Makoto stood in a snow-choked canyon, wind howling like a pissed-off ghost, slapping ice shards against his cloak with wet smacks.
He eyeballed the "loot" sprawled in the red-slushy snow and smirked. Tch. No wonder dudes risk their necks for this blood-money gig.
Crouched down, rifled through the corpses like a Black Friday shopper. Pocketed every silver ryō—cha-ching—straight into the [Player Shop]. No questions asked.
Busted kunai, shuriken, senbon? Tossed 'em to Shiro.
"Here. Beat to shit, but good for target practice."
Snagged a few explosive tags for himself. Grabbed some dull soldier pills, raised a brow, handed the rest to Shiro.
"Not half bad."
Stood up, brushed snow off his hands. Mood flipped faster than a light switch.
Glanced around—snow painted crimson, air thick with that copper tang. Mist rebel nin? Purgatory-bound. No pity in his eyes. You live by the sword, you die by the lightning.
Cold-blooded assessment: "Trash mobs drop trash. Expected. Hell, even the Six-Tails jinchuriki Yagura's got a black-market bounty of just fifty mil."
"In this world? Quick cash with my power level? Options are slim."
"But this setup? Chef's kiss. Life-or-death brawls = best teacher. Sharpens kills, counters every jutsu under the sun, Lightning Chakra Mode's getting buttery smooth—and side hustle cash."
"This run? Efficiency's… acceptable."
Grin crept up. Eyes skipped the gore, locked on the endless frozen wasteland ahead.
More walking XP bags and ATMs out there. Guaranteed.
This lawless Water Country border? Chaos 24/7. Danger around every drift.
For a growing boy needing gains and stacks? Custom-built grind spot + infinite money glitch.
---
Road Trip: Fishing with Extra Steps
Makoto turned "bait and bleed" into an art form.
Him and Shiro? Paraded through rebel ninja hotspots like they owned the place. No stealth. Flaunt it.
Flash a little coin here, a fat wallet there. Rich kid cosplay with a bodyguard—come rob me, bro.
Greedy psychos bit every time. Career criminals, pockets lined from years of murder-hoboing.
Single hauls? Peanuts. But Makoto believed in that compound interest grind. Mosquito legs are still meat.
No pride. Milked every "delivery fee" dry.
Every quick, brutal scrap? Reaction time, tactics, jutsu flow—honed to a razor.
Lightning Chakra Mode roaring constant, forging his body like a goddamn forge. Speed, strength, tankiness—visible gains. Terrifying.
After a string of "zero-risk riches" ambushes, Makoto and Shiro hit a dingy little port on the Water Country edge.
Funny as hell: that snowy trail they cleared? Civvies started calling it "Safe Road."
All those rampaging Mist rebels and ronin? Vanished. Melted into the blizzard like they never existed.
---
Port: Salty Air, Zero Leads
Port reeked of brine and fish guts. Washed the blood off their boots.
Endless gray-blue ocean. Waves crashing on black rocks like artillery.
Beat-up passenger ship—paint peeling, but big—bobbed at a rickety wooden dock. Sails up. Crew hustling last-minute prep.
Makoto popped his invisible [Naruto World Online] panel. [Player Shop] balance? Juicy. Way fatter than when he rolled into Mist.
Zero-cost empire? Not overnight billionaire, but solid ROI.
Smirk. Satisfied.
Ship wasn't leaving yet. Time to snoop.
Target: Kado.
Future "shipping tycoon" fronting black-market hell. "Nightmare of the Land of Waves."
Grilled every rebel he "processed" on the snowfields. Nada.
This port? Shady hub. Info flowed like cheap booze. If Kado was big now, someone knew.
Makoto worked the crowd—sailors, merchants. Blank stares. Headshakes.
Nobody knew jack about Kado.
Brow furrowed. "Timeline's early. Dude still a small-time hustler? Not mogul yet?"
Wouldn't quit. Spotted a wrinkled old salt sunning himself on a crate. Sea-dog vibes. Ears? Shot.
Walked up. Yelled: "Old man! Know a guy named Kado?"
Geezer cupped his ear. "Huh? Kai what now?"
Makoto: …
Twitch. "Never mind. Enjoy the sun."
Bailed. No Kado intel, but plan unchanged. Waves Country? Still on.
"No tycoon Kado? Fine. Maybe noble Kai-do. Or cute-rich Kado."
Chuckle. "Whatever. I'll borrow the cash when I get there."
"Worst case? Farm more XP and ryō back here."
"This no-risk racket? Addictive."
"Yo, Shiro. Let's roll."
Stepped onto the slick gangplank. "Next stop: Land of Waves!"
Eyes glinted—subtle excitement.
Ran this far? No empty-handed bullshit. Player mindset: solutions > problems.
"Hope future sea king's got some seed money stacked… If not? I'll give him time to grind."
"That cash? Mine eventually."
Shiro followed quiet. Paused before boarding. Glanced back at the frozen homeland.
Old pain? Buried in snow. Replaced by steel resolve.
Eyes locked on Makoto's back. Loyalty: maxed.
Ship pulled out. Cut through waves. Headed into misty horizon.
---
Onboard: From Chill to Electro-Fishing
Early voyage? Makoto vibed. Ocean views? Fresh.
Whipped a lounge chair from [Player Backpack]. Prime deck spot. Fishing rod. Bait. Zen.
Reality? Brutal.
Sat all damn day. Burned a stack of Cloud muscle elixirs. Bobber? Dead.
Frown deepened. Lightning Mode got twitchy. A spark jumped—unplanned.
Zap! Down the metal rod. Into the drink.
ZZZRRRT!
Blue lightning exploded underwater. Lit up a chunk of sea.
Instantly? Sea surface carpeted in belly-up fish. Electrocuted buffet.
Makoto reeled in calm. To stunned Shiro: "Clean 'em. All-fish feast tonight."
Shiro: "...Yes, Lord Makoto."
---
Time flew at sea.
Map? Water and Waves looked neighbors. Reality? Endless slog. This rustbucket crawled.
Weather? Bipolar. Worse: pirate crews—ex-Mist rebels, ronin. Robbing a whole ship? Jackpot compared to highway sticks.
Crew and passengers? Paranoid wrecks.
Shiro? Grinded nonstop. Chakra refine. Ice Release experiments. Gotta level up. Be the blade Makoto needs.
Makoto? Pirates? Bring 'em.