Raikage's Office – Cloud Hidden Village
The Night Moon clan's grand elder? Dude's cheek was twitching like it was hooked up to a car battery. Every spasm felt like someone carving a pound of flesh straight off his wallet.
If Makoto kept scarfing down supplies like this, the old man was gonna have to start selling the family silver—or worse, begging other clans for loans just to keep the pipeline flowing.
Back when it was just one portion? No sweat. He could've bankrolled Makoto's chow for a lifetime and still had change for hookers and blackjack.
But this kid? Monster. Straight-up vacuum cleaner with legs. One meal = thirty regular ninja rations. And he wasn't stopping at three squares—he was grazing like a goddamn bison on creatine.
Even the fattest landlord's pantry was running on fumes.
The elder sucked in a breath, forced his face into "kindly grandpa" mode, and gave Makoto the once-over. Kid's blood qi? Raging like a volcano. Physique? Built like a brick shithouse. Little Makoto? Already packing more heat than most grown-ass men.
No way this dude needed more "supplements." Give it a hot minute and he'd be legally an adult in every way that mattered.
"Chief Makoto," the elder cooed, voice dripping fake concern, "you know meds are poison in high doses. Overdo the good stuff and you'll wreck yourself."
"Body like yours? These tonics are done. Keep pounding 'em and you're just asking for a chakra hernia."
Please, old man. Makoto knew exactly how fire these supplements were. When he couldn't eat much, you were shoving them down his throat. Now that he's a human garbage disposal, you wanna pull the plug? Hell no.
Time to deploy the ultimate combo: thick skin + shameless hustle.
He sidled up—would've slung an arm around the elder if he weren't still a foot short—and hit him with the full guilt-trip + puppy-dog-eyes routine.
By the end, the elder looked like he was about to cry blood. But Makoto? Walked out with another fat stack of Cloud's secret body-building elixirs and premium chow.
He stuffed the haul into his invisible player inventory—poof. Everyone knew he had space-time jutsu; let 'em think he was flexing. Who cares.
Inside? Kid was bouncing. These goodies + his [Hentai Protagonist] cheat-code metabolism? Little Makoto was about to hit puberty escape velocity.
He could already picture the battlefield: enemies quaking as a fully-ripped Makoto rolled up like a goddamn JoJo character.
Everything wrapped. Benefits maxed. This Cloud trip? Straight Qin Shi Huang touching a live wire—won so hard it hurt.
He paused at the office door, flashed that megawatt, fog-dispersing grin at the room full of shell-shocked higher-ups.
"Catch y'all later. While I'm gone? Morning, noon, night—consider yourselves greeted."
Tone light, vibe weirdly warm. "No need to see me out. Wait for my victory lap!"
His eyes accidentally flicked across Samui's Grand Canyon cleavage and Mabui's flat stomach—both spots hiding his personal succubus-brand Flying Thunder God seals under their clothes.
Final glance at Yugito, who'd been eyeballing him like a science experiment. Smirked. Then turned.
Real men don't look back when they bounce.
Especially when you just looted the village blind. Gotta ghost before the Raikage sobers up or the brass snaps out of the pie-in-the-sky trance.
Lust spikes? IQ tanks. Lust fades? IQ rebounds. Then you're stuck explaining why you just got played like a fiddle.
Right as he stepped out—Mabui darted forward.
"Makoto."
She brushed "dust" off his shoulder—smooth as hell. But her fingertip tapped her own stomach in a flash. Their secret tattoo.
At the same time? A tiny, perfectly folded note slipped into his palm faster than a pickpocket on Black Friday.
Two seconds. Done. She stepped back like she'd just handed him a tissue.
Makoto's fingers closed. Felt the paper. Smirked internally. Zero tells.
Whoosh—
A soft crack of space folding. Black hair flashed like lightning. Gone.
Office fell into weird-ass silence.
Only proof he'd been there: two frosty watermelons sweating on the floor, two buckets of cooling fried chicken, and the fact he'd walked off with every Raikage's lightning chakra training manual ever written.
Night Moon elder's losses? His problem.
And a room full of higher-ups staring at each other like they just woke up from a fever dream—did we just get hustled by a kid?
Raikage's face? Stone. Eyes locked where Makoto vanished. Didn't blink for a solid minute.
Air thick enough to choke a horse.
BOOM!
Fist obliterated the ironwood desk. Splinters everywhere. Papers snowing.
Watermelons and chicken hit the deck—Darui snagged 'em mid-air like a fried-chicken ninja. His precious.
Raikage finally cooled off. Brain kicked in. Regret hit like a truck.
Shouldn't have let the kid go back to Leaf…
He glared at Darui scarfing chicken like a raccoon in a dumpster. Boot to the ass.
After Samui and Mabui bounced…
Only the core crew left.
Raikage stared out at the endless thundercloud peaks. Sighed—deep, resigned, but decided.
"Pass the word," he growled, voice back to full Raikage thunder. "Shadow protection on Samui and Mabui—max level. All female guards."
In his head: Seed Plan, batch one. Two ain't enough.
Need more. Way more.
Eyes sharpened like a hawk. "Tell the clans—start scouting. Best young women. Prime candidates. When Chief Makoto comes back? Seed Plan launches day one."
Yugito wrinkled her nose, lips twisting like she'd smelled bad sushi. Hated it. Couldn't argue.
---
Land of Water – Border
A frozen hellscape the world forgot.
Wind like razor wire. Snow whipping into blinding whiteouts. Breath freezes mid-air.
Custom kunai. Tiny space ripple—barely louder than the gale.
Makoto pops in. Boots sink knee-deep into powder. Crunch.
Cold tries to crawl into his bones.
But his eyes? Burning. Lava-hot excitement.
He opened his palm. Mabui's note lay there—still warm, faint scent of her.
Neat, strong handwriting. Girl put in work on her penmanship.
Unlike his ass—decent at kanji, but ninja world didn't use that shit.
[Miss me and Samui? Teleport anytime.]
[We'll wait in Cloud. Forever if we have to. Come back, we're here.]
[Out there? Stay safe. Need supplies? Hit me up—I got space jutsu too ;)]
Makoto's brain flashed to that night—tattoo done, about to slap the Flying Thunder God seal on her.
She'd been staring into his eyes… then closed hers.
His grin went full shit-eating.
"Didn't know Mabui had already cracked the Flying Thunder God back then, huh?"
He folded the note with care. Pulled a fancy little box from his player inventory—VIP items only—and tucked it away.
Then he looked up.
Eyes cut through the blizzard like lasers.
Dead ahead: a massive island swallowed in thick, gray, eternal fog.
The Bloody Mist was calling.