After Tsunade's sharp warning, the playful smirk on Jiraiya's face didn't just fade—it evaporated.
He was a master of reading the room, and the room currently felt like the inside of a lightning cloud right before the strike. He realized he had been moving too fast. He should have pulled Tsunade aside, gotten the full dossier on this "Merchant," and then decided whether to play the fool or the warrior. But his pride and his protective instinct for the village had pushed him into a premature confrontation.
Just as Jiraiya opened his mouth to offer a clumsy laugh and de-escalate the situation, Shen Mo turned to Naruto.
"Actually, Naruto, in your current predicament, Jiraiya is the perfect choice for a teacher."
"Huh?" Naruto looked like he'd just been told to eat a bowl of dirt. "But Uncle! You're... you're on a whole different level! Why would I train with a Peeper-Gramps when I could train with you?"
"It's precisely because the gap is too large," Shen Mo said, his expression serene and utterly matter-of-fact. "If I truly wished it, I could reach into one of my jars and make you more powerful than your Hokage by tomorrow morning. But what would that achieve? It would be a hollow victory. It would burn through your potential like dry straw and wouldn't be fair to the struggle Gaara is going through. True growth isn't just about the destination; it's about the climb."
Stronger than the Hokage? Overnight?
Jiraiya subconsciously shot a look at Tsunade, expecting her to roll her eyes or scoff. Instead, she was looking at Shen Mo with a terrifyingly sober expression. There wasn't a hint of doubt on her face.
Jiraiya's hand shifted behind his back, his fingers weaving a silent, complex sign for a Genjutsu Dissipation.
Kai!
Nothing happened. The world didn't shimmer; the colors didn't fade. This wasn't an illusion.
What is wrong with these two? Jiraiya thought, a cold sweat pricking at his skin. Turning a Genin into a Kage-level threat in twenty-four hours is a claim that should have them laughing, yet they're treating it like a weather report.
"That's... so disappointing," Naruto slumped, his shoulders practically touching the ground.
"Think about it," Shen Mo continued, ignoring Naruto's pout. "Sasuke is off training his Sharingan, isn't he? Because Kakashi is the only one who can guide him through the intricacies of that bloodline."
"Yeah," Naruto muttered.
"While you've gained new powers from my jars, you mustn't abandon your foundation as a shinobi. The strongest warriors are those who can weave different disciplines into a single, cohesive strike," Shen Mo pointed a finger at Jiraiya. "This man was the teacher of the Fourth Hokage. If anyone can sharpen your existing skills and refine your raw energy in a short time, it's him."
Naruto's jaw didn't just drop; it hit his chest. "Wait... the... the Fourth's teacher? You mean he taught the hero who saved the village?"
"Heh heh," Jiraiya couldn't help himself. He straightened his haori and put his hands on his hips. "Finally, the brat shows some respect! Now you realize you're in the presence of greatness, eh?"
Even as he hammed it up, Jiraiya's mind was elsewhere. He was watching Shen Mo out of the corner of his eye, and more specifically, he was watching Ikaros.
He hadn't really processed her until this moment. Her proportions, her features, the sheer, clinical perfection of her beauty... she didn't look like a woman from any land he had traveled. She didn't even look entirely human. She looked like a masterpiece carved from starlight.
Shen Mo felt a sudden prickle of irritation. He didn't mind Jiraiya's buffoonery, but he wasn't fond of the "Peeper Sage" turning his research gaze toward Ikaros.
However, before Shen Mo could say anything to Jiraiya, his head snapped to the left. His eyes narrowed, and the gentle brown iris shifted into a piercing, incandescent gold.
"Peeping is a habit that eventually leads to a very short life," Shen Mo said, his voice dropping into a cold, melodic register.
The Exposure of the Mastermind
A terrifying pressure suddenly erupted from Shen Mo's position. It wasn't chakra, and it wasn't physical force; it was a pure, crushing weight of Will. The air in the grove seemed to solidify, turning the oxygen into thick, unbreathable syrup.
Jiraiya gasped, his hand flying to his throat. Even Tsunade felt the hair on her arms stand up.
Shen Mo raised a hand and made a casual, flicking motion toward a massive oak tree twenty paces away.
Whoosh—!
The tree didn't splinter. It didn't break. It simply weathered into fine gray dust in a matter of seconds, as if a thousand years of rot had occurred in a heartbeat.
Hidden within the cloud of settling dust was a figure that made Jiraiya's blood run cold. It was a creature wearing a black cloak adorned with red clouds, its head encased in a massive, Venus-flytrap-like pitcher plant.
The creature was suspended in mid-air, frozen by an invisible, telekinetic grip.
"Those clothes..." Jiraiya's voice was a low snarl. He dropped into a combat stance instantly. "Red clouds on black? That's the Akatsuki. How did a scout get this deep into the village without the barrier team noticing?"
The being in the air was Zetsu—or more specifically, the unity of Black and White Zetsu. The ultimate spy, the weaver of history, and the man who had quite literally written the tragedy of the shinobi world.
"Who... who are you?" Zetsu's voice was a grating, dual-toned rasp.
For the first time in a thousand years, Black Zetsu felt a sensation he had forgotten: Primal Terror. He had come to Konoha to investigate the "Merchant" who had caused such a stir in the Land of Wind, thinking his legendary stealth would keep him safe. But this man hadn't just seen him; he had dismantled the very concept of his concealment.
"Your will is quite unique," Shen Mo mused, his golden eyes scanning the creature's soul. He found he could peel back the layers of Zetsu's mind like an onion. What he found was both impressive and incredibly pathetic.
Resurrect Mother. Save Kaguya.
That was it. There was no complexity, no secondary desires, no room for greed or growth. Zetsu wasn't a person; he was a living command prompt.
Shen Mo shook his head, a look of genuine boredom crossing his face. "You have a powerful drive, but you're so... empty. You are merely the shadow of an ancient ghost. A remnant of a will that has long since overstayed its welcome."
"What do you know?!" Black Zetsu shrieked, his dark form writhing against the invisible bonds. "You're inside my head! Get out! You have no right to see her!"
Shen Mo hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Part of him considered the "Business" angle. He could offer Zetsu jars. He could tell him that within these containers lay the power to break the Moon's seal and bring Kaguya back without the need for the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Zetsu would undoubtedly spend the next century robbing every treasury on the planet to buy them.
But Shen Mo dismissed the thought. Such a transaction would be predatory and messy. It would disrupt the "Entrepreneurial Balance" he was trying to establish in this world. If Kaguya came back too early, she'd just try to turn his customers into White Zetsu, and that was bad for the bottom line.
A decision was made.
"You've played your part in history," Shen Mo said softly. "But my story doesn't have a role for you."
He raised his palm and gave it a slow, deliberate twist.
Vvvvvvv—!
A localized spatial distortion—a miniature singularity—manifested in the center of Zetsu's chest. The creature let out a harrowing, soul-tearing wail as its bones, its plant-like armor, and its dark essence were pulled inward.
It was a violent, silent compression. In the span of three heartbeats, the "Mastermind of the Shinobi World" was crushed down into a small, pulsing sphere of black and white energy, swirling like a Yin-Yang symbol.
Shen Mo caught the marble-sized orb in his hand and closed his fingers.
The silence that followed was deafening. Naruto looked like he was about to faint.
"Uncle... did you... did you just kill him?" Naruto whispered, his voice trembling.
Tsunade and Jiraiya were equally stunned. They had spent years speculating if the "Merchants" had a code of non-interference—a restriction that prevented them from attacking the inhabitants of this world. Shen Mo had just shattered that theory with the casualness of a man swatting a fly.
"Kill him? No," Shen Mo said, slipping the sealed sphere into his pocket. He glanced at Naruto with a look that said don't ask too many questions. "This fellow has a habit of eavesdropping on private conversations. It's quite rude. I've decided to seal him away for a few centuries. It'll give him time to reflect on his manners. If I remember where I put him in five hundred years, perhaps I'll let him out for a walk."
Gulp.
Naruto swallowed so hard it was audible. He took a hasty step back, away from Shen Mo and toward the bruised Jiraiya.
The "Uncle who sells jars" was no longer just the nice man who bought dango. He was an entity that could delete a forest and seal a monster in the blink of an eye.