"Chief Torifō, if we deduct the cost of the destroyed tools from the spoils of war, it might not be enough..."
Umino Yoru wore a calculating yet troubled expression, subtly setting a small trap in his words.
"How could it not be enough? Sure, the average Suna-nin don't carry much of value, but there are three Suna puppeteers here—their puppets are worth a fortune!"
Akimichi Torifō spoke with the air of a seasoned veteran educating his clueless subordinate, his tone brimming with confidence. He laughed heartily and added, "And if it's still not enough, we'll just follow protocol and write everything off as operational losses."
Beside him, Aburame Shibi quickly tugged at Torifō's sleeve and whispered, "Captain, maybe you should inspect the battlefield first before making any decisions."
"Right, let's assess the battlefield first."
Torifō finally realized he might have spoken too soon. But now that he'd made such bold claims, there was no taking them back.
"Tō! Come over here and file the report on the weapon expenditures!"
Umino Yoru waved over Tezuka Tō.
And so, the Konoha shinobi began their cleanup. The work was straightforward and quick—sealing useful ninja corpses into scrolls, retrieving salvageable weapons, and roughly cross-checking the inventory to prevent absurdly inflated loss reports.
For example, claiming 100 explosive tags were used when only one was actually spent.
"What?! You used 150 explosive tags just now?!"
Torifō nearly jumped out of his sandals. "You said the losses were minimal! Is this what you call 'minimal'?!"
A hundred and fifty explosive tags? A slight markup in reporting was standard, but this was ridiculous!
With explosive tags now twice as expensive as usual, each cost at least 4,000 ryō. 150 tags meant over 600,000 ryō—nearly the payout of an S-rank mission in peacetime!
"Chief Torifō, look at the scale of the explosions—I didn't exaggerate!"
Umino Yoru pointed at the aftermath of Tezuka Tō's trap, wearing a pained expression.
"Do I look like a fool? That blast was worth 80, maybe 90 tags at most."
"And over there—I used more tags to destroy two Fūma Shuriken. Custom-made from the Land of Artisans, 50,000 ryō each! I'll be eating scraps for months..."
"Hmph. Fine."
Torifō nodded. A 30% markup was reasonable—some clan heirs inflated expenses by 200-300%, so this was still acceptable.
The real issue wasn't the markup but the sheer scale of the losses.
Yoru quickly added, "Oh, and Tezuka's 'Tool Control: Heavenly Blade Storm'—most of those weapons can be recovered, so we won't report those losses."
"Good, very good."
Torifō was pleased. Those were high-quality weapons, and even with repairs, maintenance would cost tens of thousands of ryō. Yet Yoru wasn't claiming them—what a thoughtful subordinate!
But before Torifō could relax, Yoru continued:
"Then there's the two Iron Prison Gates—completely wrecked. Just a repair fee will do. Name your price."
"How about I just award you an S-rank mission's worth of funds?" Torifō said dryly.
"That'd be perfect!"
"In your dreams!" Torifō sighed. "Forget it. Take all the spoils, plus the full mission credit for stopping the Suna forces. Consider it compensation."
Those two Iron Prison Gates? The raw steel alone was worth over 1,000,000 ryō. Factoring in craftsmanship and the sealing formulas inscribed on them? Several million ryō, easy—multiple S-rank missions' worth.
This victory had been bought with pure money.
"Yoru… ease up next time. I know you're doing this for the village, but you can't keep burning through your own funds. Once you have a family, you'll understand how expensive life gets."
Torifō looked at Yoru with sympathy—a shinobi with such strong Will of Fire, yet so reckless with his finances. "Your losses are heavy, but not total. The intel Jirō and the others brought back is critical. Aside from Shinnosuke's share, we'll split the mission credit—50-50. That should help you recover some losses."
"You're too generous, Chief! But 30% is enough for me."
Yoru knew better than to push his luck. Intel mission credits were sensitive—getting 30% was already a miracle, thanks to Torifō's backing. Without him? 10% would've been a stretch.
"Fine, 30% it is."
Torifō nodded, impressed. A shinobi with both Will of Fire and political savvy? Rare. Add combat prowess, and he was worth cultivating as an ally.
"Thank you for your support, Chief!"
Yoru laid on the flattery—keeping superiors happy meant they'd prioritize his sector, reducing the odds of Suna targeting it.
As a final touch, he discreetly slipped Torifō two packs of homemade fish jerky—one salted, the other curry-spiced.
"Sniff— Sniff—!" Torifō's eyes lit up. In the frontline, such treats were priceless.
Under this delicious diplomacy, Torifō caved instantly, vowing to personally back Yoru if any disputes arose.
"Captain, you haven't reported your Water Bats yet."
Tezuka Tō, looking like a man who'd just lost his wife, shuffled over with a notebook, seizing the moment to remind them.
"Right, the Water Bats!"
Yoru remembered—his summoned Water Bat had been bisected by the spiky-haired enemy and swept away by the river.
Just then, a black swarm of kikaichū approached, carrying something bluish-black within—the two halves of the bat's corpse.
Clearly, Aburame Shibi had been observing the entire battle. Before cleanup even began, he'd already sent his insects to retrieve the remains.
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