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Five hundred million, or fifty million?
Uchiha Ci stood silently in place, staring at the two options before him.
Honestly, compared to five hundred million, all the suffering he had been through was nothing at all.
With five hundred million, he could slap his big brother across the face with stacks of cash, make him regret everything, and have him kneel on the ground and desperately lick his newly bought Berluti leather shoes.
He could drive the Luxury Cars he had once only been able to admire from afar, so envious he practically split apart, without having to struggle through wind and rain every day.
He could even casually spend two million, and, in this era of plummeting housing prices, grandly buy that harsh landlord's house with a wave of his hand, then watch the landlord's contemptuous, dog-eyed expression transform magnificently into utter bewilderment, wondering whether this kid was the long-lost son of some wealthy tycoon.
Five hundred million—five hundred million!
With five hundred million, I'd fucking become the Living Dragon King!
But Uchiha Ci could not help recalling this brief year in the ninja world.
He did not need to worry about tomorrow or making ends meet. He only needed to train steadily within the clan and complete trivial missions to save up a seven-figure deposit. Though the adults in the clan never spared their words, they genuinely looked after him, and every week he could find a basket of rice, flour, vegetables, and eggs outside his front door.
Such a peaceful year. Such a year that left his heart uneasy, awkward, and unsettled.
And after leaving the clan, the clan's Great Elder, Uchiha Setsuna, had lost half his life trying to save him and was still hovering between life and death.
Hidan, the little brother he had