Chapter 362: Just some words on a island . . .
Kongō watched the sliding doors close behind Karenbana and Malik, then let out a low whistle.
"Man," he muttered, "she moved fast."
Ishidate gave him a sideways look. "Focus."
The two resort attendants were already turned toward them, their posture straight-backed but relaxed, hands folded neatly at their waists. Their uniforms were soft cream with gold embroidery along the hems, fitted but functional, the kind of clothing someone could bow in or kill in without breaking a stitch.
They bowed in unison.
"Honored guests," said the one on the left, voice smooth as polished glass. "I am Aya."
"And I am Risa," said the one on the right, her tone a shade warmer. "Lord Malik requested we see to your comfort, show you the facilities, and extend full hospitality to you and your people."
Ishidate's gaze swept the corridor behind them as they walked. The floors were lacquered wood, gleaming but not slippery. Lanterns were set at equal intervals, each carved with delicate patterns—but when his eyes narrowed, he saw the faint chakra etching in the carvings. Seals. Layered, subtle, integrated into the décor.
He did not miss the small bulge under Aya's sleeve where a concealed weapon clearly rested. Nor the faint calluses on Risa's fingers—blade grip, not writing grip.
He realized, with a faint tightening in his chest, that the two women were not "staff" in the way most nobles meant it.
They were shinobi. Trained. Poised. Comfortable in a place built for beauty and war at the same time.
Aya stepped lightly on ahead, gesturing down the hall. "We'll begin with the main floor lodging, dining, and common spaces. Your associates on the ship will be brought ashore shortly."
Ishidate's head snapped toward her. "You've already decided that?"
Risa's eyes crinkled faintly. "Your companion asked us to. It was a reasonable request."
They both looked, for the first time, directly at Kongō.
He blinked. "Oh. Right. Uh—yeah. Sorry about… him." He jerked his thumb toward Ishidate. "He's… cautious."
"A bad habit I've earned," Ishidate said dryly.
Kongō sighed and stepped forward, putting a broad hand on Ishidate's shoulder. "Look… I'm not the smart one, but even I know this much: you don't build all this—" he gestured around, "—just to lure in three shinobi and a boat full of mercs to kill them. Seems like a lot of work for a small corpse pile."
Risa's lips twitched.
Aya's brow rose, amused.
Kongō kept going, earnest despite his size. "We've had a lot of… bad deals. Backstabs. People who smile, then shove knives where you can't see. He's right to be tense. But—" he nodded at the two attendants, "if Malik wanted us dead, he wouldn't have done it with drinks, chairs, sunshine, and pretty staff. No offense."
"None taken," Aya said calmly.
"Also," Kongō added, scratching his cheek, "our boys on the boat may act like trash, but they're loyal. So… if you can send people to bring them in, maybe give them food before they pick a fight with your walls, that'd be good. They're rough, but they're ours."
Risa smiled fully this time. "We'll handle them."
She lifted two fingers lightly; three more attendants in similar uniforms seemed to appear at the far end of the hall, as if they'd grown out of the shadows and sunbeams themselves. Quick bows followed, then a few murmured instructions, and the trio departed at a brisk, easy pace toward the shore path.
Ishidate watched them go.
Each step was balanced. Each back exposed for only a heartbeat at a time. Formation—without looking like a formation.
He exhaled slowly, some tension leaking out of his shoulders.
"…If someone like you," he muttered to Kongō, "has to be the voice of reason, that means I've let my guard run ahead of my brain."
Kongō grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't," Ishidate lied.
He turned back to Aya and Risa and bowed his head very slightly. "My apologies. Old habits."
Aya inclined her head. "Old habits keep people alive. We don't fault you for them."
Risa gestured down the corridor. "Shall we continue the tour?"
"Yes," Ishidate said. "Please."
They moved deeper into the resort.
◈ ◈ ◈
The Entry Hall
The first wide chamber they entered was clearly built as a reception and gathering space. The air was cooler here, carrying a faint scent of citrus and wood polish. A grand central table sat beneath a hanging lantern sculpture—glass plates shaped like petals, floating in a circle, lit from within with a gentle golden glow.
Kongō stared. "That's… not gonna fall, right?"
Risa smiled. "Not unless we want it to. It's suspended with seals and wire chakra threads. Impact-resistant."
Ishidate stepped closer, eyeing the glass. He could see the lattice of etched runes traced along the metal framework. The craftsmanship was subtle, but meticulous.
"This place is… defensible," he said.
Aya tilted her head. "Is that your assessment as a guest, or as a shinobi strategist?"
"Both," he answered.
She nodded once, filing that away.
They passed small groupings of cushions and low tables positioned near open windows that looked out toward the sea. Every angle was relaxed, luxurious—and yet Ishidate could not find a blind spot. There were always mirrored surfaces, reflective décor, or lines of sight that would allow someone to watch the whole room from half a dozen hidden vantage points.
Risa caught his studying gaze and smirked gently. "Lord Malik designed the layout with input from… friends in several villages. Comfort and visibility can coexist. He likes spaces where people feel safe—but where nothing can sneak up on them without consent."
Kongō blinked. "You talk like you like him."
Risa's smile became more private. "We do."
Aya added, "He is… kind. And very dangerous. In that order."
Ishidate's brows drew together. "Most leaders put those in the reverse order."
"Most leaders," Aya said, "aren't Malik."
Kongō's stomach growled loudly, cutting through the tension. He slapped a hand over his middle. "Uh. Sorry. We skipped breakfast."
Risa's eyes warmed. "Then the next stop should be the dining hall."
Kongō brightened immediately.
Ishidate made a quiet note: Malik had staffed his resort with people who not only observed, but adapted instantly to every small cue. Reaction time, social intelligence, and lethal poise—wrapped in soft smiles and silk.
This is not an inn, he thought.
This is a fortress that decided to become beautiful.
◈ ◈ ◈
The Dining Hall
The smell hit them first—savory and rich, carrying hints of roasted meat, grilled fish, herbs, and fresh bread. Kongō inhaled like a man emerging from underwater.
"Ohhh," he groaned, eyes nearly rolling back. "This is the best place I've ever been."
The hall itself was long, lined with windows looking out over the water. Sunlight streamed in, catching on cutlery polished to a shine. The tables were large and solid, crafted from pale wood, each one accompanied by cushions or chairs depending on preference. A long sideboard carried covered dishes, steam curling lazily from beneath polished lids.
Staff moved quietly between tables, adjusting placements, refilling pitchers, checking every angle.
Ishidate's gaze snagged on the kitchen doorway—a swinging set of panels through which he glimpsed organized chaos: knives flashing, pots steaming, orders murmured in quick, short commands. He saw a man with his back turned flick his wrist; a ladle hovered up into the air for three seconds before landing perfectly in a pot.
Even in cooking, they use chakra.
Risa followed his gaze. "Lord Malik designed the menu here as well. Some recipes are his. Some are from guests who stayed and traded dishes as payment. The kitchen uses chakra for heat regulation and rapid plating."
Kongō drifted toward the sideboard, eyes locked on a platter of glazed meat. "Uh… can we…?"
Aya laughed quietly. "Of course. You are guests. Eat what you like."
She snapped her fingers once—two more attendants appeared as if pulled out of the air, moving to lift lids and explain dishes before Kongō even asked.
"This is citrus-glazed boar, slow-roasted," one said.
"This is grilled fish marinated in coastal herbs," said the other. "This basket holds steam-buns filled with spiced vegetables."
Kongō stopped listening and started building a plate.
Ishidate, by contrast, approached the spread with measured restraint. He served himself modest portions, not because he was uninterested, but because he refused to be distracted.
Still… when he tasted the first bite of fish, his eyes flicked up sharply.
Risa caught the reaction. "Good?"
He chewed, swallowed, and inclined his head the slightest degree. "Very."
"Lord Malik believes full stomachs make better decisions," she said lightly. "He insists no serious conversation should happen hungry if it can be avoided."
Kongō stuffed a steam-bun into his mouth. "I like him more every second."
Aya folded her hands. "When your men arrive, they'll receive the same. Food, water, baths, and bedding."
Ishidate looked at her sharply. "You're extending our welcome… to mercenaries you've never met."
"They're under your banner," Aya replied. "And Malik offered hospitality to your group, not just your leaders."
"That's… risky," Ishidate said.
Risa shrugged faintly. "A little. But we don't fear rough men with bad manners. We've handled worse."
The casual confidence in her tone sent a shiver down his spine. He believed her.
Kongō swallowed loudly, then nudged Ishidate with one elbow. "Hey."
"What."
"So." He glanced around to ensure no one was too close, then leaned in a bit. "What do you think Karenbana and Malik are talking about right now?"
Ishidate didn't dignify that with an answer.
Kongō took that as an invitation anyway. "Because I bet she's already asked him three personal questions and tried to stand close enough to smell his hair."
Ishidate closed his eyes briefly. "Kongō."
"What? You saw the way she looked at him."
"Everyone saw it," Ishidate muttered. "The staff. The boat crew. The birds."
Kongō smirked around a mouthful of boar. "So you agree. She likes him."
"I agree she's intrigued," Ishidate corrected. "Which is dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" Kongō asked. "We work with dangerous people constantly."
Ishidate set his chopsticks down and steepled his fingers. "Karenbana craves respect. Attention. Proof she's… not what people assume when they see her. Childlike. Frivolous. Harmless."
Risa, who was pretending not to listen while absolutely listening, tilted her head.
Ishidate continued, mostly for Kongō, partly for himself. "He gave her that. Immediately. Without hesitation. He saw her, complimented her, treated her like a woman with sharp edges rather than a toy. She will… not forget that."
Kongō chewed thoughtfully. "Is that… bad?"
"It's… complicated," Ishidate said.
Aya quietly poured tea into his cup. "Complicated is our lord's specialty."
He glanced at her. "That doesn't reassure me."
"It wasn't meant to," she said, unbothered.
Kongō wiped sauce from his lips with the back of his hand. "Look, Ishidate. You're thinking like this is a fight we have to win. I'm thinking it might be a chance, for once, to not fight everything."
Ishidate arched a brow. "Explain."
Kongō stared into his plate for a moment. "We've been on the road for years. No banners. No home. Just jobs and coin and people who use us when they need us, then forget us when they don't." He looked up, expression unexpectedly serious. "Karenbana's always pretending she doesn't care. That she just wants the money and attention. You and I both know she wants more."
"More what?" Ishidate asked.
"More eyes on her that see her as an equal," Kongō said. "More rooms where she walks in and people know she's dangerous and smart and grown. Malik gave her that in five seconds."
Risa's eyes softened.
Aya's gaze flicked between the men, thoughtful.
Ishidate inhaled slowly. "That may be true. But it also makes her vulnerable. Attachments create leverage."
Kongō shrugged. "And what's the alternative? We never trust anyone? We grow old and die on some nameless job for some nameless man and leave nothing behind?"
Ishidate opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again.
A memory surfaced: Karenbana laughing too loudly in rented rooms that smelled like damp; Kongō sleeping with his back to a door in case someone broke in; Ishidate himself, writing careful notes on unstable employers by lamplight because someone had to remember who had betrayed them.
A life of motion. No roots. No place to leave a scar on the world.
"…Malik did not have to offer us a future," he admitted quietly.
"Nope," Kongō said. "Could've just thrown money and walked away."
Risa set her teapot down. "He rarely offers this kind of thing," she said. "Positions. Foundations. Homes. When he does, it's because he's seen something worth investing in."
Ishidate frowned. "Investing."
"People are his favorite resource," Aya said calmly. "He collects talent like other men collect land. The difference is… he wants his people to be able to stand without him one day. Stronger, not dependent."
"That," Ishidate muttered, "is either admirable or deeply manipulative."
"Both," Aya said comfortably.
He stared at her.
She stared back, entirely at ease.
Kongō snorted laughter.
◈ ◈ ◈
The Private Wings
After eating—Kongō enthusiastically, Ishidate less so but enough to be satisfied—they resumed the tour.
Aya led them up a wide staircase, her steps noiseless. Risa fell into pace behind them, a fluid four-point formation that would have made any squad instructor nod in approval.
They passed hallways lined with doors. Each door bore a subtle carved symbol: wave, leaf, fan, moon, blade, flame.
"Guest wings," Risa explained. "Each section can be tuned—temperature, humidity, soundproofing. Some were made with specific guests in mind. Fire users, wind users, silent rooms, rooms where people can hear the ocean at any time of day, people with unique chakra constitutions."
Kongō whistled. "All this just so people can sleep nice?"
Aya shook her head. "Sleep is when people are most vulnerable. Malik takes that very seriously."
Ishidate glanced at a door marked with a carved crescent moon. "And these… runes?"
"Subtle defensive seals," Aya said. "They can lock down corridors, redirect intruders, or collapse illusions. The building itself is… a puzzle box, if someone hostile tries to force their way through without permission."
Ishidate's lips flattened. "You keep saying things that should make me more at ease and more unsettled at the same time."
Risa smiled. "You're responding correctly, then."
They passed a wide-open archway that led into a training room—polished floors, weapon racks, chalk circles on the ground, dummies and targets arranged with mathematical precision.
Kongō's face lit up. "Now this looks familiar."
Risa gestured inside. "This space is at your disposal while you remain. If you wish to test the equipment or train, we can accommodate it."
"Even… for me?" Kongō asked.
Her gaze flicked over his bulk, measuring. "We reinforce the floors."
He laughed. "I like you."
Aya's gaze slid back toward Ishidate. "There is another wing you should see."
He lifted a brow. "Why me specifically?"
"Because you're the one who keeps checking every corner," she said. "You should see where Lord Malik keeps what he values most."
They moved through another hall, this one narrower, quieter. The air felt different—denser, charged with a faint hum that made the hairs on Ishidate's arms rise.
Aya stopped before a heavy door—plain wood, no ornamentation, just a single symbol burned into the surface.
A circle intersected by three lines.
"What is that?" Ishidate asked.
"His seal library," Aya replied. "Contracts, archives, wards, long-term projects. The kinds of things that outlive battles."
Kongō shifted uneasily. "Can we… go in?"
"No," Risa said simply. "Not yet. Not as you are."
Ishidate narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?"
Aya met his gaze, unflinching. "It means you are visitors, not yet anchors. Guests, not yet pillars. That may change. Or it may not. Lord Malik doesn't rush those decisions."
…Anchors.
…Pillars.
Words that spoke of permanence.
Of being part of the architecture, not just passing through it.
Ishidate swallowed, throat unexpectedly tight. "And you two?"
"Anchors," Aya said.
"Pillars," Risa added.
Kongō rubbed the back of his neck. "Must feel… good. To know you're not going to be tossed out when the wind changes."
Risa's expression softened. "It does."
Aya glanced toward the window at the end of the hall—sunlight pouring in over the sea, the horizon a bright hard line.
"Lord Malik will not chain you here," she said. "If you accept his offer and later wish to leave, he will not stop you. He gives doors, not cages."
Ishidate looked at the door with the strange mark again.
And thought, without meaning to:
I would like to see what he keeps in there.
Kongō stretched, joints popping. "So, food, beds, training halls, magical puzzle doors, death ninjas in pretty clothes… Karenbana flirting with the boss."
He shot Ishidate a side-eye. "You still looking for the trap?"
"Always," Ishidate said. "But… I'm starting to think the trap isn't for us."
"How's that?" Kongō asked.
Ishidate exhaled. "This place… it's designed to make people stay. To make them… build. Invest. Lay down roots. The trap, if there is one, is that once we step fully into this arrangement… leaving will feel like cutting off our own limbs."
Kongō thought about that.
Then nodded slowly. "That's a trap I can live with."
Risa chuckled. "You'd be surprised how many people say that."
Aya gestured back down the hallway. "There is one more thing we've been asked to show you before the sun sets."
Ishidate blinked. "Asked by whom?"
"Malik," Aya said. "Before he stole some time alone with your teammate, he left instructions."
Kongō grinned. "Of course he did."
"And what is this 'one more thing'?" Ishidate asked warily.
Risa's eyes gleamed.
"The roof."
◈ ◈ ◈
The Roof
They climbed a narrow staircase tucked behind a decorative screen, the walls here closer, the light dimmer, the air cooler. When they emerged at the top, the world exploded open.
The roof was wide, flat, tiled in smooth stone warmed by the sun. Low walls ringed the perimeter, decorated with carved patterns of waves and clouds. The sea stretched out on all sides—endless blue slashed by white foam where waves broke against the cliffs.
A bath was set into the stone on one side, steam curling lazily upward. Lanterns hung from poles at the corners, unlit for now, waiting for dusk.
The breeze was cool and salt-scented.
Kongō walked straight to the edge and looked out. "Huh."
Ishidate followed more slowly, his eyes taking in the vantage point—the clear 360-degree view, the lack of blind spots, the easy line-of-sight to the tree line, the shore, even the boat where their men waited.
If someone attacked this island, this roof would be the first and last defense line.
And the most beautiful.
Aya stepped up beside him. "He likes to end days up here. Says it reminds him that the world is bigger than his problems."
Risa added, "When important guests come, he tries to show them this view before they leave. So they remember what they're building toward."
Kongō was quiet, for once, just watching the waves.
After a long moment, he said, "You think… Karenbana could be happy here?"
Ishidate didn't answer immediately.
He thought of her, fuming about being mistaken for a child.
Thought of the way her eyes lit when she showed off a new outfit.
Thought of how carefully she pretended not to care when people dismissed her.
He imagined her on this roof at night, wind in her wig, laughing too loudly, demanding the sky look at her.
"Yes," he said at last. "If the work challenged her. If the people respected her. If she felt seen."
Kongō snorted. "Malik already sees her."
"That," Ishidate muttered, "is part of the problem."
Risa tilted her head. "Is it a problem… or simply new?"
He considered that.
Aya clasped her hands behind her back. "You worry about losing control," she said to Ishidate. "Over her. Over him. Over the situation."
"I don't lose control," Ishidate said automatically.
"A lie," Aya said calmly. "You lost some the moment you stepped on this island. You lost more when you realized this place is what you've been pretending you don't want."
He turned to stare at her.
She stared back.
Kongō scratched his jaw. "She's… not wrong."
Ishidate wanted to argue.
Couldn't.
The wind gusted once, carrying the sound of distant laughter—faint and musical from somewhere below. Karenbana, maybe. Malik. Staff. He couldn't tell. The resort hummed with life.
He looked out at the horizon again.
"We will take his deal," he said quietly, more to himself than the women. "We already agreed. But now… I think I understand the weight of it better."
Kongō grinned. "You mean the 'we might actually have a future' part?"
Ishidate's lips twitched despite himself. "Yes. That part."
Risa stepped back, offering a shallow bow. "We'll leave you two for a while. Call if you need anything."
Aya added, "Your men should be arriving within the hour. Food and quarters are prepared."
They walked away together, moving in that effortless synchronization again, and disappeared down the stairwell.
Kongō let out a slow breath.
"So," he said. "We've got good food. Soft beds. A boss who pays on time and smiles like a festival lantern. And maybe… maybe… a kingdom in our future."
"And a teammate," Ishidate said, "who is probably trying to decide whether she wants to marry the man or rob him."
Kongō laughed. "You say that like she can't do both."
Ishidate actually smiled.
The sea roared softly below them.
The resort pulsed with quiet life.
For the first time in a very long time, the idea of tomorrow didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like a possibility.
And somewhere beneath them, in sun-warmed rooms and jasmine-scented halls, Malik's plans for the Land of the Moon—and for the three wandering shinobi of the Uemon clan—were already knitting themselves into the fabric of the future.