After wrapping up the negotiation, Kakuzu threw his patched-up cloak over his shoulders, concealing the small pouch at his side.

  Downstairs, he was the first to step out of the brothel.

  Just as Shirohebi quickened his pace to follow, the madam caught him by the arm.

  "Sir, aren't you forgetting something?" she asked with a saccharine smile pstered on her face.

  Shirohebi's expression darkened. He’d already found it odd that Kakuzu had loitered for half a minute downstairs before leaving.

  So the bill got dumped back on him?

  “How much?” he asked coldly.

  “Five hundred ryō.” The madam pulled out the ledger, letting him see for himself.

  Sure enough, there were no charges under Kakuzu’s name. That guy had just sat there, didn’t even ask for a gss of water.

  And the reason no one dared to throw him out for loitering was because he had cast a single gnce at the madam—those eerie green eyes, blood-red sclera.

  Five hundred ryō for a room. They’d only used it for a few minutes, but the charge was calcuted by the day.

  Good thing he hadn't actually ordered a girl—otherwise the price would’ve skyrocketed.

  Shirohebi didn’t bother hiding it. He pulled out his wallet, unfolded it, revealing a fat stack of silver notes.

  It wasn’t an enormous amount in high-end terms, but it was a thick wad—at least a hundred thousand ryō.

  He picked out a note for exactly five hundred, rolled it into a tube, and flicked it toward the madam.

  The moment she confirmed he’d paid, she exhaled in relief. The worst were those capable types who acted tough and refused to pay.

  One time leads to two. If word got out she was an easy mark, she’d never survive on this street.

  Stuffing the wallet back into his roomy pants pocket, Shirohebi turned and walked out of the brothel.

  As for the greedy stares aimed his way when he took out the cash? He ignored them.

  “What the hell was that?” Kakuzu was waiting outside, arms crossed.

  “You looked hungry back there, so I ordered you some takeout,” Shirohebi replied offhandedly.

  They moved without interruption after that, picking up some dried rations and pin boiled water from a nearby eatery.

  There were no plumbing systems here; water had to be fetched from the river, boiled, then distributed.

  So yes, even pin water cost money.

  Kakuzu didn’t need any of it—so Shirohebi paid the bill himself.

  But just as they stepped out of the restaurant and took a few steps down the road, they were blocked by a group of ragged children.

  “Big brother… I’m hungry,” a little girl said, stretching out her stick-thin arms, lips dry and cracked.

  “We haven’t eaten in days,” a boy added from the side.

  Kakuzu narrowed his eyes and was about to act when Shirohebi moved first.

  Smack—a kid who had crept behind him and was reaching into his pocket was sent sprawling with a backhanded sp.

  “Hungry, huh?” Shirohebi’s lips curled into a cold smile as he turned and walked toward the boy now sitting dazed on the ground, trying to scoot away.

  He stomped on the kid’s right foot, leaned forward, and pinched his jaw open with one hand, shoving a chunk of dry rations into his mouth with the other.

  “Here—eat. Eat until you’re nice and full.”

  “Mmmph! Mmmph!” The boy thrashed, but he couldn’t break free from Shirohebi’s grip.

  The entire chunk was stuffed into his mouth, puffing out his cheeks. He started to choke, eyes rolling back as tears and snot poured down.

  “Tch tch… Kid’s choking already? Here, let big brother help you drink some water.”

  Shirohebi jammed a water fsk into the boy’s mouth, tilted it, and forced water down, crushing the dry rations and pushing the mixture into his throat. The boy made choking, gurgling noises.

  Finally, Shirohebi pulled out the fsk, wiped the spout clean, and turned to gnce at the boy and girl who had been begging earlier.

  They screamed and ran.

  “Heh… little brats with a death wish,” Shirohebi sneered as he tucked the fsk away.

  The boy on the ground slowly recovered. The water had softened the food enough to go down. He stood up, head low, and whispered a barely audible “Thank you” before turning and running off without looking back.

  At least he’d eaten. With something in his gut, maybe he’d survive another night. Maybe he’d get one more glimpse of hope.

  Or one more day of suffering.

  “Hmph. Unnecessary kindness,” Kakuzu muttered with a scowl, stepping forward to lead the way.

  Then, as if something occurred to him, he stopped, gnced sideways, and said in a low voice:

  “A few stray orphans… is that what triggered your Uzumaki pity?”

  Most of the kids on this street were the products of unwilling pregnancies between prostitutes and violent clients. No one wanted children—it was never good news.

  Pregnancy meant no work. No work meant no money. No money meant eviction, starvation.

  Only the lucky few found other work while carrying. Most either died before giving birth or took their unborn children down with them.

  “Kindness born of whim, cruelty born of whim… It’s all the same to me,” Shirohebi said, hands in his pockets, mouth tugging downward.

  It was just something he did on impulse. Whether it meant anything—he couldn’t be bothered to think about something so irrelevant.

  Because it always reminded him—this was a savage, backward world he lived in.

  He only knew this: as long as he didn’t expose himself as a shinobi, and as long as the kids didn’t bring trouble on themselves, what he just did was the best kind of “kindness” this street was ever going to see.

  Still, Kakuzu’s words stuck with him.

  “Uzumaki bastard,” huh?

  So the original owner of this body really was from the Uzumaki Cn.

  But… “bastard.”

  Well, that wasn’t a name. The original body had no surname. Just a given name: Jūson.

  Shirohebi didn’t pn to keep it. He didn’t like it.

  He didn’t much like “Shirohebi” either—but at least it was his name now.

  In any case, the original body clearly wasn’t a proper member of the Uzumaki cn. That Iwagakure spy had called him the “Ghost of Uzushio.”

  At first, he’d assumed that just meant the kid was from the Land of Whirlpools.

  Now… he wasn’t so sure.

  Was he going to get bmed for the fall of Uzushio too?

  Just how long had this body’s owner been alive? Did Fire+Gold transformation jutsu really make someone young again?

  Orochimaru would be ecstatic if that were true.

  These thoughts churned in his mind, but Shirohebi’s face remained unreadable. He kept walking, keeping pace with Kakuzu as they left Pleasure Street.

  Thwip! An arrow shot down from a nearby tree.

  Shirohebi shifted his left foot back and easily dodged it.

  From the woods on either side of the road, a group of brutish men emerged, eyes gleaming with menace.

  Some held machetes. Others carried spiked clubs or bows.

  “Well, well. Gents,” said the scar-faced leader, hefting a wolf-tooth club on his shoulder, voice booming. “You happen to see my wallet? Long, fat, stuffed full of silver notes?”

  His crew burst into ugly ughter behind him.

  Shirohebi recognized him immediately. Back when he’d pulled out his wallet, this guy had been staring at him like a hawk until he left the brothel.

  “Kakuzu, looks like your takeout’s arrived,” Shirohebi said, hands csped behind his back, clearly enjoying the show.

  “Ten thousand per head,” Kakuzu replied ftly.

  Bit steep—these thugs weren’t worth much—but Kakuzu was an S-rank missing-nin. Even flicking a finger had a price.

  “Come on, Kakuzu. Don’t always make it about money. Aren’t we partners?” Shirohebi rubbed his temple.

  “Money’s the only partner I need,” Kakuzu said, eyes closing as if in prayer.

  “Tch. Whatever.” Shirohebi clenched his fist, joints cracking like dry timber.

  He wasn’t a taijutsu specialist, but he could still fight at a jōnin’s level.

  This body was freakishly strong. He couldn’t match someone like Tsunade in raw power, but he was still plenty dangerous.

  Even though he’d reverted to a teenager, his muscles and bones hadn’t weakened much. He could still throw a punch.

  The only weak link was his technique. His taijutsu was all brawn, no finesse—just raw force used to supplement ninjutsu or element-based attacks.

  But beating a bunch of roadside bandits?

  Please. It wasn’t like he’d lost both arms like Zabuza.