Shirō studied the middle-aged man in the kimono, his eyes narrowing beneath the cloak. His instincts screamed a single warning:
This man was strong.
Yet when Shirō carefully observed him using the sensing method Sakumo had taught him, he failed to detect any obvious chakra attributes. That left only two possibilities.
Either Shirō's own training was insufficient—
—which was impossible.
Under Sakumo's guidance, Shirō had sparred against heavily guarded Konoha criminals under ANBU supervision. He had also repeatedly used Projection Magic to borrow Sakumo's combat experience. In terms of battlefield awareness, Shirō could confidently say he was second only to Sakumo himself.
Sakumo had even arranged for retiring ANBU operatives to serve as sparring partners, allowing Shirō to experience genuine high-level combat.
So only one explanation remained.
This man was a kekkei genkai user.
That was why he lacked the subtle fluctuations associated with the Five Nature Transformations. Even a Hokage couldn't completely suppress those elemental traits unless they were using Transformation Jutsu. If none were visible, then it had to be a bloodline ability.
Someone like that was troublesome. There was no telling what kind of kekkei genkai he possessed.
Still, Shirō felt no fear.
He had a trump card.
"Is the money ready?"
"It's prepared," the man replied calmly. "But let's discuss the price first. What should I call you?"
"Pain of Akatsuki. Just call me Pain."
Whether Nagato would use the name later was none of Shirō's concern. There were no patents on aliases—and if it caused trouble in the future, that would be someone else's problem.
"Pain… a good name," the man said with a faint smile. "You may call me Quebu. I hope we can cooperate again in the future."
"Then tell me," Shirō said flatly. "How much is the supervisor prepared to pay?"
Quebu's mouth twitched, but his composure quickly returned.
"Three hundred ryō per tag, Mr. Pain. What do you think?"
Shirō said nothing. He simply activated the cloak's concealment field and turned slightly, as if preparing to leave.
Three hundred ryō. Not even close to sincere.
Sure enough, Quebu raised a hand at once. "Mr. Pain, please wait. There's no need to rush. Everything is negotiable."
Shirō lifted his head, his voice cold.
"I'm a ninja, not a merchant. I don't have time for prolonged bargaining. Show some sincerity."
He wasn't bluffing.
To ensure this deal went smoothly, Shirō had already Projected part of the Explosive Tags in advance. Maintaining them consumed a steady stream of chakra. If this dragged on much longer, he wouldn't have enough left to complete the transaction.
Quebu considered for a moment.
"Then what price do you propose, Mr. Pain?"
"Six hundred ryō per tag."
Quebu shook his head slowly. "We've shown sincerity. You should do the same. The standard market price for Explosive Tags is around seven hundred ryō. Six hundred barely compensates for the risk."
He paused, then continued more bluntly.
"Two hundred thousand ryō is not a small transaction. Besides us, no one else here can move black-market goods on this scale. Since you seem pressed for time, I'll be direct. One price—five hundred ryō per tag. How about it?"
'Direct, my ass. I'll make you feel it later.'
Shirō kept his expression neutral and pretended to think.
Quebu didn't rush him, merely watching in silence.
Truthfully, Quebu's politeness almost made Shirō uncomfortable. People like him were rare in the shinobi underworld.
"Very well," Shirō finally said. "Pleasant cooperation. But I need to see the money first."
Quebu smiled.
If this deal succeeded, all he had to do was slightly inflate the reported numbers, and he'd pocket tens of millions. Afterward, he could silence the old man—the only other person who knew the truth—with a staged accident.
That was also why he had withdrawn the hidden sentries.
This operation alone would be enough to secure his promotion.
Suppressing his excitement, Quebu nodded to the elderly clerk.
The old man understood immediately. He entered the back room, returned with a box, opened it, and presented it to Shirō.
"This is only part of it. The rest is inside. Mr. Pain, may we inspect the Explosive Tags now?"
"Yes."
Shirō agreed without hesitation and handed over several stacks.
These weren't Projections.
They were genuine Explosive Tags Shirō had purchased in other countries over the past few days specifically for inspection. He had subtly altered their patterns while preserving their functionality—something well within his current capabilities.
Quebu examined them carefully, found no issues, and made a small gesture behind his back.
The old man returned to fetch the remaining boxes.
In underground exchanges, large transactions were always conducted in cash. Banks were unreliable—especially for shinobi.
Soon, several boxes were laid out and opened one by one for Shirō's inspection.
"All right, Mr. Pain," Quebu said, gesturing toward the money. "We've shown our sincerity. Where are the rest of your Explosive Tags?"
"No problem. They'll be here shortly."
When the boxes were opened, Shirō had already finished counting and verifying them. The amount and authenticity matched.
He stepped back slightly and, uncharacteristically, bit his thumb.
"Summoning Technique."
With a puff of smoke, a massive, pot-bellied spider appeared in the room.
Shirō walked forward, opened a compartment along its abdomen, and removed the remaining Explosive Tags.
Quebu and the old man both stiffened.
They clearly mistook Shirō's artificial familiar for a genuine summoning beast.
There were shinobi who cruelly modified summoned creatures using their extraordinary vitality, but those were usually for combat purposes. Neither of them had ever seen one repurposed as a mobile storage unit.
Still, they were veterans of the underworld. After a brief moment of shock, the old man stepped forward and loaded the boxes of ryō into the spider's abdominal cavity.
One hundred million ryō sounded impressive, but in practice it amounted to only a few crates.
Once everything was secured, Shirō formed another set of hand seals.
With another puff of smoke, the spider vanished.
Even Quebu had to admit that, while brutal, this method was remarkably safe and efficient.
"Mr. Pain," Quebu said, extending his hand, "it's been a pleasure. I look forward to our next cooperation."
"We'll see."
Shirō ignored the offered handshake.
A ripple of black light passed over his body, and he vanished from the room.
A moment later, a furious roar echoed through the Exchange.
"PAIN!!!"
In a nearby alley, Shirō leaned against the wall, smirked beneath his cloak—
and disappeared in a final puff of smoke.
---
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