When the young boy suddenly called out his name, Maito Dai froze in place, wide-eyed.
With a blank, somewhat confused expression, he asked, "Young master, do you know me?"
"Well, let's just say I've heard a lot about you," Jaxon replied, his voice calm and respectful.
Honestly, among all the people in the Shinobi world, the ones Jaxon admired most were this man and his son. They didn't rely on any bloodline, hidden power, or secret clan techniques. Everything they had was earned—painstakingly and persistently—through sheer hard work and unrelenting will.
They had no talent. No powerful allies. No ancestral fortune.
But through years of dedication, sweat, and rejection, they clawed their way toward greatness.
In contrast, most shinobi protagonists felt like they were born with cheat codes—helpless at first, then suddenly overpowering. But men like Maito Dai and his son? They earned every inch of progress.
Jaxon respected that.
"I'm really sorry," Dai said sheepishly, scratching his distinctive watermelon-shaped haircut. "Even if you know me, I really don't remember ever meeting you…"
Jaxon chuckled lightly.
That was just like him. Honest to a fault.
This father and son truly were cut from the same cloth—big hearts, bigger muscles, and zero sense of subtlety. Their bodies seemed to prioritize physical power to the exclusion of everything else. Their personalities were equally direct—simple, forthright, and sometimes oblivious to nuance. It was both admirable and tragic, depending on the situation.
"It's fine," Jaxon replied. "We don't need to know each other for this to matter. Just from watching you earlier, I can tell you're facing some hard times, aren't you?"
His voice grew quieter, carrying a note of solemnity. "Coincidentally, I'm building a hotel here in Konoha. And to be honest... you don't seem cut out for the Ninja life."
He paused meaningfully, then added, "How about this—I'll offer you a job. One hundred thousand ryo a month. Be my head of security."
Maito Dai gasped, his eyes bulging.
"One... one hundred thousand ryo?!"
To him, that was a fortune beyond imagining. D-rank missions barely paid more than 2,000 ryo each—sometimes just a few hundred. If he managed four or five missions a month, he considered that a good run.
C-rank missions were out of reach for someone like him. As a Genin, he didn't qualify for anything beyond the basics—and no one wanted him on their team anyway.
That's why he'd been begging outside the mission hall.
And now, out of nowhere, a boy barely in his teens had offered him a dream job with more money than he'd see in a year.
Jaxon waved a hand dismissively. "You don't need to answer right away. It's a lot to think about."
But Dai was already sliding to his knees, tears brimming in his eyes.
"Yes! Yes, I can do it! Please, give me this opportunity!"
Jaxon narrowed his eyes slightly, feigning reluctance. "But you're still a shinobi. Are you really willing to give that up? Once you accept this job, you'll need to leave the profession. I can't risk having my security captain vanish every time a mission comes up."
He sighed, putting on an expression of gentle sorrow. "This is a serious decision. I won't stop you if you want to continue your path as a ninja..."
He turned to walk away, deliberately letting silence fall.
Behind him, Maito Dai clenched his fists.
He wasn't a fool—not entirely. He knew the area near the village gates was being rapidly developed. People were whispering about a luxury hotel being built there. And now, with what Jaxon had just offered, the connection became clear.
This was real. This was his chance.
Being a shinobi meant humiliation, poverty, and failure. He had no team. No allies. No future.
But… he had a son now.
He couldn't afford to think only about himself anymore.
He took a deep breath.
"I... I'm willing to give up being a ninja!"
The words burst from him with unexpected volume.
Heads turned.
A crowd had begun to gather, and now they were staring in surprise at the man on his knees, still crying, still wearing that ridiculous green jumpsuit.
He didn't care.
For most shinobi, giving up their status meant shame, disgrace. But Dai had no illusions. He had no prestigious missions under his belt. No secrets worth hiding.
And no one had ever looked at him with the same respect Jaxon had just shown.
"Once you've officially withdrawn from the ninja ranks," Jaxon said, turning back toward him, "report to the construction site. You'll be in charge of maintaining order. I'll handle the rest."
Then, without another word, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash.
Silently, he stuffed it into Maito Dai's hands.
"This is your advance."
Before Dai could say anything, Jaxon turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd without looking back.
Maito Dai stood motionless.
He stared down at the bundle of ryo in his hands—at least 200,000, maybe more. His hands trembled. He had never held so much money in his life.
His heart pounded.
This wasn't just about money.
It was about dignity.
About hope.
About finally being seen.
As the crowd slowly dispersed, whispering among themselves, Maito Dai stayed rooted in place, staring at the spot where Jaxon had disappeared.
In that moment, something changed in him.
He clenched the cash tighter, his eyes shining with a new light.
Not for himself—but for his son.
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