The morning passed without a single customer.
Sosuke wasn't anxious. He remained busy in the backyard, standing before a large ceramic vat filled to the brim with well water.
He was currently producing his first batch of inventory: [Purified Water].
In reality, it was simply low-concentration silver ion water. He meticulously controlled the microscopic silver dust, ensuring it diffused evenly into the liquid. As long as it wasn't consumed in excess, there was no risk of silver poisoning—but its efficacy against external wound infections was nothing short of miraculous.
He produced dozens of thumb-sized ceramic vials and began the bottling process.
Price per bottle: 50 Ryo.
The pricing was a calculated move. It was significantly cheaper than the tinctures found at official hospitals, yet absurdly expensive for a mere bottle of water. It served as a filter for his clientele.
By mid-afternoon, someone finally crossed the threshold.
It was a boy, barely ten years old. He was covered in grime, and his knee was weeping blood—the result of a nasty fall or a physical altercation. He stood at the door, peering at Sosuke with a timid, wary gaze.
"Do you treat wounds?" the boy asked.
"I do." Sosuke gestured toward a chair. "Do you have money?"
The boy fished a few copper coins from his pocket. "Only twenty Ryo."
Sosuke inspected the wound. It was caked with grit and sand. Without proper cleaning, suppuration was a certainty.
"Sit down."
Sosuke produced a vial of Purified Water and a strip of clean gauze. He first flushed the debris away with plain water, then poured the liquid—faintly metallic in scent—over the raw flesh.
"Sss—!"
The boy hissed, his leg flinching instinctively.
"Endure it."
Sosuke's movements were clinical and efficient. Cleanse, dress, wrap. The entire process took less than three minutes.
"This water kills the 'parasites,'" Sosuke said, pressing the remaining half-vial into the boy's hand. "Apply a few drops every day when you get home."
The boy took the bottle, looking dazed. A cool sensation radiated from his knee, and the searing, throbbing pain had already begun to ebb.
"Thank you, Mister."
The boy set the coins down and bolted.
Sosuke stared at the twenty Ryo. It was his first bit of revenue. The amount was negligible, but it proved his business model was viable. If the results were good, word of mouth would spread through the lower rungs of the civilian population like wildfire.
At dusk, Sosuke shuttered the shop. He grabbed the empty rye bread bag and headed out. He needed meat.
The markets of Konohagakure were bustling. Fresh cuts of pork and beef hung from hooks at the butcher's stall.
"Pork belly, 150 Ryo per pound."
"Beef, 200 Ryo per pound."
Expensive.
Sosuke felt the remaining cash in his pocket. He purchased a single pound of beef.
Next, he navigated to a blacksmith's shop tucked into a corner of the market. It was essentially the back door of a shinobi tool shop, a place where scrap and industrial waste were processed.
Sosuke wasn't there for kunai or shuriken. He was there for "trash."
"How much for this iron slag?" Sosuke pointed to a pile of discarded clippings left over from the forging process.
The apprentice blacksmith gave it a bored glance. "That pile? Give me fifty Ryo and take it."
Sosuke paid, stuffed the iron waste into his bag, and shouldered the weight.
Back at the shop, he locked the doors and drew the curtains tight. He dumped the iron slag onto the floor and extended his hand.
[Generation].
This time, he chose silver. A significant amount.
He generated roughly one kilogram of pure silver, but he didn't leave it in its raw form. Using his will, he forcibly "squeezed" the silver into the crevices of the iron slag, even coating the surface of the fragments.
He was creating "fake ore."
It looked like high-grade unrefined silver ore mixed with waste metal. He couldn't simply start selling pure gold and silver bullion yet—that would invite the wrong kind of attention. But if he were a "lucky" scavenger who managed to refine a bit of silver from scrap metal, it was far more plausible.
He needed a channel to launder precious metals into legal currency. The refinery was the perfect entry point. But this required craftsmanship—not in refining, but in deception.
Once finished, a wave of mental exhaustion washed over him. While the material generation didn't drain his physical stamina, the precision required for such fine manipulation was taxing.
He sliced half the beef and threw it into a pot to boil. No spices, just a pinch of salt. The aroma of meat filled the small room. Sosuke ate greedily.
The calories exploded in his stomach. The agonizing cellular hunger finally subsided.
He sat cross-legged on the bed and began the process of Chakra Refinement once more. This time, the sensation was markedly different. With the infusion of protein and fat, his body felt energized. The two thin strands of chakra, no thicker than hairs, began to flow through his pathways with newfound vigor.
He was still leagues away from the standard of a Genin, but he could feel himself growing stronger. Even if that strength was being bought with cold, hard Ryo.
'So this is what it feels like to be a "pay-to-win" player,' Sosuke thought with a touch of self-deprecating humor.
In this world, he had no Kekkei Genkai and no elite masters to guide him. He only had money. Very well—he would use money to pave his way to the top.
Late into the night.
The faint sound of footsteps echoed from outside. Not a patrol. It was more... predatory.
Sosuke snapped his eyes open. He looked toward the window. Under the moonlight, a dark silhouette was cast against the curtain. It remained motionless.
Sosuke gripped a silver spike he had hidden beneath his pillow.
'Have I been targeted already?'
Was it because of the boy? The iron scrap? Or perhaps a debt collector looking for Takaya Jiro?
In Konohagakure, there was no such thing as absolute safety—especially for a rootless outsider. Every set of eyes was a potential threat.
The shadow moved. A thin blade slid through the crack in the window frame. With a soft click, the wooden latch was flicked open. The sound was tiny, muffled by the wind, but Sosuke heard it clearly.
He didn't move. He remained cross-legged on the bed, his breathing rhythm unchanged. In the darkness, he lowered his left hand. His fingertips touched the cold wooden floor.
A flicker of intent.
[Generation].
Several sharp [Silver Caltrops] materialized silently on the floor directly beneath the window. They were modeled after standard shinobi tools, but forged from pure silver. Each had four points; no matter how they landed, one spike always pointed upward.
The window creaked open. A shadow vaulted inside with practiced agility. He was clearly a habitual offender, but he hadn't accounted for the floor.
Pfft.
The sound of metal piercing a rubber sole and sinking into flesh.
"Ngh!"
The intruder let out a muffled groan, his body seizing. He didn't scream, forcing himself to endure the pain. A hardened character.
In that heartbeat, Sosuke moved.
He lunged from the bed, the silver spike pressed firmly against the intruder's throat.
"Don't move."
Sosuke's voice was ice.
The shadow froze. Guided by the moonlight, Sosuke identified his guest. A young man, perhaps eighteen, with a buzz cut and fierce eyes that were currently wide with panic. His left foot was suspended, clearly impaled.
"Who sent you?" Sosuke asked.
"Red Snake Gang," the youth spat through gritted teeth. "This street belongs to us. New shops pay protection money."
Gangs. Even beneath the polished surface of the village, the parasites of the underworld thrived. The Police Force handled major crimes and shinobi, but these low-level thugs were beneath their notice.
Sosuke pressed the spike a fraction deeper. A bead of blood welled up.
"Have you heard of the Takaya Merchant Guild?" Sosuke asked.
The youth's pupils constricted. "The fat man?"
"I'm his nephew."
Sosuke withdrew the spike. He didn't want to kill—not yet. Disposing of a body was a hassle, and the Uchiha Police Force would eventually start asking questions. Besides, killing a foot soldier only brought more heat.
"Lift your foot," Sosuke commanded.
The youth hesitated, then complied. A silver caltrop was buried deep in his sole. Sosuke reached down and ripped it out in one swift motion.
"Agh!" The youth hissed, breaking into a cold sweat.
Sosuke tossed the bloodied silver into the trash. He reached under the counter and produced a bottle of the Purified Water he'd made earlier.
"Drink half. Pour the rest on the wound."
He tossed the vial to the intruder. The young man stared at him as if he were looking at a lunatic. One moment he was a breath away from death, the next he was being offered medicine.
"What is this?"
"The water that will keep your foot from rotting," Sosuke said, returning to his bed. "Go back and tell your boss: I know the rules. But I just opened, and I'm broke. Next month, I'll pay what's owed."
It was a stalling tactic. And a show of force.
The youth gave Sosuke a long, searching look. He uncorked the bottle, sniffed it, and finding no strange odor, poured it over his wound. The cooling sensation instantly suppressed the searing pain.
"Thanks."
The youth limped out of the window and vanished into the night.
Sosuke watched the empty frame. He rose, closed the window, and latched it again. It wasn't over, but he had bought time. In a world where the strong preyed on the weak, demonstrating power was more effective than demonstrating kindness.
He had also demonstrated "value."
That bottle was his business card. Once that thug's foot healed, the Red Snake Gang would realize the newcomer possessed high-quality medicine. In a slum starved for medical supplies, a doctor was worth far more than a simple merchant.
The gang wouldn't be stupid. Protecting a life-saver was more profitable than extorting a few coins. That was Sosuke's gamble.
The rest of the night passed in silence.
The next morning, Sosuke rose early. He hauled out the bag of "fake ore"—the iron slag laced with silver. To an untrained eye, it looked like unrefined mineral waste. He locked the shop and headed toward the refinery.
He didn't go to the blacksmith from yesterday. He traveled to a further district, to a refinery named "The Furnace." They specialized in recycling metal scrap into ingots for the shinobi tool shops.
The owner was a one-armed old man, rumored to have lost his limb on the battlefield.
"Buying scrap?" Sosuke dropped the bag onto the blackened counter.
The old man, puffing on a pipe, squinted at Sosuke. "What kind of junk is this?"
He untied the bag and grabbed a handful of slag. His indifferent expression instantly froze. He rubbed the black grime with his thumb, revealing silvery-white grains beneath. They were tiny, hidden amongst the rust, nearly invisible to a layman.
But the old man was a professional.
"This is..." The old man tested a piece with a magnet, then applied a drop of acid. No reaction.
It was silver. High purity.
"Where did you find this?" The old man snapped his head up, staring intently at Sosuke. This wasn't scrap; it was a rich vein.
"Behind the blacksmith shop on the east street," Sosuke said, putting on his best "honest" face. "They swept it out as trash. It felt heavy, so I bought it."
The old man's jaw twitched. Was that apprentice blind? Selling this as trash? Then again, such strokes of luck weren't unheard of in the trade. Some ores looked like coal until they hit the crucible.
"Good luck, kid." The old man set his pipe down and began weighing it. "Twenty pounds. Silver content... I'd estimate maybe two Taels."
He was lowballing. Sosuke knew it. He had put at least ten Taels (roughly 375 grams) of silver in there.
Two Taels? That was daylight robbery.
"Boss, that's too low," Sosuke frowned. "I saw plenty of white in there."
"That's tin! That's lead!" the old man barked, lying through his teeth. "You think refining is free? Labor costs? Coal costs?"
Sosuke feigned hesitation. "Can't you give me a bit more?"
"Final offer: 3,000 Ryo," the old man held up three fingers. "Take it or leave it."
3,000 Ryo. By market rate, ten Taels of silver would fetch eight or nine thousand on the black market. But this money was legal. It had a traceable source.
"Deal," Sosuke nodded.
The old man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. He thought he'd made a killing. Sosuke smiled too. He knew he had.
His cost? Fifty Ryo for the scrap. The silver cost him nothing. This 3,000 Ryo was pure profit—clean, "lucky" money that could withstand any investigation.
Sosuke stepped out of the refinery into the biting sunlight. He bought a roasted chicken and two pounds of polished rice. As he passed a bookstore, he paused.
Several titles were displayed in the window: Detailed Analysis of the Will of Fire, Geography of the Shinobi World, and Basic Herbalism.
Sosuke stepped inside and bought Basic Herbalism.
1,500 Ryo. Knowledge was expensive.
But it was a necessary investment. To run a pharmacy, even one centered on "Silver Water," he needed to look the part. He needed to sell common herbs and understand the local flora.
He returned to the shop and found someone crouching by the door.
It was the boy from yesterday. Beside him was a smaller child with a runny nose and arms covered in red rashes.
"Big Brother!"
The boy's eyes lit up when he saw Sosuke. He pointed to his knee. The gauze was gone. The wound had scabbed over perfectly—no redness, no swelling. It had healed with startling speed.
"It's a miracle!" the boy said excitedly. "It doesn't hurt at all!"
He pulled the younger child forward. "This is my brother. He has sores and can't sleep from the itching. Can you look at him?"
Sosuke glanced at the child's arm. Eczema or a fungal infection—common in the damp, filthy slums.
"I can treat it." Sosuke unlocked the door. "Come in."
Business was arriving. They were just two penniless kids, but they were the foundation of his reputation.
Sosuke cleaned the child's arm and applied a high-concentration silver solution. He charged thirty Ryo.
After sending them away, Sosuke sat behind the counter and opened Basic Herbalism. He began to read, tearing into the roasted chicken as he studied.