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…
"You really just walked in here, skipped the greetings, and went straight to the 'poison me' part," Hina said dryly, one brow raised. "At least pretend to be human, Murakami."
Murakami's lips curved faintly as he turned to look at her. "In my defense, my mind has been occupied by one thought since I left the house this morning."
Hina's expression remained flat. "And that thought was?"
"How Aiko was going to poison me."
There was a brief silence.
Daichi slowly folded his arms. "You know," he said, "most would think about breakfast while leaving the house."
"I had tea." Murakami defended instantly.
"That isn't the point."
Murakami glanced toward him. "Then what is?"
Daichi stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Nothing. I've decided I don't want to know how your mind works anymore."
A faint smile touched Murakami's lips. When you're shamelessly unreasonable, there are very few interactions you couldn't turn to your favour.
Aiko, however, didn't share their amusement. She had been watching him since he entered, and the longer he stood there with that same calm expression, the more she seemed to understand that he had already made up his mind.
"You're serious," she said in a tone that left one wondering if she was asking or making a statement.
"I came here, didn't I?"
The simple answer removed whatever room there had been for further doubt.
Hina leaned back against the table. "So, what's the plan?"
"First, I want to see how my body responds to controlled exposure." His gaze briefly moved toward the equipment Aiko had prepared. "After that, we establish a baseline and adjust accordingly."
Aiko nodded slowly in understanding.
Daichi looked between them. "You're all discussing this far too casually."
"No," Murakami frowned as though taking offense. "We're discussing it properly."
Daichi opened his mouth, then paused.
Murakami continued. "Poison isn't something you always get the chance to prepare for. A blade, I can see. A jutsu, I can react to. Poison can already be inside me before I realize anything is wrong."
The amusement in the room faded slightly but Murakami's expression didn't change. "I don't intend to find out how my body handles it for the first time when someone is trying to kill me."
Daichi exhaled through his nose. He had come to understand the kind of person Murakami was. "Still sounds insane when you say it like that."
"It usually does." Murakami responded with a grin. He was used to people questioning the sanity of his actions.
That earned a quiet snort from Hina.
Murakami tilted his head slightly, his grin widening. "Speaking of... how's your culinary training going?"
Daichi straightened almost immediately, like a cat puffing its chest. "Oh, you know… getting by,"
He said that with a tone that tried to sound casual but utterly failed.
Murakami caught it and couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth.
Hina chuckled too, the room warming slightly with the sound of their laughter.
"You really need to see the way he handles a ladle now," Hina added, shaking her head. "He's like a gourmet mercenary."
Daichi didn't even deny it. He just grinned accepting the praise.
But then Murakami's expression shifted. It was still relaxed, but now with a sharp focus behind his eyes.
"Actually…" he began in a thoughtful tone. "Daichi, can you prepare a meal for me?"
Daichi blinked at the sudden request. "Now? Sure, I guess–" just then, Daichi narrowed his eyes. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm going to regret saying yes?"
Murakami didn't answer him and turned to Aiko. "And I want you to poison it."
Daichi stared at him. "Bro…"
Aiko blinked, her lips parting just slightly. "You want… what?"
The silence that followed was immediate.
"Poison the food. The drink as well." Murakami responded calmly.
Aiko stared at him. "Murakami."
"Not enough to kill me."
"That doesn't make the request better."
"I wasn't trying to."
Daichi looked personally offended. "You want me to cook you a meal just so she can poison it?"
"Yes."
His face twisted in disgust and he spat. "That's disrespectful."
Murakami's lips twitched. "To you or the food?"
"Both."
Hina covered a smile with one hand.
Aiko, meanwhile, was already considering the request despite herself.
"Administering it through food will make dosage control less precise," she said. "The meal could alter absorption, and depending on what Daichi prepares, the reaction might be slower or different from a direct dose."
"Exactly."
Aiko frowned.
Murakami continued. "A clean dose only teaches me how my body responds under controlled conditions. That may not enough."
He rested one hand against the edge of the table.
"In the real world, poison won't announce itself. It might be mixed into food. A drink. Medicine. Something I eat without thinking twice."
His gaze moved briefly toward Daichi.
"I want to know how my body responds when the toxin enters under ordinary conditions."
Daichi remained silent for a few seconds then he sighed heavily. "You really don't respect a peaceful meal."
"I respect yours enough to ask you to make it."
"That is not a compliment."
"It was meant to be."
Hina laughed quietly.
Aiko shook her head, though a small trace of amusement had returned to her expression.
"Fine," she said. "But I decide the dosage, and you're not leaving my sight until I'm satisfied with your condition."
Murakami nodded immediately. "Agreed."
Daichi pointed at him.."And if you throw up my cooking—"
"It'll be the poison."
"You better hope so."
Murakami's faint smile returned.
"Then let's begin."
…
And then it was just him and Hina again.
Hina leaned back slightly on her chair, her expression unreadable.
Murakami walked to the window behind her and stared out, watching the figures moving in the Market below.
He exhaled softly. The quiet was welcome.
"Honestly," Hina said after a long pause, "you really do scare me sometimes."
He turned to face her, a faint smile on his lips. "You're still here though."
"Someone has to make sure you don't poison yourself and bankrupt the business in the same week," she replied dryly.
Murakami just chuckled, gaze drifting back to the streets below.
The weight of the day hadn't even begun yet.
But it will soon. "So, anything new that I need to look into?"
"Not unless you're planning to branch into a new sector sometime this week," she said simply. "Everything else is progressing as expected."
He turned, raising a brow curiously. "That smooth, huh?"
"Smooth enough." She picked up a scroll, unrolling it across the desk. "The civilian seal line is moving well. West District sales spiked last market day, word's spreading among the minor clans apparently."
Murakami walked over and rested a hand on the edge of the desk, eyes scanning the scroll.
The civilian seal line had always been the Lotus Store's quietest earner. It was not the kind of product that drew attention, just useful things that made daily life easier.
Cleaning seals, heating seals, cooling seals, preservation tags.
The kind of thing major clans took for granted because they had shinobi to handle such inconveniences, and that everyone else quietly wished they had access to.
The minor clans were exactly the market he'd always expected to find them. Enough resources to want convenience, not enough to produce it themselves.
"Any pushback from the established merchants?" he asked.
"Some grumbling," Hina said. "Nothing organized. They're not sure yet whether to copy us or complain about us."
"Give them time," Murakami said, straightening. "They'll do both."
"We're running low on medium-grade storage seals," Hina added. "Already filed a commission with scribe Goto in the North Quarter. His workshop is small but his output is clean and consistent. Doesn't waste material."
"Good choice," Murakami said. "Keep him on retainer if he's willing."
The storage seal line had its own system.
Basic-grade storage seal was basically made for civilians and academy students. Simple to draw and requiring minimal chakra to activate.
They were built for light, everyday storage, things like coins, small tools, a spare kunai at most
Medium-grade for working shinobi. They were field-ready, stable, standard issue for anyone who needed to carry a week's supplies without the weight.
The Lotus Pavilion had settled into both tiers deliberately and stayed out of the high-grade and advanced-grade market entirely.
Those drew the wrong kind of attention from the wrong kind of people.
"We should expand into high-grade eventually," Hina said, reading the line of his thoughts the way she always did.
"Not yet," he said, shaking his head. "When we're invisible enough that nobody questions where they came from."
Hina accepted that without argument.
The war had only just ended. The villages were exhausted, supply lines were being restored, and merchants across the Land of Fire were preparing for the demand that would come with reconstruction.
Food, medicine, textiles, construction materials, weapons, the shortages created by years of war would not disappear overnight.
Murakami intended to ride that wave upward.
Not by making a sudden fortune that would attract attention, but by positioning his businesses where the rebuilding would inevitably take them.
Secure suppliers. Expand quietly. Establish reliable distribution. Acquire assets while others were still recovering.
Then, when the dust finally settled, the Lotus Store and the Pavilion would already be woven into the economic fabric of Konoha l.
He had no intention of remaining merely comfortable.
He intended to reach the uppermost ranks of the nation's wealthy.
But there was no reason anyone needed to see him climbing.
"The textile order from Tanaka's Yard finally came through," Hina continued, unrolling another scroll. "Lighter dyes this time; pale greens and soft blues. Misaki at the Needle & Thread stall near the east market is already cutting samples. She works fast when she likes the fabric."
"Keep her happy," Murakami said. "Reliable tailors are harder to find than reliable suppliers."
"Noted." Hina made a mark on the scroll. "We've been undercutting Kimura's Formal Wear on the main road by roughly ten percent. Their finish is still better. Ours is catching up."
"Perception before perfection." Murakami said. " Let them see the value before we give them the best."
She nodded. "One more thing." She set the scroll down and pulled another toward herself. "The new clothing bundle for the orphanage is ready. Yamoto's Cloth House on the south lane filled the order. I told them it was a private commission."
Murakami was quiet for a moment. "Have it delivered before the end of the week. No Lotus markings on the packaging."
Hina didn't ask why. She already knew.
The children didn't need to feel grateful to him. If they grew up and found their way to the Pavilion someday, that would be its own reward. Until then, warm clothes in the right size before spring ended was enough.
It was a surefire way to make sure they didn't see the Shinobi life as their only way forward.
"Already done." She leaned forward and rolled the parchment closed. "That's everything important on my side."
He hummed and continued staring out the window. The quiet in the room wasn't tense, just steady.
Then, without warning, Aiko pushed open the door. She had changed clothes, a loose, short-sleeved haori over her usual gear.
She walked in, arms crossed. "It's ready."
Murakami glanced at her. "What should I expect?"
Aiko hesitated for a moment. "Based on what I know about the compound, probably some weakness or muscle tremors. Nausea is possible. A headache wouldn't surprise me either."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
Murakami raised an eyebrow.
"I've studied the compound," she explained, "but I've never administered it to you before. Your recovery, chakra system, and whatever else you've done to your body could change how it reacts."
She held up a small vial. "That's why we're starting low. I'll monitor you and adjust from there."
Murakami nodded in acknowledgment. "Good."
Hina raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She'd heard stranger things come out of that mouth.
A few seconds later, Daichi appeared behind her, balancing a tray with both hands and wearing a look that balanced between pride and suffering.
He walked in with exaggerated care, as though carrying a weapon instead of lunch.
"One gourmet special… slightly cursed," he announced, setting the tray down in front of Murakami with a theatrical sigh. "Honestly, I hope this food haunts your nightmares."
Murakami chuckled. "Depends on the aftertaste."
He glanced at the tray. It was, objectively, beautiful.
Daichi had arranged the rice, side dishes, and glazed fish with the precision of a man who still hoped the meal's presentation might redeem its purpose.
Thin-cut vegetables wrapped in strips of marinated leaf. A faint herbal aroma wafted upward.
Aiko folded her arms again, observing him like a scientist about to witness a test subject take a leap.
Murakami sat and reached for his chopsticks with calm fingers, his face unbothered.
"I'll go slow," he said, as much to himself as to the others. "I want to feel it when it kicks in."
Hina, still seated behind the desk, folded her hands under her chin. "Should I get the bucket now, or wait until your face changes color?"
He smiled and took the first bite. It was warm, delicately seasoned but already, he could feel something tingle faintly along his tongue, something that didn't belong.
Aiko narrowed her eyes slightly as he swallowed then reached for another bite.
Daichi looked like he was watching someone climb a cliff with no rope.
Murakami didn't flinch. He chewed slowly, savoring the discomfort with something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Murakami took another bite.
Silence.
He chewed.
Swallowed.
Paused.
Then blinked.
"…You know," he said slowly, "this is actually pretty good."
Daichi nearly grinned triumphantly.
And then Murakami's eye twitched.
He coughed once.
Twice.
"…Burns a bit."
"On the way down?" Aiko asked, suddenly curious.
"Everywhere," he rasped. "Throat… Chest."
"Perfect," she said, and started took notes.
Hina just put her face in her hands.
"This meal," Murakami muttered under his breath, reaching for a glass of water, "might actually be my last."
He took a sip, smiled through the pain, and raised the glass.
"To progress."
They stared at him like he was mad.
And maybe he was.
But madmen built empires.