"Two hundred kilograms of raw gold dust. Value: pending assessment."
"One Galleon coin. Market price: thirty million ryo."
"Several puppet scrolls. Estimated value: five hundred thousand ryo."
Seiran sat cross-legged by the fire, methodically cataloging his night's haul. Outside the cave, darkness had swallowed the forest whole. As he tallied the final counts, a smile spread across his face.
"Incredible haul tonight. Rasa really is my lucky star." He turned a gleaming ingot over in his fingers. "One night of his generosity beats half a month of my usual work."
The gold dust would be easy enough—Electromagnetic Manipulation could refine it into pure wealth, given time. The Galleon coin was simpler still. The black market had posted a thirty-million-ryo bounty on the traitor from the Hidden Sand Village. Money already transferred to his account.
He had no plans to collect it yet. Rasa was still tearing through the forest looking for the man. Let him search a little longer.
An idea surfaced, dark and tempting. What if I captured Rasa instead? Forced him to produce gold dust while he panicked, then refined it all into real gold...
Seiran's smile faded. He killed the thought just as quickly. Rasa already possessed Kage-level strength. At his current level, victory wasn't guaranteed—it was questionable. He pushed the fantasy away. Perhaps when his Electromagnetic Manipulation reached greater heights, he'd revisit Sunagakure for a proper negotiation.
---
Early morning light filtered through the trees.
Rasa hadn't slept. Dark circles shadowed his eyes as he paced, tension coiled in every muscle.
A handful of Sand shinobi materialized from between the trees, their expressions grim.
"Report," Rasa demanded.
"We've searched everywhere. No trace of Galleon."
Rasa's fist drove into a nearby tree trunk. The massive wood groaned, leaves cascading down like snow.
"Did the bastard grow wings?"
The shinobi exchanged uncomfortable glances. One finally spoke up, choosing words carefully. "Lord Rasa... should we return and report this to the Kazekage?"
"No!"
The word cracked like a whip. "We find him alive or we bring back his body. Nothing else is acceptable."
Rasa couldn't afford to return empty-handed again. Pakura would have plenty to say about another failure, and the Kazekage's faith in him was already wavering. Lose again, and his dreams of becoming Fourth Kazekage would crumble to dust.
The Sand shinobi saw the resolve etched into his commander's face and said nothing more. They simply sighed and melted back into the forest.
---
Meanwhile, across the region, the underground black market was receiving a visitor.
"Whoa! Kakuzu! What brings the legendary himself to our humble establishment?"
The mission desk clerk approached with an eager grin, practically radiating flattery.
"Spare me." A figure in a black mask regarded him with glacial disinterest. Green eyes—inhuman, penetrating—fixed on the clerk. "Show me the high-value contracts. Recent ones."
This was Kakuzu. The shinobi world's premier financial mind. The fifth elder of the Diamond King. A man who'd allegedly thrown a shuriken eight hundred miles and gone toe-to-toe with Hashirama Senju himself for three hundred rounds straight.
The clerk hastily assembled a stack of mission catalogs and offered them with both hands. "Here's everything from the last month, Kakuzu. Anything interesting?"
Kakuzu's frown deepened as he flipped through the papers. "This is pathetic. The bounty lists used to be twice as thick."
"Ah, yes—there's been a problem, actually. A newcomer's appeared recently. Goes by the Silver-Faced Asura. He's been monopolizing most of the valuable contracts. Everyone else is just picking up scraps."
Kakuzu's jaw tightened. Some upstart taking his jobs? The absurdity of it kindled something hot in his chest. He was about to dismiss the list when one particular bounty caught his eye.
Bounty: Silver-Faced Asura's Transforming Weapon. Reward: 30 Million Ryo.
A photograph was attached—a skeletal figure draped in black robes, a silver mask concealing all but a pair of cold, merciless eyes.
"This is the so-called Asura?"
"That's right, sir. Fine eye for opportunity—many hunters have taken that contract. None of them came back, but someone of your caliber..." The clerk laid it on thick, practically oozing admiration.
Kakuzu felt a familiar warmth bloom in his chest. He liked this one.
"Naturally. When I fought Hashirama Senju for three hundred rounds..." He trailed off, lost momentarily in the memory of that legendary clash, chest swelling with old pride. "Make sure the bounty is ready when I return."
He tucked the photo into his chest and strode out of the black market without another word.
Behind him, the clerk released a long, reverent sigh. Something that might have been anticipation glimmered in his eyes.
"The Silver-Faced Asura versus Kakuzu... this should be interesting."
---
Seiran had only just returned when his electromagnetic sense screamed a warning.
A powerful biomagnetic field had materialized in the black market. Overwhelming, complex, unlike anything he'd felt except once—when standing opposite Might Duy.
Who is that?
He leaped to the treetops and activated his Byakugan. The world shifted into that familiar gray-scale perception, chakra networks and life force glowing like constellations.
A figure emerged into clarity below.
Recognition struck like lightning. "Kakuzu?"
Relief and dread crashed into each other in his chest.
Only someone with five hearts would produce such a monstrous biomagnetic field—five times the life activity of a normal shinobi. Kakuzu was nearly a living phenomenon unto himself.
Then Seiran spotted what the old man was carrying.
His bounty notice. The photo was black and white, but unmistakable—the silver mask, the black robes, the cold eyes that belonged to only one person.
Thirty million ryo for his transforming weapon.
Seiran had seen hunters come for him before. They'd all vanished. The black market had no rules—strength was law. He hadn't worried then because no one there could threaten him. Just free experience.
But this was Kakuzu.
The legends were exaggerated, sure. Eight-hundred-mile shuriken throws and three-hundred-round fights with the First Hokage were clearly embellished. Yet even discounting the myths, Kakuzu was still a Kage-tier fighter—battle-hardened, lethal, ancient.
Seiran's odds of victory were genuinely poor.
Damn it. He ground his teeth. I didn't expect to attract that monster.
The black market identity he'd painstakingly built, the prestige, the cover—giving it up would be a waste. But could he survive if he fought Kakuzu openly?
Wait...
Something shifted in his thinking. His eyes suddenly brightened.
"Right. I almost forgot."
A quiet laugh escaped him. An idea had just taken shape—one that might solve this problem entirely.
"I think I've got this."