"Stand down."
Hanzo flicked a glance; the Ame-nin withdrew despite the heat in their eyes. The room stilled.
"Do me a favor and stop with the childish tests," he said, bringing the cup to his lips. "The shinobi world isn't calm. Tell Sarutobi Hiruzen: this should be the first and last time. He knows the consequences."
Their clash hadn't so much as jostled the nearest table—tea still mirrored the cup's rim. That, Sogetsu noted, is the control that separates Kage-class monsters from everyone else.
"I'll report honestly to my teacher," Tsunade said, rising. "As for the seals, inform us when you're ready."
The little exchange was enough to read the "demi-god." Old—but the tiger still had claws.
They retraced their steps through the ducts. Back at the inn, Tsunade flopped down without ceremony, scowling. "Tiring. Should've told the old man no. That fossil's still not simple."
"Your hand," Sogetsu said, frowning at her right palm. "I didn't expect Hanzo's poison craft to be that fine. If not for the Sharingan, I might've missed it."
"Please." Tsunade glanced once and shrugged. "I've had the antidote to his tricks for years. It'll just take a bit to purge."
Elsewhere, after Tsunade left, Hanzo sat very still.
He drew the hand from his sleeve. The palm was warped, trembling beyond command. Beneath the skin, pulverized bone throbbed. He looked at it without a flinch, then exhaled—only a trace of weariness in his eyes.
Whatever mask he wore, one fact wouldn't change.
He was getting old.
Age meant less chakra, less stamina, less time. How much longer could he hold the line?
He had fought all his life, and still Ame bowed to the Five Great Nations. People still lived under rain and war. And he—he had become something that disgusted even himself.
Footsteps broke the thought.
Hanzo smoothed everything away and turned back into the ruler of Amegakure—cold and exact.
"What is it?"
"Lord Hanzo, his agent has arrived," the Ame-nin said, kneeling.
"Heh. What a day." A corner of Hanzo's mouth twitched. "Even that sewer rat can't resist testing me?"
"Fine. Send him to Room B."
He rotated sleeping quarters regularly within the underground maze; habit kept assassins guessing.
A masked Konoha ANBU—Terai—was shown in. Same tatami. Same austerity. Hanzo sat with his back to the room, facing the wall.
"What do you want?" he asked without turning.
Being treated like background stung, but Terai swallowed it. "I'm Terai. Lord Danzo sends greetings—and a proposal."
"A deal?" Hanzo's lids lifted a fraction, a glint inside. "Go on."
"Tsunade and an ANBU attendant have entered Amegakure," Terai said, voice dropping. He didn't state terms yet—only baited the hook.
A blade of cold air hissed past Terai's mask and buried in the wall.
The porcelain split with a crack. Terai froze, hair prickling.
"I don't have time for your theater," Hanzo said, voice like sleet. "Next time I take your head."
"Lord Danzo requests your assistance in seizing the ANBU with Tsunade," Terai blurted. "Failing that, remove his Sharingan. Either result fulfills the request."
"Sharingan, hm." Hanzo thought a beat. "What's special about his eyes?"
"I—cannot say." Terai bent lower. "Those are Lord Danzo's orders. I don't know more."
Hanzo knew Root well enough and let it pass. "I'll accept—if Danzo can afford the price."
"Mineral ore, ration pills, explosive tags, medical herbs—ten tons each," Terai recited. "And Root operatives to assist you in purging Amegakure's insurgents."
"Not enough." Hanzo's eyes opened a shade. "If I move, Tsunade will notice. Crossing a Sannin to do your dirty work? That costs more. So… add money."
Terai's jaw clenched. "At most: one hundred tons of materiel in total. Beyond that the Third will notice."
Hanzo finally nodded. "Good. I'll take the commission."
"I'll go with you tomorrow," Terai said. "I'll do my best to draw Tsunade away. The rest is yours."
"Mm."
Hanzo closed his eyes again, as if asleep. Terai, dismissed, backed out cautiously.
Moments later, from under the tatami where Terai had sat, a pin-sized black insect wriggled toward the door crack.
"Hmph."
The grunt was thunder. Air slapped the bug into the wall. It flitted, panicked, then darted for the gap.
A kunai flashed—thunk—pinning it to the frame.
Hanzo was no longer facing the wall. He watched the tiny corpse, a cool light deep in his clouded pupils. "Parasitic Insect. Such boring tricks," he murmured. "No wonder Sarutobi always keeps you under his heel."
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