Everything checked out. Makoto Uchiha ran a finger across the sealing scroll and ripped it open without a second thought.
Whoosh—
The scroll unfurled and—CLANG—a mountain of cash and valuables crashed to the floor, nearly blinding him with the shine.
A heartbeat later, Makoto stared at the pile, eyes glowing like twin searchlights, breath coming in excited little huffs. Instant jackpot. Power-up city, here I come!
Moonlight filtered through the paper window, sprinkling silver flecks across the coins like frosting on a treasure cake.
…
Meanwhile, in Orochimaru's lab.
Hiss—
Orochimaru's grip on the test tube tightened until the glass squeaked, ready to shatter.
He hadn't even hit up the Uchiha for research funds yet, and this brat had already fleeced him first.
Sure, the amount wasn't huge, but he was flat broke. No missions in forever—just burning cash on experiments.
His savings? Long gone. He was surviving on Danzo's handouts. And now this kid swiped a chunk anyway. The more Orochimaru thought about it, the more his blood boiled.
Then he remembered Makoto's parting grin. Those golden slit pupils flashed icy cold.
That little punk is up to no good. He'll definitely come back for round two.
A chilling laugh slipped out. One-handed seals—poof poof poof—several shadow clones popped into existence.
"Pack everything. New lab. Now."
The clones moved like a pit crew. Gear, scrolls, specimen tanks—everything boxed up in a blink. Even the snakeskins in the corner didn't get left behind. In minutes, the cluttered lab was empty enough to host a track meet.
Orochimaru glanced at the bare walls, tongue flicking across his lower lip. He turned to leave, shoulders tight with irritation, and blasted the stone gate to rubble on his way out.
Come back for more wool? Over my dead body.
He relocated to a backup lab, dodging any future "borrow money" ambushes, and demanded Kabuto from Danzo while he was at it.
…
Back home, Makoto plopped cross-legged on the floor, giving the cash pile a few more loving looks. First time in this world he'd seen this much money with his name on it.
Three nostalgic glances later, he sucked in a deep breath and thought: Go.
The [Naruto World Online] interface bloomed in front of him, edges shimmering with dark-gold runes that slithered like living snakes.
Dead center: [Player Shop], wrapped in star-dust sparkles.
"Top-up!"
At the mental command, coins on the floor dissolved into golden motes, spiraling into the shop panel like they were late for a party.
The balance counter went brrr—then ding!
[Balance: 12,389,000 ryō]
He'd scraped together about 2 million over the past six months. Orochimaru's "investment"? A clean 10 million in one shot.
Total: over 12 million ryō.
Makoto's grin stretched ear-to-ear.
He'd already window-shopped the blood-red glowing item he wanted. One peek at the price tag—still a smidge short.
He raised a brow, thought for half a second, and smirked. Guess big bro Itachi's gotta pull another all-nighter.
Let the Third Hokage take the heat. Makoto? Just a kid with dreams.
With his status, a little "Will of Fire" + "think of Sasuke" combo was all it took to wrap Itachi around his finger on small stuff.
Makoto bolted out the door and—perfect timing—caught Itachi meditating on the engawa, back ramrod straight, moonlight painting serious shadows under his lashes.
"Was the 'special mission' you mentioned tailing me?" Makoto loomed from the moral high ground.
Itachi's eyes snapped open. Panic flashed—gone was the cool calm. He opened his mouth, closed it, repeated. Busted.
With Sasuke, he could spin any excuse. With Makoto? Lies got sniffed out instantly. The kid had roasted Danzo speechless at age two and a half and sweet-talked Orochimaru out of millions today.
Finally, three choked words: "…I'm sorry."
Makoto slid beside him, voice soft. "I'm not mad you followed me."
Then—bam—tone flipped to steel. "But you shouldn't have."
He sighed theatrically, eyes dripping "disappointed dad" energy.
Itachi's head drooped lower, chin nearly kissing his chest.
A gust rattled dry leaves across the porch. Itachi froze like a guilty statue.
"Does this honor the Will of Fire?" Makoto's voice dropped to sub-zero. "Does it honor Sasuke, who looks up to you?"
Itachi's shoulders jerked. Fingertips dug crescents into his palms. Moonlight caught the guilt flooding his eyes.
"Starting tomorrow—take more missions."
Makoto stepped closer, eyes blazing. Voice heavy as a temple bell:
"Wherever leaves dance, fire burns. The shadow of the fire will light the village and cause new leaves to sprout!"
"Contribute to Konoha's glory—that's the true Will of Fire! Don't let Sasuke down. Be the big brother he brags about!"
The words hit like lightning. Itachi's head shot up. Guilt—poof—replaced by blazing resolve. He nodded so hard his bangs bounced. "Got it!"
Before the echo faded, he'd snatched his gear pouch and vanished in a black streak—barefoot, shoes half-on, already sprinting for the mission desk.
Makoto leaned on the railing, watching the blur disappear, lips curling in satisfaction.
Just wait. Once Itachi cashes in those mission rewards, that last little gap in the balance will be filled.
He'd cracked the Itachi code: a few well-placed words and the guy would happily grind himself to the bone.
Chapter 34: Wanna Shear This Sheep Again? Not a Chance.
Everything checked out. Makoto Uchiha ran a finger across the sealing scroll and ripped it open without a second thought.
Whoosh—
The scroll unfurled and—CLANG—a mountain of cash and valuables crashed to the floor, nearly blinding him with the shine.
A heartbeat later, Makoto stared at the pile, eyes glowing like twin searchlights, breath coming in excited little huffs. Instant jackpot. Power-up city, here I come!
Moonlight filtered through the paper window, sprinkling silver flecks across the coins like frosting on a treasure cake.
…
Meanwhile, in Orochimaru's lab.
Hiss—
Orochimaru's grip on the test tube tightened until the glass squeaked, ready to shatter.
He hadn't even hit up the Uchiha for research funds yet, and this brat had already fleeced him first.
Sure, the amount wasn't huge, but he was flat broke. No missions in forever—just burning cash on experiments.
His savings? Long gone. He was surviving on Danzo's handouts. And now this kid swiped a chunk anyway. The more Orochimaru thought about it, the more his blood boiled.
Then he remembered Makoto's parting grin. Those golden slit pupils flashed icy cold.
That little punk is up to no good. He'll definitely come back for round two.
A chilling laugh slipped out. One-handed seals—poof poof poof—several shadow clones popped into existence.
"Pack everything. New lab. Now."
The clones moved like a pit crew. Gear, scrolls, specimen tanks—everything boxed up in a blink. Even the snakeskins in the corner didn't get left behind. In minutes, the cluttered lab was empty enough to host a track meet.
Orochimaru glanced at the bare walls, tongue flicking across his lower lip. He turned to leave, shoulders tight with irritation, and blasted the stone gate to rubble on his way out.
Come back for more wool? Over my dead body.
He relocated to a backup lab, dodging any future "borrow money" ambushes, and demanded Kabuto from Danzo while he was at it.
…
Back home, Makoto plopped cross-legged on the floor, giving the cash pile a few more loving looks. First time in this world he'd seen this much money with his name on it.
Three nostalgic glances later, he sucked in a deep breath and thought: Go.
The [Naruto World Online] interface bloomed in front of him, edges shimmering with dark-gold runes that slithered like living snakes.
Dead center: [Player Shop], wrapped in star-dust sparkles.
"Top-up!"
At the mental command, coins on the floor dissolved into golden motes, spiraling into the shop panel like they were late for a party.
The balance counter went brrr—then ding!
[Balance: 12,389,000 ryō]
He'd scraped together about 2 million over the past six months. Orochimaru's "investment"? A clean 10 million in one shot.
Total: over 12 million ryō.
Makoto's grin stretched ear-to-ear.
He'd already window-shopped the blood-red glowing item he wanted. One peek at the price tag—still a smidge short.
He raised a brow, thought for half a second, and smirked. Guess big bro Itachi's gotta pull another all-nighter.
Let the Third Hokage take the heat. Makoto? Just a kid with dreams.
With his status, a little "Will of Fire" + "think of Sasuke" combo was all it took to wrap Itachi around his finger on small stuff.
Makoto bolted out the door and—perfect timing—caught Itachi meditating on the engawa, back ramrod straight, moonlight painting serious shadows under his lashes.
"Was the 'special mission' you mentioned tailing me?" Makoto loomed from the moral high ground.
Itachi's eyes snapped open. Panic flashed—gone was the cool calm. He opened his mouth, closed it, repeated. Busted.
With Sasuke, he could spin any excuse. With Makoto? Lies got sniffed out instantly. The kid had roasted Danzo speechless at age two and a half and sweet-talked Orochimaru out of millions today.
Finally, three choked words: "…I'm sorry."
Makoto slid beside him, voice soft. "I'm not mad you followed me."
Then—bam—tone flipped to steel. "But you shouldn't have."
He sighed theatrically, eyes dripping "disappointed dad" energy.
Itachi's head drooped lower, chin nearly kissing his chest.
A gust rattled dry leaves across the porch. Itachi froze like a guilty statue.
"Does this honor the Will of Fire?" Makoto's voice dropped to sub-zero. "Does it honor Sasuke, who looks up to you?"
Itachi's shoulders jerked. Fingertips dug crescents into his palms. Moonlight caught the guilt flooding his eyes.
"Starting tomorrow—take more missions."
Makoto stepped closer, eyes blazing. Voice heavy as a temple bell:
"Wherever leaves dance, fire burns. The shadow of the fire will light the village and cause new leaves to sprout!"
"Contribute to Konoha's glory—that's the true Will of Fire! Don't let Sasuke down. Be the big brother he brags about!"
The words hit like lightning. Itachi's head shot up. Guilt—poof—replaced by blazing resolve. He nodded so hard his bangs bounced. "Got it!"
Before the echo faded, he'd snatched his gear pouch and vanished in a black streak—barefoot, shoes half-on, already sprinting for the mission desk.
Makoto leaned on the railing, watching the blur disappear, lips curling in satisfaction.
Just wait. Once Itachi cashes in those mission rewards, that last little gap in the balance will be filled.
He'd cracked the Itachi code: a few well-placed words and the guy would happily grind himself to the bone.