Ebara's mother went to cook dinner.
Ebara and his father sat on the porch.
Ebara was utterly deflated.
Like a chick caught by a weasel, he'd been thoroughly outplayed.
All that hard-earned money—gone.
His father, seeing Ebara's glum face, felt much better.
"Cheer up, son," he said.
"Give me 7,000 ryo then," Ebara shot back.
"Wow, the sun's so round today," his father said, dodging.
"Dad, it's nighttime."
"You don't get it. I've got a pupil technique beyond the ninja world's three great dojutsu."
"What technique?"
"LSP Vision!" (Pervert's Eye)
"Bull! I'm the one who taught you those three letters!"
"You're young. Give it time, you'll reach my level," his father said.
"What level? Henpecked husband?"
"No ball in sight, but balls in mind. No obstacle can stop me from seeking the body's truth."
"Pfft, that? I mastered it ages ago. Eyes on the mosaic, heart free of it—our basic cultivation."
"What mosaic?"
"Mosaic, alongside Big Horse and Little Horse, the three great plagues."
"How so?"
"Big Horse scams women's money, Little Horse scams men's, and mosaic hides the world's beauty."
"Oh, yeah, they're the worst," his father agreed.
"Talking like this cheers me up," Ebara said.
Chatting nonsense with his dad eased his frustration.
After all, he'd scammed 5,000 ryo from Aburame Shiso that morning—not exactly broke.
Thinking of Shino, Shikaku, Haiichi, Fugaku—born with golden spoons—Ebara felt a pang of envy.
Forget money; their clans' secret ninjutsu were out of reach for commoners.
The Naruto fan saying went: The Hokage's apprentice becomes Hokage, the strategist's son becomes a strategist, the sacrificial pawn's son…
Enough said.
Living in the Naruto world, Ebara knew how hard it was to climb the social ladder.
For ordinary folks with no talent, special jonin was the ceiling.
Luckily, he had the system, so no need to worry too much.
Without it, he'd probably be stuck teaching at the Ninja Academy, coasting through life.
A sudden idea hit him.
He stared at his father. "Dad, is there a chance you'll one day say, 'Son, you're actually a rich second generation. Our family has powerful secret ninjutsu, bloodline limits, the works. This has all been a test!'"
His eyes gleamed.
His father sighed sadly, gazing at the sky at a 45-degree angle. "Since I was three, I've been waiting for your grandpa to tell me that."
Ebara: "…"
"Isn't Grandpa dead?"
His father nodded. "So that's it for this life. Next life, I'll be your dad again, you'll be my son. Maybe then we'll have a shot…"
Ebara: "(￢_￢) Why would I be your son again in the next life?"
"You're born to be someone's son. Might as well be mine, right?"
"…"
Made sense. No counterargument.
"Son, forget bloodline limits," his father said, eyes flashing. "But becoming a rich second generation? Easy."
"How?" Ebara asked.
"You work hard, get filthy rich, give me the money. I'll hold it and give it back later. Boom—rich second generation."
Ebara: "￣へ￣ Dad, do I look like an idiot?"
"Kinda—no, not at all!"
"Then why scam me? My money's better spent by me."
"But you want to be a rich second generation, right? I'm making your dream come true."
"Dad, can I be honest?"
"Go ahead."
"If you weren't my dad, I'd really want to…"
"What, beat the crap out of me? Sorry, plenty want me dead. Get in line!"
"…"
"Dinner's ready!" Ebara's mother called.
A table full of kidney-boosting dishes—oysters, sea cucumber—made his father's brow twitch and Ebara inwardly groan.
"Eat!" his mother said, her smile hiding a knife.
Clearly, she was still pissed from earlier.
His father's face darkened. This meal might kill him.
"Son, divvy it up, divvy it up," his father said, winking, recalling Ebara's portion trick.
Ebara stood, nodding. "Got it."
He grabbed a plate of oysters and dumped it all in his father's bowl.
"One for Dad, one for Mom…"
"Oh, none left. Guess we're done. Dad, enjoy!"
His father: "!!!"
You trying to kill me?
Ebara ignored him, picking at the other dishes gleefully.
That's for ratting me out, acting high and mighty, being shameless.
I can't handle you, but someone can!
…
"Ebara, got any more stashed treasures?" a voice asked the next morning as he left home.
A ghastly figure appeared—pale face, bloodshot eyes, dark circles to his chin, hunched and drained.
"Who're you?" Ebara asked, spooked.
"Jiraiya," the ghost-thing said.
"No way you're Jiraiya."
"Fine, I'm not Jiraiya. I'm Lanling Xiaoxiao."
"Ha, it is you, Jiraiya."
Lanling Xiaoxiao was the pen name he and Jiraiya used for Golden House Lover, the scandalous book about Koharu Utatane.
Ebara eyed him, incredulous. "How'd you turn into this?"
"I stayed up all night reading those books you lent me," Jiraiya explained.
"Easy, man. We're young, but you can't wreck your body like that," Ebara said, patting his shoulder.
"Cut the crap. Got more treasures or not?" Jiraiya demanded, his ghostly stare creeping Ebara out.
"Nope, gave you everything."
"We're brothers who hit the red-light district together. I wouldn't lie to you," Ebara said, patting him again.
"Brothers, my ass. That's code for 'I'm scamming you,'" Jiraiya scoffed.
They'd hung out enough to know each other's tricks.
"I swear on my life, I'm out," Ebara said righteously.
Jiraiya saw he wasn't lying and nodded, disappointed. "Fine."
"Not enough books for you?"
"Nope."
"You're that hardcore?"
"Actually, I read a bit and got bored. Other people's books? No fun," Jiraiya said.
"That fast?"
"Piss off! After some soul-searching, I'm writing my own. Title's set—Make-Out Paradise!"