Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist, understood the cold, brutal calculus of the ninja world better than anyone. Power wasn't an obsession, but a fundamental necessity.
Without it, a shinobi was nothing more than a ghost waiting to be dissolved by the first strong current. Weakness was the original sin, punishable by absolute erasure.
"Now, Haku... show me what a few million Ryo bought us."
Despite his attempt to maintain the grim, battle-hardened façade that had earned him his fearsome reputation, a raw, undeniable excitement was currently chiseling away at the edges of Zabuza's composure. It was a thrill far surpassing any he'd felt on the battlefield. This was purchased, quantifiable supremacy.
Haku, whose devotion to Zabuza was the singular axis of his existence, had never seen his lord so openly affected. The customary wall of ice and apathy had fractured. Taking a deep, measured breath of the night air, Haku launched himself forward with what seemed like a feather-light step.
But it was no feather.
A howling gale erupted around Haku's form, not from his body, but from the raw, kinetic energy he was now capable of generating. The leap was not merely seven or eight meters; it was a vertical explosion that seemed to challenge gravity itself.
He ascended like a projectile, yet in the swirling vortex of wind—an unintended secondary effect of his newfound velocity—his descent was graceful, a leaf suspended and dancing in a hurricane's eye, taking a deliberately prolonged moment to kiss the earth again.
The instant Haku's sandal touched the soil, his silhouette blurred into an invisible scream.
He was a tangible typhoon. The motion was so utterly complete and instantaneous that Zabuza's Sharingan-trained eyes—not his own, but the borrowed power he often used to compensate for the mist—could not track the full trajectory. Haku was a flash, a shimmering absence, leaving behind only the ghosting echoes of displaced air.
"Try to land a blow, Zabuza-sama. I need to test my control." Haku's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
Zabuza, reacting with the instinct of a master assassin, drew his short, razor-sharp kunai. It was the only weapon quick enough to even stand a chance against a threat moving at this new, terrifying velocity.
V...——
A flurry of attacks, silent and precise as the winter wind, materialized. They were not crude ice projectiles, but finely honed, needle-like shards of frozen water, aimed not to kill, but to incapacitate: knee joints, shoulder sockets, and the tendons of the wrist.
The speed was superhuman. Zabuza managed to deflect two of the ice needles with a desperate, ringing parry of his kunai. The thick, hardened Earth Release armor he'd hastily molded around his forearm absorbed two more, the impact sending a jarring shockwave up to his shoulder.
But one found its mark—a micro-gap in the Earth Release plating near his elbow. Blood sprayed, only to instantly flash-freeze into a bead of crimson crystal.
"Zabuza-sama!"
The hurricane died instantly. Haku reappeared, not as a blur, but as a solid, concerned figure directly in front of his master, his eyes wide with genuine distress.
Zabuza ignored the stinging wound, his entire focus consumed by the rush of pure, raw admiration. The thrill of battle was replaced by the intoxication of witnessing perfection.
"Don't worry about it," Zabuza grunted, his voice ragged with exhilaration. The fear and respect that had settled around Shen Mo were now compounded by this magnificent display.
"Incredible, Haku. The speed... the utter dominance. You are no longer the boy who fought Kakashi. You now move beyond even the elite of the Hidden Mist, a shadow that laughs at the concept of interception."
Before the purchase, Haku's power was that of a skilled Chunin, relying entirely on his unique Bloodline Limit.
Now, he was an anomaly. He had the velocity and reaction time to challenge a veteran Jōnin and survive. At that speed, he was untouchable unless caught by a broad-area sealing or binding technique—a rare counter.
And it had taken less than one day.
The elation was a powerful drug, but it was cut through by a chilling, secondary wave of fear that swept over Zabuza as he looked toward the source of this magic: the lazy, observing merchant who stood several feet away, petting a yawning cat.
A merchant not from this world. A being who could rewrite the fundamental laws of power with mere currency. More terrifying than the legendary beasts or the fabled Sage of Six Paths. This was a force operating outside the known cosmos.
"Sir," Zabuza began, his voice surprisingly quiet, devoid of the harsh rumble he usually employed. He wrestled with his pride, then surrendered it completely. "Regarding the business with the Konoha ninja... the Jōnin and his students. Do you object if we proceed with our original plan?"
The infamous 'Demon' was gone, replaced by a cautious, almost supplicating figure. Anyone watching would have failed to reconcile this deferential man with the one who dared to plot the assassination of a Kage.
Shen Mo merely returned the gaze, a slight, knowing curve to his lips. "Your actions, Zabuza, are yours alone. They are not my concern. I am a facilitator of destiny, not a director of theater. But I must ask..." He paused, the half-smile widening slightly. "Are you truly going to follow through on this 'assassination'?"
Zabuza stiffened, his blood running cold. Again, this bizarre merchant had seen straight through the intricate scaffolding of his thoughts.
The truth was, Zabuza had already shifted his priorities. The whole affair with Gato was just a temporary means to an end. Killing Kakashi was a monumental risk that, even if successful, would draw the unwanted, relentless wrath of Konoha. His immediate goal had been simple: secure Gato's vast, ill-gotten funds, buy more jars, and achieve absolute power to reclaim his village.
"I am a mercenary, a client of Gato," Zabuza replied, choosing his words carefully. "I fulfill my contract."
"Just so," Shen Mo said, gently scratching the ear of the cat, Hiju, who purred like a low-displacement engine. "I am merely a businessman. You chose your fate as an assassin for hire; I chose mine as a purveyor of fate's potential." Shen Mo's eyes, however, held a sharp, cautionary light.
"However, Zabuza, do not mistake those two Konoha Genin for simple children. You have dismissed them. But their resolve, if not their power, is considerable. You may choose to spare them, but they, being bound by their code, may not choose to spare you."
Zabuza allowed a mirthless chuckle to escape his throat. "Since you do not forbid it, I shall give them a lesson in what true, monetized power looks like in the hands of a shinobi."
The reward Gato had promised was still substantial—more than enough to purchase a fresh batch of the mysterious vessels. Zabuza couldn't conceive of two green Genin opening enough jars to even approach the strength he and Haku now possessed. Their path to supremacy was now paved with gold, not grind.
A peculiar, fleeting vision crossed Shen Mo's mind, a cynical amusement dancing in his eyes:
Ninja A: I just dropped 100 million Ryo on these jars. Terrified yet?
Ninja B: Hah! I got a legendary item on a 300 million Ryo run!
Ninja A: You think you're better than me just because your wallet's thicker?
Ninja B: Sorry, friend. Having a lot of money is absolutely fantastic.
If the Ninja World devolved into an economic battlefield like that, what would it become? A grand, chaotic casino? Shen Mo filed the thought away. It didn't matter. His chosen fate was to profit from the madness.
Today alone, he had banked tens of millions of Trade Points. Keep that pace, and the purchase of an Icarus-class vessel—complete with a beautiful, loyal, angelic stewardess—was firmly on the horizon. A delightful, future scenario.
Zabuza, meanwhile, had finished the final handful of his current jars.
A profound, visible disappointment settled over his grim features. There was no final, coveted piece of the Legendary World Set. And worse, no scroll or clause that might negate the accursed Kempfer Bracelet's contract.
"What a profound shame," Shen Mo drawled, his tone utterly devoid of sympathy. "But fret not. The bracelet is inert unless you choose to activate it. You can remain the 'Demon' of the Mist. For now." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"There are always other ways to purchase fortune. You could always consider trading your ninjutsu memories, perhaps a portion of your emotional capacity... or even an estimated number of your remaining years of life."
Zabuza swallowed hard, the very idea a psychic blow.
"Master Zabuza," Haku interjected quickly, pulling Zabuza back from the brink of that terrifying suggestion. He spoke urgently, his voice a low, soothing plea.
"We have sympathizers back in the Water Country. We can raise more funds. We can even sell my memories, my life force—anything to ensure your power is complete. There's no need to sacrifice yourself."
Shen Mo's chest gave a tiny, involuntary twitch of irritation. That little intervention had just blocked a potentially massive Trade Point opportunity.
"It seems your buying spree has concluded for the evening," Shen Mo observed, rising slowly, Hiju now settled comfortably over his shoulder. He did not appear disappointed, his composure unshakeable. His silhouette began to blur and dissipate into the shadow-drenched glade.
His voice, however, remained, resonating clearly in the stunned silence of the night.
"If you wish to purchase more vessels of fate, use your membership badge. I am always open for business."
Hush...
Under the cold, indifferent glow of the moon, only Zabuza and Haku remained, staring at the empty space where the merchant had stood. The incredible power surging in their veins felt strangely unreal, a dizzying, intoxicating dream bought with cold, hard cash.
The true weight of their new reality—that they were now slaves to a cosmic ledger—had just begun to settle.