Sure, he could cheese it with Flying Thunder God—hit a vault, blink a thousand miles, ghost like a pro. But Makoto's not tryna live like Public Enemy #1… not yet. Not till he's stacked enough juice to steamroll the whole damn board. Hiding in sewers like a rat? Hard pass. That ain't the player way.
Right now? He's still in the grind phase—personal power, crew size, all leveling up. Not ready to flip the ninja world the bird and rewrite the rules.
Plus, he's dodging Shisui's kaleidoscope peepers for now.
Debt logged.
Clock's ticking. Give me a minute to farm.
Makoto's stare cuts through the wall like laser sights, locking on a future that's gonna be lit. Y'all are gettin' audited. Hard.
Petty-ass Uchiha writes it in his burn book. Permanent ink.
"Bounce."
Sensors pinging—big chakra closing in like a dragnet. Time to ghost.
But the Five Great Nations' daimyo went full tryhard. Land of Waves? Locked tighter than a nun's chastity belt. Patrols everywhere, Byakugan, Inuzuka sniffers, Aburame bugs—fish in the sea getting ID-checked.
Pressure's on. Shiro steps up again, voice shaking: "Let me turn myself in—"
"Shut it." Makoto's growl is low, dragon-pissed. "Say that dumb shit again and we're gonna have problems."
Sea wind whips his bangs back, baring that clean forehead and eyes deep as a frozen lake—lit with I got this energy.
He leads. Shiro and No-Name on his six. They slip the safehouse like smoke, hugging back trails, boots kissing wet dirt that smells like pine and brine.
[Bookmark 101 Read Hub, fam.]
He picked this spot for the exit strategy. Distant whooshes and shouts echo—ninja on the hunt. Air's thick enough to choke on.
No-Name's heart's doing drum solos, but watching Makoto's back—steady as a rock in a shitstorm—she gets it. Dude's ice to strangers, lethal ice. But his people? He'd burn the world down for 'em. No debate. Just: Mine.
"But… how do we even leave?" she whispers, staring at the coastline crawling with ninja. "Every boat's on lockdown. Even the rowboats."
Makoto flashes a cocky grin. "Ever hear there's always a way out? If you wanna roll, the road's under your feet."
If it weren't for risking Konoha run-ins and tipping Shisui, he'd hit a few more noble vaults on the way out. Make 'em bleed cash.
This dragnet? Cute. No space seals? Catching a Flying Thunder God user? Clown shoes.
He checks his chakra—lightning tempering's got him running hot, but not peak. No biggie.
Fingers twitch. Golden HUD pops—Naruto World Online player panel, visible only to him.
Eyes lock on Player Shop. Balance looking thicc.
No hesitation. Mid-Tier Hashirama Bloodline—best bang for buck.
Confirm.
Balance tanks. Golden beam—his golden beam—slams down from nowhere, bathing him in holy flex light.
BOOM.
Warmth hits like a tsunami of Red Bull and steroids. Every cell wakes up screaming, leveling up. Chakra explodes—pure, alive, Senju-grade juice flooding his veins like a busted dam.
Channels widen. Blockages? Blasted. Compared to the junior version, this is aggressive—like the bloodline's cracking open a vault of oh shit potential.
He fights the urge to geek out. Future's wide open. Yin-Yang seeds planted. Cooking.
Chakra surging like a nuke, he slaps a hand on Shiro's and No-Name's shoulders.
"Hold still. Might get spinny."
"Flying Thunder God—go."
HUM.
Space warps like a bad acid trip. Colors smear, gut flips—soul yanked through a blender.
No-Name clamps eyes shut, then forces 'em open. Bites her lip bloody, fighting the puke.
Feels like forever. Feels like a blink.
Pop.
They materialize on a deserted reef in the Water Country boonies. Special kunai stuck in the rocks—Makoto's tag—glows faint red.
Solid ground. Salty wind. No ninja. Just the island where he first scooped No-Name.
"This…?!" Her eyes bug out, jaw on the floor. Could fit a whole banana. Boat took days. This? One second.
How much more is he hiding? How fucking strong IS he?
She's lowkey big sad: Same age, worlds apart…
Makoto's breathing steady. Mid-tier bloodline bumped his tank and control—long-range triple jump? EZ.
Boots hit dirt, lightning chakra already crackling through his muscles again.
Back in Waves? ANBU and hunter-nin running in circles, chasing ghosts.
Makoto smirks, cold and salty: "Let 'em dig."
Water Country's a warzone—Mist Village too busy with Blood Mist purges to give a shit. They sent like three token ninja to the manhunt. LOL.
Perfect farming spot.
Shiro's bounty's higher than Asuma's now. Another loud heist? Might pull real monsters.
Like that guy—legendary Hashirama sparring partner, now a money-obsessed zombie with five lives and a fat stack. Kakuzu.
Makoto ain't ready for that smoke. Not yet.
"Need a minute…"
He stares into the foggy horizon, picturing Kakuzu's vault—decades of 007 grind. Drool.
"When I'm grown? Gonna 'borrow' his retirement fund."
But age is the one debuff he can't hack. Top-tier blood, cheat codes, but still in a kid chassis. Shadow-level baseline locked behind puberty.
If Sasuke—currently getting his ass handed to him by Might Guy—heard Makoto's "I'm not that strong yet" humblebrag? He'd pop a blood vessel, unlock Eight Gates early, and Night Guy his ass while screaming:
"THAT'S NOT STRONG?! WHAT AM I, FUCKING TRASH?!"
No-Name watches Makoto on the reef, wind whipping his cloak, looking like a king with the weight of the world.
Her gut's doing flips. Tell him. Everything. She's done hiding.
First time she saw him nearly punt a noble into orbit? Terror.
Hearing "kill on sight" at the midnight raid? Panic.
Shiro's bounty, the whole world hunting them? Run blinked in neon.
She's just a girl trying to survive. Never signed up for this level of insane…
But now?