Ken sat submerged in the bathtub.
Veins bulged visibly along his arms and neck, skin flushed an angry red as heat and medicine worked their way through his body. His jaw was clenched so tightly his teeth creaked.
Pain crawled under his skin.
Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. Time blurred until the burning finally dulled into a deep, aching throb.
Ken dragged himself out of the tub and collapsed onto the floor, water pooling beneath him. Steam rose slowly, carrying the sharp, bitter scent of medicine.
He lay there for a while, chest rising and falling.
"…Half my damn money," he muttered hoarsely.
Ingredients weren't cheap. Not the real ones.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
"It's not like the old man shortchanged me," he admitted grudgingly. "I got the B-rank payout."
And more than that.
There'd been bounty money too. The rogue had been a chūnin. Injured or not, that still counted.
The reward was fair. Generous, even.
Ken let out a slow breath and closed his eyes.
"Well, at least I have a week till the next bath," he murmured.
According to the memo, he needed to take the bath once a week at the start. Later, the frequency could be increased.
Money.
Ken lay on the floor, thinking.
His mind drifted to the most common trope.
Food.
Selling food.
He frowned.
The food here wasn't bad. Bland sometimes, sure, but people weren't starving for taste. And even if they were…
"…I don't actually know how to cook," he admitted quietly.
Back then, he'd survived. That was it. Enough not to die. Anything better had been handled by his mother, his sister, or a delivery app.
Hope they're all doing well.
He sighed and shook his head.
That path died quickly.
He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
"What else…"
Construction work came next.
Earth release. Reinforcing walls. Digging foundations.
He shook his head again.
"How many houses are even being built?" he scoffed. "This isn't some modern city."
Most homes were wood. Bamboo. Simple structures that didn't need chakra-heavy reinforcement. Even if there was work, the pay would be garbage. And wandering around offering construction services as a genin was a great way to get noticed for the wrong reasons.
Scratch that.
Bandit clearing.
That well had already dried up. The post-war surge was ending. Now the only way to get those jobs was when other villages posted requests like Nakamura's, and even then they were snatched up by full teams.
No one disliked money.
The same went for most other C-rank missions. Clients usually requested teams, even if they weren't led by a jōnin.
"The only C-rank I could easily accept is…" he muttered.
Patrol missions?
Ken snorted.
Hours of walking. Pennies for pay. All it did was eat time and chakra. The kind of work you took when you had nothing else.
He rubbed his face.
"Great. Every 'safe' option is trash."
His thoughts churned.
Then, slowly, something surfaced.
Betting.
Not casinos. Not dice.
Fights.
Ken sat up.
Genin sparred all the time. Pride was basically currency in the Academy. There were too many of them, all convinced they were special, all itching to prove it.
And if someone claimed to be the most special of them all…
Wouldn't they rush in just to beat the shit out of him and prove him wrong?
Ken's lips curled upward.
This, he thought with a smirk, is what I was missing in my previous life.