Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

Three days later.

The heavy oak doors to Ren’s private study swung open, and Kakuzu walked in. The towering treasurer’s black cloak was dusted with dirt, and the faint, unmistakable metallic scent of fresh blood clung to his sleeves. He had spent the last seventy-two hours shaking down every underground broker and black-market smuggler between Konoha and the Land of Earth.

Ren looked up from his desk, setting his silver pen down. ”Well?”

Kakuzu walked over, dropping a crumpled, blood-stained ledger onto the mahogany desk.

”You were completely correct,” Kakuzu reported, his deep voice laced with professional satisfaction. ”The Sannin is bankrupt. I audited his recent material acquisitions through the underground networks. Orochimaru has been privately importing massive quantities of restricted medical equipment—centrifuges, chakra-infused scalpels, and high-grade anesthetics. But the shipments stopped two weeks ago.”

Ren picked up the stained ledger, flipping through the transactions. ”Why?”

”Because he defaulted on his last three payments,” Kakuzu answered. ”I intercepted a financial directive from the Hokage’s administrative office during my sweep. Hiruzen Sarutobi just slashed the village’s science and research budget by eighty percent to pay for the Nine-Tails reconstruction efforts. Orochimaru’s private suppliers have completely frozen his accounts.”

Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly, a slow, highly cynical smile spreading across his face.

The ultimate, untouchable mad scientist of the shinobi world wasn’t a threat right now. He was just a struggling researcher who had lost his government grant and desperately needed funding.

”A desperate scientist makes mistakes,” Ren mused, closing the ledger. He stood up, adjusting his charcoal vest. ”Kakuzu, take fifty crates of our highest-grade medical supplies and move them to Warehouse Four on the eastern outskirts. Keep the inventory highly visible from the perimeter.”

Kakuzu’s green eyes narrowed behind his mask. ”That warehouse has a massive blind spot near the forest line. If I move premium inventory there, it will be entirely exposed to theft.”

”That is exactly the point,” Ren smirked. ”Pull the main security detail. Leave just enough guards to make it look legitimate, but weak enough to be tempting. When a snake is starving, you don’t hunt it in the tall grass. You just leave a rat out in the open and wait.”

Kakuzu paused, quickly doing the mental math. His eyes widened slightly in understanding. ”I will prepare the inventory.”

Midnight. Warehouse Four.

The eastern outskirts of Konoha were dead silent. The massive corrugated steel roof of the medical warehouse gleamed faintly under the moonlight. Inside, rows of wooden crates filled with premium, sterilized medical gear sat completely unguarded.

A shadow detached itself from the ceiling rafters. Then another.

Five figures, dressed in dark tactical gear with unmarked porcelain masks, landed silently on the concrete floor. They moved with elite, ANBU-level precision, fanning out to secure the perimeter. They weren’t ordinary shinobi. The faint, unnatural purple chakra leaking from their skin marked them as Orochimaru’s experimental test subjects.

The squad leader signaled with two fingers. The others immediately began prying open the crates, pulling out vials of anesthetic and sealing them into storage scrolls.

They were fast. But they weren’t fast enough.

The temperature inside the warehouse suddenly skyrocketed, the air turning blistering and suffocatingly dry in a fraction of a second.

Before the squad leader could even shout a warning, a glowing, miniature sun materialized out of thin air.

Pakura dropped from the catwalk above. She didn’t weave a single hand sign. She just pointed her finger. The Scorch Release orb slammed directly into the chests of two masked shinobi.

There was no explosion. No fire. Just a horrifying, instantaneous hiss as all the moisture in their bodies was violently evaporated. The two shinobi collapsed to the concrete as mummified, hollow husks, dead before they even hit the ground.

”Ambush!” the squad leader roared, drawing his ninjatō.

The remaining two shinobi charged Pakura, their curse marks flaring to life.

They didn’t make it three steps.

The concrete floor beneath them shattered. Thick, black tendrils erupted from the ground, wrapping around their ankles and slamming them violently into the steel support beams. Kakuzu stepped out of the shadows, his forearms coated in diamond-hard Earth Spear armor. He didn’t bother with ninjutsu. He simply stepped forward and drove a hardened fist straight through one shinobi’s chest, instantly crushing his heart.

The final goon tried to weave a jutsu, but Kakuzu casually backhanded him, sending him flying across the warehouse.

The squad leader, realizing his entire elite team had been slaughtered in less than ten seconds, turned and sprinted for the exit.

He threw the warehouse doors open—and slammed chest-first into an invisible, heavily condensed wall of chakra. He bounced off, falling hard onto the concrete.

Footsteps echoed through the quiet warehouse.

Ren strolled through the open doorway, dressed in his usual crisp, tailored suit. He stepped over the mummified husks without a second glance, walking up to the paralyzed squad leader. Kakuzu stepped up from behind, planting a heavy boot firmly squarely on the assassin’s back, pinning him to the floor.

”Orochimaru’s standard of henchmen has really dropped,” Ren noted, looking down at the struggling man.

”I will not betray Lord Orochimaru,” the squad leader spat, glaring up at Ren. ”Torture me all you want. I am completely immune to standard interrogation.”

”I don’t have time for standard interrogation,” Ren said flatly. ”Kakuzu. Hold his eyes open.”

Kakuzu reached down, gripping the man’s head and violently prying his eyelids apart.

Ren knelt down. He didn’t use any hand signs. He didn’t say a word. He simply locked eyes with the squad leader and forcefully channeled his chakra.

The dark iris of Ren’s right eye instantly bled into a brilliant, glowing crimson. The three tomoe spun furiously before locking into the sharp, intersecting triangular pattern of his Mangekyō.

The squad leader’s body went completely rigid.

Ren didn’t drag him into an illusion. He didn’t torture his mind. He used the raw, overwhelming ocular power to simply shatter the man’s mental barriers and violently rip the exact coordinates of Orochimaru’s primary underground facility directly from his short-term memory.

One second.

Two seconds.

Ren snapped his eyes shut, instantly cutting off the chakra flow. The Mangekyō faded, reverting back to its normal dark color. A single, thin trail of blood leaked from his right eye, a stark reminder of the physical toll the visual prowess demanded, but the fifty-thousand-coin ocular serum kept the cellular degradation completely at bay. There was no agonizing pain. Just a mild sting.

He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood from his cheek as he stood up.

”Got it,” Ren said smoothly.

The squad leader on the floor was completely comatose, his mind temporarily short-circuited by the sheer force of the memory rip.

”Clean up this mess, Kakuzu,” Ren ordered, turning around and walking back out into the cool night air. ”And get the carriage ready. We’re going to make the Sannin a job offer.”

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