Sasuke Uchiha felt the blood drain from his face, not from the pain of the kick, but from the searing reality of his broken sword. The Qingfeng Sword, his expensive, Tier 3 weapon that Shen Mo had assured him possessed superior resilience, lay shattered at his feet.
The sheer, staggering blow to his confidence was magnified tenfold by Zabuza's casual taunt. The rogue ninja knew about the merchant. He knew about the jars.
"Haha." Zabuza delivered a brief, chilling laugh, an arrogant sound that echoed across the misty bridge. He lifted his massive boot slightly, a gesture of profound dismissal. "Be gone."
The kick landed square in Sasuke's abdomen. The force was immense—a blunt, jarring impact that ignored his enhanced durability and sent him flying backward with the speed of a projectile.
"Sasuke!" Naruto reacted instantly, his Jinchuriki speed kicking in to intercept his friend. But the momentum was too great. Naruto only managed to cushion the impact slightly, and the two boys tumbled a long, messy distance along the concrete, finally skidding to a halt near the terrified Dazna.
"Sakura, administer the combat supplements! Rin, you stay with Dazna. Protect the client." Kakashi's voice was low, strained, and absolute.
The Jōnin's visible eye—the one not covered by his forehead protector—had gone dark, cold, and intense, reflecting the gravity of the situation. Though the mask concealed his expression, the shift in his aura spoke volumes: anger and grim resolve.
But Sasuke's expression was infinitely uglier than Kakashi's. Blood trickled from his lips. His wide, disbelieving eyes remained fixed on the broken hilt in his hand.
He vividly recalled Shen Mo's casual assurance: "The Qingfeng Sword possesses no flashy abilities, but its common virtue is extreme resilience. For a young swordsman, a weapon that holds its edge and develops your technique is invaluable."
Invaluable? It hadn't lasted ten days.
"If I had meant to kill you, boy, you'd already be dust," Zabuza proclaimed, holding his colossal Imperial Weapon with casual ease. His voice, laden with contempt, was designed not just to mock, but to sow profound doubt.
Zabuza knew his own words were dangerously close to hubris. He had tested his new weapon against everything: steel kunai, hardened arrows, even the edge of his own beloved Beheading Sword. The weapon had sheared them all.
Yet, cutting through the Genin's sword had required a shocking expenditure of his newly enhanced, Earth-Suit-augmented strength. The sword, for all its eventual failure, had resisted fiercely.
Is that the true terror of the jar-bought gear? The raw quality of the loot?
Zabuza glanced at Sasuke, who was already recovering slightly after taking one of Sakura's rapid-healing pills and was desperately clutching the shattered blade. He felt a wave of cold relief wash over him.
I am fortunate beyond measure to have met the Administrator.
Sasuke slowly dragged himself upright, his gaze fixed on Zabuza, the disbelief slowly hardening into a terrifying intensity.
"Why?" he managed to articulate, his voice hoarse, strained. "How do you know that person? The weapon... that power..."
Zabuza tilted his head, a grotesque smile stretching beneath his bandage. "What, you thought you were the only one worthy of buying a change of fate? Don't be ridiculous! If anything, I am perplexed. Why would a pampered brat like you be offered such a sacred opportunity?"
Zabuza delivered the words with the flawless cadence of an assassin winning a mental battle. "If not for that lord's strange indulgence, you would have been dispatched in the first minute of our meeting."
Zabuza was a master of psychological manipulation, and his words were landing true.
Sasuke gritted his teeth, his hand white-knuckled around the broken hilt. His eyes, now burning with rage, had veins bulging visibly around the sockets.
"Ignore the taunts, Sasuke!" Kakashi's voice was a low, urgent warning. "He is attempting to shatter your focus."
"I know," Sasuke replied, the admission clipped and agonizing.
He did know. But the humiliation was overwhelming. The easily conquerable enemy had become an untouchable fortress in the span of a week, thanks to the very power source Sasuke himself was relying on.
His desperation gave way to a tactical query, the only way to gauge his opponent's true depth.
"How many jars did you purchase?"
In the unpredictable economy of the jar system, the only rough metric for an opponent's resources and potential power-ups was the sheer volume of purchases. If Zabuza had opened a gigantic haul, the mission was not just dangerous—it was an automatic, suicidal failure.
"Child, you want me to list the acquisitions and treasures of a grown man, simply because your little toy snapped?" Zabuza allowed his arrogance to flourish, taking a deliberate step forward.
"If the fear is this crippling, peel off your forehead protector, crawl back to your peaceful, dull village, and spend the rest of your pathetic life in hiding. Never emerge."
The memory of the last battle—where Zabuza had been overwhelmed and forced to retreat by the synchronized efforts of these two "brats"—was a deep, festering wound. Now, the tables were irrevocably turned, thanks to the Administrator.
"Damn it!" Sasuke cursed under his breath, recognizing the tactical paralysis. With the jar system in play, there was no baseline for power, no way to reliably guess the extent of the opponent's strength. The fear of the unknown was now the dominant factor in their lives.
"Naruto, prepare the Power Pill," Kakashi commanded, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.
The tension of the unknown was palpable, even for Kakashi, the veteran of countless missions. He pulled his forehead protector up, the swirling crimson of the Sharingan igniting in his eye socket.
He then addressed Zabuza, his voice strangely calm.
"Battles between shinobi are not contests of inventory. They are tests of deception and will. Never overestimate an enemy, but never underestimate one either. Momochi Zabuza," Kakashi looked the towering figure dead in the eye, dropping the ultimate gambit. "You want to talk currency? You guess how many of my master-level Ninjutsu scrolls I converted into Trade Points."
Zabuza's eyes narrowed. The unknown had just swung back at him.
He had some knowledge of the Genin's powers, but Kakashi, the Copy Ninja, was a terrifying cipher. Yet, his scornful demeanor remained.
"Hmph. You intend to take over, then?" Zabuza scoffed, adjusting his grip on his colossal weapon. "Perfect. I am done wasting effort on children who can't even maintain their own equipment. Let us have a genuine conflict of shinobi vs. shinobi."
"Kakashi-sensei!" Naruto's distress was immediate. He knew Kakashi hadn't bought any jars. This was a naked, terrifying bluff.
But Sasuke suddenly grabbed his shoulder, his grip painfully tight. He saw it—the glint in Kakashi's visible eye. The teacher was testing the waters. Before they could contemplate retreating or completing the mission, Kakashi was going to measure the new Zabuza's strength personally.
The air became thick, pressing, saturated with the dual, lethal intent of two seasoned assassins. This was no longer a sparring match; the killer aura was entirely different, cold and focused.
Shh—!
They moved simultaneously. Two blurs of hyper-speed, one augmented by a powerful, bought system, the other by the honed instincts of a veteran ninja. They were pushing their bodies not to strike, but to avoid the opening for Ninjutsu, relying on pure, fundamental combat speed.
The raw velocity is respectable, but not overwhelming, the thought flashed through both their minds.
Then came the impact.
Pat!
The giant Imperial Weapon and Kakashi's simple kunai clashed. The force was tremendous. The Imperial Weapon was designed with a dual edge: the internal blades for slicing anything, and the external shell for defense. The exchange was a brutal, equal collision of bought strength and mastered technique. They recoiled instantly.
Kakashi's palms were stinging, slightly trembling. The physical power is indeed amplified.
"Hmph. I thought the legendary Copy Ninja was stronger," Zabuza pressed his verbal assault, maintaining constant pressure. "Are Konoha's Jōnin so poor? You squander the opportunity the Administrator offered you!"
"Pathetic?" Kakashi returned the scorn without missing a beat. "Since you know me, you know my name. How many useless Ninjutsu do you think I possess—secrets I can sell for unlimited funds?"
Zabuza's heart gave a sudden, involuntary spike of fear. He had almost forgotten: Kakashi was the man who had copied a thousand techniques. Every one of those could theoretically be converted into a fortune.
"Are you the only one with secrets?" Zabuza recovered, a disdainful glint in his eye. "Then you guess how many years of desperate savings I poured into my revenge fund."
Kakashi swallowed, the small, almost invisible movement betraying his rising internal tension. The true battle—the financial cold war—had just begun.
The tension is at a breaking point, and both sides are bluffing with their potential assets.