Rain hammered against the tower windows. It always rained in Amegakure. Some days it was a gentle mist, other days a torrent that flooded the lower streets and drowned out conversations. Today was somewhere in between, a constant drizzle that Hanzo had long since stopped noticing.
He sat at the head of the war room, back straight, hands resting on the arms of his chair. The two elite guards beside him hadn't moved in over an hour. Neither had moved since taking position. They just stood there like they'd been carved from the same stone as the walls.
The room was crowded. His intelligence division chief sat closest to him on the right, a thin man with eyes that never seemed to settle on anything for more than a second. Next to him was the head of counter-espionage, a former interrogator who'd moved up the ranks by being useful in ways nobody talked about openly. The current head interrogator occupied the seat beside him, a woman whose face rarely showed anything resembling emotion.
The four advisors lined the opposite side of the table. Old men, mostly. Politicians who'd survived long enough to become fixtures of Amegakure's government. Hanzo didn't like any of them, but he didn't have to. They served a purpose.
"Let me see if I'm understanding this correctly," Hanzo said, his voice flat. "Suna has been raiding our villages. Taking our supplies, our food. And all this time we've been watching the northern and eastern borders for Iwa and Konoha, they've been walking through our countryside and helping themselves to whatever they want. Is that about right?"
The intelligence chief gave a short nod. "Nine confirmed incidents over the past week alone, Hanzo-sama. Small villages, mostly farming communities. They move fast, strip the place of everything valuable, and disappear before our patrols even know something's happened. By the time we arrive, there's nothing left but empty storehouses."
"And nobody thought to inform me of this earlier because...?"
"We believed it was missing-nin activity at first." The thin man kept his eyes on the table, which was probably smart. "The attacks were scattered, seemingly random. It wasn't until we captured one of the raiders three days ago that we learned the truth."
"And where is this prisoner now?"
The interrogator spoke up. "Dead, Hanzo-sama. But he talked before the end, gave us everything we needed. Suna's forces are badly overextended. Their supply lines from Wind Country simply can't keep pace with how far they've pushed into our territory. So they've been... supplementing locally, as it were."
Hanzo leaned back slightly. "Supplementing locally. What a pleasant way to describe robbery. What you mean is that Suna can't feed their own soldiers, so they've decided our people will do it for them."
Nobody corrected him.
He turned back to the intelligence chief. "What else did your investigation uncover?"
The thin man pulled out another document. "There is... one more thing we discovered, Hanzo-sama. While we were tracking Suna's movements through our territory, we noticed some unusual cargo traffic coming down from the north. We looked into it, and... well, it appears that Iwa has been funneling supplies to Suna through our land."
Silence fell over the room. Hanzo didn't move. He just stared at his intelligence chief, letting the silence stretch until the man started sweating.
"How many of these caravans have passed through before we caught this one?" Hanzo finally asked.
The intelligence chief swallowed. "We don't know, Hanzo-sama. They were using standard merchant documentation, paying all the normal fees, following proper procedure. Our border guards had no reason to search them until now."
Hanzo drummed his fingers on the armrest once. Twice. Then stopped. "So the Tsuchikage wants to stay neutral on paper while making sure this war drags on as long as possible. Feeding Suna just enough to keep them from collapsing. Is that what we're looking at?"
The counter-espionage chief leaned forward. "That would certainly be consistent with Iwa's strategic interests. If Konoha wins decisively, they'll end up controlling far more resources than they already do. Fire Country would become even more dominant in the region. From Iwa's perspective, they simply can't allow that to happen."
"I'm well aware of Iwa's interests. What concerns me is that they're using our land to pursue them." Hanzo's voice hardened. "Perhaps it's time we reminded the Tsuchikage that Ame is not a doormat for him to wipe his feet on."
Another advisor, the one who handled external relations, spoke carefully. "Hanzo-sama, perhaps we should consider the... circumstances we find ourselves in. Our own arrangement with Iwa remains unresolved, after all. Confronting them directly at this moment could create complications we'd rather avoid."
Hanzo's eyes narrowed. "Speak plainly."
The advisor swallowed. "The arrangement with Iwa, Hanzo-sama. The assassination contract. They paid us, we failed to deliver, and now they're sitting on information that could prove very damaging if it happened to reach the wrong ears."
"I'm aware."
"Then surely you see the problem we're facing. Iwa doesn't need a legal claim to cause trouble. All they need is to be angry enough to start talking. If we threaten their supply routes, we're giving them a reason to retaliate. And they have leverage we'd rather they didn't use."
Hanzo let the silence stretch until the advisor was visibly uncomfortable.
"The assassination contract," Hanzo said finally, "Who knows about it?"
The thin man hesitated. "Besides everyone in this room... the two operatives we sent are dead. That leaves Murase, his assistant, and the intermediaries who set up the meeting. Maybe a dozen people total who know anything concrete."
"Murase can be trusted?"
"He's been loyal for twenty years, Hanzo-sama. Never given us any reason to doubt him."
"Twenty years ago he was also younger and more afraid." Hanzo turned to the counter-espionage chief. "I want this contract erased. Every piece of evidence, every document, every person who can tie Ame to that mission. The intermediaries, their contacts, anyone who so much as saw our people meeting with Iwa representatives. Make it disappear."
The man nodded slowly. "That's... a significant operation, Hanzo-sama. It will take time to do properly."
"Did I ask for your assessment?"
"No, Hanzo-sama. I'll begin immediately."
The interrogator spoke up. "Hanzo-sama, what about Murase? How should we handle him?"
Hanzo considered this. Murase had been useful. Still was, in many ways. But twenty years of service also meant twenty years of accumulated knowledge. Twenty years of secrets that could be sold or traded or extracted under the right pressure.
"Leave Murase to me," he said. "I'll handle that personally."
The room went quiet again.
The eldest advisor cleared his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "Regarding Iwa's supply routes, Hanzo-sama. What are your orders?"
Hanzo didn't answer immediately. He sat there, turning the situation over in his head. Iwa was funneling supplies to Suna through Ame territory. That was an insult, yes. But it was also an opportunity.
"We do nothing. For now."
The advisor blinked. "Hanzo-sama? I'm not sure I follow."
"Think about it. Right now, the Tsuchikage believes his little scheme is working. The moment we block those routes openly, we lose that advantage. He'll know we're watching. He'll find another way, or he'll decide Ame has become a problem worth dealing with."
The external relations advisor nodded slowly, a glimmer of understanding crossing his face. "So we let the caravans continue passing through?"
"We let some of them continue. Others... get lost along the way. Bandits. Missing-nin. The roads through Ame are dangerous, after all. Everyone knows that." Hanzo allowed himself a thin smile. "We take a percentage of what passes through. Weapons, supplies, whatever looks useful. Not enough to stop the flow entirely, just enough to make it hurt. Just enough to remind them that nothing comes free."
The intelligence chief nodded slowly, already working through the details. "We'll need to rotate which routes get hit. And vary the timing. If every third caravan disappears like clockwork, someone's going to figure out it's not really bandits."
The advisors murmured among themselves. Hanzo let them. It was useful to see who agreed with whom, who was nervous, who was already calculating how to profit from the situation. Information about his own people was just as valuable as information about his enemies.
"Now, regarding Suna," Hanzo said, and the murmuring stopped. "Iwa we can handle quietly. Suna is a different problem. They've been walking into our villages and taking whatever they want, and that ends today."
He turned to his intelligence chief. "I want our border patrols tripled along the southern routes. Every path that leads from Wind Country into our territory, I want eyes on it. Any Suna shinobi caught crossing into Ame without authorization is to be treated as a hostile combatant and dealt with accordingly."
The intelligence chief nodded and made a note on his scroll. A few of the advisors exchanged glances, but nobody spoke up right away. Finally, one of them shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Hanzo-sama, if we start killing Suna shinobi... there's a real risk they might interpret that as Ame entering the war on Konoha's side. That could change the entire nature of our position in this conflict."
"This has nothing to do with picking sides in their war. This is about Suna thinking Ame is too small to fight back. That we'll just sit here quietly and accept whatever scraps they decide to leave behind." Hanzo's voice hardened. "Every village they raid is a reminder to our own people that we couldn't protect them. Every sack of rice they steal is proof that Ame has lost its teeth, that we've grown weak. I refuse to give them that satisfaction."
A few of the advisors nodded along, but one of them looked like he had something stuck in his throat. The external relations advisor, predictably.
"Hanzo-sama," he said, choosing his words with care. "What if Suna retaliates with larger forces? Their main army is occupied with Konoha, but they could still spare enough to cause us serious problems."
Hanzo let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. "Then they won't retaliate," he said. "Because by the time that thought finishes forming in their heads, they'll already understand what it would cost them."
His gaze drifted across the room. "Suna is bleeding. They're stretched thin, short on supplies, and stuck in a war they no longer control. Every unit they move is a gamble, every order another wound. They don't have the luxury of pride right now."
He met their eyes one by one. "We aren't declaring war on Suna. We're merely protecting our borders. If they choose to call that provocation, that's their mistake to live with."
Hanzo straightened slightly. "Make sure that message spreads. Every nation, every hidden village, every daimyo with ears sharp enough to listen. Let them all know exactly where Ame stands, and why no one should be foolish enough to test it."
The meeting continued for another hour. Details were ironed out. Assignments were given. The counter-espionage chief took his orders and departed first, already planning which operatives to send where. The intelligence chief stayed behind to finalize reports. The advisors filed out in small groups, murmuring among themselves.
Hanzo watched them go, noting who left with whom. Two of the advisors walked out together, still whispering. That was worth remembering. They'd been growing closer over the past few months. Finding common cause. Building alliances.
That was dangerous.
He made a mental note to have one of them reassigned soon.
Nobody accumulated too much power in Amegakure except Hanzo himself. He'd learned that lesson years ago, watching his predecessors fall to ambitious subordinates and scheming advisors. The moment anyone started building a power base, you cut them down. Violence worked, but it was messy. It created martyrs. Made people sympathize with the dead instead of fear the living. Better to move them sideways first. Promote them somewhere prestigious but toothless. Set them against each other and let them destroy themselves. If that didn't work, then you killed them. But only then.
The room was empty now except for his guards.
Hanzo walked back to the window. The rain hadn't stopped. It never did. Rain was Amegakure's burden, had been for as long as anyone could remember. Other countries had fertile soil and trade routes and sunshine. Ame had grey skies and flooded roads and fields that rotted before harvest. Everything this country had, it had fought for. Nothing came easy here.
He'd spent his entire life trying to make this place stronger. Fighting for it. Killing for it. Building walls and training soldiers and making Ame's name feared across the continent. And what did he have to show for it? A country that still starved. Enemies on all sides. Allies who were really just opportunists waiting for the right moment to turn on him.
But they wouldn't get that moment. Not while he was alive. Not while he still had the strength to hold this country together by sheer force of will.
Nobody would forget that. Nobody would replace him. And anyone who tried would find out exactly why his name still made even the strongest shinobi hesitate.
....
To the east, deep within Ame's outer territories, six figures stood motionless on the branches of dead trees, scattered across the swamp like crows waiting for something to die. The rain had let up about an hour ago, but the air was still thick and wet, tainted by mold, algae, and stagnant water. Somewhere farther east, a small farming village sat unaware of the eyes watching it from the treeline.
"You have to hand it to Danzo-sama," one of them said, keeping his voice low even though there wasn't another living soul for kilometers. "Adjusting the operation on the fly like he did, I honestly thought we'd be running false flags on both Ame and Iwa for months, trying to get them to tear each other apart. But this is way cleaner."
The operative next to him nodded. "Suna's already doing the heavy lifting for us. They've been raiding villages often enough that Ame just assumes every attack is them. We don't even have to try that hard anymore. Hit a village, take the supplies, disappear. Ame's so convinced it's Suna that they're not even looking for anyone else."
A third one let out a quiet chuckle. "Half the villages they think Suna raided were actually us. And they have no idea. Every time we hit a supply cache or burn down a storehouse, it's just more fuel for their hatred of Suna. Beautiful, really."
Another operative snorted. "And the best part? After all this, there's no way Ame's gonna side with Iwa against us anymore. They'll be too busy hating Suna to even think about helping anyone else. Danzo-sama turned two potential enemies into one big mess that has nothing to do with Konoha."
"Shut up."
The voice came from the front of the formation. The squad leader hadn't turned around, but he didn't need to. The temperature dropped a few degrees just from the tone alone.
"We don't talk about operational details in the field. We don't laugh about it. We don't congratulate ourselves on how clever we are." He finally glanced back at them, and whatever expression was behind that mask made all three of them go very still. "Danzo-sama's plans succeed because we keep our mouths closed and do our jobs. The moment you start running your mouth is the moment you become a liability. And you all know how Danzo-sama deals with liabilities."
Nobody said anything after that.
The squad leader glanced back at the muddy road below them, waited a few seconds longer, then gave a hand signal.
All six of them vanished from the trees without a sound.
...
-Shinji-
I sat on the edge of the narrow bed inside the inn, boots still on, elbows resting on my knees. The room smelled of old wood and incense. Across from me, Konan sat cross-legged on the floor, staring up at me with that look she got whenever she was expecting something. Apparently I wasn't moving fast enough for her because she'd started tapping her finger against her knee about thirty seconds ago.
"You promised," she said.
"I know I promised."
"You said you'd teach me how to make them sharper."
"I know what I said."
"So?"
I sighed. This girl was relentless. Every time I mentioned anything that could possibly be turned into training, she latched onto it and refused to let go until I followed through. I'd never been like this with Tsunade. Sure, I was eager to learn, but I knew when to back off and let things happen naturally. Konan had no such restraint. She reminded me of Naruto constantly pestering Kakashi for new jutsu, except she was quieter about it and somehow that made it worse. The silent expectation was harder to ignore than loud demands.
"Alright, alright. Give me a second to think."
She waited. Patiently, technically, but the finger tapping got faster.
There were a few different approaches I could take here. High-Frequency Oscillation was one option, getting the chakra to vibrate at a specific rate that would let the edge cut through things it normally couldn't. But that technique needed precise chakra control and way more practice than we had time for. She'd get there eventually, but throwing it at her now would just frustrate both of us.
Then again, I didn't need to teach her something brand new. I could just show her how to do what she was already doing, but smarter. Shape the chakra differently instead of adding more of it.
"Okay," I said, sitting up a little. "So right now, when you're making your paper shuriken, what are you doing with your wind chakra?"
She held up a piece of paper and started folding it as she talked. "I run wind chakra along the edges, more at the tip so it punches through when it hits."
"Right. And that works. You're basically using quantity to solve the problem. More chakra equals more sharpness, more penetration, more everything. It's straightforward and it gets results."
"But?" She could hear it coming.
"But you're spreading your chakra out evenly across the whole edge. It's like using a butter knife. Sure, you can cut things with a butter knife if you push hard enough, but it's not exactly efficient." I grabbed one of the finished paper shuriken from the pile, turning it over in my fingers. "What I want you to try is compressing that same amount of chakra into a thinner angle. So instead of coating the entire edge like paint, you're shaping it into more of an acute wedge. Does that make sense?"
"So... concentrate it more narrowly," she said, half to me and half to herself as she looked down at the origami in her hands. "Like I'm forming an actual blade instead of just reinforcing what's already there."
"Exactly."
I turned the paper shuriken over in my fingers. It was well-made. I had to give her credit for even coming up with this in the first place. Origami was an art form, something people did to make pretty cranes and flowers. She'd looked at it and thought, yeah, I can kill someone with this. That took a certain kind of creativity.
"Here, watch."
I flicked my wrist and sent the shuriken toward the support beam in the corner of the room. For a split second, the edges lit up bright blue, tiny sparks jumping off the paper as it spun through the air. There was a crackling hiss, almost like static electricity but sharper, and then the shuriken punched straight through the wooden beam. It kept going, burying itself so deep into the wall behind that not even the tail was visible anymore. Just a neat little hole where solid wood used to be, the edges slightly singed.
Konan stared at the beam. Then at the wall. Then at me.
"Was that lightning chakra?"
"Yep."
She blinked. "How many affinities do you have, sensei?"
"Enough."
She looked back at the hole in the wall, and instead of concern about the property damage, her eyes were practically sparkling. That was the look of someone who'd just seen something really cool and immediately wanted to try it herself.
"Teach me that too."
"You don't have lightning affinity, so that's not going to work for you."
"Then teach me something just as strong with wind."
"That's literally what we're doing right now. Focus."
"Fine, fine." She started folding another shuriken, but not before adding, "Just watch. I'm a fast learner. I'll catch up to you eventually."
While she worked, I glanced back at the hole in the wall and thought about what I'd just done.
…Yeah. That was probably more than I'd meant to do.
Shadow clones were great for learning, but they had a bad habit of making things feel easier than they actually were. My clones had spent plenty of time experimenting with lightning chakra, figuring out how it worked, getting the feel for how much to use and when. All that knowledge came back to me whenever they dispersed, which meant I technically knew everything they knew. But knowing something and actually doing it yourself are two very different things. It's like reading a book about how to swim versus actually jumping into the water. The information's there, but your body hasn't caught up yet.
Case in point, what I'd just done. I'd been careful not to overdo it. Put what I thought was just enough power behind the throw to make it impressive without causing any real damage. And it had almost punched clean through the wall into the next room. Which, yes, I'd checked beforehand and confirmed was empty, so it wasn't like I was about to accidentally skewer some poor traveler trying to take a nap. But still. The gap between what I'd intended and what actually happened was wider than I'd expected.
All that secondhand knowledge from my clones was useful, but I'd have to actually practice this stuff myself if I wanted it to work right every time. Knowing how something works in theory doesn't mean much when your execution is off by enough to accidentally demolish someone's inn.
I'd work on that once Konan was set up with something to practice.
I spent the next hour walking her through the basics of what I wanted her to do. How to visualize the chakra shape before applying it. How to compress without losing stability. How to test the edge against different materials to see if she was making progress. She listened carefully, asked questions when things didn't make sense, and started practicing in earnest, to a degree that honestly made me a little jealous. I wish I'd been that disciplined when I was her age.
Once she had the basics down, I sat back on the bed and thought about what I should work on myself.
I couldn't exactly practice anything destructive while sitting in an inn room. Throwing around jutsu would get us kicked out, or worse, draw attention we didn't need. So whatever I worked on had to be subtle. Something I could do without blowing holes in walls or setting things on fire.
My mind drifted back to Kumo, to the Raikage that absolute monster of a man who'd shredded my clones like they were made of wet paper. I'd replayed that fight in my head more times than I wanted to admit, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and every time I came to the same conclusion.
It wasn't that I was bad at taijutsu. I was good. Really good. Better than most jonin, probably. But what the Raikage had done to my clones wasn't pure taijutsu. It was what shinobi called nintaijutsu.
I'd read about it back in Konoha. Well, my clone had read about it, but same difference. The gist was simple, instead of keeping ninjutsu and taijutsu in separate boxes, you smash them together. You stop throwing chakra at people from a distance and start running it directly through your limbs. Your punch lands and it's also a jutsu. Your dodge happens and it's jutsu-enhanced. Simple enough in theory. The Raikage had used it to tear through my clones like wet paper, and now, yeah. I wanted that for myself.
Problem was, this wasn't something my clones had ever studied in depth. They'd experimented with lightning jutsu, sure, but not this specific application. Which meant I had to reverse engineer it based on what I'd seen.
I closed my eyes and thought about it.
First things first. To even begin learning nintaijutsu, I'd need to master lightning chakra at a level beyond simple jutsu. Not just molding it and releasing it, but shaping it, sustaining it, moving it through my body without relying on hand seals or predetermined techniques to do the heavy lifting.
See, most lightning users approached it from an output perspective. You mold the chakra, run through the hand seals, and release it as a finished jutsu. Chidori, Lightning Blade, whatever. The chakra leaves your body, does its thing, and then the technique ends. Control only matters during the casting. Once the jutsu is out, it's out, and you're done until you cast the next one.
What the Raikage did was fundamentally different. His Lightning Release Chakra Mode wasn't a jutsu you fired off. It was a state. Continuous lightning chakra flowing inside and across the surface of his body, actively maintained every single second. No hand seals. No release point. No end until he decided to stop or ran out of chakra. That wasn't output-based ninjutsu. That was state-based chakra manipulation, and the difference between the two was enormous.
So the first step, the absolute foundation I needed before anything else, was learning sustained lightning flow. I had to be able to keep lightning chakra active and circulating through my system continuously, without releasing it, while still breathing and moving and thinking like a normal person.
Simple enough in theory.
I took a deep breath and started channeling lightning into my tenketsu.
The goal was straightforward. Push lightning chakra into my core tenketsu points, circulate it through my limbs, and loop it back inward instead of letting it escape. A closed circuit instead of an open release. In theory, this would let me maintain the charge indefinitely, or at least until my chakra reserves ran dry.
In practice, it was way harder than I'd expected.
The first attempt lasted about three seconds before sparks started leaking from my fingertips and my forearm muscles seized up so hard I thought I'd pulled something. The second attempt went a little better, maybe five seconds, but then my shoulder twitched violently and the circuit broke. Third attempt, fourth attempt, fifth attempt. Each one ended the same way. Sparks escaping, muscles spasming, chakra bleeding out of the system before I could complete a single full circulation.
And the chakra cost was brutal. Twenty minutes of failed attempts and I was already feeling drained, like I'd been running drills for hours instead of just sitting on a bed trying not to electrocute myself.
This was going to take a while.
Training dragged on well into the night, and the results didn't change. Failure after failure, each one sending little spasms through my muscles, nerves buzzing alongside the faint smell of ozone. The pain didn't hit all at once. It just kept stacking, joint by joint, until my whole body felt irritated and raw, like it was being cooked slowly from the inside.
By the time midnight came and went, everything hurt. Not satisfying post-training soreness, just constant, prickling discomfort that made it hard to sit still or even breathe properly.
It was, to put it mildly, torture.
Fortunately, I had a pretty solid poker face, so Konan was none the wiser about what was going on with me. Every time I failed and needed to rest, I'd take a break from my own practice and throw some guidance her way. Correct her form. Teach her a new defensive technique. Walk her through the basics of elemental combination and how her three affinities could complement each other.
Then, once my chakra had recovered enough to be useful again, I'd go back to torturing myself with lightning circulation while she went back to her training.
The cycle repeated.
And repeated.
And repeated.
This went on for three days.
We barely moved from the inn. Ate our meals in the room, trained until exhaustion, slept, and started again the next morning. Our journey to Tanzaku Quarters had basically stalled out completely, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Progress on this nintaijutsu was more important than arriving anywhere on schedule.
Besides, Konan wasn't complaining. If anything, she seemed thrilled to have dedicated training time instead of being hauled across the countryside like luggage. I'd even told myself that this was working out surprisingly well.
Apparently, I'd jinxed it.
On the sixth day, Konan burst into my room without knocking.
"Sensei, I'm bored."
I was sitting cross-legged on the bed, in the middle of yet another failed attempt at sustaining lightning circulation. Sparks were still flickering across my arm when she barged in, and I had to quickly shut down the flow before she saw it and started demanding I teach her something equally flashy.
"Good morning to you too."
"Sensei, I've been doing nothing but training for six days." She leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed, looking about as restless as a caged animal. "Six whole days. My whole body is sore. My eyes hurt from staring at the same four walls. I think I'm going to lose my mind if I don't go outside soon."
"You went outside yesterday."
"To get food. That doesn't count."
"It's still technically outside."
"Sensei." She dragged out the word like she was trying to stretch it into a full sentence. "Come on. Please? Let's go for a walk or something. Anything. I won't ask for anything else for the rest of the week."
I opened my mouth to say something about discipline and dedication to training, but then I actually looked at her. And what I saw was a girl who'd spent almost a week stuck inside a tiny inn room with nothing to do but train.
Right. She was still a teenager.
I kept forgetting that, honestly. Konan was so serious most of the time, so focused and driven when it comes to training, that it was easy to treat her like a miniature adult. But she wasn't. She was a teenager. A talented teenager, sure, and one who'd been through more hardship than most people twice her age, but still a teenager. Being stuck inside for days on end was probably driving her up the wall in ways I couldn't really relate to.
My own teenage years hadn't exactly been normal, after all. The concept of being bored because I wasn't allowed to go outside and have fun was kind of foreign to me. But just because I couldn't relate didn't mean I couldn't understand.
"Fine."
Her face lit up. "Really?"
"Really. We've been in one place too long anyway. Might as well stretch our legs before we head out tomorrow."
She was already bouncing on her heels, barely containing her excitement. "Can we look at the stalls? I saw some vendors selling grilled squid when we first got here and I've been thinking about it ever since."
"Sure."
"And maybe some dango?"
"If you want."
"And there was this one shop that had these little wooden carvings that looked really cool and I wanted to get a closer look but we were in a hurry so I didn't get a chance and—"
"Konan."
She stopped mid-ramble. "Yes?"
"Just get your stuff. We'll figure out the itinerary as we go."
She grinned and disappeared back into her room, presumably to grab her things. I shook my head and got up from the bed, rolling my shoulders to work out some of the stiffness from sitting in one position for too long.
...
The town felt alive, bustling, with every corner offering something interesting. Merchants lined both sides of the main road, hawking everything from fresh produce to handmade crafts to grilled meat skewers that sent up ribbons of tempting smoke. The chatter of buyers and sellers mixed with the clatter of pots and pans, and even after a few days here, I couldn't help noticing the little details, the bright colors of cloths hanging in the stalls, sunlight catching the edges of wooden carts, or the aroma of spices that made my stomach rumble.
Konan loved it.
She walked beside me through the market, her eyes drifting to stalls she'd probably already scoped out on the day we arrived. Every now and then she'd slow down in front of something she'd clearly been wanting to look at more closely. The display of colorful hair ribbons she must have spotted from a distance before. The vendor selling roasted chestnuts whose smell had probably been taunting her all day. A tiny shop tucked between two larger ones that specialized in origami paper, which made her pause for a good minute or two. She didn't say anything, but I caught the faint satisfaction in her expression, like she was finally getting to do something she'd been putting off.
"Sensei, look." She held up a sheet of paper with a faint blue pattern running through it. "They have so many different colors here. I could make something really nice with these."
She'd already picked out a small stack, different textures and shades that she was sorting through with obvious excitement. Before I could say anything, she started folding one of the sheets right there in the shop, her fingers creasing, tucking and shaping until she was holding a delicate paper flower. She held it up for me to see with a small, satisfied smile.
"I used to make these for my mother."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded. "It's good."
"I know." She tucked it carefully into her bag and stood up. "I'll make you one sometime. If you're lucky."
We bought the paper and kept walking, stopping here and there for street food while we talked about nothing in particular. She asked me questions about different countries I'd visited, and I answered with stories that were probably sixty percent true and forty percent exaggerated for entertainment value. She told me about her village before the war, about the games she used to play with the other kids, about her mother's cooking and her father's terrible jokes. Normal stuff. Ordinary memories that felt precious precisely because of how ordinary they were.
By the time we got back to the inn, the sun was already dipping below the rooftops and Konan was yawning every few minutes. She tried to hide it at first, covering her mouth and pretending she was just tired from all the walking, but eventually she gave up and admitted she was exhausted.
"Go to sleep," I told her. "We're leaving early tomorrow."
She nodded, clutching her bag of new paper and the little flower she'd made, and disappeared into her room with a quiet goodnight.
I stayed up.
Mostly because I'd realized, a bit too late, that I'd spent the whole day walking around town and hadn't once thought to look for a replacement tanto. My current blade was getting worn down, nicks and chips accumulating faster than I could fix them. It would hold for now, probably, but I'd feel a lot better once I could pick up something new in town. Until then, maintenance was the only option.
I sat on my bed with my tanto across my lap, dragging a whetstone along the edge. The blade was too far gone for this to make much difference, but it felt wrong to just leave it. Tomorrow I'd find a proper weapon shop in Tanzaku and retire this thing for good.
That was the plan, anyway—until three senbon shot through the gaps in the window without warning, aimed straight at my neck, head, and heart. I deflected them with a lazy flick of my wrist, angling two toward Konan's room to wake her up. The startled yelp from next door told me it worked.
Then the ceiling caved in.
All four of them hit the floor at once.
Wood cracked. Dust jumped. Blades were already moving before their feet fully settled, four different arcs cutting through the space where I'd been sitting.
I tipped the chair back and slid. The first slash shaved air over my face. The second chewed into the table where my sharpening stone still sat. The third skimmed my sleeve. The fourth would've taken my head if I'd stayed still for half a breath longer.
I kicked the table up with my heel. It flipped, caught two blades, and exploded into splinters. I planted a hand, vaulted through the wreckage in a tight handspring, and came down low, tanto already cutting. Metal rang as I caught a downward chop and twisted my wrist, letting the force carry past me instead of fighting it.
A wire snapped tight around my ankle. I hopped, spun, sliced the wire mid-air, then snapped into a wall-touch with one hand, rebounding off it as senbon hissed through the space my chest had been. I slammed down and slid sideways as the senbon punched into the wall.
The four of them pulled back, spreading out to reform their circle. But there was something different in their postures now. Less confident. More cautious. They weren't looking at easy prey anymore and they knew it.
"He's good," one of them muttered. "This isn't going to be as easy as I thought."
"You should've figured that out from the bounty," another one shot back. "Nobody puts that much money on someone's head unless they're dangerous. Use your brain."
"Both of you shut up and focus." The tallest one adjusted his grip on his blade, eyes never leaving me. "And don't forget the split. Whoever lands the killing blow gets fifty percent. The rest of us divide what's left."
"Yeah, yeah, we know the deal."
Bounty hunters.
I raised my eyebrows at that. Not shinobi from an enemy village, not assassins sent by someone with a grudge, just mercenaries chasing a payday. Huh. That was actually a first for me. Usually when people tried to kill me, it was personal or political. This was just business. Kind of refreshing, in a weird way.
Though I supposed this was bound to happen eventually. Being in the bingo book did come with certain occupational hazards.
"So," I asked, almost casually even as I tracked all four of them in my peripheral vision. "Mind telling me how much I'm worth these days? I'm curious."
None of them answered. Professional enough not to get baited into conversation, at least.
Fair enough.
The door to my room slammed open.
Konan stood in the doorway, still in her sleeping clothes, hair messy, eyes wide. She'd grabbed a handful of paper shuriken at some point, probably on instinct, and they were fanned out between her fingers like she was ready to throw them at the first thing that moved.
Then she saw the four armed men standing in a circle around me, all of them with weapons drawn, and she froze, clearly not sure what she was supposed to do in this situation.
I was also, for a moment, completely at a loss.
See, when I'd deflected those senbon into her wall, I'd assumed these guys were coming for both of us. Maybe Suna agents looking for revenge. Maybe Kumo operatives finishing what the Raikage started. That's why I'd woken her up. So she could run, hide, or at least be ready to defend herself if they came for her too.
But they weren't assassins. They were bounty hunters. They were here for me and only me. Konan wasn't in any bingo book. She wasn't worth anything to these people. If I'd just let her sleep, she would have woken up tomorrow morning to find a few extra corpses in my room, but otherwise completely safe.
The four bounty hunters glanced at Konan, then back at me, clearly trying to figure out if she was a threat or not. She was standing there with paper shuriken in her hands, so they couldn't exactly ignore her, but she also looked like she'd just rolled out of bed, which didn't scream dangerous combatant.
I needed to get her out of here.
"Konan," I said, keeping my voice as casual as I could manage. "Go buy me some dumplings."
She blinked at me. "Sensei, there's no way dumpling shops are open at midnight."
I was about to palm my face at her complete failure to read the situation when she suddenly bolted.
Not toward me. Not toward the bounty hunters. She just turned and ran, disappearing down the hallway before anyone could react. Her footsteps faded quickly, and then she was gone.
I blinked.
Then I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. She was pretty good at pretending to be oblivious. That whole exchange had thrown the bounty hunters off just as much as it had thrown me off. By the time any of them thought to react, she was already gone.
One of the bounty hunters broke formation and lunged toward the door, probably thinking she would be easy to catch and useful as leverage. He made it about two steps.
My tanto was in my hand. Then it wasn't.
Blink and you'd miss it. Actually, don't blink and you'd still miss it. The throw happened in the gap between one heartbeat and the next, too fast to register as motion at all. Just a blur of purple and then the blade was already buried in the wall, lightning chakra screaming along the metal, the concrete around it blackened and smoking before the sound of the throw even caught up.
The man had frozen mid-stride, one foot raised for a third step he'd never completed. His instincts had saved him. Something in his gut had screamed at him to stop, and he'd listened without knowing why. If he'd taken that third step, the tanto would have gone through his throat instead of past it.
He stood there now, eyes wide, body frozen. Not because he'd successfully dodged, but because his brain had finally caught up with what just happened. He was alive. Barely. But not unscathed.
The man raised his hand to his neck, fingers brushing against something wet. When he pulled them away, they were red. A thin line had opened across his throat, shallow but leaking in a slow, persistent trickle. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to let him know exactly how close he'd come.
He coughed, and blood spattered his lips.
The other three bounty hunters went very still.
I clicked my tongue.
Should have aimed a little lower.
Then the wall exploded.
Not literally, but close enough. Five paper shuriken punched through the thin wood from the outside, each one spinning with a faint whistle that told me exactly what was wrapped around those edges. Wind chakra, compressed into an acute wedge, just like I'd taught her.
The bleeding man spun around, hands coming up on instinct. He managed to knock three of them aside with his blade, which was actually impressive given his current state. But two got through. One buried itself in his left eye socket. The other sank into his chest, right between the ribs.
He made a sound that wasn't quite a scream and wasn't quite a gurgle, then dropped to his knees.
I stared at him. Then at the holes in the wall.
From somewhere outside, I heard Konan's voice.
"I got him! Sensei, did you see that? I actually got him!"
She sounded thrilled. Genuinely, unironically thrilled. Like she'd just aced a test she'd been studying for, not like she'd just buried two shuriken in a man's face and chest.
I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it again.
The man on the floor wasn't breathing anymore. The paper shuriken in his eye had gone deeper than I'd thought, and the one in his chest must have hit something vital. He'd collapsed face-first and hadn't moved since.
"See, sensei? I told you I was a fast learner." There was a smile in her voice, I could tell even without seeing her face. "Give me another week and maybe I'll be the one teaching you."
She was already getting ahead of herself out there.
I shook my head, but I couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Confident students were a pain to deal with, but at least she had something to back it up now.
...
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