Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

The tavern was so quiet that the sound of rain hitting the roof felt deafening. Every mercenary in the room was holding their breath, waiting for the stitched monster to rip the broker’s head off.

Instead, a thirteen-year-old boy in a gray cloak stepped up to the bar.

Ren reached into his satchel, pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and a charcoal pencil, and slapped them down on the wood right next to the severed head.

”Actually,” Ren said, his voice cutting through the deadly silence like a knife, ”a five percent processing fee on a gross payout without prior contractual stipulation isn’t a fee. It’s unauthorized theft. You are legally entitled to your hundred and twenty thousand ryo.”

Kakuzu stopped.

The black threads slithering from his sleeves paused. He slowly turned his massive, hunched frame to look down at the boy. His cold, piercing green eyes locked onto Ren.

The sheer, suffocating killing intent radiating from the missing-nin was a physical weight. Ren’s heart hammered against his ribs. His instincts screamed at him to run, to use his enhanced stamina to flee into the forest. But he planted his feet, keeping his hands entirely visible on the bar.

”Who are you?” Kakuzu’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the floorboards.

”I am a business owner with a severe logistical bottleneck,” Ren said, keeping his voice deadpan and professional. He slid the parchment forward. ”And you are clearly a man who understands the fundamental value of proper accounting. I need a private contractor.”

Kakuzu looked at the boy, then at the heavy coin purse tied to Ren’s waist.

”I kill people for money,” Kakuzu stated flatly. ”I don’t haul freight. Give me one reason I shouldn’t just rip your head off, take your purse, and sell your corpse to the underground exchange.”

Ren didn’t flinch. He picked up his charcoal pencil.

”Because taking my purse yields exactly twenty thousand ryo in silver,” Ren said, quickly jotting the numbers down on the parchment. ”It is a stagnant, one-time acquisition. A short-term smash-and-grab. It lacks vision.”

Ren flipped the paper around so Kakuzu could read it.

”However,” Ren continued, tapping the paper. ”If you accept my logistics contract, I will pay you a base rate of fifty thousand ryo to move my cargo through the Land of Rivers pass. I am also including a twenty percent active-warzone hazard bonus, and a strict ten percent penalty fee paid directly to you for every hour the cargo is delayed by enemy combatants. All paid with zero broker fees.”

Kakuzu stared at the paper.

The killing intent in the room suddenly vanished, completely evaporating.

Kakuzu leaned over the bar. He completely ignored the sweating broker, his green eyes scanning the contract with terrifying, obsessive speed. He wasn’t looking at it like a killer; he was looking at it like an auditor.

”You outline clear hazard compensation,” Kakuzu noted, his deep voice losing its homicidal edge, replaced by genuine curiosity. ”And you waive the standard transport tax.”

”Taxes are theft,” Ren said smoothly. ”I pay for results, not bureaucracy. I need five hundred pounds of rice, three crates of sugar, and a shipment of lotus leaves moved from the eastern ports into Konoha by tomorrow night. The route is currently blocked by Sand and Stone forces.”

”A blockade,” Kakuzu murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly as he ran the math in his head. ”Transporting heavy goods through an active battlefield will require me to eliminate at least two platoons of shinobi to clear the road. A sixty thousand ryo total payout covers the transport, but the physical exertion reduces my overall profit margin.”

”Then take their bounties,” Ren offered instantly, completely unfazed by the casual mention of slaughtering two platoons. ”I have no claim on the bodies of anyone who tries to stop the wagon. You keep the cargo intact, and you get my base pay, my hazard bonus, plus whatever bounties you collect along the road. It’s a stacked revenue stream.”

Kakuzu paused. He looked at the thirteen-year-old boy.

For the last forty years, people had spoken to Kakuzu in screams, begging, threats, or religious zealotry. This kid in a gray cloak was the very first person in decades to speak to him in the sacred, undeniable language of pure Return on Investment.

The math was absolutely flawless.

Kakuzu reached out with a massive, stitched hand. He didn’t grab Ren. He grabbed the terrified broker by the collar, effortlessly lifting the grown man off his feet.

”Open the lockbox,” Kakuzu rumbled.

The broker frantically opened the till. Kakuzu reached in and precisely counted out his missing one hundred and twenty thousand ryo. He dropped the broker in a heap on the floor, pocketed his money, and turned back to Ren.

”The terms are acceptable,” Kakuzu said. ”But if the payment isn’t ready upon delivery, I will extract my money from your internal organs.”

”Payment upon delivery is an ironclad policy,” Ren agreed, sliding the pencil forward. ”Sign here.”

Kakuzu didn’t take the pencil. He simply pressed his thumb against the bloody stump of the severed head on the counter, then pressed his bloody thumbprint onto the bottom line of the contract.

Ren picked up the parchment, blew on it to dry the blood, and slipped it into his ledger. He reached into his pouch, pulled out a thick stack of silver, and placed it on the bar.

”Ten thousand ryo advance,” Ren said. ”I will meet you at the northern Konoha supply gate tomorrow at midnight. Do not be late.”

Kakuzu swept the silver into his cloak, the coins clinking together in a sound he found deeply comforting. He looked down at the young shopkeeper with a strange, calculating respect.