Sato Fan squatted in the innermost corner of the warehouse for ten full minutes.
In front of him was a cardboard box labeled “To Be Scrapped,” filled with thirty standard-type Kunai, twenty shuriken, and sixty food pills.
On the books, these items no longer existed—they were categorized as “loss reports,” awaiting unified disposal at the end of the month.
And “unified disposal” meant specialized personnel would haul them away to the recycling station and sell them at scrap metal prices.
He needed to turn these things into money, or something more useful.
But he couldn’t sell them directly in Konoha Village—the Village was full of Ninja informants.
If he were recognized, the situation he had worked so hard to build would be completely ruined.
He needed a safe channel to fence the stolen goods.
Sato Fan spent two days digging up an old file in a corner of the library’s reference room.
It was a map of the area surrounding Konoha Village, marking the Village’s jurisdiction and the “grey zones” on the outskirts.
At the very edge of the map, there was a place labeled “Sora District.”
He remembered this place being mentioned once in the original story.
“Sora District, on the outskirts of the Village, a wasteland of ruins.
It’s not under Konoha’s jurisdiction, nor does it belong to any country.
There are some old shops there that have been open for decades; all kinds of people go there, and they do all kinds of business.”
Sato Fan memorized the location on the map.
Saturday afternoon, he stuffed the “To Be Scrapped” cardboard box into a large backpack ahead of time.
The backpack was heavy.
He locked the warehouse door and didn’t head out directly; instead, he first practiced the Shadow Clone and Transformation Technique twice in the clearing.
Shadow Clone!
Then, with the Transformation Technique, Chakra covered his entire body.
The Shadow Clone’s outline began to twist, stretch, and reorganize, changing from a teenage boy into a middle-aged man in his thirties.
Ordinary looks, ordinary height, a grey jacket, and black pants.
People like this were a dime a dozen in Konoha Village—no distinguishing features, nothing memorable.
Sato Fan’s original body stood aside, looking the Shadow Clone up and down.
The clothes were fine, the height was fine, and the expression on its face was flat enough.
He had the Shadow Clone walk a few steps; the gait was natural, with no stiffness.
“Go,” the original said.
The Shadow Clone nodded, shouldered the backpack, and walked out along the small path behind the Logistics Area.
Sato Fan’s original body didn’t follow.
He returned to the warehouse office, sat down, and closed his eyes to sense the Shadow Clone’s movements.
There was a faint Chakra connection between him and the clone; he could sense its general position and status, but what the clone saw and heard would only be transmitted back after it was dispelled.
This was the safest way.
The original body wouldn’t leave the house; even if something happened to the Shadow Clone, at most he would lose the Chakra of one clone, and his identity wouldn’t be exposed.
The Shadow Clone walked along the small path for about twenty minutes.
The Sora District was on the outskirts of Konoha Village, near the western wall, some distance from the main street.
The surrounding buildings became increasingly dilapidated—walls peeling, windows shattered, and almost no pedestrians on the street.
This might have been the old city area of the Village before, later abandoned, leaving only some elderly people unwilling to move and a few shady shops.
The Shadow Clone found the alley.
The entrance to the alley was narrow, only wide enough for two people to walk side by side.
There was no sign on the wall, only a stone plaque in the shape of a black cat, worn blurry by time.
If he hadn’t known about this place beforehand, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
The alley was deep and the light was dim.
Vines crawled all over the walls on both sides, and a thin layer of moss grew on the flagstone path beneath his feet.
After walking about fifty steps, a wooden door appeared in front of him, with a cloth curtain hanging over it, embroidered with the silhouette of a black cat.
Two cats were squatting at the door.
They weren’t ordinary cats; they were Ninja Cats.
One black and one white.
The black cat lay on the left side of the door, and the white cat squatted on the right.
Both pairs of eyes stared at him simultaneously, their gaze filled with undisguised vigilance.
“Who are you?” the black cat spoke.
Its voice wasn’t loud, but it was very clear, sounding like a middle-aged man’s voice coming out of a cat’s mouth.
The Shadow Clone stopped and spoke the words he had prepared long ago.
“Uchiha Itachi referred me here.” Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
The black cat narrowed its eyes and looked him up and down.
The white cat stood up from the ground, circled him once, its nose twitching as if sniffing for something.
“Shadow Clone?” the white cat said.
“Transformation Technique?
You’re certainly cautious enough.”
The Shadow Clone didn’t speak.
The sensory abilities of these two cats were much sharper than he had expected; they had seen through his disguise at a glance.
But his combination of Shadow Clone and Transformation Technique wasn’t meant to fool cats—it was meant to fool people.
It didn’t matter if the cats saw through it, as long as humans didn’t.
“Go in,” the black cat lay back down and closed its eyes.
“Granny is inside.”
The Shadow Clone lifted the curtain and pushed the door open.
The shop was smaller than he had imagined.
A counter, a few rows of shelves, and various Ninja tools hanging on the walls—Kunai, shuriken, steel wire, clasps, and some things he couldn’t name.
The light was dim, and the air was thick with a mixture of herbs and metal.
An old woman sat behind the counter.
She wore a dark-colored kimono, her hair was grey, and the wrinkles on her face were deep, but her eyes were very bright.
When those eyes looked at the Shadow Clone, he felt as though he were being seen through—not just the Shadow Clone, but his soul itself.
“Transformation Technique, Shadow Clone, referred by Uchiha Itachi,” Granny Cat’s voice was calm, like she was reading a menu.
“Kid, you’ve certainly made quite a few preparations.”
The Shadow Clone took the cardboard box out of the backpack, placed it on the counter, and opened the lid.
Thirty standard-type Kunai, twenty shuriken, and sixty food pills.
Granny Cat looked down, not reaching out to take them, but simply scanning them with her eyes.
Then she looked up at the Shadow Clone, her gaze devoid of surprise or curiosity, holding only a flat “I’ve seen too many people like this” expression.
“Konoha official property?” she asked.
The Shadow Clone didn’t answer.
Granny Cat gave a slight smile, thin but meaningful.
“I can tell even if you don’t say anything.
This kind of Kunai craftsmanship is only used for Konoha’s bulk procurement.
The iron quality is average, the center of gravity is too far back, and the feel is poor.
The stuff sold at Tentens Weapon Shop is all this kind of gear.
The food pills are also the official government-issued kind—bad taste, average effect, but they’ll keep you full.”
She took an abacus out from under the counter and clicked it a few times.
“Kunai, forty ryo each, thirty of them is one thousand two hundred ryo.
shuriken, twenty-five ryo each, twenty of them is five hundred ryo.
food pills, twenty ryo each, sixty of them is one thousand two hundred ryo.
Total is two thousand nine hundred ryo.”
The Shadow Clone was silent for two seconds.
This price was lower than he had expected.
The official procurement price was fifty ryo for a Kunai, thirty ryo for a shuriken, and thirty ryo for a food pill.
Granny Cat had given him a straight twenty percent discount.
Three thousand nine hundred ryo had become two thousand nine hundred ryo, a full thousand ryo less.
“Too low,” the Shadow Clone said.
Granny Cat looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.
“Low?
You’re bringing in official property; I can’t give you the official procurement price.
That’s Konoha’s internal price.
My shop is private, and I have to take risks.”
“What risks?” the Shadow Clone asked.
Granny Cat put the abacus back, leaned against the back of the chair, and crossed her hands over her stomach.
“These things of yours are obviously ‘loss reports’ from a warehouse.
But what if someone checks?
What if Konoha’s auditing department finds that the loss report figures for a certain batch of Kunai don’t match the entry figures at the recycling station?
They won’t trace it to you, but they might trace it to me—if someone follows the recycling channel here, I won’t be able to keep this shop open.”
The Shadow Clone was silent for a few seconds.
“So you mean your channel doesn’t go through formal recycling?”
Granny Cat smiled.
This time the smile was a bit deeper than before, carrying a “you’re quite smart” implication.
“I never said my channel was formal.”
She stood up, walked behind the shelves, took out a tin box from inside, and opened the lid.
Inside the box was a stack of receipts and some miscellaneous items.
The Shadow Clone couldn’t see exactly what they were, but he saw several seals—some he recognized as the Konoha Logistics Department’s seal, and some he didn’t.
“I have my channels,” Granny Cat closed the box and put it back behind the shelves.
“The things you bring, I can sell, and for a higher price than the formal recycling rate.
But the risk I take is also greater than you imagine.
So I set the price; you either accept it or take them away.”
The Shadow Clone didn’t move.
He calculated quickly in his head.
Two thousand nine hundred ryo was a quarter less than his expected three thousand nine hundred ryo.
But this was only the first transaction; he didn’t expect to get the best price right off the bat.
Besides, Granny Cat had a point—the risk she took was indeed greater than his.
He was just a warehouse manager; as long as the accounts were balanced, no one would check him.
But Granny Cat’s shop was here, seeing people come and go every day, all kinds of people.
If something happened, she couldn’t run.
“Three thousand five hundred ryo,” the Shadow Clone said.
Granny Cat glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.
“Three thousand five hundred ryo?
You certainly have the nerve to ask.
Tell me, on what grounds?”
“Although the Kunai are made of the most common iron, they’ve never been used.
The edges aren’t worn, and they don’t need re-tempering.
The same goes for the shuriken—no deformation, no nicks; they can be sold as they are.
The food pills still have two months of shelf life and aren’t near-expiry stock.
Taking these items, you don’t need to refurbish or repair them; they can go straight on the shelf.”
Granny Cat didn’t speak, but she didn’t shake her head either.
The Shadow Clone continued, “You say you take risks, but your channel isn’t formal recycling, so you don’t need to go through Konoha’s books.
Once these things are in your hands, they’re clean goods.
The price you sell them for is at least double the procurement price.
If you buy a Kunai for fifty ryo, you sell it for a hundred.
If you buy a shuriken for thirty ryo, you sell it for sixty.
If you buy a food pill for thirty ryo, you sell it for sixty.
For a cost of three thousand five hundred ryo, you can sell them for over seven thousand ryo.”
Granny Cat stared at him for a few seconds, then slowly smiled.
“You certainly calculate clearly.”
The Shadow Clone said, “Calculating accounts is my specialty.”
Granny Cat was silent for a while, her fingers lightly tapping on the counter.
Tap, tap, tap—the rhythm was slow.
“Three thousand two hundred ryo,” she said.
“Not a cent more.”
The Shadow Clone thought about it.
Three thousand two hundred ryo.
Three hundred ryo higher than the initial offer, and three hundred ryo lower than his own asking price.
Meeting halfway was fair.
“Deal,” he said.