Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

His dad did not just lunge. He moved with the terrifying, flickering speed of an elite Jonin, and before Ren could even take a second step backward, a heavy hand clamped onto the back of his tunic.

Ren was hoisted into the air, dangling like a feral, misbehaving cat.

”Put me down!” Ren yelled, kicking his legs wildly. ”This is an illegal detainment!”

Fugaku did not say a word. The clan head simply turned and marched back toward the Uchiha compound, carrying his eight-year-old son like a sack of disgraced potatoes. Itachi trotted happily alongside them, holding his half-eaten dango and completely unbothered by the sheer murderous intent radiating from their father.

Ten minutes later, Ren was violently deposited into the center of the main Uchiha training yard.

The yard was not empty. Several clan youths were practicing shuriken jutsu, and a handful of senior elders were sitting on the engawa, sipping tea and observing the next generation.

His dad pointed a stern finger at the dirt. ”Stand up, Ren. You are going to spar with me. Now.”

Ren looked around. He saw the elders watching with critical, judgmental eyes. He saw the Uchiha youths smirking.

Oh, you want a public execution? Ren thought, a wicked, shameless grin briefly flashing across his face before he morphed it into an expression of pure terror. You want to humiliate me into acting like a ninja? Watch this, old man. I am about to weaponize my own lack of dignity.

Ren scrambled to his feet.

His dad took a slow, deliberate step forward, barely raising a hand to initiate a basic taijutsu strike.

Before Fugaku’s hand even came within two feet of him, Ren threw himself backward.

Thud!

”GAAAH!” Ren shrieked, clutching his completely untouched arm and rolling around in the dirt like he had just been hit by a highly explosive paper bomb. ”My bones! You’ve shattered my fragile bones! The brutality! I am a victim of domestic tyranny!”

The entire training yard fell dead silent.

The Uchiha youths stared, their shuriken slipping from their fingers. The elders nearly choked on their tea.

Fugaku’s face went completely blank, his eye twitching so hard it looked like it might pop out of his skull. ”I didn’t even touch you.”

”The shockwave alone was lethal!” Ren wailed, kicking his legs in the dust and making a massive scene. ”Help! Oppression! I’m being drafted against my will!”

From the edge of the porch, a soft sound broke the silence.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Everyone turned.

Two-year-old Itachi was sitting on the wooden planks, happily clapping his small hands together. The prodigy offered a bright, innocent smile, genuinely believing this was just a very dramatic family game his father and brother played.

Fugaku looked at his youngest son clapping, then looked down at his eldest son rolling in the dirt and screaming about labor laws.

The clan head realized, with a profound and crushing sense of defeat, that he could not win this. He couldn’t punish Ren because Ren had absolutely zero pride to wound. Ren had made even his own punishment look completely ridiculous.

The elders on the porch shook their heads in absolute disgust.

”A lost cause,” one elder muttered loudly, turning his back.

Good, Ren thought, spitting out a mouthful of dirt but keeping up his agonizing groans. Laugh at me. Disgust yourselves. Because laughing people stop watching.

The Next Day

Ren was covered in completely unnecessary, highly exaggerated bandages.

Despite having taken zero actual damage, he had wrapped his head, arms, and one of his legs in medical gauze purely to sell the narrative of his tragic oppression.

He hobbled through the bustling civilian sector of Konoha, leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick. Itachi walked dutifully beside him, wearing a tiny, dark blue shirt and holding a small notepad.

”Alright, Itachi,” Ren said, dropping the fake limp the moment they were out of the Uchiha district. ”Today, we are conducting critical market research. We are assessing the village’s most vital assets.”

Itachi held up a crayon. ”Supply chains, brother?”

”No,” Ren said solemnly, sitting down on a bench near a busy intersection. ”Kunoichi.”

Ren leaned back, crossing his arms and actively scanning the passing crowds. As a thirty-year-old man trapped in an eight-year-old’s body, he had to take his entertainment where he could get it.

”Look at the one by the fruit stand, Itachi,” Ren whispered, pointing his walking stick subtly. ”Solid 7. Good posture, strong chakra control, but the standard-issue sandals completely clash with the flak jacket. A true tragedy of military uniform design.”

Itachi diligently scribbled a stick figure in his notepad. ”Does her uniform affect market margins, brother?”

”Aesthetics are everything in retail, kid. Remember that.”

”Excuse me.”

Ren blinked, looking up.

Standing right in front of their bench was a young girl, probably a few years older than him—around twelve, prime Genin age. She had untamed, dark curly hair and striking, ruby-red eyes that glared down at him with intense disapproval.

Ren recognized her instantly. Kurenai Yuhi.

”Are you supposed to be tracking enemy movements?” Kurenai asked, crossing her arms and looking at Ren’s ridiculous bandages. ”Because you are staring at women in the market, and you are drawing terrible diagrams on napkins.”

She assumed he was skipping clan training again.

Ren didn’t miss a beat. He leaned on his walking stick, flashed a charming, completely shameless grin, and hit her with the absolute worst line he could think of.

”Well, I was trying to map out a business strategy,” Ren said smoothly. ”But then I got caught in a genjutsu. Because looking at you just completely distorted my reality.”

Kurenai stared at him. Her face went completely flat. ”That is the worst thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

Nailed it, Ren thought proudly.

Beside him, Itachi looked up from his notepad. The two-year-old prodigy stared directly into Kurenai’s ruby-red eyes, his face entirely serious and devoid of any humor.

”Miss,” Itachi asked, his voice polite but highly analytical. ”Can your red eyes cast a genjutsu that compels customers to buy more dango? We are looking to increase our profit margins by fifteen percent this quarter.”

Kurenai’s jaw dropped. She looked from Itachi to Ren, utterly bewildered by the sheer absurdity of the conversation.

”What is wrong with your family?” Kurenai muttered, stepping back.

Ren patted Itachi on the shoulder. ”Don’t mind him. He’s my official wingman. And my Chief Financial Officer.”

Kurenai rolled her eyes so hard Ren thought she might actually activate a Dojutsu of her own. ”The Uchiha clan is officially doomed,” she muttered, turning on her heel and walking away.

Ren watched her go, leaning back on the bench.

She’ll come around in about ten years, he chuckled internally.

Whoosh.

A sudden blur of movement caught Ren’s eye.

Someone dropped out of the tree directly behind their bench, landing on the pavement with barely a sound.

Ren turned around, expecting an ANBU patrol or maybe his dad coming for round two.

Instead, standing there with a polite, friendly smile, was a boy about Ren’s age. He had messy dark hair, a broad, sincere grin, and an aura of absolute, blinding patriotism.

Ren recognized him instantly.

Shisui Uchiha.

”Hi there!” Shisui said brightly, waving a hand. ”I heard Fugaku-sama’s sons were out here. I wanted to formally introduce myself!”

Ren froze. The blood drained from his face.

The brainwasher, Ren thought, panic and intense rivalry exploding in his chest. The guy who turns my brother into a Konoha lapdog. The canon catalyst.

Shisui took a step forward, his smile pure and welcoming.

Ren reacted instantly. He jumped off the bench, threw his arms out wide, and physically blocked Shisui from stepping anywhere near Itachi, treating the boy like an active threat carrying poisoned ideology.

”Halt!” Ren commanded, glaring at the innocent boy. ”State your business, government spy!”