Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

The sun had barely risen over Konoha, but there was already a crowd gathered outside the Uchiha Cafe.

An year ago, when Ren went around door to door to hire people, he was the laughingstock of the district. The idea of a shinobi dropping his kunai to serve tea was considered a massive disgrace.

But wartime inflation was a brutal teacher. While standard shinobi wages stagnated and the cost of rice tripled, the people of Konoha had watched Kenji and Sayuri—two crippled, retired ninja—go from living in rundown shacks to purchasing two-story houses in the market district. They wore pristine clothes, ate premium food, and walked with the quiet confidence of people who never worried about their next paycheck.

So, when Itachi tacked a fresh hiring notice to the cafe door this morning, the response was immediate.

”Form a single line,” Itachi instructed, standing on a wooden crate so he could see over the crowd. He held a clipboard and a pen, his seven-year-old face entirely devoid of emotion. ”Civilians applying for front-of-house waitstaff and cleaning positions, present your identification to me. Veterans applying for production logistics, wait for the manager.”

Inside the cafe, Ren was standing near the back door, watching the crowd through the window.

A group of six heavily scarred, retired shinobi stood awkwardly at the back of the line. Ren recognized them. They were the same men who used to drink cheap sake across the street and mock Kenji for wearing an apron. Now, they were shifting on their feet, looking desperately at the help-wanted sign.

The door opened, and Kenji walked in through the back alley entrance. He was wearing his crisp white chef’s uniform, carrying a clipboard of his own.

”Boss,” Kenji said, glancing out the window at the old veterans. ”Those are my old squadmates from the Second War. They’re good men, just... stubborn. The war economy is hitting them hard. Their ninja pensions barely cover rent anymore.”

”I don’t care about their pride, Kenji,” Ren said smoothly. ”I care about their discipline. Can they follow exact instructions without asking questions?”

”They’re veterans. Following orders is all they know,” Kenji promised.

”Good. Bring them downstairs,” Ren said. ”I’m moving you and Sayuri strictly to management. You run the kitchen and the floor. I’ll handle the new division.”

Ten minutes later, the six retired shinobi were standing nervously in the cafe’s large, empty basement.

Ren walked down the wooden stairs. He didn’t gloat, and he didn’t demand apologies for their past mockery. He simply walked over to a massive stack of wooden crates that had been delivered before dawn.

”Welcome to the Research and Development division,” Ren stated, pulling a crowbar and prying the lid off the nearest crate. ”We aren’t making tea down here. We are manufacturing a new, highly classified product.”

The veterans exchanged serious looks. This sounded like a real mission.

Ren pulled out heavy rubber gloves and thick cloth masks, tossing them onto a nearby table.

”This process requires absolute precision and strict safety protocols,” Ren warned them, his tone dead serious. ”We are working with concentrated lye. It is highly caustic. If it touches your skin, it will cause severe chemical burns. If you inhale the raw fumes, it will scar your lungs. You wear the masks and gloves at all times. Understood?”

”Yes, sir,” the veterans answered in unison, their military instincts kicking in perfectly. This wasn’t just cooking; this was hazardous material handling.

Ren nodded. He walked them through the setup. Using the blueprints downloaded directly from his Tier 3 system, he showed them how to assemble the heavy steel vats and the wooden soap presses.

Then, he began the demonstration. He mixed the raw animal fats with the concentrated lye and water. The chemical reaction—saponification—immediately generated intense heat and thick, acrid vapor.

Ren put on his mask and stirred the boiling, bubbling mixture, carefully adding drops from the essential oil extraction kit until the harsh chemical smell was perfectly masked by the rich scent of jasmine and sandalwood.

”The mixing ratios are written on the chalkboard,” Ren told the masked veterans. ”You work in shifts. Nobody talks about what we make down here to anyone above ground. Do this right, and your starting salary is triple your ninja pension.”

The veterans didn’t hesitate. They strapped on their masks, pulled on their thick gloves, and stepped up to the boiling vats of toxic chemicals.

Outside, peering through a small, dirty grated window at street level, a Root operative watched the entire scene unfold.

His eyes were wide with absolute horror.

Deep underground in the dark, silent halls of Root headquarters, Danzo Shimura sat at his desk.

The Root captain from the rooftop stakeout was kneeling on the stone floor, shaking slightly as he delivered his report.

”Lord Danzo, the situation has escalated entirely beyond our projections,” the captain said, his voice tight with panic. ”The target has begun his operation.”

”Explain,” Danzo commanded, his one visible eye narrowing.

”He posted a public hiring notice, using his cafe as a front. He successfully recruited a squad of disgruntled, combat-hardened war veterans,” the captain reported. ”He moved them into a secure underground laboratory beneath his shop.”

Danzo gripped his cane. ”What are they doing down there?”

”We observed them through a street-level grate,” the captain swallowed hard. ”Lord Danzo... they are stockpiling massive barrels of concentrated lye. The target was instructing the veterans on how to handle the chemicals. They are wearing protective masks and boiling the lye in massive steel vats. The fumes were so thick they had to cover their faces.”

The silence in the office was deafening.

Danzo slowly leaned back in his chair. The pieces clicked into place in his paranoid mind, forming a terrifying, undeniable picture.

Ren Uchiha wasn’t just a Mangekyō user. He was a domestic terrorist.

”Chemical weapons,” Danzo whispered into the dark room.

”It appears so, my lord,” the captain nodded grimly. ”Concentrated lye vapor can blind a man and dissolve his lungs in minutes. If he loads that chemical mixture into explosive tags or ventilation systems, he could wipe out the entire central district without lifting a finger.”

Danzo’s mind raced. This was why the boy hadn’t attacked anyone. This was why his chakra was dormant. He didn’t need to use his Sharingan to stage a coup. He was going to hold the entire village hostage with poison gas.

And the worst part? Danzo couldn’t just order a raid. If Root breached the basement and the veterans panicked, they could accidentally release the toxic fumes right in the middle of the civilian market.

”He is using the veterans as a private militia, and the chemical weapons as a deterrent,” Danzo concluded, his voice dripping with venom. ”He is preparing to make his move against the administration.”

Danzo stood up, his face set in stone.

”Double the watch on the cafe,” Danzo ordered sharply. ”Do not engage under any circumstances. If he requests any permits to move his operation out of that basement or purchase land outside the village, you flag it directly to me. I will deny every single piece of paperwork he files.”

The captain bowed deeply. ”Yes, Lord Danzo.”

”We will keep him trapped inside those walls,” Danzo vowed, staring at Ren’s file on his desk. ”He thinks he can extort Konoha. But I will bury him in so much red tape he will suffocate on his own poison.”