"I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse."
— The Godfather
--
Hiruzen smirked silently. 'Gotcha.'
"...Is that a real number?"
"Yes," Hiruzen said, smirking ever so slightly.
"Per year?"
"Per month."
Otis blinked again. "You're joking, right?"
Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, pipe in hand like some godfather.
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
Eighty thousand yen a month. For babysitting hormone-fueled ticking bombs with chakra. Otis blinked at the paper. That's B-rank money.
'So this is what peak capitalism looks like, he mused. Get paid like a shinobi, work like a teacher, die like a fool.'
Otis groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You realize I'm agreeing purely for financial reasons."
"I expected nothing less," Hiruzen said warmly.
There was a pause. Otis sighed, resigned. "Fine. I'll do it. But don't expect me to go easy on them. I'm making them go through hell if it means they'll get stronger."
Hiruzen chuckled. "You'll have full authority in your sessions."
Otis smirked faintly. "So I get paid to torture kids."
"Preferably in a way that makes them stronger."
Hiruzen pulled out another document and placed it in front of Otis.
"You'll only be teaching two days a week — Monday and Tuesday. You'll handle the physical training of the final-year students: combat drills, survival basics, fieldwork, trap-setting, stealth, whatever you see fit."
Hiruzen continued.
"You'll have full freedom over your schedule. No fixed hours. You may teach all day if you wish — or just a few hours. I trust your… unconventional methods."
Otis leaned forward slightly, arms crossed. "So basically, I do what I want, when I want, as long as the kids get stronger."
"Exactly," Hiruzen replied. "The goal isn't to make them perfect—it's to make them survive. Teach them what truly matters in the field, how to fight, how to hide, how to adapt. Whatever you deem necessary. If they're walking into the real world, they deserve to be ready before they bleed for it."
Otis gave a slow nod. "Well," he said, taking the scroll, "I guess I'll go and ruin some childhoods then."
He smirked. "And the pay helps."
Hiruzen chuckled. "Ah yes, the noble motivation."
"I'm as noble as my wallet is full."
Hiruzen opened a drawer and took out a sealed scroll wrapped in red cord. "Here. Your official Jōnin identification scroll."
Otis accepted it with one hand, the parchment small against his massive palm. "So it's official now."
"Indeed. Konoha's newest Jōnin—and part-time instructor."
Otis stood up, pocketing the slip like a sacred relic. "You're an evil man for making kids go through this."
Hiruzen smiled, lighting his pipe again. "And you're predictable, Otis."
As Otis reached the door, Hiruzen called out, "Oh—and try not to traumatize them on the first day."
Otis glanced over his shoulder. "No promises."
He gave the Hokage a casual wave. "Later, old man. Try not to die before next week."
He left the office, Hiruzen just sat there in quiet amusement, smoke curling in the sunlight.
"Just like his mother," he murmured, half-smiling.
***
The village was alive with its usual rhythm — the scent of dango and ramen in the air, the chatter of merchants, the rustle of laundry flapping between rooftops.
Sunlight glimmered off his hair as he passed through the busy street. For a man his size, his steps were surprisingly quiet and his expression uncharacteristically relaxed.
The world suddenly looked… brighter.
The sky was bluer. The air smelled sweeter. Even the pigeons looked… more whiter?
Otis walked through the village with a faint grin plastered across his face. He nodded at random passersby, most of whom stared back in mild confusion.
He caught himself smiling.
'Man, everything looks good today.'
The sky was bright, the wind crisp, even the dust seemed friendlier. He glanced around — at the villagers, the trees, the market stalls, the world itself.
"The world's beautiful," he muttered with a lazy grin, his eyes curving like crescents.
(Pic)
Then his gaze shifted.
"The kids… cute."
"The women… definitely beautiful."
He walked another few steps before spotting a particular shopkeeper waving at him enthusiastically.
"Beautiful… not him," Otis deadpanned, his expression flattening. "Definitely not him."
The man waved harder. "Otis! Fresh discount on dumplings! Half off for my favorite customer!"
Otis waved back halfheartedly before quickly walking away faster.
'Nope. Not today, dumpling man. Not today.'
"Man," he muttered, stretching his arms as he strolled, "who knew enlightenment came with a salary?"
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a shop window — tall, messy-haired, wearing the expression of someone who had just scammed the universe.
He chuckled. "Teacher Otis… nah, that's gonna sound weird."
***
He strolled through the market district until the familiar stone building came into view,
The Mission Hall.
He hadn't taken a mission in a while, and with his Jōnin title freshly inked, he felt that familiar itch for something more. Meditation was fine, and food theft with Yuki was fun… but a man couldn't live on dango and enlightenment alone.
Inside, the building was quiet, lined with mission boards and stacks of scrolls. Chūnin and Genin alike shuffled between desks, collecting their next jobs — cat rescues, supply runs, guard duty. The usual parade of boredom.
He walked to the mission board, scanning through rows of scrolls
C-rank. B-rank. A-rank.
Nothing really caught his eye — until one scroll in the corner did. He plucked it off the board, unrolling it slightly.
"Hmm. That could work."
The paper fluttered in his hand as he smiled faintly.
Otis left the hall and walked toward the riverbank again, his new scroll tucked under his arm, whistling to himself.
He'd started the day meditating on top of a pillar, convinced he was on the path to peace.
He ended it as a jōnin, and an instructor
Not exactly the enlightenment he'd planned.
But close enough.
As he neared his hut by the river, he looked up at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily across the blue sky
Otis grinned. "You know," he said to no one in particular, "maybe teaching won't be so bad. Kids are basically small versions of idiots — and I already know how to handle idiots."
He paused, thinking.
Then added, "Besides… the pay's amazing."
With that, he laughed — the kind of laugh that belonged to a man who'd finally found balance between inner peace… and a paycheck.
***
Uchiha district
The underground chamber beneath the Naka Shrine was utterly silent. The only sound was the faint drip of water echoing through the dark. Ancient stone walls were etched with Uchiha symbols, and in the center stood the Stone Tablet.
Itachi stood before it, his Mangekyō Sharingan glowing faintly in the dim torchlight. The red tomoe rotated slowly as his gaze traced the ancient carvings — secrets of the clan, of chakra, of power… and of madness.
He didn't move for a long time. Only the sound of the torch crackling filled the air.
"'Only those who possess the eyes shall uncover the path,'" he murmured softly, tracing the script with his gaze.
He had read it countless times before. And everytime… it felt heavier.
Then, suddenly —
The air shifted.
Itachi's head turned sharply, every sense sharpening in an instant. His chakra flared,
Someone's here.
He turned slightly, voice low but clear. "Come out."
He didn't move, but he was ready to strike.
From the darkness beyond the torchlight, a figure stepped forward. He was cloaked, wearing a swirling orange mask with a single hole over the right eye.
(Pic)
Itachi's expression didn't change, but his entire body tensed. That mask… he remembered it.
"You…" he murmured.
The masked man tilted his head, voice smooth and composed — far too casual for the tension in the air.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Uchiha Itachi?"
Itachi's Sharingan flared brighter, Mangekyō spinning as he unsheathed his tanto in one fluid motion.
"You're the one my team encountered years ago," he said coldly. "The one with that jutsu."
The masked man raised both his hands, palms open — a gesture that said relax, though his presence was anything but peaceful.
"Easy now. I didn't come here to fight."
--
Author's Note:
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