The carriage jolted over a loose stone, and Arata's head bumped against the wooden frame.
He shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position. Sleep had been elusive the night before—too much thinking and planning, and now his body was paying the price. His eyes felt heavy and his neck ached.
Across from him, Ren was smirking.
"You could at least pretend to be grateful," Arata muttered, not bothering to open his eyes.
"Grateful for what?" Ren's voice was cheerful, annoyingly so. "For rescuing you from another day of grain taxation lesson? For giving you a chance to see something other than those four walls and Master Kenji?"
"For dragging me out of bed before dawn."
"It's not before dawn, the sun is already up."
"It's barely up."
Ren laughed. "You've been cooped up in the palace for weeks. My father needed someone to accompany him to the auction, and I thought of you immediately. You should be thanking me."
Arata finally opened one of his eyes and gave Ren a flat look. The chubby boy's grin only widened.
"Fine," Arata said. "Thank you Ren for the kidnapping me."
"You're welcome."
Arata turned his head toward the small window of the carriage. Outside, the capital of the Land of Grass was waking up. Shopkeepers were opening their shutters. Merchants were pulling carts loaded with goods. A group of children ran past playing and laughing, chasing a stray dog around.
It was a normal morning, quite peaceful.
How long until this changes? he wondered.
He had asked his maid to inform the Daimyo that he would be accompanying Ren for a few hours. His father had given a curt nod of approval—or at least, that was what the maid had reported. Arata suspected the Daimyo didn't much care what his son did, as long as he didn't cause trouble.
Fine by me, Arata thought. The less attention, the better.
He reached down and touched his own shadow—a casual gesture, nothing that would draw notice. Deep within that shadow, three of his shadow spies were hidden. He had called them from the mansion before leaving. Just in case.
They couldn't fight. They had no ninjutsu but they could watch, listen, and warn him if something went wrong. In a public place like an auction house that was better than nothing.
The carriage rolled on. Ren chattered about the auction—about the vase his father wanted, about the rumors of rare items from distant lands, about how boring it would be if Arata didn't come along to keep him company.
Arata nodded along, only half-listening. His eyes drifted back to the window.
And then he saw it.
A symbol painted on the side of a rundown building near the edge of the merchant district. Almost faded, chipped and barely visible but unmistakable.
A spiral whirlpool-like pattern.
The Uzumaki clan symbol.
Arata's breath caught. He sat up straighter, pressing his face closer. The carriage was moving too fast—the building disappeared from view, replaced by rows of shops and homes.
But the image stayed in his mind.
The Uzumaki clan. The clan of Kushina, Nagato and Karin. Nearly extinct, scattered across the nations after the destruction of their powerful clan.
He searched the original Arata's memories, but the boy had known nothing of the Uzumaki. The symbol meant nothing to him.
But to him, a man from Earth, it meant something – an important memory.
Karin, he thought. A red-haired girl with the healing ability. Her mother, too. They can heal others by letting them bite their skin as they have immense life force—sensory abilities and chakra chains.
It's not that he didn't care about the Uzumaki clan as a whole. Their destruction was inevitable, a footnote in the history of the shinobi world. He felt a flicker of sympathy.
anyone would.
but sympathy didn't have the power to change anything.
What mattered was power and Karin and her mother had powers he could use.
If I remember correctly, he thought, they become refugees in the Land of Grass during the Second Shinobi War. Exploited and was used. The mother dies because she was drained to death. Karin ends up in Orochimaru's hands after the Chunin exam in Konoha if my memory serves him right.
A healer who could restore chakra and heal wounds just by being bitten? That was priceless. A sensory-type who could detect chakra from miles away? That was a surveillance network in one person.
A waste. A complete waste of valuable assets.
Once the destruction of Uzumaki clan happens. I need to find them before anyone else does. Before they're forced into their miserable destiny.
He made a mental note. He couldn't save everyone, but maybe he could reach out, offer shelter before cruelty claimed them and a thought of a young girl like Karin facing that alone. Arata sighed.
He would put them under his protection, yes—but also use them. The same way he used his shadow spies. The same way he would use anyone who could help him survive the coming war.
The mother and daughter. Red hair, chains and healing abilities. I need to find out when they arrive in Grass. And I need to get to them first.
He filed the plan away in the back of his mind, next to the notes about Nara techniques.
Arata sighed again and leaned back against the cushioned seat.
The world of Naruto was harsh. Brutal. Children became soldiers. Clans were wiped out. Small nations like his own became battlefields.
At least I'm not in the Uzumaki clan, he thought. At least the Land of Grass still exists till the end of the series, it's just that it suffered when big nation fights.
A weight settled on his shoulder. He looked down. Ren had leaned over and planted a heavy hand there, grinning.
"You're thinking too much again," Ren said. "We're here."
The carriage had stopped.
Arata blinked. He hadn't even noticed.
Ren tapped him twice, then climbed out of the carriage. Arata followed, stepping down onto a cobblestone street.
Before them stood a well-built auction house—three stories tall, with dark wooden beams and paper lanterns hanging from the eaves. A large sign above the entrance read The Golden Gavel. Guards in clean uniforms stood at the doors, their postures professional.
"This is the place," Ren said, gesturing grandly. "My father's already inside. Come on."
A staff member in formal robes greeted them at the entrance and led them through a maze of corridors. The inside was quieter than Arata had expected—thick carpets muffled footsteps, and the walls were lined with scrolls and paintings.
"The vip area is this way," the staff member said, bowing.
They climbed a set of stairs and emerged onto a balcony that overlooked the main auction floor. Below, rows of seats were filled with nobles, merchants, and wealthy travelers. The stage at the front was empty.
The balcony itself was partitioned into private sections, each with comfortable cushions, a low table, and a clear view of the stage. Ren's father—a stout man with Ren's same round face—was already seated in their section, sipping tea.
"Ah, Arata," he said, nodding. "Good of you to join us. Come and sit down, the auction will begin soon."
Arata bowed politely, then took a seat near the edge of the balcony. From here, he could see everything—the stage, the crowd below, and the other vip sections across the room.
Perfect vantage point, he thought. But also a perfect target if someone wanted to cause trouble.
He glanced around casually, scanning the other vip sections. Wealthy nobles, mostly. A few people in traveler's cloaks, their faces hidden. No one who looked obviously like a shinobi—no forehead protectors, no flak jackets.
But that didn't mean there weren't any. Shinobi were good at hiding.
Pity, Arata thought. I wanted to see a real ninja.
He pushed the thought aside and focused on the stage.
The auction began.
Item after item was brought out—jewelry, old scrolls, rare spices, a set of antique armor. Ren talked through most of it, pointing out things he liked and complaining about things he didn't. Arata nodded and made small sounds of agreement, but his mind was elsewhere.
Then the auctioneer's voice changed. Became more dramatic.
"Next, we have a truly exceptional piece. For the warriors and collectors among you—a set of chakra-infused blades. Forged in the Land of Iron, tested on the battlefields of the last war. Starting bid: twenty thousand ryo."
Arata's eyes flicked to the stage. Two blades rested on a velvet cushion, their edges gleaming under the lantern light.
Chakra-infused, he thought. Interesting.
But he didn't need them. The mansion already had plenty of weapons—swords, spears, kunai—stored in its armories. If he wanted to arm his shadow spies, he could take from there.
He let the bidding pass. A man in the front row bought the blades for thirty-five thousand.
Ren nudged him. "The next one is what we came for."
The vase was beautiful. Tall, glazed in deep blue and gold, with intricate patterns that seemed to shift in the light. The auctioneer claimed it was from a long-lost civilization, older than the hidden villages.
Arata kind of doubted it, he knew that civilization had existed long before Kaguya Otsutsuki arrived—humans had built cities, forged weapons, created art. But this vase? It could be real or it could be a clever forgery.
Either way, Ren's father wanted it.
The bidding started at fifty thousand. Ren's father raised his paddle. Someone across the room raised theirs. Back and forth. Three bids later, the vase was theirs.
Ren pumped his fist. "Yes!"
Arata smiled slightly. It was strange, watching nobles throw money at things they didn't need. A vase that would sit on a shelf. A set of blades that would never see battle. A painting that would gather dust.
Rich people are the same in every world, he thought.
He was about to turn his attention back to the stage when the auctioneer cleared his throat.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the man said, his voice dripping with showmanship. "Our next item is… quite unusual. A rare find. A thing of legend, some might say."
A hush fell over the crowd.
"We have for bidding a summoning contract."
Murmurs rippled through the room. Arata sat up straighter.
"A summoning contract," the auctioneer continued, "bound to a species of creature not often seen in these lands. A contract that, once signed in blood, allows the user to call upon a —"
He paused for effect.
"—snails."
Silence.
Then, laughter. Scattered at first, then growing. A noble in the front row called out, "Snails? What are they going to do, crawl slowly at my enemies?"
More laughter.
The auctioneer's smile didn't waver. "Snails, yes. But these are no ordinary snails, ladies and gentlemen. They are chakra-sensitive, highly intelligent, and—according to the contract's previous owner—capable of remarkable feats of defense and reconnaissance. A perfect tool for a shinobi who values exploration over strength."
The laughter died down, but the interest had clearly cooled. No one wanted to be the laughingstock of the capital by bidding on a snail contract.
Arata's heart beat faster.
Snails, he thought. Not flashy. Not powerful. But useful? It should be.
He remembered the summoning contracts in the anime—toads, snakes, slugs. Each had their own strengths. Slugs, for instance, were healers. What could snails do?
He didn't know. But the price was likely to be low. And any summoning contract, even one for snails, was better than no summoning contract.
"Starting bid," the auctioneer announced, "one hundred and sixty thousand ryo."
Silence.
No one raised a paddle.
Arata waited. Counted to ten.
Still nothing.
He raised his own paddle.
"One hundred and sixty-one thousand," he said, his voice calm.
The auctioneer's eyes found him in the vip balcony. "One hundred and sixty-one thousand from the young lord. Do I hear one seventy?"
Nothing.
"Going once… twice…"
No one wants it, Arata realized. They think it's a joke.
"Sold," the auctioneer said, hammer falling. "To the young lord in the vip section."
Ren turned to stare at him. "You bought snails?"
Arata shrugged. "It was cheap."
"One hundred and sixty thousand ryo is not cheap!"
"Compared to what a normal summoning contract costs? It's a steal." Arata kept his expression neutral. "Besides, I've always liked snails."
Ren looked like he wanted to argue, but his father placed a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Let the young prince spend his money as he wishes," the older man said. "It's not our concern."
Ren grumbled but said nothing more.
The auction continued. The final item was a ninja tool—a set of explosive tags bundled together. Arata had no interest. He sat through the remaining bids, then stood when Ren and his father did.
"Let's collect our items," Ren's father said.
They made their way downstairs. The staff had the vase wrapped and boxed for Ren's father, and a small wooden chest for Arata. Inside the chest, resting on silk padding, was a scroll.
Arata picked it up. It was old—the paper yellowed, the edges frayed. A seal was pressed into the wax, depicting a spiral shell.
He tucked it into his robes without opening it.
Later, he thought. I'll examine it later.
Ren was already heading toward the exit, his father's box under his arm. "Come on, Arata. Let's go, I'm hungry."
Arata followed, but his hand rested on the scroll hidden beneath his clothes.
A summoning contract of snails.
It wasn't the Nara clan's shadow techniques he had been hoping for. But it was something.
And in a world where every advantage mattered, something was better than nothing.