Life As A Delivery Guy In Konohagakure

There I was, a pizza guy in my twenties, making my runs while contemplating just how worthwhile it was to throw my life away for minimum wage, having thoroughly had it with the world as a whole, and in the sort of mood where I would gladly fistfight God himself over the slightest inconvenience.

It was all business as usual. I arrived at the house. I got out of the car, went up to the door, and rang the bell. It was all so pathetically normal. And I was wholly unprepared for what was to happen next.

The door flew open. Behind it stood a child, no more than eight years old if I were to guess. But this boy was far from innocent. His hands moved in a flash, executing signs in rapid sequence. His eyes burned bright with fighting spirit. His shrill voice cried out:

Child: “FIREBALL JUTSU!”

I was devastated. A lowly genin like me could never withstand such a flawlessly executed Katon no Jutsu — not without extensive training and chakra cultivation. From that single attack, with a cry of pain, I fell to my knees, defeated. The superior ninja eagerly took his plunder and vanished without a trace.

But before I could leave, he returned, in his hand an offering of money. His clan leaders had already paid his debts, but it seemed he hadn’t been informed, so I told him:

Me: “The Uchiha clan already took care of it.”

With a smile as bright as the rising sun, he threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared to start his next mission. And with that, I withdrew, wondering how I would ever recover from such a crippling defeat.