The air in the makeshift throne room of Gatō's compound hung heavy with the scent of cheap liquor and the impossible, dry residue of mass disintegration. Shen Mo sat amidst the settling dust, his expression unperturbed.
The scene was undeniably one of horrific, almost supernatural cruelty. Yet, in his heart, there was no tremor of guilt or psychological recoil. There was no splatter of blood, no gruesome wounds to clean, and critically, no accountability.
He had eliminated a lawless group of bandits who were already marked for death. For Shen Mo, this was merely a system operation—a clean sweep of disruptive, low-value NPCs. If this was his debut as a killer, it was the most clinically sterile act imaginable.
But for the tiny, portly man crumpled on the floor, the act had been an apocalypse.
Gatō lay paralyzed by fear, his mind fractured by the sheer, incomprehensible power he had witnessed. "W-what... what is happening?!" Gatō shrieked, his voice thin and frantic.
One of the last remnants of his security, a man whose legs had already turned to fine silt, wept and clawed at Gatō's ankle before his hand, too, dissolved into dust that coated the rich man's expensive leather boot.
"Aaaah!" Gatō's meager psychological defenses shattered. He screamed and scrabbled backward across the floor, attempting to flee a scene that was now perfectly still and silent.
But he couldn't move away. An invisible, persistent force seemed to drag his bulky frame across the gritty, dusty floor, inexorably pulling him toward the source of the catastrophe: the placid, casually seated merchant who was his executioner, or perhaps, his judge.
The mental pressure mounted until Gatō's eyes rolled white, his body seizing up as his frantic legs kicked once, twice, before he mercifully surrendered to unconsciousness.
Shen Mo blinked, genuinely nonplussed.
"Am I truly that intimidating?" he wondered, a faint line forming between his brows. He had imagined Gatō, the notorious criminal mastermind, would possess a far greater degree of ruthless composure. This was the man who dared to orchestrate hostile takeovers, smuggle, and profit off war. Such weak tolerance was perplexing.
"Let's see the underlying code," Shen Mo murmured, and with a subtle exertion of will, he fired a Mind-State Detection Query at the unconscious businessman. Telepathy offered vague hints, but a dedicated system service provided speed and absolute accuracy.
The result flashed back: Mind-State: Controlled/Influenced by Advanced Genjutsu.
The caster, as suspected: Obito Uchiha.
"Of course," Shen Mo sighed, the revelation confirming his existing hypotheses.
The entire land-of-waves arc, the first true field mission for Team 7, had always been steeped in layers of deceit. Kakuzu, the Akatsuki treasurer, needed capital, and Akatsuki required a steady flow of Ryo.
Shen Mo knew the old Sandaime Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, would never send the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki on a simple B-rank mission without full knowledge of the actual risk—Dazna's importance and the threat of Zabuza.
The deeper conspiracy was clear: Itachi Uchiha, operating as Konoha's double agent, had likely informed Sarutobi of Akatsuki's financial leverage over Gatō. Sarutobi, the 'Professor,' was simultaneously seeking to undermine Akatsuki's finances, show young Naruto the brave self-sacrifice of a civilian for his country, and secure the Land of Waves trade route. He had deliberately sent Team 7 into a high-stakes scenario.
"He is practically a Dumbledore clone," Shen Mo thought, his lips curling into a cynical, humorless smile.
He then performed a secondary, more pragmatic system query: a Financial Asset Scan on Gatō.
Shen Mo's eyes brightened with genuine interest. Remaining Liquid Working Capital (Post-Fixed Assets): 500,000,000 Ryo.
Five hundred million Ryo. For a man who had been operating for months as a mere puppet, this was a surprisingly large amount of unspent capital, a testament to Gatō's original, ruthless efficacy as a collector of wealth.
In this sudden, violent vacuum, that capital was now effectively unclaimed.
An enigmatic smile bloomed on Shen Mo's face. He slowly extended a finger and tapped the air above the unconscious man.
Genjutsu: Release.
Gatō's dream had been a long, painful retrospective. He relived his childhood as the victim of incessant mockery due to his size. He relived his climb to power, fueled by cruelty and cunning, cornering markets and amassing illegal fortunes—a legendary, brutal rags-to-riches story. He was untouchable, he believed.
Until the moment he encountered the shinobi in the orange swirl mask.
There were no negotiations, no demands, just a single, overwhelming exposure. His will was bent, his ambition commandeered.
The majority of his fortune was siphoned away, his powerful ninja contacts scattered. He became a zombie, a financial drone, his only purpose to continue accumulating wealth for a phantom master. It was a complete, agonizing nightmare of lost control.
Now, the nightmare was over.
Gatō's eyes snapped open. He found himself still on the cold, dirty floor, the stench of dust and stale wine heavy in the air. The memories of the dissolving bandits and the man in the doorway—the true demon—were instantly, terrifyingly clear.
"Are you finished with your slumber?" a soft voice inquired from beside him.
Gatō rocketed upright with an agility that belied his corpulence. He saw the cat-carrying man sitting casually in his chief's chair, the subtle, unnerving smile still playing on his lips.
Booooom!
Gatō crashed to his knees, his short, squat body trembling violently. He didn't speak the words; he forced them out in a choked whisper. "Thank you, noble sir, for releasing me from that wretched control!"
Shen Mo watched him, his smile unchanging. He did not speak aloud, but his voice echoed strangely and directly in the depths of Gatō's terrified mind.
"Dispense with the falsehoods, Gatō. Your soul is an open book to me. I see the abject humility that battles the desperate struggle for dignity beneath that suit."
Gatō's large body began to shake violently. He tried to hide the profound, searing pain of his deepest vulnerability being exposed.
"Hatred," Shen Mo's mental voice whispered, the sound like the rustling of dark silk. "You hate your weakness. You hate that despite your wealth, you are still a fragile, humble insect, disposable at the whim of any true power. I see your agony, your reluctant submission, your burning, unyielding resentment."
Gatō bit down so hard his gums screamed in protest. He lowered his head further, every fiber of his being recoiling from the truth, yet unable to deny it. He was humble, desperately ambitious, and utterly heartbroken by the realization that all his wealth meant nothing to a truly powerful being. He was a plaything. An ant.
"Excellent," Shen Mo's mental voice seemed to warm, a predatory satisfaction creeping into the tone. "I have received your desperate wish to transcend your destiny. The window for a radical change in your fate is open... now."
Obito's illusion had only clouded Gatō's judgment, not his core personality. The ambition, the cruelty, the insatiable hunger for power—that was the genuine Gatō. And that, to Shen Mo, was monetizable.
Five hundred million Ryo. Thirty million Trade Points. A historical, single-session transaction.
It was too massive, too perfect an opportunity to pass up, and it wouldn't disrupt the overall economy.
Shen Mo pondered the transformation he should offer this pathetic, venomous man. A short, fat silhouette, full of concealed rage...
A martial artist.
Shen Mo's decision was instantaneous. The concept of 'Ki' seeds from the Dragon Ball world would be the perfect catalyst. Gatō would purchase the ability to channel raw, spiritual energy—a system entirely alien to Chakra. His 500 million Ryo could elevate him from a pathetic, regular human to a figure capable of rivaling a Kage.
A contemptible, ant-like man suddenly possessing absolute, world-breaking strength. Shen Mo was intensely curious to see how far this creature would go with his new, purchased supremacy.
The next morning, Shen Mo departed the mushroom base, satisfied and richer than ever.
Kneeling rigidly on the ground, offering a perfect, respectful bow, was Gatō. Though physically unchanged, his eyes burned with a hideous, incandescent fervor.
"Xiao," Gatō whispered, mispronouncing the foreign name with a choked sound, a manic, dangerous smile twisting his face. The ant had been given a god's power, and now, the reckoning for all who had ever wronged him could begin.
The pieces are now moving rapidly: Zabuza is empowered, Naruto is strengthening, and Gatō has become an unanticipated wildcard. The stage for the first major confrontation is set.