Katsu leaned heavily against a soot-blackened wall, his knuckles white where he gripped his kunai pouch. Honda meticulously checked the seals on her Shibuki sword while Yuiji simply sat on an overturned crate, head bowed, fingers massaging his temples as if trying to physically dispel the lingering echoes of phantom pain and false hope.
"Well," Renjiro's voice cut through the heavy silence, "Status?"
Honda snapped his sword shut. "We have all completed our tasks," She gestured vaguely at the surrounding devastation, the craters, the scorch marks that weren't entirely illusory from their earlier, real skirmishes.
Yuiji lifted his head in agreement.
"Yes, we were just waiting on you." His voice was rough.
Renjiro gave a single, curt nod. The faintest ghost of satisfaction might have touched his lips, gone too quickly to be certain. "Good. Our work here is concluded."
He turned fully towards them, his gaze sweeping over each in turn, assessing, dismissive. "It's time to leave."
Renjiro took a step towards the blasted opening, then stopped dead. Not a hesitation, but a sudden, absolute arrest of motion, like a clockwork mechanism freezing mid-tick.
The air around him seemed to thicken, charged with an instant, silent tension. Honda, Katsu, and Yuiji instinctively froze too, hands drifting towards weapons, senses straining. The brief moment of anticipated departure was shattered.
Renjiro didn't turn back. "Change of plans," he announced, his voice low, dangerously calm. "You three proceed. I'll meet you on the way."
"Renjiro-san?" Katsu's voice was tight, controlled, but the underlying challenge was unmistakable. "The mission parameters were clear. We were to leave together upon objective completion."
"Plans adapt, Katsu," Renjiro replied, still not facing them. His tone was reasonable, almost conversational, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.
"It's just a… loose end."
Katsu exchanged a loaded glance with Yuiji. The unspoken question hung heavy in the dusty air:
'Ulterior orders?'
Renjiro was from the same village as Danzo. It was entirely possible the Root spymaster had embedded secondary objectives, known only to Renjiro. Objectives that might compromise them, or drag Kiri deeper into the quagmire.
"With respect," Katsu spoke, his voice carefully neutral, "Splitting forces in hostile territory, especially after an engagement like this… It's high risk. What loose end requires immediate attention now?"
The implication was clear: 'What aren't you telling us?'
Renjiro finally turned his head, just enough for his profile to catch the light.
"A personal matter," he stated, the phrase utterly devoid of warmth. "It won't impact the mission."
They didn't buy it. Honda's jaw clenched. Yuiji shifted his weight nervously. Katsu's gaze remained locked on Renjiro, analytical, probing. The silence stretched, thick with distrust. They were elite shinobi, so they recognised evasion.
Finally, Katsu voiced the practical concern gnawing at them all. "How, precisely, Renjiro-san, do you propose we leave? The plan relied on your summon."
He paused, letting the danger sink in. "Unless you intend for us to be the diversion?"
Renjiro's lips thinned almost imperceptibly. "The use of my summon is… inadvisable at present. Its chakra signature is too distinct, a beacon screaming 'Interference'. Kumo must believe that we are still here. Stealth and ground evasion are the only options that preserve the narrative." He met Katsu's gaze directly, his dark eyes flat and unyielding. "Consider it an extension of the mission parameters. Maintain the illusion."
The logic was sound, but the distrust remained, leaving a bitter aftertaste. Katsu looked like he wanted to argue further, but Honda placed a subtle, restraining hand on his arm. They had their orders. Questioning Renjiro further, especially when he invoked mission integrity, was futile and potentially hazardous. They exchanged another silent, resigned look. The message was clear: 'We have no choice. Go.'
"Understood," Katsu said, his voice clipped.
"Fwoomp."
Yuiji hesitated only a second longer, his eyes flicking once more to Renjiro's impassive face, then followed Katsu.
Honda lingered the longest. She opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it. With a final, distrustful glare, she too vanished into the gathering gloom.
"Fwip."
Renjiro was alone.
"You can come out now."
Silence answered him. Thick, watchful silence.
Renjiro didn't react. He remained statue-still, his senses expanding outwards, painting a chakra map of the immediate ruins, the surrounding shattered streets, the rocky outcrops beyond.
'There.'
It wasn't a sound, not truly. It was the faintest absence of sound, a micro-shift in the air pressure near a collapsed archway thirty meters to his left. The chakra signature was… elusive. Not flared, not hidden with brute force, but woven into the background like camouflage netting – present, yet designed to be overlooked. It was cold, patient, and utterly focused.
"Another chase," Renjiro murmured.
In the next heartbeat, he was gone.
His mind, however, was busy.
'This chakra… familiar, yet… altered. Was it following them? Or was it following me?'
======
High in the fortified heart of Kumogakure, nestled within the embrace of storm-carved peaks, the atmosphere was one of controlled chaos. The Third Raikage's command centre was a cavernous room carved directly into the mountain rock, reinforced with steel beams and humming with suppressed energy.
Shinobi moved with grim efficiency, voices low, faces etched with tension. Messengers arrived and departed in a near-constant stream, their footsteps echoing sharply on the polished stone floor, their reports delivered in clipped, urgent tones before they vanished again.
"Outpost 13: No response, chakra sensors detect only ambient wildlife."
"Relay station 5: Communications dark."
"Supply convoy to northern garrison: Overdue. Last transmission fragmentary… mention of… 'lightning not ours'…"
The Third Raikage stood before the central map, a mountain of a man radiating contained fury. He wasn't pacing; he was rooted, his massive arms crossed over his barrel chest, his brow furrowed in a storm cloud of concentration.
The tension in the room was a live wire, thrumming with the anxiety of the officers and aides. A young chunin approached with another scroll, his hand trembling slightly. "R-Raikage-sama, report from coastal watch…"
"EVERYONE OUT!"
The sheer volume and authority in that command were paralysing. The young chunin stumbled back, dropping the scroll. Every head snapped towards the Kage.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, like leaves scattered by a gale, the shinobi obeyed. Chairs scraped, and scrolls were hastily gathered. Within seconds, the cavernous room was empty save for the Third Raikage and one other figure who had been standing slightly behind and to his right.
This man was a stark contrast to the Raikage's volcanic presence. He was lean, almost gaunt, draped in the traditional dark blues and greys of Kumo, but with subtle, intricate silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar denoting high rank.
This was Toru Kugenshi, Patriarch of the Kugenshi clan, one of the Raikage's most trusted advisors, and a sensor of almost legendary, unnerving acuity.
The heavy steel door clanged shut with finality, sealing them in the suddenly vast quiet.
The Raikage didn't turn. He didn't need the Kugenshi clan's famed telepathy to know what thoughts were swirling behind those unnervingly calm eyes. He could feel the shape of the conclusion, cold and sharp, settling into the space between them.
Finally, the Raikage spoke. Just one word, "Konoha?"
"And Kiri. Indirectly, perhaps," Toru's voice was soft, yet it carried perfectly in the stillness, devoid of inflexion, analytical.
"That scheming, shadow-humping monkey… Hiruzen!" The curse ripped out, raw and venomous.
He spun to face Toru fully, "Who can we send?"
Toru met the Raikage's furious gaze without flinching. "We are stretched thinner than rice paper," he said, using the Raikage's personal name, a mark of their long trust. "The alliance with Iwa demands constant vigilance on the northern passes. Suna's cooperation is… fluid. It requires significant forces simply to maintain the appearance of strength along the desert border. Our reserves are depleted. Elite trackers, sensor-nin of the calibre needed to hunt these people… they are already committed, or recovering from front-line deployments."
The Raikage stared at him, the fury in his eyes momentarily banked by the cold splash of strategic reality. Then, a sound erupted from him that was utterly unexpected in the tension-charged room.
"Hah! Hahahaha!" He threw his head back, the laughter echoing harshly off the stone walls.
"So that's it! Hiruzen… you cunning old bastard! You're not just stabbing me in the back… you're forcing my hand! You're making me escalate this!"
Toru Kugenshi watched his friend and leader, the Raikage, laugh, his laughter fading into a low, dangerous chuckle.
"That," He confirmed, "appears to be precisely their design. They bait the trap, knowing the predator must respond."
The Raikage's mirth vanished as swiftly as it had come. His expression hardened into something terrifying – the granite resolve of the mountain itself.
"Poetical, in a twisted way," the Third Raikage rumbled, "I was the one who pushed for this war. It's only right I escalate it"