-old boy walking through a den of killers.

He pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the largest tavern in the outpost.

The noise inside was loud and chaotic. Mercenaries drank heavily at splintered tables. Ren walked straight to the bar, navigating through the crowd without making eye contact.

The broker behind the counter was a massive, bald man with a jagged scar across his throat. He looked down at Ren and frowned.

”Get out of here, kid,” the broker grunted, wiping down the bar. ”Before someone decides to sell you to a labor camp.”

Ren didn’t blink. He reached into his cloak, pulled out a stack of high-denomination bills, and set them on the sticky wood of the bar.

”I need a supply line,” Ren said directly. ”Five hundred pounds of Akimichi-grade rice, three crates of sugar, and premium lotus leaves. I need them moved from the eastern ports into Konoha by tomorrow night.”

The broker stared at the money, then laughed harshly.

”You want to move sugar?” the broker shook his head. ”The Sand and Stone are fighting in the Land of Rivers pass right now. The road is completely blocked. I’m not sending my guys into a warzone for baking supplies.”

”I’ll pay a thirty percent premium above your standard rate,” Ren offered, pushing the cash forward.

”Keep your money,” the broker sneered, pushing it back. ”Nobody in this town is stupid enough to drive a slow wagon full of tea leaves through a battlefield. The logistics game is closed until the fighting stops. Go home.”

Ren slowly gathered his money, his jaw tightening.

He had the capital, but it didn’t matter. The supply chain was broken by the sheer violence of the shinobi world. If he couldn’t get these supplies moving immediately, he would miss the 50,000 BC threshold, and Nawaki Senju would die. Normal smugglers weren’t going to cut it. He needed someone who didn’t care about the risk.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the tavern blew open.

The noise in the bar died instantly. A heavy, suffocating silence swept through the room.

A towering figure stepped into the dim light. He wore a dark, heavy cloak that hid his massive frame. His skin was an unnatural gray, held together by thick, black surgical stitches. His eyes were the most terrifying part—red sclera with cold, piercing green irises that scanned the room with absolute apathy.

Kakuzu.

The immortal bounty hunter walked slowly to the bar. The hardened mercenaries pressed themselves against the walls to get out of his way.

Kakuzu reached into his cloak, pulled out a severed head by the hair, and dropped it onto the counter with a wet thud. It stopped right next to Ren’s hand.

”Bounty from the Rain Village,” Kakuzu’s deep voice rumbled. ”Pay me.”

The broker was trembling violently. He frantically unlocked a box under the counter, pulled out a massive stack of cash, and slid it across the wood with shaking hands.

Kakuzu picked up the stack. He didn’t pocket it. He stood there, his green eyes narrowing as he rapidly flipped through the bills, counting them with obsessive speed.

He stopped. Kakuzu looked up at the sweating broker.

”The bounty was two million, four hundred thousand ryo,” Kakuzu stated coldly. ”This is two million, two hundred and eighty thousand.”

”It’s the broker’s fee,” the man stammered, backing away with his hands raised. ”Standard five percent cut for the outpost. It’s the rules.”

Kakuzu’s thick fingers tightened around the cash. Black threads began to slowly slither out from beneath the cuffs of his cloak, creeping across the wooden bar.

”I’m not paying you a hundred and twenty thousand ryo just to hand me my own money,” Kakuzu said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. ”Your math is garbage.”

Standing just a few feet away, clutching his ledger, Ren’s eyes widened.

He looked at the terrifying, stitched missing-nin, and then he looked at the money on the bar.

He isn’t a zealot. He isn’t a patriot, Ren realized, a slow, highly manic smile spreading across his face beneath his hood. He’s an accountant.

Ren stepped forward.