Kirikagure — Mizukage's Office
The report did not lie on the desk.
It was held.
The Mizukage read it once. Then again, slower—not for clarity, but for confirmation that what he was feeling was justified.
Confirmed settlement.
Unmarked.
Sustained.
Children present.
Ice Release observed openly.
"So," the Mizukage said at last, voice level as still water, "the Yuki Clan has stopped running."
An advisor shifted uneasily. "They aren't fortifying. No walls. No overt defenses."
"Which means they think they've already won," the Mizukage replied.
He stood and turned toward the window, mist curling along the village streets below like a loyal thing.
"For decades," he continued, "the Yuki Clan survived because they believed fear was safety. Because they believed isolation was mercy."
He looked back at the room.
"Someone taught them otherwise."
That was the real problem.
"If this spreads," another advisor said carefully, "other bloodlines may—"
"Will," the Mizukage corrected. "Not may."
He returned to the desk and set the report down at last.
"No more observation," he said. "No more patience."
The room stiffened.
"Send the hunter-nin?" someone asked.
The Mizukage shook his head. "They will fail. Quietly, and completely."
A pause.
Then he spoke two names.
"Kushimaru Kuriarare."
"Jinpachi Munashi."
The temperature in the room dropped—not from chakra, but recognition.
One was precision.
The other was annihilation.
"Overkill?" an advisor ventured.
"No," the Mizukage said coldly.
He turned to a third scroll, unsealing it with a flick of his thumb.
"And attach a support commander. Someone who understands how to end a clan, not chase it."
The name written there was older than most grudges.
"Ensure there are no survivors," the Mizukage said. "No relocations. No scattering."
He hesitated only once.
"…If there is a leader," he added, "I want confirmation of death."
The advisor bowed. "Understood."
Kushimaru Kuriarare received the order without expression.
Wire coils gleamed faintly at his side as he read.
"A settlement that forgot how to fear," he said mildly. "That's new."
Jinpachi Munashi laughed when the mission was explained.
"Good," he said, hefting Shibuki onto his shoulder. "I was getting bored."
Mist swallowed them as they departed.
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Far away, in a valley that had learned to breathe, Aoi woke with a sharp intake of breath—hand tightening over her abdomen.
Not pain.
Warning.
Shigen was awake instantly.
"What is it?" he asked.
Aoi stared into the dark, ice stirring at her fingertips without command.
"…They've decided," she said.
And somewhere between the Mist and the quiet valley, two blades, and a couple squads of hunter-nin moved through fog—sent not to hunt, not to negotiate, but to erase.
The world had finally chosen violence.