Makoto Uchiha crunched through the snow, boots squeaking with every step, his head buzzing with the genius plan to hit up Orochimaru for a fat loan.
Look, as a player, you don't gotta steal or rob; borrowing's totally fair game. The real trick is staying flexible. Otherwise, how do you power up fast? And if you don't power up, how do you go ham on the microtransactions?
Old gamer wisdom: Players who don't use their brains stay NPCs forever.
Once Orochimaru defects, the debt's toast anyway. No way he's sprinting back from wherever he's hiding just to collect from a kid. Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
So yeah, free money. Borrow once, borrow twice, borrow till the cows come home.
He stepped out of the flower shop, ducked into a wide-open corner of the street, and squinted around.
Wind whipped the paper lanterns, orange light jittering across the snow. Two familiar chakra signatures glowed in the tree shadows like embers buried under frost; quiet, but warm.
Itachi and Shisui.
He'd clocked them tailing him ages ago. Either Fugaku ordered it, or Itachi was just being his overprotective big-bro self.
Makoto waved toward the dark, his breath puffing into a little cloud in the cold.
Borrowing cash from Orochimaru? Easy in theory, life-threatening in practice. Like dancing on a razor's edge. One slip and you're toast.
One of the Legendary Sannin; and the smartest. One genjutsu and Makoto'd be spilling his guts: every wet dream, every crush, the works.
Sure, he had a [Respawn Token] as a safety net; death wasn't permanent. But social death? If his dirty little secrets leaked, he'd have to nuke the whole shinobi world and go live alone on the moon.
So yeah, bodyguards were crucial. Free resources sitting right there; not using them would make him the dumbass.
Itachi skidded in from the grove, still huffing, snow dusting his lashes. Shisui shot him a look.
"Your little brother just waved hi. Still gonna hide?"
Shisui clapped Itachi's shoulder, knuckles tap-tapping the armor plate, teasing. "Maybe he's got a sweet gig for us."
Itachi pressed his lips thin, didn't answer, just glued his eyes to Makoto. Black irises calm on the surface, but you could feel the worry underneath, like green shoots poking through snow. No hesitation; a few flickers of Shunshin and he was right there, Shisui half a step behind.
Snow melted the second it hit their hair. Water beaded on Itachi's lashes.
Makoto leaned in, cupping a hand to hide his mouth, voice low and sparkly. "After six straight months of nonstop thinking, I finally cracked it; how to fix the clan-village beef and actually live in peace."
Obviously he wasn't about to say "I'm shaking down Orochimaru." Gotta spin the yarn.
Snowflakes whipped between them, shredding his whisper, but every word still drilled straight into Itachi's and Shisui's ears.
"Fix the beef?"
"Live in peace?"
Both heads snapped up, eyes lighting like someone struck a match.
Shisui especially; the smirk vanished, replaced by dead-serious focus. His fingertips tensed. This was the puzzle he lost sleep over.
He glanced at three-and-a-half-year-old Makoto, skepticism flickering. But Itachi looked dead earnest, so Shisui swallowed the doubt, shifted sideways to block the wind, and nodded: Go on.
Itachi didn't wait. He grabbed Makoto's sleeve and tugged him into the alley.
Old crates were stacked deep inside, barely any snow; way cozier than the street.
Itachi spun around, water droplets flicking off his hair and pocking the snow. No calm big-bro voice now; just urgency. "Makoto, what's the plan?"
He'd watched this kid grow. Makoto was light-years ahead of other toddlers. Even his wildest ideas usually hid some mind-blowing logic.
Makoto cleared his throat, tucked both hands behind his back, and puffed up like a pint-sized Hokage; eyebrows cocked with don't-test-me authority.
"First, tell me: when was the last time the clan and village actually got along? Speak freely, no wrong answers."
Itachi didn't blink. "Before the Nine-Tails Night."
"Why?" Makoto pressed, eyes glinting in the dim.
Shisui rubbed his chin like he was stroking an invisible beard. "Because that night, a bunch of shinobi saw the Sharingan in the Nine-Tails' eyes."
"So the village got suspicious. Totally fair, totally logical."
"Wrong! Dead wrong!" Makoto's voice cracked like a rock through ice; snow slid off the eaves with a soft shush.
He hopped onto a crate; crunch under his boots, wood creaking like it was backing him up.
"The root of the problem isn't the Nine-Tails Night!"
"It's the Hokage!"
Itachi's brows slammed together. "But Lord Third has always; to the clan, to me;"
"Surface-level BS!" Makoto cut him off, finger jabbing the air an inch from Itachi's nose. "You think that crusty old fart Danzo's been screwing us over behind the scenes and the Third doesn't know?"
"He's playing dumb! Hell, he's letting it happen! You really think the old man's gone senile?"
Shisui's hand froze mid-chin-rub. Something clicked behind his eyes, like a pin pricking a foggy window.
But years of indoctrination kicked in. He shook his head hard. "We cannot doubt Lord Hokage."
Makoto caught the lack of pushback; no interruptions, no yelling; and the tiniest smirk ghosted across his lips before flattening again.