Shen Mo watched Gatō kneel in the dust, his face a sickening mix of worship and mania. He understood the rich man's internal logic perfectly. Gatō had paid an unimaginable sum—five hundred million Ryo—to become a Kage-level martial artist, capable of harnessing the power of Ki.
For the transaction to be valid, and for the money to be converted into universal Trade Points, two conditions had to be met: mutual consent and an acceptable value ratio. Shen Mo had fulfilled his end, giving Gatō an immense ability worth a massive slice of his wealth.
"It is regrettable that we cannot engage in frequent trade with the common wealthy elite," Shen Mo remarked with a disarmingly pleasant smile, though a faint note of true professional regret colored his tone.
"Excessive, rapid influx of currency would inevitably devalue the medium. For the sake of long-term economic stability, the focus must remain on high-value, high-risk, and constantly self-replenishing assets... the shinobi."
"Meow—" Hiju, perched on his shoulder, offered a lazy, incomprehensible meow, her small mind blissfully unaware of the complex economic theory being discussed.
"Ah, the curtain is rising." Shen Mo's eyes sharpened, suddenly focused on a distant, invisible point.
He vanished without a ripple, reappearing moments later standing upon the restless, gray surface of the sea. The sun had not yet fully risen, casting the world in the cool, muted tones of early morning. A thin layer of mist ghosted over the water, providing atmospheric cover without hindering visibility.
Ahead, the colossal, half-finished bridge—the narrative linchpin of the Land of Waves arc—stretched between the small, misty island and the mainland shore.
"The stage is identical, but the actors are unrecognizable," Shen Mo mused.
Using his enhanced perception, he focused on the two figures currently cloaked in the natural sea mist near the bridge's foundation. Zabuza and Haku.
Their current attire was a jarring, almost comical departure from the standard shinobi uniform of this world. They wore exotic, high-grade combat gear—sleek, form-fitting brown armor overlaid with elegant, custom-tailored synthetic fabrics.
They looked less like rogue ninja and more like high-level players who had just geared up in a premium cash shop. Their newfound, potent confidence was palpable even from a distance.
The first official Member-on-Member PVP event was about to commence.
Shen Mo reviewed his final plans one last time, ensuring all system parameters were hidden and that the monetization opportunities were primed. A low, pleased chuckle escaped him, and he activated the stealth feature of the trading post, becoming an unseen, omniscient spectator.
In the mist, Zabuza spoke, his voice deep and amplified by his new strength.
"Haku, the strategy remains. I will draw the full attention of the Jōnin and the two children. You will use the mist to isolate and eliminate the target, Dazna. But be cautious: do not land a killing blow on any Konoha ninja, especially the two Genin."
Zabuza's mind was a tempest of caution and calculation. He had intended to avoid outright war with Konoha even before his encounter with the merchant. Now, knowing that the two children were also active Jar Buyers, his hesitation was amplified tenfold.
He harbored a growing suspicion that the merchant had deliberately selected individuals like them—desperate, ambitious, and with access to funding—and was placing them in opposition for an unknown, higher purpose.
Why else would the adult's very first words have been: 'Come here to pursue your desire to change your destiny'? It felt less like a chance encounter and more like a targeted, meticulous recruitment.
"Yes, Zabuza-sama," Haku affirmed, his reply simple, resolute, and lacking his former, sorrowful reservation. Haku still abhorred killing, but his devotion to Zabuza was now buttressed by the immense power he wielded, making him far more effective at achieving their goals quickly.
"Commence," Zabuza ordered, and without further theatrics, he launched himself toward the bridge.
He landed with brutal force directly in front of the guarded Konoha group.
"Momochi Zabuza?" Kakashi Hatake, the Jōnin sensei, stared intently at the figure before him. The man's presence was different—more solid, more dangerously composed. The strange, elegant brown armor and the bizarre, oversized weapon he carried made identification difficult.
"Where is your Kubikiribōchō? Your Beheading Sword?" Kakashi pressed, frowning. The enormous, grotesque cleaver was as much a signature of the Demon of the Hidden Mist as his mask. Without it, Zabuza seemed... incomplete.
Zabuza offered no response. His newly enhanced, demonic brown eyes bypassed Kakashi entirely, focusing like lasers on Sasuke and Naruto. He wasn't challenging Kakashi; he was evaluating his true rivals.
Sasuke, feeling the weight of that concentrated gaze, misread it entirely as an intentional, mocking provocation. A fresh surge of resentment, born from the humiliation of their previous encounter, boiled up.
His hand snapped to the hilt of his recently acquired, high-grade Qingfeng Sword—a Tier 3 weapon pulled from a jar—and he lunged forward, Ghost Steps turning his approach into a deadly, silent blur.
"You dare show your face again? I won't fail this time!"
Sasuke had spent the last week acclimatizing to his immense physical upgrades, focusing on integrating his purchased power with his inherited combat instincts. He felt utterly different—stronger, faster, his chakra more refined. He was certain that, even without Naruto's interference, he could stand against and defeat a rogue Jōnin in a pure one-on-one duel.
The ghostly silhouette materialized instantly before Zabuza. The long sword flashed, thrusting toward the assassin's heart along a flawless, unpredictable trajectory. This was not a tentative strike; it was a blow steeped in genuine killing intent, fueled by the raw humiliation and the blood-soaked training he had endured.
The strike was perfect, yet it rang out with a metallic screech as Zabuza's strange, colossal scissor-like Imperial Weapon intercepted the blade. Sparks erupted, briefly illuminating the early morning mist.
"Still just a boy, Uchiha," Zabuza sneered, his tone dripping with patronizing sarcasm. "You think you can defeat me with a childish weapon and a mere few days of 'training'?"
"Hmph." Sasuke wasn't angry; he was focused. The corner of his mouth curled into a fierce grin. "A Jōnin's deflection is noted. But my sword is designed for more than mere striking!"
He anchored his feet, channeling the immense strength purchased through the jars. Power flowed seamlessly from his legs, through his core, and into his arms. Every ounce of his newly acquired physical force was concentrated onto the singular point of the blade, aimed at overwhelming Zabuza's defense.
Experience the perfection of my practiced technique! Sasuke inwardly roared, fully expecting to see Zabuza's weapon be violently knocked aside, sending the ninja staggering backward, perhaps even spitting blood.
Crack!
A loud, sharp sound echoed across the bridge.
But the sound was not Zabuza's weapon failing. It was the concrete bridge surface beneath Zabuza's feet, which now bore two deep, spiderwebbed fissures—the only indication of the superhuman, immovable resistance the assassin had deployed. Zabuza had not conceded an inch of ground.
Sasuke's triumphant smile froze, instantly replaced by a look of sheer, paralyzing disbelief.
The immense force of his perfected technique—the very force that should have toppled a mountain—had failed entirely. It was as if he had struck an immovable, god-forged monolith.
"Impossible! My technique was flawless! My strength is magnified ten times over!"
"Little worm," Zabuza murmured, tilting his head slightly until his cold, demonic brown eyes locked onto Sasuke's stunned gaze. The raw, unfiltered murderous intent of a true killer slammed into the young Uchiha.
Then, Zabuza's voice dropped to a cold, triumphant whisper, utterly shattering Sasuke's composure.
"Do not assume a few purchased trinkets from that gentleman makes you invincible." Zabuza's hands tightened around the massive Imperial Weapon. "Because if you do, your purchased sword—and then your own arrogant neck—will snap just like this."
The scissor-like blades of the enormous weapon locked onto Sasuke's shocked blade, and Zabuza applied a ruthless, sudden torsional force.
Kkkkrraaaaccckkkk!
The faint, crystalline hum of the Qingfeng Sword—a sword valued at a significant sum of Ryo—reached Sasuke's ears just before the metallic shearing sound. He screamed, his arm muscles bulging as he attempted one last, desperate surge of resistance.
But it was futile.
With a definitive, ugly crack of stressed metal, the Qingfeng Sword shattered completely. The top third of the razor-sharp blade rebounded violently, slamming and lodging itself deep into the concrete of the bridge, shivering with residual force.
The silence that followed was broken only by the cold, endless sigh of the sea mist. Sasuke was left staring at the broken hilt in his hand, his eyes wide in absolute, horrifying realization.
The battle has just begun, and Sasuke's expensive blade has already been broken!