This Missing-nin from Kirigakure had already scared off every other pack of gutter rats with his murder-stare and the kind of vibe that says "I eat babies for breakfast." In his mind, those stray-dog ninja weren't even qualified to sniff the same air as his next payday.
"Yo!" The rogue ninja flashed a jack-o'-lantern grin full of yellow, crooked teeth, voice like gravel soaked in cheap sake. "Which rich little lordling got lost out here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere?"
"Need big bro to escort you home safe?" His eyes crawled over Makoto's obviously expensive coat like a tongue made of pure greed. Then they slid to Shiro standing beside him (pretty face, delicate build) and the dude straight-up assumed "maid cosplaying as a boy."
The lust dialed up to eleven. "Hand over some pocket change, kid. And that little cutie next to you? Send her over so I can have some fun. Do it nice and quiet and maybe I'll be in a generous mood and walk you outta here alive. Heh heh heh."
Dude was laughing like a hyena, but deep in his eyes? Ice-cold caution.
Up close, Makoto screamed "noble brat." And every ninja (even the psychotic renegades) has that one rule hammered into their skull since the academy:
Fuck with nobility and every major village plus every daimyo on the continent will hunt your bloodline into extinction.
Kill a noble? Congrats, you just declared war on the entire food chain. Your village gets defunded, your family gets erased, and your soul gets billed for the privilege.
So this guy's plan was: scare the rich kid, extort some cash, maybe cop a feel, then "escort" them a little ways and call it a day. Calling Shiro a "bitch" was just a test (real nobles don't let peasants talk about their property like that).
Makoto heard "little chick" and actually looked around like, "Where? I don't see any girls." Finally his gaze landed on Shiro and he raised an eyebrow.
Ah. Not just me who got confused.
Then he smiled, warm and lazy. "Sure thing, man. How much you wanna borrow?"
Missing-nin: "???"
Makoto kept going, completely serious. "I can loan you a clean million ryō."
Dude's eyes turned into jackpot symbols.
"But right now I only got 200k on me, so the best I can do is 50k."
The rogue ninja started doing mental math and drooling.
"If you really want the full million, though, I only have 2k in small bills—so I can spot you 100 ryō."
Makoto actually pulled out a crumpled 100-ryō note, tossed it into the snow at the guy's feet, and held out his hand like a bank teller.
"There ya go. Loan's official. Snowflakes are our witnesses."
"Now pay me back the million."
The rogue ninja's brain blue-screened. "You little motherf—"
Makoto cut him off, still smiling. "What, I can't mess with you? Too bad."
He jabbed a finger at the guy's chest. "New plan. Punch yourself in the nuts one thousand times, then empty every pocket you got. Chop chop."
Peak predator pretending to be prey. Fishing with live bait? Makoto wrote the damn manual.
The rogue ninja looked like he'd been slapped with a fish made of existential dread. He'd robbed hundreds—nobody ever robbed him. Especially not some pretty teenage boy.
His hand gripped his sword so hard the hilt creaked.
He glanced around—no witnesses, no backup. Rage and terror arm-wrestled inside his skull.
Finally, terror tapped out.
"I-I was blind, sir! Please, just… just pretend I'm a fart and let me go!" Dude actually started using honorifics. "That 100 ryō—I'd never dare!"
Makoto blinked. Bro's still not swinging?
Then he looked down at his fancy coat, put two and two together, and almost laughed.
"Ohhh, you think I'm one of those 'naturally born evil nobles,' huh?"
He waved it off, grinning. "Nah, man. I'm just your regular, ridiculously good-looking dude passing through."
The rogue ninja heard the words "naturally born evil nobles" come out of Makoto's mouth with casual contempt and his last brain cell detonated.
No actual noble would ever talk about their own class like that unless they were drunk, suicidal, or…
…or this kid was a complete nobody with a death wish.
Every ounce of bottled-up fear flipped into pure, volcanic rage.
"DIE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!!"
Chakra exploded. Snow cratered under his feet. He launched like a missile, sword screaming through the air straight for Makoto's heart. Full-power, no-holds-barred kill shot.
The blade closed in—tip inches from that pristine white coat, hair fluttering from the wind pressure.
Makoto didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Shiro started to step in front of the blade, then saw the tiny, eager smirk on Makoto's face.
Ah. He's hunting.
CLANG!
The sword hit something that was definitely not flesh. Felt like stabbing a steel wall wrapped in lightning.
A brutal shockwave rippled back up the blade. Rogue ninja's wrist went numb, tiger's mouth split open.
Then—
CRACKA-BOOOOOM!
A blinding blue arc detonated from Makoto's chest, roared down the metal blade, and introduced itself to the rogue ninja's nervous system at Mach Jesus.
"GRRRRYYAAAAAHHH!!!"
Dude lit up like a Christmas tree that owed money to the mob. Hair standing on end, skin flash-fried, smoke pouring out of every orifice that could legally produce smoke.
Makoto patted the spot where the sword hit (zero damage) and laughed.
"That all you got? My grandma stabs harder than that, and she's been dead for twelve years."
Lightning Chakra Mode, baby. He wasn't anywhere near mastery (using it still felt like microwaving his own organs), but between the 24/7 lightning tempering, [Hentai Protagonist Physique], and that juicy [Beginner Hashirama Bloodline] healing factor?
He could tank the recoil and flex anyway.
Rule #1 of the Makoto build: if your body's tough enough and you heal fast enough, you can get away with literally anything.
He looked down at the twitching, barbequed rogue ninja doing the electric boogaloo in the snow and just shrugged.
"I do this level of lightning tempering every day and don't even whimper. You're embarrassing the whole robber profession right now, bro."