The Secret Room of the Underground Gold Exchange
The air in the underground gold exchange was thick with the mixed scent of old paper, metal, and—most noticeably—the stench of a filthy toilet.
A single light bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a weak, yellow glow that stretched the shadows of the four men across the stained walls, making them look distorted and grotesque.
Senju Ryosuke sat stiffly at one end of the table, trying to ignore the smell. His mask hid most of his face, but his fingers drummed against the wooden surface in an impatient rhythm as he studied the four rogue ninjas sitting across from him—the elite mercenaries he'd spent a small fortune to hire.
"The plan is simple," Ryosuke said in a low, steady voice. "Two of you will lure Orochimaru away and hold him at the border for at least half a day. The other two will eliminate his team."
The leader—a man with a long scar running down his face—leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. A smirk tugged at his mouth.
"Get rid of his team? You didn't mention that one of them was a brat named Hiroki Sawada."
Ryosuke's fingers stopped tapping. His frown deepened. "Just a Genin. What's the issue?"
"That's the issue," the scarred man said, leaning forward until his face caught the dim light. "We get paid to kill, not to die. Everyone's heard the rumors—this kid wiped out an entire squad from the Hidden Cloud and even took down a Jonin. And you're calling that monster 'just a Genin'?"
So that's what this is—he's trying to squeeze me for more money.
Ryosuke realized it instantly and took a deep breath to suppress his irritation. These were dangerous men, the kind who would slit a throat for pocket change. Losing his temper now would be suicide.
Another of the rogue ninjas, a thin, sharp-eyed Jonin, chuckled softly. "And then there's Orochimaru. One of the Third Hokage's personal disciples. There's a big difference between diverting him and surviving him."
"That's right," the scarred man added. "We're not crazy enough to attack the Hokage's student."
Ryosuke's face darkened. He loathed moments like this—being forced to negotiate with scum. In the village, at least people pretended to follow rules. Out here, these men worshipped only money.
"How much?" he asked through gritted teeth.
The scarred man casually raised two fingers.
Ryosuke's eye twitched, but he eventually pulled out a scroll from his cloak and slid it across the table. "This is an advance. You'll get the rest once the job's done. But if you fail…"
"We don't fail," the scarred man cut in, pocketing the scroll without a glance. He stood, signaling to his companions. "Two of us will keep Orochimaru busy. The other two will deal with the kids. We prioritize the one named Nawaki, right? But let's be clear—the others aren't part of the contract."
The four rogue ninjas vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only the flickering light and the stench of the room.
Ryosuke sat in silence, scowling. The only other person present was the exchange manager, a thin, gray-haired man who'd stood wordlessly in the corner until now.
"These mercenaries…" Ryosuke muttered under his breath. "They'll take your money, then turn on you the moment someone offers more. What if they decide to sell us out instead?"
The manager stepped forward to clear the table, his movements calm and deliberate. "That's the risk you take when dealing with the black market," he said, his tone as flat as ever. "We only issue missions. Your safety inside the exchange is guaranteed. Beyond that, you're on your own."
Ryosuke's lip curled. Typical. Everyone here was a jackal.
"I need insurance," he said coldly. "Something reliable. If these fools back out, I need someone who'll make sure the job gets done—no matter the cost."
He mimed slitting his throat. "If they fail, they all die."
The manager paused mid-motion and looked up at him. "You want someone to hunt the hunters. That's quite the request."
But his expression didn't change.
"Still," the man continued, "there is one name that comes to mind."
"Who?" Ryosuke demanded.
"Kakuzu."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees at that name.
Ryosuke stiffened. As a member of the Senju clan, he knew that name well. Kakuzu—the man rumored to have once fought the First Hokage himself. Even if the stories were exaggerated, anyone who'd survived a battle with Hashirama Senju was not to be underestimated.
"He only cares about money," the manager went on, "but that makes him reliable. If you pay him, he'll see the mission through. His reputation is his livelihood—he never breaks a contract."
Ryosuke's pulse quickened. This was exactly the kind of man he needed.
"Perfect," he said decisively. "Hire him. The mission stays the same. After those four act, he'll confirm the kill. If the targets survive, he'll finish the job himself—and then eliminate those four mercenaries, too."
His voice hardened. "I won't have them coming back to demand payment."
"Understood," the manager said, then raised a finger. "But there are two things you should know."
"First, his price will be more than three times what you've already paid."
Ryosuke's jaw tightened, but he forced out, "Money isn't an issue."
He couldn't afford failure—not now.
"Second," the manager continued, lowering his voice, "Kakuzu is… unpredictable. We don't know where he is. The only way to find him is to wait until he's short on funds. Getting word to him could take a month—if we're lucky."
Ryosuke fell silent.
A month was too long. Orochimaru's team could be back in the village by then. But what choice did he have?
"Fine," he said at last, rising to his feet and straightening his cloak. The cold arrogance of the Senju clan returned to his posture. "Do it. One month or not, get him the message. Tell him he can name any price. We'll pay it."
He turned toward the door, his voice low and steady.
"For the future we're building… Nawaki must die."