"Recruiting Uchiha clan members?"Uchiha Jōan shook his head instinctively. "That won't work. You know how proud they are."
Among the Uchiha, merchants ranked near the bottom of the social ladder. Asking trained shinobi to join a private trade organization sounded laughable even to him.
Kuroha calmly bit into a piece of meat. "You won't know unless you ask."
The Uchiha were one of Konoha's largest clans, but that reputation was fading. They no longer had figures like Madara commanding fear. There were still plenty of capable chūnin and jōnin, but assignments had grown scarce.
In truth, they were being quietly sidelined.
Outside of Uchiha Shisui, few still operated near the village's center of power. Most were stuck rotating through the Military Police, a thankless job that put them at odds with civilians and paid little in return.
Some had savings left over from wartime. Most were burning through them.
Sooner or later, someone would need income.
"If even one agrees," Kuroha continued evenly, "others will follow. Once they see it's stable, recruiting gets easier."
Jōan hesitated.
If Uchiha shinobi escorted his caravans, safety would increase immediately. Just the sight of the Uchiha crest was often enough to deter bandits.
"You really think they'll accept?" Jōan asked.
"They already are," Kuroha replied. "They just haven't admitted it yet."
He glanced up. "The village limits their missions. The clan can't support everyone. And money doesn't appear out of thin air."
Jōan went quiet.
That was true.
The clan accepted donations from him regularly. Money from the very trade he was proposing they protect.
At last, he nodded. "I'll speak with a few people first. Carefully."
He understood the balance.
Too many recruits at once would alarm the clan leadership and possibly trigger intervention from Uchiha Fugaku. Discretion mattered.
"I'll come with you," Kuroha said. "I want to meet them."
Jōan blinked. Then smiled wryly. "Fine. Get familiar with the workplace. Someday, this will all be yours."
Kuroha snorted inwardly.So that's the plan. Let me run the business while you retire.
"I'm not interested," he replied flatly. "Give it to your grandson instead."
Jōan laughed. "We'll see."
The next morning, Kuroha followed his father to the trade office.
Jōan handled meetings. Negotiations. Logistics.
Kuroha sat quietly on a chair, circulating chakra. Since awakening his eyes, his appetite had grown worse than ever.
He ordered bowl after bowl of ramen from Ichiraku. Ten bowls didn't even slow him down.
Jōan stared. "Are you sure you're fine?"
"I'm growing," Kuroha said simply.
His body felt alive. Every calorie burned into structure, strength, and adaptation.
I need a better chakra refinement method soon, he added mentally. This won't stay efficient forever.
The office door opened.
Several men entered, all wearing the Uchiha crest.
They were middle-aged, experienced. The kind of shinobi who didn't talk much anymore.
Kuroha straightened.
These are the first candidates.
"Jōan," said the man in front, Uchiha Omura. A seasoned jōnin with a fully developed Sharingan. "You wanted to see us?"
"Yes. Sit," Jōan said quickly. Tea was poured.
They waited.
For once, the merchant struggled to find his words.
These were Uchiha shinobi. Proud. Dangerous. Discontent.
Inviting them into private work felt… delicate.
Before he could speak, a small voice cut in.
"My father wants to hire you," Kuroha said calmly. "To escort trade convoys."
Silence filled the room.
Every gaze turned to him.
No one spoke.
The air tightened with unspoken reactions.
And somewhere within that silence, something irrevocable shifted.