Naruto: The Shameless Uchiha Tycoon

Walking was entirely beneath the dignity of a Royal Envoy.

Lord Kazama, sweating profusely in his layers of expensive silk, stumbled along the dirt road, gasping for breath. The gilded carriage was a smoldering wreck miles behind them, and the ceremonial samurai had fled into the woods. Now, the envoy was forced to march toward the Fire Capital on foot, sandwiched between an S-rank serial killer and a teenage CEO.

Kakuzu walked with heavy, thudding steps, effortlessly carrying the massive wooden crates of Jasmine and Sandalwood soap on his broad shoulders. He wasn’t even sweating.

Ren walked beside him, holding his open ledger. He was completely unbothered by the hike, his mind entirely focused on supply chain optimization.

”If we build the factory outside the East Gate, we reduce local transport times,” Ren muttered, writing in the margins. ”But we still need a secure route to the Capital. The ambush today proves we lack an internal security division. We need a permanent Head of Route Security. Someone with a reputation terrifying enough to deter bandits before they even attack.”

Kakuzu adjusted the massive crates on his back. ”I can string the corpses of our enemies along the treeline as a warning to highwaymen. It is highly cost-effective.”

”No,” Ren sighed. ”We are a luxury brand, Kakuzu. Mutilated corpses on the side of the road damage the corporate image. We need clean, professional deterrence.”

Suddenly, the dense foliage ahead of them exploded.

A figure crashed through the canopy, violently splintering tree branches before slamming into the dirt road. A massive cloud of dust kicked up.

Kakuzu stopped, his green eyes narrowing. He didn’t drop the crates, but the thick, black threads of his Earth Grudge Fear jutsu slithered out from beneath his sleeves.

As the dust cleared, the figure on the ground coughed, spitting up a dark pool of blood.

It was a woman. She wore the standard flak jacket of the Hidden Sand Village, though it was scorched and practically shredded. She had dark hair with striking orange tips, tied back in a messy bun. Three massive, deep kunai wounds trailed across her back, and she was clearly fading fast from blood loss.

Kakuzu stared at the dying woman. His eyes widened slightly. He immediately reached into his cloak and pulled out his heavily annotated bingo book.

”Well, well,” Kakuzu rumbled, a deep, predatory hum vibrating in his chest. ”Pakura of the Scorch Release. The Hero of the Sand.”

Kakuzu flipped to a freshly stamped, black-market addendum tucked into the back of his book.

”The official reports say she is traveling to the eastern coast of the Fire Country on a highly classified diplomatic mission to meet with the Hidden Mist,” Kakuzu read, his green eyes darting over the page. ”But the underground bounty registry updated this morning. An anonymous client just placed a shadow-bounty of thirty-five million ryo on her corpse. Off the books. No questions asked.”

Kakuzu looked at Ren. ”Her Kazekage sold her out to the Mist, and he’s paying the black market to ensure there are no survivors to leak the cover-up. Boss, I request immediate authorization to liquidate the asset and claim the bounty.”

Before Ren could answer, four more figures dropped from the trees, landing in a perfect tactical perimeter around the dying woman.

They didn’t wear Sand Village gear. They wore the pinstriped clothing and masked turbans of Hidden Mist Hunter-nin. The elite trackers of Kirigakure. Pakura must have survived the initial ambush at the coastal port and fled inland into Fire Country, and they had been relentlessly chasing her down to finish the job.

The lead Mist tracker drew a curved blade, completely ignoring Ren and Kazama. He locked eyes on the towering Kakuzu.

”This is official Hidden Mist business,” the tracker warned, his voice muffled by cloth. ”Step aside, mercenary. The Sand gave her to us as a peace offering. Her life belongs to the Mizukage.”

Kakuzu didn’t look at the tracker. He looked at his bingo book.

”Four elite Kirigakure Hunter-nin,” Kakuzu calculated out loud. ”Standard black-market bounty is one million ryo each. That is four million in unregistered overhead just standing in my way.”

Kakuzu closed the bingo book and looked down at Ren. ”Instructions?”

Ren looked at the dying woman on the ground, and then at the four assassins. He didn’t see ninja politics. He saw a spectacularly timed resume.

Pakura was an S-rank Kunoichi. Her Scorch Release kekkei genkai was a one-hit kill that left zero blood—a perfectly clean, highly intimidating deterrent. And most importantly, she had just been violently betrayed by her own government. She was unemployed, desperate, and highly motivated.

”Kill the trackers,” Ren ordered smoothly, closing his ledger. ”But leave the woman alive. I want her on the payroll.”

Kakuzu grunted in acknowledgement. He finally set the heavy crates of soap gently onto the ground.

”Do not damage their heads,” Kakuzu muttered to himself, his skin hardening into his dark iron Earth Spear jutsu. ”I need them recognizable for the exchange.”

The Mist trackers realized the danger a second too late.

They blurred into motion, weaving water-style hand seals. Kakuzu simply walked through the jutsu. The high-pressure water bullets shattered harmlessly against his hardened skin.

With a terrifying burst of speed, the giant closed the distance. He didn’t use ninjutsu. He grabbed the lead tracker by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and crushed his windpipe with a sickening crunch. The second tracker tried to flank him, but Kakuzu’s black threads shot out of his back, impaling the man cleanly through the heart.

The last two turned to run. Kakuzu’s threads swept their legs, dragging them screaming back into the dirt before he brutally snapped their necks.

It took exactly twelve seconds.

Lord Kazama covered his mouth, sinking to his knees on the dirt road, thoroughly traumatized by the casual, overwhelming violence.

Ren walked past the pile of dead trackers and knelt beside Pakura.

The Scorch Release user was barely conscious. He opened his system inventory interface with a thought, pulling out the Tier 2 emergency coagulant spray and a roll of medicated gauze. He unceremoniously ripped the back of her ruined flak jacket open and applied the coagulant directly to her deep wounds. The bleeding stopped almost instantly, the system’s high-end medical tech sealing the severed arteries.

Pakura gasped in pain, her body seizing. Her blurred vision focused on the boy’s dark eyes and the familiar fan crest stitched into the lapel of his tailored suit.

”An Uchiha...” she choked out, tasting copper. She tried to pull away, her combat instincts fighting her exhaustion. ”Why are you... saving me? I am a Sand kunoichi. The leaf and the Sand are at war... we are enemies.”

”I’m not a ninja,” Ren replied smoothly, tightly wrapping the gauze around her torso. ”So what does being enemies have to do with me? I am a businessman. I don’t care about village borders, military rivalries, or who wears what headband. What I care about is profit.”

Ren finished tying the bandage and stood up, looking down at the legendary kunoichi.

”Besides, you don’t work for the Sand anymore,” Ren stated, his tone entirely clinical. ”Your Kazekage decided your life was a fair trade for a peace treaty with the Mist, so he terminated your contract. Permanently. He’ll probably build a statue of you in the village tomorrow to cover up the murder.”

Pakura froze. The words hit her harder than the kunai strikes. She remembered the false mission parameters. She remembered the Mist ambush waiting for her instead of a diplomatic envoy. Rasa had set her up.

”You have two options, Pakura,” Ren said, his voice cold, sharp, and entirely businesslike. ”Option one: You bleed out in the dirt, and my CFO over there cashes in your thirty-five million ryo bounty. You die a betrayed pawn, and Rasa gets away with it.”

Pakura looked past Ren, seeing the towering monster of Kakuzu currently stripping the weapons and valuables off the dead Mist trackers to cover his travel expenses.

”And option two?” Pakura whispered, her eyes burning with a sudden, spiteful fire.

”Option two,” Ren smiled, a dark, calculating CEO grin. ”You accept a position as the Head of Route Security for the Uchiha Cafe. I will give you full asylum in the Fire Country, premium medical care, and a base salary that rivals the Kazekage’s entire annual budget. In exchange, you protect my supply chains. And, when the time comes, I will provide you with the capital and the logistical support to completely destroy the Sand Village’s economy from the inside out.”

Pakura stared at the boy. It was absolute madness. A child in a suit was offering her the chance to economically ruin one of the Five Great Shinobi Nations.

But as she lay in the dirt, betrayed by the village she had bled for, madness sounded exactly like what she needed. She wanted Rasa to suffer.

Pakura forced herself to sit up, wincing as her newly bandaged wounds stretched. She looked at Ren, her orange-tipped hair falling over her fierce, hateful eyes.

”I have a question about the disciplinary protocols,” Pakura rasped, her hands weakly glowing with the terrifying, super-heated orange orbs of her Scorch Release. ”If bandits or corporate spies attack your caravans... does instantly evaporating all the moisture in their bodies until they become mummified husks count as standard procedure?”

Ren looked back at Kakuzu. ”Does it leave a mess on the cargo?”

”The mummification process is completely dry,” Kakuzu confirmed, tossing a stolen Mist kunai into his pouch. ”It is highly sanitary and leaves the cargo perfectly intact.”

Ren looked back down at Pakura.

”Welcome aboard,” Ren said, extending a hand. ”Let’s go to the Capital and get rich.”