The morning market was already in full swing by the time I arrived, vendors shouting prices over each other while customers poked through everything from hand-thrown pottery to questionably fresh fish. The whole square smelled like a mix of grilled meat, fresh bread, and that sulfur tang from the hot springs that seemed to follow you everywhere in this village.
I'd henged myself into a middle-aged man with graying hair and a soft build that screamed "desk job." The transformation felt comfortable, loose enough around the edges to suggest someone who'd given up on impressing people but still cared about being respectable.
The merchant cluster had claimed the plaza around the fountain, wagons arranged in a loose ring like grazing beasts, canvas flapping in the breeze, the air thick with the scent of dust and trade. This was where deals were made not at stalls, but in murmurs and handshakes, over crates still nailed shut.
I slipped between the wagons with the slightly too-fast walk of someone bearing bad news.
"Excuse me," I said to a burly man counting coins beside his wagon. "I'm hoping to find passage to Fire Country. My sister's taken ill, and..."
The man looked up, taking in my appearance with the practiced eye of someone who sized up customers for a living. "Fire Country, eh? When you looking to leave?"
"As soon as possible. Today, if anyone's heading that direction."
He scratched his beard, already shaking his head. "Not likely, friend. Roads have been hell lately, bandit activity up three-fold in the last month. Most of us are pooling resources, hiring proper security. But that takes time to arrange."
A woman with ink-stained fingers leaned over from the next wagon. "There's a big caravan forming for next week. Twenty merchants, dozen guards, the works. But that's the earliest anyone's willing to risk it."
"Next week?" I let disappointment color my voice. "I... I'm not sure she has that long."
"Sorry to hear it," the bearded merchant said with genuine sympathy. "But better a live brother than a dead one, yeah? No coin worth getting gutted over."
I nodded sadly, then made my first purchase a small pouch of dried fruit I didn't need. "You know the merchants around here pretty well, I imagine?"
"Been trading in these parts for fifteen years," he said, pocketing my coins with satisfaction. "Know most of the regulars, sure."
"I'm thinking of hiring someone for future runs, assuming my sister..." I let my voice trail off. "Who would you recommend for reliability?"
That opened the floodgates. For the next twenty minutes, I worked my way through the market like a man gathering options. A travel compass from a leathery old craftsman, who rattled off which caravans hired real guards and which ones faked the numbers. A bag of fragrant spices from a grandmotherly woman with sharp eyes and no patience for merchants who skimped on protection. A bottle of decent sake that I shared with a particularly chatty weapons dealer.
"Matsumoto?" The weapons dealer took another sip, then shook his head. "Used to be reliable. Solid, even. But lately... let's just say the guy's been making some questionable choices."
"Oh?" I refilled his cup, wearing the concerned-customer mask. "Like what?"
"Word is, he's neck-deep in debts. Gambling, maybe worse. Even his wife and daughter left him." He leaned in, voice dropping. "Between you and me, I wouldn't trust him with anything valuable right now. Not even a fruit cart."
Perfect.
I bought one more item from a gossipy fabric merchant who confirmed the details. Matsumoto lived on the eastern edge of town, was behind on payments, and had been seen arguing with some unsavory types in the market.
By the time I'd finished my circuit, I had a complete picture of my target and enough small purchases to look like a legitimate customer rather than someone fishing for information.
'Time to make a desperate man an offer he can't refuse.'
…
The house matched the description perfectly, a decent-sized place that had clearly seen better days, with neglected upkeep that screamed "financial problems." Paint peeled from the shutters, the garden had gone wild with weeds, and roof tiles sat crooked where they hadn't been properly maintained. This was the home of someone who'd once done well for himself but could no longer afford to keep up appearances. I knocked with the right mixture of politeness and urgency.
The man who answered looked like he'd aged ten years in the last month. Thin, nervous, with the hollow-eyed look of someone who'd been losing sleep over money. His clothes were clean but worn, and he kept glancing over my shoulder like he expected creditors to materialize.
"Mr. Matsumoto?" I asked.
"Depends who's asking." His voice carried the wariness of a man who'd learned not to trust unexpected visitors.
"A potential customer. I heard you might be traveling to Fire Country soon."
His expression shifted immediately, suspicion giving way to desperate hope. "Fire Country? You... you need passage?"
"My sister's dying," I said simply. "Lives outside Konoha. I need to get there fast, and I'm willing to pay well for it."
He stepped aside, gesturing me into a living room that had clearly seen better days. The furniture was decent quality but showed signs of things being sold off, empty spaces where expensive items used to sit, lighter patches on the walls where paintings had hung.
"I wasn't planning to leave for another few days," he said carefully. "Roads are dangerous right now, and—"
"Triple rate," I interrupted. "Cash upfront."
He blinked. "Triple?"
"My sister doesn't have a few days. And frankly, you look like a man who could use the income." I kept my tone sympathetic rather than insulting. "Sometimes taking a risk pays off."
Matsumoto's hands trembled just enough to notice.
I could see the gears turning behind his eyes, triple rate wasn't just tempting, it was salvation. That kind of coin would cover whatever debts had him looking over his shoulder and maybe even buy him a week without creditors breathing down his neck.
"It wouldn't be a real caravan," he said slowly. "Just me, the wagon, and whatever guards I can scrape together. Six men, maybe. Tough guys with swords, that's all."
"That's fine. It's not like we're trying to fight off an army."
"And we'd have to take the northern pass. Less traveled, but safer. Bandits usually stick to the main roads."
"Whatever route you think is best. You're the expert."
He was quiet for a long moment, internal debate playing out across his features. Desperation won, as it usually did.
"When do we leave?" he asked.
"Tomorrow morning. Dawn."
"Done." He stuck out his hand, and I shook it with a smile that suggested everything was going to work out fine.
For both of us, probably.
...
The next morning found us walking alongside Matsumoto's wagon as it creaked and groaned through the mountain pass. The horse pulling it was a sturdy-looking mare with a temperament that made for good traveling, though she kept shooting suspicious glances at Kuromaru whenever he got too close.
The six bodyguards were exactly what you'd expect from budget security, tough-looking men with well-maintained weapons and the slightly bored expressions of professionals doing a routine job. They'd spread out in a loose formation around the wagon, eyes scanning the tree line with casual vigilance.
"Thanks again for agreeing to take us on such short notice," I said to Matsumoto as we walked alongside his wagon. "I know the timing wasn't ideal."
"Don't mention it," Matsumoto replied, though he kept wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cool mountain air. "Your payment made it worth the risk. Just hope we don't run into trouble."
"That's what you hired those guards for, right?" Mikoto said in her disguised voice, older, motherly, the voice of a woman who'd raised kids and had opinions about everything.
"Fair point." Matsumoto glanced at the six hired swords spread out around the wagon. "Still, can't say I mind having a few more eyes. These roads aren't what they used to be."
He shook his head, the lines in his face deepening. "Bandit activity's gotten worse every month. Used to be you could make this run with maybe two guards. Now I need six just to feel confident, and even that's not a guarantee."
"Business must be suffering," Tsume added in her own disguised voice.
"Suffering's putting it mildly." He gave a bitter laugh and kicked a stone off the path. "Cost of security's eating into profits something fierce. But what choice do we have? Lose money on guards or lose everything to bandits."
"That's terrible," Mikoto said sympathetically. "Are there any safer routes? Or do all the merchants have to deal with this?"
"Safer routes? Ha! The bandits know all the main roads now. Some merchants try going through the mountain passes, but that takes twice as long and costs just as much in guide fees. We're all dealing with it - anyone moving goods between countries is getting hit. That's why most of us only do the long runs in caravans now. Safety in numbers and all that."
She raised her eyebrows. "What kind of goods are worth risking all that? Must be pretty valuable to make it worthwhile despite the bandits."
"It's mostly raw materials. Iron ore, quality steel, hardwood for weapon crafting. Bulk orders, too." Matsumoto's expression grew thoughtful. "Strange thing is, most of the orders are coming from Fire Country. Used to be they had their own suppliers."
'War preparations. Konoha's gearing up for extended conflict.'
I kept my expression neutral while filing away the information. "Maybe they're just stockpiling. Smart merchants like to plan ahead."
"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. "Though when you're talking about quantities like this, makes you wonder if someone's expecting serious trouble."
The conversation drifted toward safer topics after that weather, road conditions, complaints about tax collectors. Normal merchant chatter that helped pass the time while I kept part of my attention on our surroundings.
The northern pass was beautiful in a cold, indifferent way, jagged slopes scattered with scrub brush and wind-twisted trees that had survived more seasons than they should've. The path snaked between towering stone outcrops, each one a place where an ambush could happen if someone had the patience to wait.
Which, no doubt, was part of Matsumoto's reasoning. Less traveled meant less likely to run into organized bandit groups that plagued the main roads.
It was a good plan.
Shame it wasn't going to work.
I'd been noticing signs for the last hour, broken branches at shoulder height, disturbed earth where someone had tried to cover tracks, the faint charcoal tang of old fire smoke carried on the wind. Someone had been through here recently. Multiple someones. Moving in groups.
Then I saw it.
Movement—barely visible—tucked behind a knot of trees off the trail. A flash of fabric. The glint of metal.
Bandits.
"Hold up," a minute later, one of the guards called from up ahead, raising a hand. "Something's up there."
We all stopped, the wagon's creaking fading into mountain silence. Through the trees, I could see figures emerging from concealment with the casual confidence of people who held all the cards.
"Well, well," a familiar voice called out. "What have we here?"
Goro stepped into view, that same ugly smile from the wanted poster spread across his scarred face. Behind him, his crew appeared from the rocks and trees like they'd been part of the landscape. More than the six we'd seen before, at least a dozen bandits, all armed and looking comfortable with the idea of violence.
Apparently, the universe had a sense of humor.
Beside me, I didn't need to look to know they'd spotted him. Mikoto shifted her stance like someone mentally calculating the quickest way to break a jaw. Tsume's breathing picked up—shallow and twitchy, like a kid two seconds away from punching someone just because. And judging by their reactions, this reunion was going to be personal.
"Bandits!" Matsumoto yelped, voice cracking like dry wood. "We—we don't have much! Spare me, please—"
"Oh, I think you've got exactly what we're looking for," Goro said, his eyes sweeping over our group with the lazy hunger of a man already picking out his prize. "Been hearing stories about a well-funded bunch of travelers, triple-rate pay, north pass, all real hush-hush."
I blinked.
He knows.
About the payment. About the route. Which meant—
I looked at Matsumoto.
Pale. Sweating. Hands trembling. But there was something else behind the panic—surprise. Genuine, sharp-edged surprise.
So it wasn't him who leaked the info.
But then…
The longer route through the mountains. The timing. The way these bastards had set up shop exactly where they needed to be.
Yeah. I shouldn't have been surprised.
For bandits to be this good, so good they'd racked up a bounty meant they weren't just lurking in the woods. Some of them were inside the village. Mingling with the crowd. Watching. Feeding intel to the ones with knives.
And now it was obvious.
These bastards had eyes in Yura. Someone picking out the fat targets. Big spenders. Easy marks with too much coin and not enough sense.
"Now, now," Goro continued, stepping closer while his men fanned out to surround us. "No need for anyone to get hurt. We're reasonable people. Hand over your valuables, and you can all walk away with your lives."
The bodyguards reached for their swords, but the fear in their eyes gave them away. Six hired blades facing down a dozen seasoned killers, on ground the enemy had likely chosen hours ago.
This was about to go sideways fast.
I met Mikoto's eyes and gave her the barest nod. Tsume caught it too. A flick of my fingers followed, a silent signal with an old, familiar meaning:
'Do whatever you want. Bonus points if you collect the boss's bounty.'
Matsumoto was already shrinking into himself. The guards were clenching their weapons. The bandits were grinning.
But my teammates?
They were smiling.
"You know," Mikoto said, stepping forward just enough to draw attention, "this is really inconvenient timing."
Goro cocked an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Yeah." She smiled, pleasant, almost apologetic as her henge shimmered and vanished, revealing her real face. "We were just talking about you."
Tsume followed her lead, dropping her disguise and casually drifting to the side, flanking them like it was all part of a friendly chat. "Small world, huh?"
The moment recognition hit, Goro's expression curdled. His hand moved to his weapon, slow and instinctive. "You," he spat. "The brats from Konoha."
"That'd be us," Mikoto said, her hand moving to her kunai pouch. "And you're under arrest."
"Arrest?" Goro laughed harshly. "Listen here kid—"
"Goro Matsuda," she continued calmly, "wanted for banditry, highway robbery, and manslaughter. Bounty of seventy-five thousand ryo." Her dark eyes never left his face. "You can come quietly, or we can do this the hard way."
I stayed perfectly still in my middle-aged merchant disguise, clustered with Matsumoto and the bodyguards. Just another civilian caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. The guards were looking between my 'cousins' and the bandits with growing panic, hands on their weapons but clearly out of their depth.
Around us, the mountain pass had gone dead silent, except for the sound of weapons being drawn. Matsumoto and the bodyguards looked confused, and the bandits... well, their reactions were split.
The newer recruits, young, reckless, hungry for blood were already reaching for their blades, convinced they'd stumbled into easy prey. But the older ones, the veterans who'd ridden with Goro long enough to know better, were hesitating.
"Boss," one of them muttered, voice uneasy. "aren't those the kids we walked with? The ones heading to Yugakure? Maybe we should—"
"What? They're just brats," another said. "Even if they're shinobi, they're barely grown. Why the hell are you acting like they've got your balls in a vice?"
The hesitation was spreading. Their hands hovered near hilts, but no one moved. Because deep down, they all knew, fighting shinobi wasn't the same as robbing travelers. It was a gamble. And these two weren't panicking. They were smiling.
Goro saw it too. Saw the noose tightening around his neck. He knew their faces. Knew they knew his.
There was no walking away now.
Not with a bounty on his head.
Not with a dog-faced kunoichi grinning like she could already smell the reward money.
And that's when he made his choice.
"Look at them!" he barked, his voice snapping like a whip. "They're just kids, shinobi or not. And where's their third? There were three of 'em before. Now there's two. Either they're scared, or one's already dead."
That got the men's attention.
"We've got twelve blades. They've got two hands each. Do the math. Shinobi or not, they bleed the same."
His voice hardened as fear twisted into fury. "Kill them all."
…
Maps covered every surface, walls, desks, even the sides of the filing cabinets, each one speckled with red pins that seemed to breed when no one was looking. Around the central table, six jonin leaned in close, their voices a tense murmur over the static buzz of the overhead lights.
"—western pass engagement cost us eighteen, but we took out twice that," one of them was saying, marking positions on the map. "Standard attrition rates for this sector. Suna's pushing harder, but nothing we can't handle."
"Supply lines are still holding," another said, thumbing through a notepad smeared with graphite. "Their raids are getting bolder, reckless, even. We're bleeding them for it."
"Long as the numbers stay in our favor."
The conversation died as the door burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Tsunade swept in like a small hurricane, her blonde hair swishing as she flashed a grin that could've lit up the entire outpost, or burned it down.
"Uncle Minoru!" she called out, completely ignoring the three jonin who were now staring at her with expressions ranging from confusion to outright irritation. "Perfect timing! I need to borrow you for just a tiny little favor."
The man in question, a weathered Senju with graying hair and laugh lines that suggested he'd spent years dealing with Tsunade's particular brand of chaos, looked up from a supply manifest with the patient expression of someone who'd learned not to be surprised by anything. As the regional commander for the western front, he'd inherited both multiple outposts and the headaches that came with fighting a war.
"Tsunade," he said mildly. "We're in the middle of an important meeting."
"Oh, this'll just take a second!" She bounced on her toes, hands clasped behind her back in a way that made her look about fifteen years younger. "Pretty please? With extra sugar on top?"
One of the jonin cleared his throat pointedly. "Tsunade-hime, we're discussing casualty reports. Perhaps this could wait—"
"Casualty reports are super important," she agreed with an earnest nod that suggested she was taking this very seriously. "But so is family! And family always comes first, right Uncle?"
Minoru set his papers down, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Well, when you put it like that..." He turned to the others with a small shrug, half-apology, half-dismissal. "Give me five minutes, gentlemen. If my niece has something to say, it's probably worth hearing."
"Sir, with respect, we really need to finalize these deployment schedules—"
"Five minutes," Minoru repeated, his tone still pleasant but carrying a weight that ended arguments. "The schedules will wait."
The jonin exchanged looks—
the look of people silently agreeing
This is exactly why family and war don't mix.
They stepped back, hands off the maps, tension tucked behind their eyes.
Tsunade beamed like they'd just handed her a festival prize, then threw a quick wink toward Hideo the outpost's commander, who was watching her with the expression of a man expecting a detonation any second.
"You're all so understanding! I'll be super quick, promise!"
Minoru motioned toward a side room with a tilt of his head. "Come on then. Before these three start filing reports on nepotism."
"You totally are playing favorites," Tsunade said brightly, already on his heels. "But that's what makes you the best uncle ever."
The smaller room was his private office, spacious enough for a proper desk, several chairs, and shelves lined with maps and supply ledgers that showed the wear of constant use. Minoru closed the door behind them and settled into his chair.
"Alright," he said, folding his hands in his lap. "What's got you bouncing around like a sugar-drunk Academy student?"
Tsunade dropped into the opposite chair, suddenly looking more serious but still maintaining that bright energy. "I want to take on a mentorship project."
"A what now?"
"There's this girl at the Academy. Nine years old, really bright, shows a lot of potential." She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with what looked like genuine enthusiasm. "I think she could benefit from some special attention, you know? Maybe some clan guidance."
Minoru's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "You want to mentor an Academy student? Since when do you have time for that?"
"Since I realized how much talent we're probably letting slip through the cracks!" Tsunade waved a hand dramatically. "Think about it—how many kids with real potential never get the right opportunities because they don't have the right connections? It's tragic!"
"Uh-huh." Her uncle's expression had shifted from amused to mildly concerned. "And this sudden passion for education came from where exactly?"
"I've been thinking about it for a while," Tsunade said, which was technically true if 'a while' meant 'the last few hours.' "You know how Grandpa always talked about nurturing the next generation? Well, this could be my way of doing that!"
"Your grandfather also talked about the importance of duty and not getting distracted by pet projects during wartime."
Tsunade's smile flickered for just a moment before brightening again. "This isn't a distraction! It's an investment! Besides, you're always saying the clan should take a more active role in Academy affairs."
"I don't recall saying that."
"You totally did. Last month, during that thing with the supply shortage."
"I said we should make sure the Academy gets proper funding. That's not the same as taking random students under our wing. Besides, don't you already have your hands full with that genin team of yours?"
"That's totally different!" she said quickly. "My genin are practically jonin-level already. They barely need supervision. This would be more like... community outreach!"
Minoru gave her a look that suggested he knew exactly how much 'supervision' her genin actually didn't need. "Uh-huh."
Tsunade deflated slightly, sticking out her lower lip in a pout that had been getting her out of trouble since she was old enough to walk. "It's not random! I told you, she's got real potential, shows natural aptitude for chakra control, comes from a good family..."
"What family?"
The question came out sharper than Minoru had probably intended, and Tsunade blinked in surprise. "Why does that matter?"
"Because I'm not stupid, Tsunade." His voice was still gentle, but there was steel underneath now. "You burst in here during a war council, bouncing around like you're asking for permission to skip chores, wanting to take on some random Academy student. Either you've had a complete personality transplant, or there's something you're not telling me."
For a moment, the mask slipped. Tsunade's cheerful expression cracked just enough to show the worry underneath before she caught herself and fixed her smile back in place.
"Her name's Fumi," she said quietly. "Hideo's her father. He's been stationed here for months—you know that. Good shinobi, solid record, but he's been under a lot of stress lately."
"Stress from what?"
Tsunade glanced away, eyes skimming the shelves like they held better answers than the ones in her head. "Well... um, being separated from his daughter? The war? You know how it is."
Her fingers tapped against the armrest, restless, unthinking. A nervous tick she never quite grew out of. "I just thought, if the clan could extend some protection to her, maybe offer some additional training opportunities..."
"Protection from what?"
The question lingered in the air like smoke, thin, inescapable. Tsunade held her uncle's gaze, and this time there was no grin, no glib deflection. Just her, bare-eyed and serious. "You know how dangerous things are getting. For everyone. Especially kids who might be... vulnerable."
Minoru studied her face for a long moment. "Tsunade, if someone is threatening a child—"
"No one's threatening anyone!" The words came out too fast, too sharp. She caught herself and softened her tone. "I just want to make sure she's safe. That's what family does, right? We look out for people who need looking out for." Her smile returned, but it was gentler now, more genuine. "Come on, Uncle. You taught me that. About responsibility. Protecting the innocent. All that noble Senju wisdom you're always going on about."
Minoru arched a brow. "I also taught you not to manipulate your elders with guilt trips."
"I would never! I'm just appealing to your better nature. Completely different thing."
Despite everything, Minoru found himself smiling. "You always were too clever for your own good."
"Hey, I learned from the best." She leaned forward, eyes bright with hope. "So you'll do it? Official clan protection for little Fumi?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you're thinking about it. I can tell. You get that little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're considering something."
"That wrinkle is from years of dealing with you."
"See? I knew you loved me." she clapped her hands together, grinning like she'd already won. "So it's settled! The Senju clan formally takes Fumi under its wing. I'll handle all the paperwork, set up proper accommodations, maybe arrange some tutoring—you just need to convince the stubborn elders—"
"Tsunade." Minoru's voice stopped her cold. Not angry. Just enough weight to pull her back down to earth. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
Her face fell. "But—"
"But," he continued, holding up a finger, "I also haven't said no." He leaned back in his chair, studying her with the careful attention of someone who'd learned to read between the lines. "You know, in all the years I've known you, you've never once asked me for clan protection for a random child. Not once."
She shifted uncomfortably. "There's a first time for everything?"
"Mm-hmm. And you've also never been this worked up about an Academy student you barely know." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Which tells me this isn't really about mentorship at all, is it?"
"Uncle—"
"No, let me finish. I don't know what's really going on here. Maybe I don't want to know. But I've watched you your whole life, and when you get that look in your eyes, it means someone innocent is in trouble and you're the only one who can help them."
The hope flickered back to life in her eyes. "So you'll do it?"
"I'll handle the paperwork, make it official. If you think Hideo's daughter needs clan protection..." He gave a small shrug. "That's good enough for me."
She blinked. "Just like that?"
Minoru's expression softened. "You're family, Tsunade. And you've got good instincts about people. When it's not the usual buttering me up, I trust you've got a damn good reason. Even if you can't tell me what it is."
"Especially when you shouldn't. That's what makes you the best." She stood up, already moving toward the door before he could change his mind. "I'll have everything arranged by tomorrow!"
"Tomorrow?" Minoru called after her. "Tsunade, we're in the middle of a war! There are procedures—"
"Details!" she called back, already halfway through the door. "I'll handle all the details! Love you, Uncle!"
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving Minoru alone with his thoughts and the growing suspicion that he'd just agreed to something far more complicated than mentoring a promising Academy student.
In the hallway outside, Tsunade allowed herself a moment to lean against the wall and breathe. One crisis down. About a dozen more to go.
But at least Fumi would be safe. Whatever else happened, that little girl would never again be used as leverage against her father. The Senju clan's protection wasn't something even the Konoha elders would challenge directly.
Now she just had to figure out how to extract the girl without triggering a full investigation into Hideo's activities. And how to deal with the elders who'd put this whole nightmare in motion.