Zabuza Momochi, whose life spanned twenty-six years of relentless slaughter and survival, felt the chill of the night air as a new sensation—the profound, unsettling calm of impossible security.
He had spent his existence operating under the assumption that his path was an endless, bloody sprint, destined to end in some anonymous grave, slain by a blade swifter or a technique crueler than his own.
He had never anticipated an encounter so utterly magical, so entirely outside the grim reality of the ninja world.
The moment Shen Mo vanished, the entire clearing felt like the aftermath of an intense, psychic dream. The air was charged, yet strangely hollow.
The sheer, overwhelming reality of the merchant's existence was easier to grasp when he was physically present. Now, in his absence, the entire experience felt like a magnificent, terrifying hallucination.
"Zabuza-sama," Haku's voice was a soft, searching whisper, cutting through the silence.
Haku gently touched the fabric of the elegant, high-performance clothing he now wore—a silent testament to the raw, transformative power of the jars. His wide, innocent eyes were fixed on the empty space where the merchant had stood. He was grappling with the same existential question:
"That man... what is his ultimate purpose? Why does he need our coin?"
They had spent their lives chasing gold for survival, for weapons, for political leverage. But for an entity like Shen Mo, who could breach dimensions, conjure reality, and bypass any known defense system with casual ease, the value of their fragile currency seemed meaningless.
Zabuza remained silent for a long moment, the mist-shrouded moon serving as his only confidant. Haku's question was unanswerable, yet critical.
"We cannot presume to understand the motives of a being whose influence extends beyond the boundaries of this existence," Zabuza stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "The gulf between us is too vast. Like a peasant trying to decipher the mandate of an Emperor, we can only observe and obey the rules he sets."
He turned, his gaze intense. "But know this, Haku: whatever his desires, we must never afford him a reason to take offense. He perceives everything. A casual misstep, a moment of malicious intent, could unravel us with infinite consequences."
Zabuza shuddered inwardly, an involuntary reaction he quickly suppressed. He was a man who dared to challenge the absolute power of the Mizukage, yet this being commanded a fear far deeper than any Kage ever could.
"It is acceptable if I am the one who suffers," Zabuza continued, the usual coldness returning, "But if this power were to be wielded against the innocent... against the village I intend to save..."
The coup attempt wasn't just about political power; it was about purging the Bloodline Purges, about extinguishing the relentless cruelty that had stained the Mist Village in his lifetime. The village, bathed in the stench of slaughter, was the object of his intense hatred and, paradoxically, his absolute devotion.
"My life is your instrument, Zabuza-sama," Haku affirmed, his soft eyes filled with unwavering loyalty. "I will always be your shield, your tool."
Zabuza let out a brief, sharp chuckle—an incredibly rare sound, one born of a desperate, renewed hope. He looked at Haku, a raw, almost paternal affection briefly replacing his usual ruthless glare. The loyalty was absolute, and he cherished it.
"A tool you may be, Haku, but now you are a very sharp and very expensive one," he murmured. He lifted his gaze to the moon, a distant, predatory gleam entering his eyes.
"I believe we have stumbled upon an extraordinary treasure. We must master this new strength immediately. This merchant... this force... it may be the key to fulfilling the dream. Now, more than ever, I have a true shot at revenge."
Before the jars, Zabuza had been a dangerous, magnificent stray dog, constantly on the run. His will was unbreakable, but his resources were finite. Now, however, the concept of true victory—not merely survival—was suddenly plausible.
"Yes! We will master it!" Haku responded, his quiet affirmation ringing with fierce resolve.
Unseen by the shinobi pair, in the deeper shadows of the forest, Shen Mo observed them for a few more silent moments before dematerializing. He hadn't gone far; a curious administrative impulse had simply compelled him to witness the aftereffects of his product on a pair of minor antagonists.
Zabuza and Haku, for all their combat prowess, were ultimately just early-arc obstacles in the grand narrative. Their reactions—the mingled awe, fear, and strategic calculation—were both predictable and, for Shen Mo, a source of professional satisfaction.
"Hiju," Shen Mo whispered, lifting his cat familiar, who had been lazily warming his neck. He spoke to the moonlit canopy as though addressing a corporate board. "I view this world as a grand-scale, perpetual Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Game, and these animated personalities are the 'players.' But there is a crucial distinction."
The world had intrinsic depth. Their motivations were driven by genuine love, hate, and fear, not just programmed XP goals.
"Mrow—" Hiju responded with a tiny, disgruntled noise, shifting uncomfortably and giving Shen Mo's finger a light, warning nip. The concept of 'game design' was far too abstract for a kitten.
"Such a dense beast," Shen Mo sighed, but there was a fond humor in his tone.
"Meow!" Hiju, sensing the playful insult, suddenly launched herself onto his face in a tiny, fluffy rebellion, paws batting at his hair.
"Insolence! Today's dried fish allowance is now halved!"
"Meow!?" The reaction was instantaneous—a high-pitched shriek of protest.
"Admit you will not challenge the administrator again."
"Miiyav..." The reluctant concession was finally given.
"That's better," Shen Mo chuckled, gently petting the now subdued kitten.
Returning to his isolated, dimension-stabilized apartment, Shen Mo ate a quick meal and settled before his glowing laptop. This was the first time he could truly shift his focus from immediate self-preservation to long-term financial optimization.
"I am the Game Planner," he murmured, his fingers hovering over the keys. "Making money is my primary objective; fostering engagement and delivering unique experiences is my professional imperative."
He typed the core tenets onto the screen: 'MONEY' and 'HAPPINESS.'
The two were intrinsically linked: a delighted, engaged player was a consistently spending player. His past successes—drawing out Tsunade's latent desire for the Holy Light Paladin class, fueling Sasuke's thirst for accelerated power, and Kakashi's curiosity—had all been based on tapping into their deepest emotional needs and offering an exotic solution. This approach, he knew, was sound.
However, his role was more profound than a mere traveling merchant.
Shen Mo typed and centered the word 'OFFICIAL' in bold letters.
"The Official is the undisputed architect of the rules, the entire game ecosystem, and possesses absolute interpretive authority," he dictated to himself, his expression turning serious. He wasn't just selling loot boxes; he was responsible for the stability and profitability of this world.
Any malicious player behavior that severely threatened the long-term profitability of the system must be mitigated. Unfettered, reckless power distribution could lead to systemic collapse.
His immediate focus needed to be: "Enhance Player Consumption Interest and Spending Capacity."
This was the strategic move. Tsunade, the 'Paladin,' could potentially develop new Holy Light techniques, or better yet, create a new hybridized combat system—a Holy Light-Chakra fusion. Such a system, a unique innovation, could be traded back to the store for a massive amount of Trade Points, injecting value into the system.
The Royal Jar given to Danzo was a similar gamble—a hope to increase the world's overall productivity and conflict potential, thus generating more Ryo and more reasons to spend it.
But the most potent engine of commerce in a conflict-driven world was, and always would be, competition.
On the third line under 'Official,' Shen Mo typed three letters in colossal, stark white text:
P V P
Player Versus Player. This was the ultimate driver of spending, the supreme justification for escalating investment. In a world defined by deep-seated rivalry, love, and hatred like Naruto, PVP wasn't just inevitable—it was the most robust and fertile ground for his business model. The only way to ensure victory and survive the conflict was to open one more jar, to spend one more fortune.
He smiled, a dark, calculating look on his face. The Ninja World was about to become his ultimate, magnificent cash cow.