The wood grain beneath his fingertips was rough and uneven.
It bore marks of repeated scraping by a sharp tool, as if someone had tried to erase something.
Namikaze Minato's fingers rested against the side of the crate without moving.
The faint residual trace of a Flying Thunder God Formula was like an icy needle piercing his nerve endings through his fingertips. He knew this feeling all too well. During the Third Shinobi World War, to ensure the absolute safety of supply lines, he had personally added this one-time tracking and defensive formula to every batch of A-Rank strategic supplies sent to the front.
Once the formula had been triggered or worn away, it could no longer be sensed.
This crate of medicine had once been Konoha military supplies.
"My lord, regarding the price..."
The Underground Black Market manager's shrewd laughter sounded beside him, carrying a hint of urgency.
Minato slowly withdrew his hand and straightened up. He did not look at the manager. His gaze remained on the weathered crate.
"I don't have enough money."
His voice was calm, without the slightest ripple.
"I need to go back and gather more."
The smile on the manager's face stiffened for a moment, then quickly relaxed again. He glanced at the sealing scroll Minato had taken out earlier. The amount inside was enough to buy half the stock in his warehouse. He was not afraid Minato would run.
"Of course, of course. I'll hold the goods for you. But times are chaotic in the Land of Rain, and this batch is in high demand."
"I'll be back soon."
Leaving those words behind, Minato turned away. The shadow of his cloak concealed all expression on his face.
Namiashi Raidō followed silently behind him. One before the other, they quickly vanished into the