Konoha woke to rain and rumors.
Vendors pulled tarps over their stalls. Chunin jogged past with scrolls tucked under oilcloth. Civilians clustered in tea shops, trading stories the way people do when they're sure the truth is hiding two tables over.
"Did you hear? Wave Country's… fixed."
"Fixed how?"
"No more Gato. Taxes lowered. Bridge crews paid on time."
"That fast? Who did it?"
"A blindfolded man," someone whispered. "Like the one from the Nine-Tails night."
Cups clicked. Heads leaned closer.
"Don't start with that again."
"I saw him back then. On the rooftops. He walked through fire with a baby in his arms. ANBU saw him too."
"And now he's in Wave?"
"That's what the sailors say."
The rain kept falling.
In the Hokage's office, the Third listened without interrupting. Hiruzen Sarutobi sat behind his desk with a pipe he hadn't lit, eyes steady on the ANBU kneeling before him. Their masks were slick with rain. The one called Hound spoke quietly.
Hound placed a sealed report on the desk. "Root contacted us to confirm a failed independent operation in Wave, Hokage-sama."
Hiruzen's jaw tightened at the word independent. In the corner, Danzo leaned on his cane, expression unreadable.
"Read it," Hiruzen said.
Hound inclined his head. "Gato's network has collapsed. His lieutenants stopped moving funds on the same night; ledgers vanished. Witnesses report a tall man in black with a blindfold deflecting weapons without visible chakra shaping. Swordsmen have turned up dead with wounds consistent with Momochi Zabuza's blade."
Murmurs rippled across the room. Koharu Utatane pulled her shawl tighter. Homura leaned forward.
"Momochi?" he repeated. "A Mist missing-nin, here?"
"Unconfirmed," Hound said. "But sailors described a bandaged man carrying a massive cleaver."
Danzo's cane tapped once. "And the Uchiha?"
Hound hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Confirmed. Sharingan sighted. Two tomoe. Subject: juvenile male. Precision far above expected level."
The chamber fell into silence.
Hiruzen placed the pipe on the desk. "Age?"
"Under ten. Small frame. Fast."
"And Root withdrew?" Hiruzen asked.
"Yes, Hokage-sama. Three dead, two injured."
Hiruzen absorbed the words slowly. Root had moved without his consent. Again. He would address that later—in private.
"Thank you," he told Hound. "Wait outside."
The ANBU withdrew. Only the elders remained.
Koharu spoke first. "If an Uchiha child survived, he must be brought under Leaf custody immediately. The Sharingan cannot be left to drift on an island."
Homura nodded. "And Zabuza cannot be ignored."
Hiruzen turned to Danzo. "You sent them."
Danzo's mouth thinned. "I sought confirmation. It was obtained. What are your orders?"
"You will not act without approval again," Hiruzen said flatly.
Danzo inclined his head a fraction. "As you wish."
Koharu pressed. "Hiruzen, we cannot allow this organization to take root. Wave's timber is critical to our trade routes. If another power taxes it—"
Hiruzen raised a hand. "We investigate properly. Not with knives in the dark."
Homura frowned. "Then with what?"
"With eyes," Hiruzen replied. "Summon Nara Shikaku. He'll take a small team under trade cover, assess Wave's changes, and report. No engagement. If he sees the blindfolded man, he withdraws. If he sees the Uchiha child, he withdraws."
Koharu clicked her tongue. "Too cautious."
"Alive scouts bring back more than dead heroes," Hiruzen said mildly.
Danzo's fingers curled on his cane. "And if the child is Uchiha?"
Hiruzen's eyes hardened. "If he is a child, he will not be hunted like a beast."
Shikaku arrived within the hour, smelling of damp grass and tobacco, hair tied back. His eyes were half-lidded, but already calculating.
"You need a quiet survey," he said, scanning the faces. "Wave. Trade cover. Blindfolded man. Mist missing-nin. Uchiha rumor."
"Exactly," Hiruzen said.
Shikaku ticked off names on his fingers. "Inoichi for whispers. Yamato for cover and terrain. I'll take both. And no, I'm not grabbing the kid."
"Observe only," Hiruzen confirmed.
Danzo's cane tapped again. "If the child proves dangerous—"
Shikaku didn't even look at him. "If he's standing next to Momochi, engagement is suicide. If he's with the blindfolded man, it's worse. My orders are to survive. Right?"
"Correct," Hiruzen said. "Go."
Shikaku nodded once. "Troublesome. But doable."
By evening the rain had eased to a mist. Three figures slipped through the back gate: Shikaku, Yamato, and Inoichi. Their cloaks caught the last of the wet as they moved toward the coast.
"Wave's daimyo announced tax relief," Inoichi murmured. "Debt forgiveness for bridge crews. That doesn't happen without pressure."
"Or without a new accountant," Shikaku muttered. "Someone's using Gato's ledgers."
"Blindfold doesn't need ledgers," Yamato said. "But a smart boss does."
Shikaku grunted. "Then we'll find him in the patterns. Not in the banners."
They vanished into the trees.
Hiruzen lit his pipe at last. Smoke curled slowly in the lamplight. Kakashi appeared at the window, eye narrowing.
"You sent Shikaku."
"I did," Hiruzen said.
Kakashi glanced at the sealed Root report. "Danzo could've gotten them all killed."
"Root shouldn't have gone at all," Hiruzen replied.
"You think the blindfolded man is the same one from that night," Kakashi said carefully.
"I think the village owes him a debt," Hiruzen said. "And I won't repay debts with blades."
Kakashi's eye creased faintly. "Want me to shadow Shikaku?"
"Quietly," Hiruzen said. "If he notices you, you're too loud."
"As always," Kakashi murmured, and slipped back into the rain.
Danzo's rooms were colder than the Hokage's by design. Files, shelves, careful quiet. He re-read Root's report, then placed it on a stack of older dossiers—Uchiha names crossed out in tidy strokes. On top, he set a short memo: two tomoe; juvenile; precision high.
"A child," he said to the empty room. "Very well."
He drafted a message to an unmarked contact in Tea Country.
Send a ship to Wave. Offer timber contracts. Set terms the daimyo cannot refuse. Demand signatures at night.
Root didn't only cut throats. Sometimes it pulled threads and waited for people to trip.
Wave Country
Morning crept in with thin fog and the smell of wet rope. Work bells rang along the docks. The bridge crews gathered early—no collection gangs, no surprise "fees." Men stretched their backs, tested ropes, set planks. Someone laughed loud, then clapped a hand over his mouth, surprised by the sound.
By the warehouse near the west quay, a merchant in a green coat checked his manifest twice. A young man stood beside him—polite posture, steady eyes, long dark hair tied back. Haku.
"Your cargo list matches," Haku said. "Your ships will be unloaded in order. If anyone asks for a dock fee that isn't stamped, tell me."
The merchant swallowed. "And if… if someone insists?"
"Then I'll insist back," Haku said, soft and pleasant. He nodded toward two quiet guards wearing simple cloaks. They watched the pier instead of the crowd. Their hands were clean. Their boots were not.
The merchant followed Haku's gaze and let out a breath. "You're not from the daimyo's office, are you?"
"We serve Wave," Haku said. "That's enough for today."
Across the quay, a dockhand muttered, "Those new guards don't drink on duty."
His friend shrugged. "They don't hit you, either. I'll take it."
In the daimyo's estate, the morning's routine had changed.
Two lines of guards stood in the courtyard, helmets straight, weapons clean. Zabuza walked down the line slowly, the Kubikiribōchō resting across his shoulder. Bandages hid his mouth. His eyes didn't.
"Eyes forward," he said. The first man flinched, then fixed his stare on the far wall.
Zabuza stopped in front of another guard. "You took coin from a rice merchant yesterday," he said without looking at a list.
The man blanched. "I—I—"
Zabuza tilted his head toward the gate. "Return it. With interest. If I hear your name again, you won't be able to hold a coin."
The guard stumbled away at a run.
Haku approached with a scroll. "Market patrols," he said, handing it over.
Zabuza scanned it, eyes flicking. "We're light on the east road?"
"Two squads," Haku said. "Enough to look official. Not enough to annoy farmers."
Zabuza grunted. "Good. If they hassle anyone, pull them. Reassign them to the marsh watch."
Haku nodded. "Yes."
Zabuza paused, bandages shifting with what might have been a smile. "You like this work."
Haku's eyes softened. "People breathe easier. It's… new."
"Don't relax," Zabuza said. "New breaks fast."
"Then we hold it up," Haku replied.
Inside, the daimyo's hand shook as he signed another decree. Ren stood beside the desk, reading each line before the brush touched the paper.
"Reduce the fish tax by one-tenth," Ren said. "Only for registered boats. They'll register if it helps them. The books clean up on their own."
The daimyo swallowed. "Y-yes."
"Approve the bridge payments through the third phase," Ren continued. "Your stamp, not the steward's."
"Yes."
"And the timber contract?" the daimyo asked, voice tight. "A ship from Tea Country docked overnight."
Ren's eyes cooled. He had expected this move. "They'll offer low rates for early delivery. They'll ask for your seal at night, quickly, with witnesses who aren't from here."
The daimyo's hands trembled. "If I refuse… they might—"
Ren turned his head slightly. In the corner, Gojo lounged on a window bench, blindfold tilted, smiling like the room belonged to him. The daimyo followed Ren's gaze and went very still.
"You won't refuse," Ren said. "You'll delay. Tell them the steward who verifies weights is ill. Invite them to dinner tomorrow. I'll bring the proper contract."
"And if they press?"
Gojo sat up, cheerful. "Then I'll smile. They'll forget what they were pressing about."
The daimyo gulped. "Y-yes."
Ren rolled up the scroll and handed it to an aide. "Post the tax change by noon. And send rice to the bridge camp—two carts. If anyone skims, I'll know."
The aide bowed fast and fled.
When they were alone, the daimyo dared whisper, "Why are you doing this? You could have killed me. Taken the seat."
Ren looked at the open window, where the flagstones outside were wet and clean. "Seats are heavy. Paper is lighter. People accept paper."
The daimyo sank a little. "I see."
"Good," Ren said. "Keep seeing. That's how you live."
By midday, word of the tax cut reached the market. A fisherman counted the difference twice and stared at his wife. "It's real."
She touched the stamped notice. "Maybe the daimyo finally grew a spine."
"Or someone else did," the fishmonger said, glancing up at the rooftops.
On an awning across the street, Ren sat with one knee up, cloak pulled close, watching. Haku joined him with two paper cups of steaming broth.
"It's working," Haku said. "They believe the change came from the daimyo."
Ren sipped. "Good. If the face looks familiar, people don't panic."
"Root will come again," Haku said quietly.
"Yes," Ren replied. He watched a child run past, hair dripping from a bucket he carried proudly. The boy's sister scolded him, then took the bucket, then laughed. "Let them come. Every day we keep this steady, it gets harder to knock over."
Haku's voice softened. "Zabuza-sama trusts you more than he says."
"I know," Ren said.
"You don't smile at that," Haku observed.
"Later," Ren said. "After the Tea Country contract."
Evening brought the ship from Tea Country into a private cove near the east pier. The envoy—a man in crisp robes and a fixed smile—arrived at the daimyo's estate with two clerks and a chest.
"Your Grace," he said smoothly, bowing just low enough to be polite without being humble. "Timber is short in Tea this year. We propose to pay you in silver for expedited shipments. We prepared ink."
The daimyo opened his mouth, then shut it when Ren's presence filled the doorway like a quiet gust.
"Welcome," Ren said. "The daimyo accepts the audience. Contracts are signed at noon, after the weights and schedules are verified."
The envoy's smile didn't move. "We travel with our own scales."
"In Wave," Ren said pleasantly, "we use ours."
The envoy's eyes slid to Gojo—lounging in a chair he had not been invited to occupy—then to Zabuza, who simply existed like a threat in the corner. Then to Haku, who offered tea as if this were the most ordinary house in the world.
The envoy's throat moved. "Noon, then," he said. "We will attend."
"Excellent," Ren said. "Your rooms are prepared."
When the envoy had been led away, Zabuza grunted. "You didn't break his legs."
"Better if he walks," Ren said. "He'll carry the news when this fails."
Gojo stifled a yawn. "Want me to go smile at their scales tonight?"
"No," Ren said. "Let them check them twice. Tomorrow they'll find our numbers match. The trap is the clause they won't read."
Haku raised a brow. "Clause?"
Ren tapped a small scroll. "Payment routed through Wave's new harbor office. Interest penalties for late ships. Inspection rights for our guards. The envoy wants a quick signature. He'll get a careful one."
Zabuza's bandages tugged with amusement. "You like this."
"I like things that work," Ren said.
Night fell clean. Lanterns burned steady. The envoy's clerks stayed up late, whispering over their figures. On a nearby rooftop, Gojo watched the moon through his blindfold and counted how many times they rewrote the same line.
"Six," he said to himself, amused. "Stubborn."
Down in the courtyard, Haku instructed two new guards on patrol routes. "Walk the outer ring first. Speak to people if they greet you. If anyone tells you their problem, write it down. If you take coin, you're done."
One guard swallowed. "Done as in…?"
Haku's eyes were gentle. "Not here anymore."
Zabuza passed behind them like a traveling storm. Neither guard asked a second question.
Morning. The contract table was set in an airy hall with open shutters. The envoy arrived with his clerks and his best version of confidence.
Ren placed the rolled contract on the table. "Read."
They did. It took time. The envoy's smile finally cracked when he reached the clause about inspection rights.
"That gives your harbor the power to search our holds at will," he said, careful.
Ren nodded. "We don't like surprises."
"That could delay shipments," the envoy said.
"Then don't hide anything," Ren replied.
The envoy forced his smile back in place. "We will need a price concession to accept this."
"The tax cut we posted yesterday already covered it," Ren said. "It applies to all registered boats—including yours. You'll recoup costs."
The envoy stared. He hadn't known. He looked to his clerk, who confirmed it with a miserable nod.
"Then," the envoy said slowly, "we accept."
"Sign," Ren said.
Brushes moved. Stamps thumped. The contract slid into a lacquered folder and disappeared into Ren's sleeve.
"Welcome to Wave," Ren said. "Follow our schedules and you'll make money. Ignore them and you won't dock."
The envoy bowed. Deeper, this time. "Understood."
He left without looking back. When he reached the pier, he told his clerk in a low voice, "We are not dealing with the old man anymore."
On the roof across the square, Zabuza's laugh rumbled. "You just put a leash on a country across the water with a paragraph."
Ren watched the bridge in the distance, crews moving like ants with purpose. "No," he said. "I put a clock on them. Leashes tighten. Clocks run."
Gojo stretched. "Poetic for an administrator."
Haku handed Ren a fresh notice to stamp. "Bridge stipend increase for phase three."
Ren stamped it. "Post it."
Haku bowed and disappeared into the bustle.
At Sea, Later That Day
A small skiff cut toward Wave from the south, low in the water. Inside, three masked operatives sat in silence, oars moving steady.
"Orders adjusted," one said. "Observe Wave's harbor office. Identify chain of command. Confirm Uchiha status if possible. No engagement."
"Root?" the second asked.
"Root."
They didn't see the ripple that slid under their hull and turned their wake the wrong way. On a cliff high above, Gojo tilted his head, smiled, and flicked two fingers. The skiff drifted a little off course—just enough to make them miss their easy landing and choose a longer path along the rocks.
"Take your time," Gojo murmured.
Fire Country Coast
Shikaku, Yamato, and Inoichi stood on the deck of a merchant ship as gulls cut the air.
"See it?" Inoichi asked.
"Yeah," Shikaku said, eyes on the bridge rising out of mist. "This isn't luck. Somebody's running a clean operation. Schedules. Patrols that don't take bribes. The daimyo suddenly knows math."
"Smart boss," Yamato said.
"Smart and careful," Shikaku answered. "Troublesome."
He adjusted his cloak. "We walk the docks. We listen. If an ANBU mask looks at you too long, we leave."
He didn't add the last thought out loud: And if a blindfold smiles at us, we pretend we didn't see him.
Konoha, Night
Hiruzen blew out his pipe and watched the smoke disappear in the dark. He thought of Naruto sleeping in a cramped apartment with a half-finished bowl of instant noodles on the counter. He thought of Sasuke staring at an empty compound. He thought of a child in Wave with eyes that could either break the world or hold it steady.
"Bring me truth," he whispered to the quiet room. "Before shadows make up their own."
Outside, the rain finally stopped.
Wave, Night
On the cliffs above the inlet, four figures watched lanterns along the shore.
"The guards are following routes," Haku said. "The docks are calm. The market is loud."
"Good," Ren said. "Keep it boring."
Zabuza leaned on his cleaver, satisfied. "Boring is hard to kill."
Gojo laughed softly. "Until it isn't."
Ren's Sharingan didn't glow. It didn't need to. He could see the shape of things anyway: the bridge rising, the ledgers balancing, the people sleeping with one lock instead of three. And somewhere in the fog, a skiff that would arrive late, and a Nara who would count steps instead of flags.
"Build the bridge," Ren said. "Keep the streets clean. If Leaf comes, we give them nothing sharp to hold."
"And if Root comes?" Zabuza asked.
Ren's answer was simple. "We send them home lost."
They stood together in the wind. Below, Wave held its breath—and then let it out, slow, like a village remembering how to live.
The game had shifted from blades to patterns.
And for now, the patterns were Ren's.