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  ["A five ryō tip on a fifty ryō purchase. A hundred ryō tip on a thousand. But at Sili Valley's Secret Coffee—tips aren't expected. Because here, the ers and the servers are—friends, not bound by mere transas."]

  [I felt a pang of shame, remembering my past—rudeowards service staff ba Kumogakure.]

  [I had to—make amends. Perhaps my own attitude had—influeheirs. I should—reflect.]

  [Kindness, respect, uanding — these were the foundations of—human e.]

  [And then, there was Konoha Hospital. So many patients, yet also—so many mediin. I saw an Uzumaki mediin diligently tending to the injured. ]

  [He'd been deyed, treating a Shinobi oreet. ]

  [And when he arrived te for his css, he raised by Advisojo and Tsunade-sama. ]

  [This reminded me of an i in a Kumogakure hospital.]

  [Due to the she of mediin, they often had to treat patients and teach. I witnessed a respected mediin arrive te for a lecture because he'd beeing someone oreet. He was reprimanded, even suspended. He had to write a—self-criticism report.]

  [This made me—reflect.]

  [Our vilges are parable in military strength, yet so different in—passion. This—disect—it's like a spiritual desert. If we don't ge, even if Kumogakure quers the Shinobi World, we'll—crumble from within. A spiritual desert ot sustain—true prosperity.]

  [Perhaps—we should start with tipping, to improve our iions. To foster kindness and uanding.]

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  "Huh?"

  Mabui finished reading, her mind reeling.

  Was that—true?

  She had to admit, her brief time in Konoha, thanks to the Raikage's—generosity had been—eye-opening.

  Though the prices were exorbitant, the quality and service were—exceptional. Even the "fner fee"—she'd paid it willingly.

  Perhaps—it was simply called something different here — a "tip."

  But in Kumogakure—the service was—g, the food—mediocre. And they expected tips?

  Suddenly, she noticed several waiters staring at her, their eyes fixed on the bowl oable.

  A crudely written note y inside: [For prompt service, please leave a tip.]

  This—tipping—it reading.

  [The Forest Reader], with its direct style and sharp critiques, had—struck a chord.

  As the editor's note had stated: We want to show our readers the—hiddey, the s, the exceptional systems that exist in the Shinobi World. We are—curators of knowledge, not creators.

  And so, [The Forest Reader], bining insightful entary with—clickbait, catered to its readers' desires, sharing stories from across the Shinobi World. The ret "Summer Camp Showdown" article, for instance, had been a—hit.

  [The Forest Reader], unlike [Ik, appealed not just to the sophisticated elite, but to ordinary people as well.

  Its readers eagerly awaited the issue.

  And the reas—varied.

  Whether Kumogakure truly iritual wastend—was debatable. But they'd certainly found—inspiration in the "Land of Fire Observations" article.

  Those Konoha merts—they were clever.

  Redug costs, maximizing profits.

  Kumogakure, it seemed, was falling behind.

  Increased taxes, rising merary fees, and the ongoing "war"—the vilge's ey was strained. Prices were rising, but profits remaiagnant, wages—frozen.

  To pensate, Kumogakure's business owners resorted to—cost-cutting measures.

  Like—tips.

  They lowered base wages. Want more? Ask the ers.

  Shifting the burden.

  And it had worked.

  Faced with reduced wages, the service staff had little choice but to—ply.

  Jobs were scarce. The wealthy were fleeing, and businesses closing. They couldn't afford to—pin.

  They'd lose their jobs.

  But their employers, having reduced their wages, offered a—solution.

  Want your money? Ask the ers.

  The age of tipping had begun.

  Several waiters surrounded Mabui. Though they did nothing, their silent presend the single phrase, "Your tip, ma'am," was—unnerving.

  Mabui, though capable of—intimidating them, was too embarrassed to make a se. She tossed twenty ryō onto the table a.

  Simir ses were pying out across Kumogakure.

  Mabui even saw a vilge elder, refusing to tip, beiained.

  What was supposed to be a sign of—civility had bee—extortion.

  This—wasn't right.

  She had to tell the Raikage. This tipping—it was getting out of trol.

  This wasn't the merts' responsibility, it was—the vilge's.

  And if this tinued, it would only—deter tourism and accelerate the vilge's dee.

  But then, she saw something—disturbing.

  A Shinobi, tangled irical wires, hung from a utility pole, his cries eg through the street.

  A crowd had gathered, mostly—well-dressed individuals.

  One, a suit, his jacket straining against his—physique, shook his head. "A Shinobi suffering and no one helps. Has Kumogakure lost its passion? [Ik was right. This—is happening here as well. We must—help."

  "I'll pay 10,000 ryō to anyone who—rescues him," another man, wearing gold-rimmed gsses and a rge g, announced.

  The crowd watched, but no one moved. No one believed they'd actually receive 10,000 ryō for—resg someone.

  "15,000!" the man shouted.

  A murmur spread through the crowd. A burly man stepped forward. "That's—a vilge power line. If I cut it—the Raikage Tower will lose power. I'll be arrested."

  "Hmph. Even Uzushiogakure's Kage would shut dowire nation's prid to save a child. Why is Kumogakure so—hesitant? This ck of passion, this disregard for life—I'm—disappointed."

  "You're reading [Ik? I'm reading [The Forest Reader]. I—agree with your ses, but not your—methods," the man in the suit said.

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