At nine o'clock in the morning on January 3rd, in the 51st year of Konoha, the festive atmosphere of the New Year had not yet faded from the village. Quietly, without a word, Gen slipped away from Konoha.
After passing beyond the village's borders, he landed on the crown of a tall tree and whispered,
"Shuryu."
"Yes, Master."
A red glow flared in the air. Shuryu appeared, his body expanding rapidly until he filled the sky. Gen leapt lightly onto the dragon's back, and with a sweep of its wings, Shuryu soared high into the clouds.
The freezing wind howled, tugging at Gen's long coat, yet no chill touched him as Shuryu's blazing aura dispelled the cold.
Their destination was the Land of Whirlpools, southeast of the Land of Fire.
By noon, after half a day's flight, the ruined city came into view.
Shuryu thrived by consuming fire. Half of it came from the natural flame Gen fed him, and the other half was produced by chakra nature transformation. Even if he encountered a ninja who could absorb chakra, they wouldn't be able to nullify all of Shuryu's flames.
The capital of the former Land of Whirlpools, once ruled by the Uzumaki clan themselves, had fallen into ruin with the destruction of Uzushiogakure.
Today, Whirlpool City was a chaotic place, yet within the chaos lay its own twisted prosperity and order.
And that order was simple; Money and strength.
Dozens of miles from the city, Shuryu descended into the mountains. Gen dismounted, dispelled the summon, and approached the city alone.
Whirlpool City was not large, no more than half the size of Shirogane Castle in the Land of Fire. Its design resembled the Uzumaki clan's spiral crest—concentric circles layered inward. The further toward the center, the better the living conditions.
The city was divided into three rings.
The outer ring was home to struggling civilians and gang members, though the line between the two was nearly invisible. A man might be a merchant by day and a thug by night, or both at once if the profit was right. Workshops and factories filled the outskirts, their stinking waste polluting the streets. Filth and garbage littered the alleys.
The middle ring was a boiling cauldron of every sort of person; merchants, wandering shinobi, samurai, gang leaders, fallen nobles, spies, and servants. Brawls, killings, and drunken revelry were everyday sights. Yet this was also the most prosperous area, neon lights flashing at night, commerce both legal and illegal flowing endlessly.
The inner ring, though the smallest, was the seat of power. Here lived the true rulers of Whirlpool City—the magnates who controlled trade, gangs, and politics. Naturally, the environment here was the cleanest.
Gen approached under a disguise. With a subtle Transformation Jutsu, he became a broad-shouldered middle-aged man with a stern face, a long sword at his hip, and the aura of a hardened warrior.
Appearances mattered. If he entered in his real form, he would be harassed by thugs before even reaching the center. He wasn't afraid of trouble rather he didn't want unnecessary attention.
After all, Whirlpool City was crawling with spies from every major power, even the Five Great Villages.
Being marked before he made his move would cause more harm than good.
Thus disguised, Gen walked without incident from the outer ring to the middle. His presence radiated the kind of danger no one wanted to test. Even those who noticed traces of transformation didn't risk poking at a man who might be a wolf hiding under sheep's wool.
Eventually, his gaze fell on a gaudy building with a gilded sign lit by colored lamps:
World Hotel.
The name was tacky, but the establishment was one of the largest in the district.
Gen strode forward, his bearing calm but commanding.
At the entrance, two women with heavy make-up in red dresses and black stockings bowed low, their voices dripping with practiced charm.
"Welcome, dear warrior, to the World Hotel."
Gen gave them a brief polite nod acknowledgment without lingering.
Inside, the hotel was as ostentatious as its signboard—gold-plated décor, lavish carpets, and an atmosphere of nouveau riche grandeur. Rows of male and female attendants flanked the hall.
A hostess in a fitted red dress stepped forward, her smile bright but professional.
"Welcome to the World Hotel. I am Kondo Ikumi, your personal attendant. Please, this way."
Gen followed without comment.
"Would you like a meal or lodging?" she asked.
"Meal first," Gen replied.
"In the main hall, or a private room?"
"Private."
Soon, they reached an elegantly decorated room on the second floor.
As Ikumi handed him a menu, Gen's eyes shifted, the tomoe of the Sharingan spinning into scarlet life. His gaze locked hers, weaving subtle hypnosis.
Her eyes glazed. The sweet, practiced smile faded into blankness.
"Tell me," Gen said quietly. "Which family holds the most power in Whirlpool City?"
"The Fujita family," Ikumi answered dully.
"Why?"
"They control one-third of the food trade… and the contraband industry."
Gen nodded. To dominate basic survival needs as well as the most profitable underground markets in a place like this meant the Fujitas were top dogs.
And that made them his target.
He had learned from his previous attempts at gathering souls and lifespans, hard work could be replaced with efficiency. Control one wealthy and powerful force, and let money bring people, shinobi, and opportunities to him.
Money truly moved the world.
"Forget this conversation," Gen ordered. "You only drifted into a brief daze."
"Yes…" she murmured.
He snapped his fingers. The soft sound carried a hypnotic undertone.
Ikumi blinked back to herself, smiling sweetly again. "My apologies, sir, I must have been distracted. You have such a heroic air, I've never seen a guest like you before."
Gen smiled faintly. "Since you're so flattering, I'll forgive you."
"Thank you. Here is the menu, please take your time."
Gen skimmed it and ordered a few dishes at random.
"Would you like any… additional services?" Ikumi asked with a suggestive lilt. "We have many pretty girls here who can drink with you. If you're lucky, you can even enjoy… more."
Gen shook his head. "No. I have business later."
"As you wish. Please wait a moment; your food will be served shortly. If you need anything, I am your exclusive attendant." She bowed, throwing him a playful glance before leaving.
Gen watched her go without interest. She wasn't his type, and even if she was he had no reason to indulge.
The Sharingan gave him the power to bend others to his will. If the Uchiha clan had wanted to be lustful tyrants, they easily could have. Yet they weren't. Just as other genjutsu masters didn't use their power for debauchery.
Ninja, despite their abilities, often lived as tools and bound by mission and duty, too accustomed to obedience, too thoroughly indoctrinated by the world.
Take Momochi Zabuza, for example. After defecting, he still had to work for a thug like Gato to survive. Only when Gato insulted Haku's death did Zabuza rise in rebellion.
If it had been Gen? He would've killed Gato at the start, taken his wealth, his mansion, and his power for himself.
But that was the difference.
Most ninja were shackled.
Gen was not.