The Sunday morning sun was as vicious as ever in Sunagakure, spilling heat like an unrelenting furnace across the sand-swept streets. Inside the Shisha family's general store, Haka sat slouched behind the wooden counter, a paper fan lazily fluttering in his hand as he fanned his face.
Despite being built in the middle of a desert, Sunagakure's economy wasn't as bleak as outsiders assumed. Sure, it lacked forests, rivers, or fertile land, but it made up for it with grit, ingenuity, and a service-based backbone—namely, its shinobi. Ninja labor was Sunagakure's primary export. That said, other sectors, while not exactly thriving, did exist. The second largest? Pottery and ceramics. A surprising fact, unless you remembered that nearly all of Suna's famous puppets and dolls were crafted from fine ceramics—kiln-fired with desert heat and painted with delicate chakra-reactive glazes.
But the Shisha general store wasn't some niche artisan shop. It catered to everyday goods. A little bit of everything, really—though naturally, with most of the village's population being shinobi, the shelves leaned heavily toward ninja tools, low-grade poisons, training gear, and cheap scrolls. Many of the tools were forged by Haka's family themselves, repurposed from scrap metal, while the more specialized wares came from traveling merchants or distant outposts. Every six months, the head of the Shisha house—Haka's father—would join a merchant caravan across the Wind Country, trading for new stock and stories alike.
Opportunities in Suna were like water in the desert—rare, and gone too fast if you didn't cup your hands quickly enough
Today, however, was different. His father was home. But instead of managing the store, his parents had decided to take a rare day off—"fun time," as they called it—leaving Haka in charge.
They had no idea that their lazy, seemingly bored son had spent the morning quietly counting stock, inspecting shelves, and checking labels. That's when he found it.
"Wait… is this a Summer Lily?"
His breath caught as he stared at the pale-blue flower, carefully wrapped and half-forgotten behind a crate of dried herbs. In Sunagakure, Summer Lilies were traditionally used to make strong desert wines and, occasionally, as a medical disinfectant. But Haka knew what they would be worth soon.
In the near future, following successful trade agreements with both Konohagakure and Tanigakure, Sunagakure's economic policies would shift—allowing room for innovation. With new funding, the village would invest in research and development. And during one such research accident, a hidden property of the Summer Lily would be discovered:
It enriched chakra.
For civilians, chakra was a limiting factor—most didn't have enough to ever dream of becoming a ninja. Even puppeteers, who relied on precise chakra threads, struggled with stamina and depth. When word of the Summer Lily's chakra-enhancing qualities spread, it sparked a boom. Pills, tinctures, incense, and teas infused with the flower would become a hot commodity—especially for non-ninja seeking enhancement and low-level shinobi chasing greater reserves.
Haka's fingers trembled slightly as he turned the dried lily over. He'd just stumbled on his first real opportunity. Not just to become stronger—but to live comfortably. All he needed was to ask his father how to cultivate Summer Lilies and set up a small apothecary. If he could synthesize a stable formula, he could sell it himself. And as a user and seller, he'd be a walking, talking advertisement.
Eventually, with the right timing—perhaps when Gaara took over as Kazekage—he could even patent the formula. Unlike the current leadership, Gaara's rule would usher in reforms and lower corruption. He was someone Haka could actually trust not to steal his ideas.
A slow, sly grin crept onto Haka's face. His dust-brown eyes narrowed with a glint of ambition, bordering on mischief. He chuckled under his breath.
"Heh. Might as well squeeze every benefit I can out of this little head start. Heh… haha…"
"What are you laughing about?"
The voice cut through the store like a blade. Standing near the door was a man just over six feet tall, his build a lean bulk honed by years of hard work. His dark olive skin contrasted with his jet-black hair, but it was his eyes—dust brown, like Haka's—that stood out. Sharp and steady, like they could catch a lie mid-sentence.
It was Haka's father.