The last drip of meltwater fell from the eaves' icicles, thudding onto the stone slab just as dawn broke. Chilly air swirled with snowflakes through Konoha's streets, stinging like needles when it snuck under your collar.
First light hit the Hokage Rock, turning the blinding-white snow a soft gold. Lantern wicks under the eaves burned down to curled ash, swept skyward by the wind like fleeting sparks.
In the Uchiha clan head's living room, miso soup steamed milky-white on the low table, fogging the window into blurry streaks that turned the snowy view outside into a hazy mess.
Makoto scarfed his last bite of rice and was ready to roll—planning to poke around Konoha, snoop for intel.
"Hold up."
Itachi blocked the door, clutching a bulging cloth pouch. Eyes down: "Got a special mission these next few days, so no Hokage Building runs. Can't grab gigs for cash."
He handed the pouch over: "Recent mission pay. Take it."
Voice flat, but the tail end tight: "Not enough? Say the word."
Makoto grinned, pocketed it smooth, all warm smiles.
"Itachi, you're the best..."
... More praise rolled off his tongue like a comedy routine—basically screaming thanks to my top donor for the gifts!
Old trick from his past-life streaming days. Dimensional strike on Itachi.
Sure enough, Itachi stayed stone-faced, but his ears pinked up, lips fighting a tiny upward twitch.
He spun off lighter on his feet, pouch strap clicking the hall—"clack."
All that mission grind fatigue? Poof. If not for secretly tailing Makoto, he'd already be back at the Hokage Building, full workhorse mode.
Makoto eyed Itachi's back, brow up. Special mission?
In the original story, Itachi hadn't done those yet.
"Butterfly wings flapping hard," Makoto tsked, eyes sparkling excited. "Getting real fun now."
He shoved Itachi's "loan" deep in his pocket. Mental flick—the coins turned to pale gold motes, whisking into his private virtual panel.
Gold finger—[Naruto World Online] Player Shop balance jumped, trailing zeros.
Makoto scanned the top-tier goodies' prices, frowned a sec, then relaxed.
Home cash was peanuts. Fugaku was a total cheapskate, scared he'd blow it and pick up bad habits.
Updates ain't easy—share 101kan.com!
Itachi's earning game was weak too.
Just mission grind, one-track like a straight line—no flex. If Makoto had three-tomoe Sharingan? Nine fast-cash schemes, easy.
"Gotta rely on yourself!"
Makoto figured: After this Cloud Village mess and outsiders hitting Konoha, he'd bounce and stack paper outside!
Konoha vibe wasn't cash-friendly right now—mostly 'cause his power was still low. He tidied up, then headed out.
That's when Sasuke—who'd gone wild with Makoto's three shadow clones yesterday—spotted him leaving and stealth-tailed, even strapping on Itachi's spare ninja pouch.
Barely out the gate, Makoto heard rustling. Corner-eye caught Sasuke tiptoeing behind.
Little shoes puff-puff in the snow, thinking he was ninja-level sneaky.
Makoto weaved through the clan district's busy lanes, nodding hellos, but always clocking that tiny shadow.
Sharp corner turn—he froze.
Sasuke barreled forward, nearly crashed, dodged sideways—slipped, almost ate snow.
Makoto grabbed his collar, booped his forehead hard.
Thock—solid noggin.
"Sorry, Sasuke," Makoto dropped his voice, nailing Itachi's tone 80%. Eyes twinkled.
"Got stuff to do. Go play in the mud—this ain't the last time."
Sasuke clutched his head, glaring, cheeks puffed like a baby pufferfish. Pouch slid to his calf.
"I wanted to protect you! And you're ungrateful!"
"Beat my shadow clones first, then talk."
Sasuke stomped, clack-clack-clack home.
At the alley mouth, he paused—peeked around the wall, pouch dragging a wobbly trail in the snow.
Makoto side-eyed the sneak, rubbed his temple, half-annoyed.
Whatever—let the kid tail. Real "bad stuff"? One Flying Thunder God, gone like smoke. Nobody catching him.
Out the clan gate, Makoto strolled the commercial strip, grabbed tri-color dango. Sugar frosting crystallized on his fingers—lick, tongue-numbing sweet.
Bumped into police force Uchihas, chatted, casually pried for the info he wanted.
They all knew the little tyrant—Makoto had everything he needed in minutes.
Kept wandering, double-checked with two more patrol squads. Side-eye never left distant Sasuke—hiding behind a trash can.
Half a head poking out, thinking he was invisible.
Hidden in the shadows, Itachi had a light snow cap in his hair, oblivious. Eyes glued to Makoto and Sasuke nearby.
Glanced at Shisui beside him now and then, couldn't suppress the smile—eye crinkles soft like snow-soaked cotton...