It wasn't strange that the Suna-nin acted this way. In wartime, you never knew which humble merchant might suddenly turn into a weapons tycoon. This era thrived on chaos, and nothing bred fortunes faster than selling death.
The guard couldn't be sure if the man in front of him would someday rise into wealth and power. If he didn't, fine. But if he did, and Sunagakure had driven him away? That could mean real trouble. Those magnates weren't strong enough to face a hidden village head-on, but they could strangle trade, cripple the economy. And if that happened, the Wind Daimyō would seize the chance to twist the knife.
Sunagakure's economy was already weak. An economic blockade could break them completely. And if it came to that… the guard would be branded a sinner, the man who ruined the village. He couldn't bear that weight.
"Ha! Shinobi-sama is too polite. If there's nothing else, may we take our leave? We still have trade to settle."Lion-Hawk's voice softened again as he bowed gracefully.
"Of course. Go on."The chūnin nodded and left.
The moment he was gone, Lion-Hawk's smile vanished. His voice cut cold as steel."Move. Keep sharp. Don't let a single crack show. Not every Suna-nin is this easy to fool."
With that, he led them toward an inn.
They were in. Half the mission was already done. Now came the slow grind—wandering through Sunagakure, gathering intel on troop movements, piecing it all together, and smuggling it back out.
The days blurred by in steady success. Ramen shops, gambling dens, barbecue stalls—even the Kazekage's administration building. If there was gossip to be had, they sniffed it out. And sure enough, they uncovered useful truths:
—Within two months, Sunagakure planned to end the war with Konoha, win or lose.—And when that time came, they would unleash their One-Tail Jinchūriki onto the battlefield.
Their cover seemed solid. No one suspected them. The team had almost wrapped things up. They were nearly ready to retreat.
But fate never cared about "nearly."
Because two days ago, code-name Red Tiger—Ikeda Yōryō—blew everything up.
Yō had known Red Tiger's temper was trash, but he never expected betrayal over something this stupid. It started when Hanazawa, the only woman on the squad, had a casual, easy chat with Yō. Just a few words, nothing more. And yet, Red Tiger got prickly, mocking, toxic. After that, he couldn't stand to see Yō and Hanazawa talk—he'd barge in and break it up every single time.
Yō swallowed it for the mission's sake. But just when success was within reach, Red Tiger snapped. Provoked by some outsider, he spat Yō's name and burned their cover to ash.
Now, Yō stared at him—bruised, bloodied, wheezing on the ground. Around them, Sand ANBU closed in from all sides. In that moment, Yō wasn't the only one itching to kill Red Tiger.
But rage could wait. Survival couldn't.
"No choice," Lion-Hawk barked. "We break through. Stick close, don't fall behind. Especially you, Natsume Yō—don't you dare get killed!"
The enemy closed in. Dozens of Suna masks gleamed in the desert light. Their shadows stretched like fangs.
The only way out… was straight through.