Uchiha Izumi returned to the office with an air of calm triumph. She sank into her chair and continued sipping her tea as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The moment she settled, the Temporary Workers rushed over anxiously.
"Sir! You're alright! That's a relief!" the Temporary worker foreman exclaimed, his voice trembling with concern.
Izumi raised a perfectly arched eyebrow and asked with a sly smile, "What? Were you hoping something bad had happened to me?"
"No! No, no, no!" They hurriedly shook their heads in unison. "You are our benefactor! The one who saved us all! Hahaha!"
Without warning, Izumi's hand snapped out, delivering a sharp slap across the foreman's cheek. He clutched his face, a cry of pain escaping him.
"Stay away from me," she warned icily. "If you ever come this close again, I won't hesitate to kill you."
The entire group of Temporary Workers instinctively took a step back, their faces pale with fear.
The foreman knelt, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he bowed deeply. "Sir, I admit my mistake for dragging you into this mess."
Izumi's gaze hardened as she addressed the group coldly. "You all have been incompetent! That old man actually dared to call in a ninja to harass me—harass us! How could you let this happen?"
The foreman hesitated, his voice trembling, "Sir… what should we do now? How do we fix this?"
Izumi's palm rose once more, striking the foreman's other cheek.
"Ah! I was wrong! I was wrong!" he cried out, pressing both hands to his burning face.
She crossed her legs gracefully, exuding an aura of command. "You have to ask me that? Fine. Give them a taste of their own medicine. Deal with the troublemakers firmly, and everything else will fall into place."
The foreman's legs shook visibly as he struggled to keep his composure. "Sir, I'm too stupid. I don't know what to do. Please give us guidance. How exactly should we handle it?"
Izumi's patience wore thin. "Why are you so stupid? Isn't causing trouble your specialty? Do I need to spell it out?"
The Temporary Workers put on ingratiating smiles. "Sir, we're hopeless. We can't think of anything. Please, lead us."
Izumi smiled coldly, "What business does that old man's family run?"
"He owns a restaurant," one worker answered cautiously.
"Exactly." Izumi's smile widened. "Since they don't want you walking in front of their shop bothering them, then why don't you go inside their shop to eat?"
The workers blinked, exchanging confused looks.
"Huh?" one asked. "What do you mean?"
Izumi crossed her slender, fair legs once more, the faint shimmer of her graceful limbs drawing admiring, if somewhat envious, glances from the men nearby. They fantasized about holding those legs, playing with them endlessly — yet all understood that doing so would surely invite her wrath, ensuring they'd never see tomorrow's sun.
She sighed theatrically. "You guys…"
---
The very next day, the old man stormed into his restaurant, his face twisted with anger as he saw the hoodlums gathering inside.
"Why are you here again? I told you to stay away!" he shouted.
The hoodlums, sporting their trademark multicolored hair, laughed arrogantly.
"We're here to eat!" one declared boldly.
"Eat?" The old man squinted at them in disbelief. Tables were occupied by hoodlums in groups—some sitting at one table, others at another—filling more than half the restaurant.
His son chimed in, "Isn't it better they're here eating than causing trouble outside?"
The old man grumbled but nodded, instructing his son to take the orders while he went to prepare the dishes himself.
The son approached one table hesitantly.
"Customers, what would you like to eat?"
They flipped through the menu and one scoffed, "Hmm? Miso soup is free? Then we'll start with a bowl of miso soup."
"Okay," he jotted down the order. "Anything else?"
The hoodlum smiled slyly. "Bring the miso soup first. I want to taste how your house makes it. You know, the simpler the dish, the more it reflects the chef's skill. If it tastes good, we might decide to eat here."
The son nodded and quickly brought a steaming bowl of miso soup to each table.
He watched as they took sip after sip, closing their eyes to savor the flavor as if it were some rare delicacy.
Is it really that good? he wondered, puzzled.
The old man, growing impatient, came back out.
"What did they order? Why haven't they given me the rest of the menu yet?"
His son shrugged. "They haven't ordered anything else."
"Huh? I'll go see for myself."
The old man and his son walked through the restaurant once more.
They observed the room filled with colorful hair and loud laughter, the hoodlums chatting fiercely about street stories. When they paused, they would drink miso soup, then continue talking.
At that moment, two young women entered the restaurant. Their youthful and graceful figures caught the eyes of both the owner and his son. However, every hoodlum's eyes immediately snapped toward them, filled with lecherous smiles.
The women's expressions hardened as they took in the scene—so many hoodlums, the lewd looks—and without a word, they quickly fled out the door.
"Tsk!" The old man muttered bitterly.
"That's why your place can't attract customers!" the hoodlums laughed raucously.
The old man's face paled, realization dawning. They were here to cause trouble.
He confronted them. "Why do you only order miso soup? Don't you want anything else?"
One hoodlum arrogantly rested his foot on a stool. "What rule says we can't just drink miso soup? We want miso soup, and we want more!"
"Bring another bowl!"
"Our table wants one too!"
The owner shouted in frustration. "Fine! I'll make it, but you have to leave after you finish!"
"Deal. We'll be out after the soup."
Reluctantly, the owner resumed preparing bowl after bowl of miso soup.
Watching from the sidelines, the owner and his son glared resentfully, wishing they could chase the hoodlums out by force.
When the hoodlums finished and left, the owner sighed in relief.
But his joy was short-lived.
The next day, the hoodlums returned, sat back down, and yelled, "One bowl of miso soup per table! Hurry it up!"
The old man slumped in his chair, utterly defeated. His son looked equally dejected.
Nearby, a fellow restaurateur peeked in and chuckled. No wonder his own business was thriving today. Now he understood why their competitor was suffering. Their "main selling point" of free miso soup was a curse in disguise.
---
For several days, the old man's restaurant remained shuttered. He was at his wit's end.
Other local shop owners—some running stores, others pet shops—also suffered similarly.
The Temporary Workers and hoodlums constantly caused trouble: illegally placing items outside shops, blocking pedestrian paths, dogs barking incessantly, disturbing the peace, and even seizing pets never to be returned.
The constant punishments and the hoodlums' endless excuses made running a business unbearable.
Izumi understood the importance of balance, so she didn't push too hard. The troublemakers were forced to retreat, but they would inevitably stir chaos every few days.
However, those who complained often faced special "attention" from the Temporary Workers, causing a steady decline in complaints.
In the meantime, Izumi enjoyed her peaceful days. She lounged comfortably on a deck chair, reading books and sipping tea, living a life of rare leisure.
Picking up a freshly purchased book, she began reading.
"Pfft!"
She suddenly spat out her tea, then quickly closed the book, looking around cautiously.
Clearing her throat twice, she quietly reopened the volume.
"Jiraiya's Icha Icha Paradise is not a book to be devoured all at once by a Divine Ink user—it must be savored slowly, one page at a time!"
While Izumi was engrossed in her guilty pleasure, the villagers outside continued to suffer daily.
They glanced toward the young girl relaxing so effortlessly, their faces twisted with anger.
Yet no one dared provoke her again.
Crushed under the pressure from the hoodlums and Temporary Workers, they had finally given up.
In desperation, a respected village elder sought out Izumi, humbling himself to plead.
He hoped to persuade her to show leniency toward their shops and the Temporary Workers.
Izumi responded awkwardly, "Oh dear, I never thought they'd be so useful. They really are better than me working alone. I work myself to exhaustion and still get no appreciation. I envy them."
The elder smiled gently.
"That's exactly why they trust you, young lady. They see you're sincere and genuinely care for the people. They just want things to return to how they were before—the way when you alone handled security matters. They promise to cooperate fully."
Izumi hesitated. "That won't do. You know I paid a hefty price to hire them."
The elder reached into a box and pulled out some money.
"This is from all the businesses," he said, offering the cash. "Please accept it."
Izumi's fingers trembled as she hesitated, feeling conflicted.
"This doesn't feel right…" she murmured, but her hands closed tightly around the money.
The elder cursed inwardly but smiled politely.
"No, no, no, this is only right. You've taken so much trouble for this street. How could we let your security department bear the cost alone?"
---
Thus, amidst the chaos, compromises were made.
Though the hoodlums and Temporary Workers remained a disruptive presence, a fragile balance had been struck.
And Izumi continued to watch over her domain, sipping tea and reading her Icha Icha Paradise, ever the unlikely guardian of a troubled street.
---
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