Yeah, bro. Yeah, you can.
It's just a little coffin money, that's all.
I'm your eldest son. If you're not leaving your coffin money to me, who else are you leaving it to?
Makes sense, right?
Like hell it does!!
Fugaku fought like his life depended on it.
This last bit of his savings was his final, stubborn line in the sand.
He still had to live, and his youngest still needed money.
He couldn't let Itachi, that unfilial little demon, shake him down to the bone.
Shisui watched the father-and-son show and felt his molars ache.
Itachi-san, you are really… impressively "devoted" as a son.
If Clan Head Fugaku doesn't want to hand it over, fine. At least let the Clan Head keep a shred of dignity.
But what was with the punches and kicks and flying dropkicks?
What a sin…
Shisui felt like he was the worthless buddy standing next to the delinquent son, watching him squeeze blood-and-sweat money out of a miserable old dad.
He inhaled sharply.
He couldn't keep thinking about it.
If he kept thinking about it, his conscience might actually start hurting.
…Wait, what?
The Clan Head's coffin money was in the millions?
Shisui's gaze sharpened in an instant.
Clan Head, does your conscience not hurt at all?
...
I did it...
Thankfully, that guy's chakra seemed to have some kind of healing effect.
Mikoto, still dazed, shrank deeper under the blanket.
The scent was so strong.
Hers, and his.
Her cheeks burned before she could stop it.
Last night… she'd only lifted her leg for a second.
And then she hadn't gotten to put it down for the rest of the night.
It was relentless, like a steady drumbeat that wouldn't let her breathe, until her head felt overheated and foggy.
She didn't have a choice.
By the time it was over, it felt like every last boundary had been tested, over and over, until she couldn't even tell where the line had been to begin with.
And yeah—she was annoyed.
He wasn't exactly gentle about it, like it didn't matter whether it was "his" or not, like he could just go wild without a care.
But he'd told her, plain as day:
From now on, she was his.
Fine.
Mikoto didn't indulge him, either.
In a voice so quiet it was practically a thought, she muttered that she hadn't "squeezed" enough out of him, so she still…
…Nope.
She yanked the blanket over her head completely.
She didn't want to get up.
She didn't want those three beauties seeing her and laughing.
Because the sounds she'd made last night had been louder than theirs.
She hadn't meant to.
She really hadn't.
But she'd been driven out of her mind, and somewhere along the way—half dazed, half resigned—she'd let it happen.
It felt like there was no going back now.
She pressed a hand to her lower belly, murmuring about how swollen and sore she felt, hoping she wouldn't end up giving Sasuke another little brother…
She didn't want to actually get pregnant.
…Ugh.
This was bad.
Really bad.
Kangetsu, refreshed and unreasonably satisfied, quietly replayed how warm and sweet she'd been.
Mikoto was surprisingly considerate, too.
She knew when to move with him.
At first, he'd led.
Later… she'd flipped the script and climbed on top like she meant to devour him.
Even now, remembering that heat in her eyes made Kangetsu shiver a little.
Way too dangerous.
Still—she really was a shinobi, wasn't she?
Bold. Flexible. And far more fearless than she looked.
In the morning, they both pretended nothing had happened.
They didn't mention last night at all.
If anything, they both wordlessly suggested a little "morning training."
And it was… great.
Kangetsu was enjoying himself.
But over at Hitomaru Market, trouble was brewing.
At the waste processing plant, the crowding was as bad as ever.
The stench was indescribable, thick enough to cling to your lungs.
The ground was wet and filthy.
Every modern-day newcomer who'd landed in the shinobi world was in the same boat.
Nobody had room to judge anyone. Everyone reeked together.
Word was, the plant had a new team lead.
And this new lead was going to pick ten people—right out of the crowd.
At the same time, Hachiman stood in his "single room" and scanned it one last time.
Calling it a single room was generous. It was tiny, more like one of those cramped capsule suites you'd see at a late-night net café in Japan.
Still, it beat the old days, when more than ten people were packed together on one big communal platform.
He touched the thick clothes on his body—nothing fancy, but clearly warmer—and couldn't help feeling a little bitter.
Back home, something this rough would've been tossed without a thought.
Here, in the shinobi world, it was a luxury the lowest of the low could only dream of.
Apparently, if you took it to a pawn shop, you could even get a decent amount of ryō for it.
Hachiman wasn't sentimental.
He knew exactly what he should do, and what he shouldn't.
Any "empathy" that got in the way needed to be put away early.
He still had to find Komachi.
And since his assigned area was still the waste-processing alley, he still had to keep dealing with filth.
He grabbed a few steaming buns that his "coworkers" had offered like tribute and ate them with a blank face.
They'd probably been saving for a long time just to afford those.
He slung his short blade over his shoulder.
The moment he stepped outside, he spotted Kakeru shivering hard in the cold.
When Kakeru (Tobe) saw him, he hurried over with forced cheer.
"Hachiman, how you feeling? You're picking people today, right? Have you decided who you're taking?"
The words were casual, but the tension underneath was obvious.
That mix of hope and dread was written all over Kakeru's face.
Hachiman went silent for a beat, then gave a small, unreadable smile.
"Kakeru. I'm only picking nine. You understand what that means?"
Nine?
Not ten?
It took Kakeru half a second to process it, and then his face flushed bright red.
Okay. Okay. Okay.
Of course it had to be Hachiman.
Of course he'd make sure his buddy got kept in.
He hadn't teamed up with Hachiman since arriving here for nothing.
"Come on, come on! Hachiman, I'll help you walk!"
"…That's not necessary."
"It is necessary! Your status is different now! You've gotta act like it! What if people look down on you?"
…He had a point.
Hachiman didn't believe Hitomaru Market was free of rotten politics.
So yeah.
He needed to show teeth.
Still…
Hachiman couldn't help stealing a glance at his overly excited "buddy."
Was Kakeru actually sharp… or was he just accidentally landing on the right moves?
Either way, Hachiman needed to keep an eye on him.
When they reached the plant, every modern-day newcomer turned to stare.
Their eyes were filled with naked hunger.
Pick me, sir!
I can work!
I'm diligent!
My ass is huge!
Hachiman's mouth twitched—and failed to form a real smile.
He swept the crowd with a flat stare.
Who?
Who just said their ass was huge?
He didn't have that hobby.
Hitomaru Market was full of men, sure, but it didn't need to get all… weird.
What?
Some supervisors were actually into that?
…Fine.
Then he'd "play along" a little.
Hachiman forced himself to choose the guy who'd bragged about having a big ass, swallowing his disgust.
The moment he was picked, Yamato lit up like he'd just won the lottery.
He immediately dragged over his buddy, Taisuke.
Off to the side, there was also a blond guy—Hayato.
Yeah.
These were the "popular kids" from Oregairu.
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]