Nanshou Post
The sky was only just paling, yet the post town already roared with life.
Packhorses neighed and stamped, cart axles groaned beneath heavy loads, and caravan guards barked rough orders. The air was thick with the mingled scents of livestock, sweat, dust, and the greasy allure of cheap fried food.
Carts piled with goods clogged the narrow streets, while porters and merchants darted through gaps like minnows in a current—each one desperate to seize the day's earnings.
Through this boisterous tide of humanity, Roshi led Itachi and Anko with his usual confident stride.
The mission scroll's address brought them to the rear courtyard of an inn with a weathered signboard reading Sofeng. There, among stacked bundles of vividly dyed fabric, they found their client: Tanzai.
The man was every inch a seasoned merchant—plump frame wrapped in a once-fine brown silk gown now dulled by dust, round spectacles perched on a rounder face, eyes sharp and restless as they tracked the movements of his laborers. Six employees worked with exaggerated care, loading bolts of Southern Weave cloth into reinforced carts, their reverence for the fabric betraying its worth.
When Tanzai's gaze shifted to the new arrivals, his smile faltered. It lingered a moment too long on Anko—her dark purple windbreaker crisp and new, her expression already impatient—before flicking to the boy beside her. Itachi, small for his age, wore a ninjutsu pouch strapped neatly at his side, his face still soft with childhood.
A flicker of doubt crossed the merchant's eyes.
'Two adults and one child?' His thoughts raced behind the lenses of his glasses. 'This girl looks troublesome. And this boy… is he even ten? My Southern Weave is worth a fortune—'
But years of wheeling and dealing had trained Tanzai to bury instinctive reactions. In a heartbeat, his expression thawed into something almost absurdly welcoming.
"Konoha ninja-samas! At last you've arrived!" He bustled forward, his voice booming for all to hear. "You must be exhausted from such a long journey, truly, truly!"
His gaze flicked to their forehead protectors before settling on Roshi. With practiced deference, he asked, "This distinguished gentleman must be the captain, yes? May I have your honored name?"
"Special Jōnin, Roshi." Roshi's eyes, cool and steady, passed over him to rest on the carts brimming with expensive cloth.
Tanzai clasped his hands together with a laugh. "Ah, Captain Roshi! Forgive me, forgive me!" His genial smile didn't soften the merchant's shrewd undercurrent. His eyes darted back, probing. "And these two spirited young ninja-samas are…?"
"Anko Mitarashi. Uchiha Itachi." Roshi's reply was short, sharp, offering no room for elaboration.
The moment the name Uchiha slipped free, a spark lit in Tanzai's gaze. His smile gained an extra shade of warmth, though doubt still churned beneath the surface like dark water under thin ice.
"Of course, of course!" he gushed. "You must all be starving after your travels. There's a stall at the post entrance—ramen with broth so rich it'll wake your very soul! Allow me to treat you."
"Very well," Roshi agreed without hesitation. A shinobi needed fuel as much as weapons.
Tanzai turned with theatrical briskness, bellowing at his workers as they struggled with the carts. "Faster, faster! I'll return with our distinguished guests, and then we depart!"
Anko curled her lip at the display.
Itachi, however, stayed rooted, his quiet gaze sweeping across the busy employees and stacked goods. "Captain," he murmured to Roshi, "I'll remain and watch over them."
Roshi gave a brief nod. With that, he and Anko followed Tanzai out of the courtyard's din.
The ramen shop Tanzai promised turned out to be a humble roadside stall: rickety tables packed with merchants and porters, the air thick with pork bone broth and soy sauce. Tanzai ordered three bowls with practiced ease.
When they arrived, the broth was cloudy, slices of translucent char siu and limp bamboo shoots floating lazily atop the noodles.
Roshi dug in first, blowing gently on the noodles before eating with steady appetite. Seeing her captain start, Anko reluctantly followed, though her frown deepened at the greasy broth.
Tanzai, by contrast, only toyed with his food, clearly distracted. At last he set down his chopsticks, leaned forward, and spoke with the mixture of worry and complaint that only a merchant could perfect.
"Captain Roshi… as you can see, this cargo is no ordinary cloth. Southern Weave from the Land of Fire—worth a king's ransom overseas! To speak frankly, I have wagered my entire fortune, my very life, on this batch."
He paused, studying Roshi's expression, then lowered his voice.
"For the commission, I've scraped together one hundred thousand ryō. At first, I thought the route to the Land of Tea was safe enough—a C-rank journey at most. A few chūnin would have sufficed. But then…" His voice softened with just the right note of awe.
"…Hokage-sama himself classified it as B-rank. And sent you—a jōnin captain—to lead. Such thoughtfulness, such care for us humble merchants… I scarcely know how to show my gratitude."
Roshi swallowed the last of his noodles, lifted the bowl, and took an unhurried sip of broth. His movements were calm, deliberate—nothing wasted.
When he set the bowl down, his gaze settled on Tanzai, steady and unblinking.
The merchant's words unraveled in his mind like puzzle pieces snapping into place.
One hundred thousand ryō reward.
His entire fortune staked on this shipment.
Originally expected rank: C-rank.
A C-rank mission usually fell between thirty and one hundred thousand ryō. B-rank ranged from eighty thousand to two hundred thousand.
Tanzai had offered exactly one hundred thousand—the ceiling of C-rank, but the floor of B-rank. He had even emphasized that he had "scraped it together," signaling both his limit and his original assessment of the risks. Risks, he clearly believed, did not reach true B-rank levels.
And yet, the Hokage's office had upgraded the commission.
Roshi's thoughts sharpened.
C-rank meant no expectation of hostile ninja—at worst, bandits or wild beasts—handled by a chūnin with genin support.
B-rank, however, explicitly signified a real chance of enemy shinobi, requiring a seasoned chūnin squad or even a jōnin.
But Tanzai's manner, his words, his concerns—none of them reflected fear of ninja. He spoke of gratitude toward the Village for raising the mission's rank, as though the Hokage had done him a favor rather than a warning.
If he truly believed his fortune was in danger from a rogue-nin group like the Black Snake, he would never have stopped at one hundred thousand. A desperate man would have found another ten, even twenty thousand to push his case solidly into B-rank territory and secure the strongest escort possible.
No—his fear wasn't shinobi. It was something else.
"Tanzai-san," Roshi's voice cut through the background clamor with the clarity of steel, "what was it you truly feared? What made you decide this cargo required a hundred thousand ryō worth of protection?"
The merchant froze, clearly not expecting the directness. His lips tightened, then curved into a wry smile. His eyes flickered behind his glasses.
"Captain Roshi, your insight is very good. To be frank, the road to Deai Port is usually safe. Few bandits, no real trouble. But… the forests are vast, and there are always small-time gangs—two dozen here, thirty there—using the terrain to their advantage. For an isolated caravan, they can be a nightmare. With goods as valuable as mine, I feared being overwhelmed and stripped bare."
He hesitated, lowering his voice. "And near Deai Port, there's a stretch called Nochapo Forest. Lately, it's been restless. A group called the Chayama Gang has entrenched themselves there—two, maybe three hundred strong. Desperadoes, cutthroats… dangerous men."
"Chayama Gang…" Roshi echoed quietly.
That explained it. For a merchant, a mob of hundreds was more terrifying than a handful of rogue shinobi. Enough to warrant staking everything on a top-tier C-rank escort.
And yet, the name Black Snake had never left Tanzai's lips.
A rift yawned between the Village's intelligence and the client's perception. That was no accident. Either Konoha's intelligence was flawed, the Black Snake operated in deep secrecy, or their targets simply didn't overlap with Tanzai's trade routes. Perhaps there was more still, hidden beneath the surface.
"…Understood." Roshi didn't press further. He only nodded, finished the last of his broth, and set the bowl aside.
His eyes flicked to Anko, who was already prodding impatiently at her half-eaten meal. "If you're done, head back. We depart soon."
"Finally." Anko tossed down her chopsticks with relief.
Tanzai scrambled to his feet, regaining his practiced smile. "Yes, yes! At once. With you here, Captain Roshi, my heart is truly at ease!"
When they returned to the Songfeng Inn's courtyard, the carts were already packed, vivid cloth hidden under heavy tarps. Itachi stood guard beside them, his quiet nod confirming all was in order.
"Depart!" Tanzai barked.
With a chorus of creaking axles and snorting horses, the caravan rolled out of the inn's gates and merged into the crowded main road of Nanshou Post, turning southwest toward the long, uncertain road to Deai Port in the Land of Tea.
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