The morning light filtered through the narrow window of Commander Hideo's office, casting long shadows across his desk. The man himself looked like he hadn't slept properly in weeks—dark circles under his eyes, stubble he'd forgotten to shave, and hands that tightened slightly when he thought no one was looking.
He sat stiffly behind the desk, fingers laced together, waiting.
The knock came exactly on time.
"Enter."
The figure who stepped inside wore standard ANBU gear—porcelain mask, tactical vest, the works. Nothing particularly unusual about the appearance, but Hideo had learned to recognize this particular operative by his mannerisms alone.
"Commander," the masked figure said, closing the door behind him. "I trust you've been well?"
Hideo's jaw tightened. "Let's skip the pleasantries. I held up my end of the bargain. Yesterday's attack succeeded because of what I did."
"Indeed." The operative moved closer. "Delayed patrol rotations. Strategic understaffing of the eastern watchtowers. And that particularly useful delay in reporting enemy movement near the forest perimeter. You were very helpful yesterday, Commander."
Each word landed like a punch. Hideo's fists curled on the desk. "Six good shinobi died because of those delays…"
"Regrettable," the operative replied, not a flicker of remorse in his tone. "But necessary. You understand."
"Necessary?" Hideo's voice rose before he caught himself, glancing toward the door. "Those were my people. I've served with some of them for years."
"And your daughter has been safely attending the Academy for three weeks now," the operative replied smoothly. "She's adjusting well to her new environment. Her reading comprehension has improved remarkably since we... found her."
The casual mention of his daughter Fumi made Hideo's stomach twist. His nine-year-old daughter had been safely hidden in a small outer village, living a quiet life away from the politics of the major villages. But whenever his missions took him to that region, he couldn't help himself—he'd find excuses to stop by, to check on her, to make sure she was safe and happy. Those visits had drawn the wrong kind of attention from Root operatives looking for leverage against village officials.
"She's just a child," Hideo said quietly, his voice strained. "She has nothing to do with any of this."
"And she will remain just a child, enjoying her education, as long as you continue to cooperate." The operative reached into his vest and withdrew a sealed scroll. "Which brings us to your next assignment."
Hideo stared at the scroll like it was a coiled snake. "Next assignment?"
"Your cooperation has been... valuable. But there are additional services required to ensure your daughter's continued safety and happiness."
The scroll landed on his desk with a soft thud. Hideo broke the seal with trembling fingers, his eyes scanning the contents.
"This..." he started, then stopped, rereading the orders with growing distaste.
"Necessary for the war effort. The elders require your complete cooperation to ensure victory against our enemies." The operative said flatly. "Your daughter is such a bright child. It would be unfortunate if something were to happen to her during these... dangerous times. Accidents occur so easily in wartime."
The threat wasn't subtle. It didn't need to be.
Hideo closed his eyes, thinking of Fumi's excited letters about her new classmates and teachers. She was finally making friends, learning things she'd only dreamed about in a remote village.
"The elders need to understand," he said, opening his eyes to stare at the operative. "We're bleeding experienced shinobi faster than we can replace them. These operations are gutting our ranks. Chunin and jonin don't grow on trees. They take years to train."
"Your concerns are noted."
"And Tsunade's already suspicious. She's been asking questions about patrol schedules, defensive positioning. The woman's not stupid—she's going to figure out something's wrong."
"Tsunade is being monitored. Her activities are of no concern to your mission."
Hideo leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice. "Look, I've done everything you asked. But this next step... it's going to get more people killed. Good people. Can't the elders reconsider? There has to be another way."
The operative tilted his head slightly. "The elders are quite satisfied with your performance thus far. They would be... disappointed if your commitment were to waver now. Disappointed superiors have been known to reassess the benefits they provide to subordinates' families."
The silence that followed felt like a blade pressed to the back of his neck.
Hideo slumped back in his chair, the fight going out of him. "I need time to do this without raising suspicions."
"You'll have your time," the operative said, turning for the door. "Just remember—patience is not one of the elders' virtues."
He paused with his hand on the knob.
"Oh, and Commander? Your daughter mentioned you in her last letter. She's very proud of her father's service to the village. It would be a shame to disappoint her."
The door shut behind him with a quiet click, leaving Hideo alone.
With the scroll. With the silence. With the guilt twisting in his chest like a knife.
…
…
Tsunade released the messenger hawk from the eastern window of the medical building, watching it disappear into the morning sky. The scroll tied to its leg contained her growing suspicions about the outpost's situation—carefully worded observations that her sensei would understand without compromising herself if the message was intercepted.
She'd felt the eyes on her for the last ten minutes. Three different watchers, positioned at careful intervals around the medical facility. They thought they were being subtle.
Amateurs.
Instead of acknowledging them, she stretched casually and made her way toward the Command Center. Her sandals clicked against the stone walkway as she passed a group of workers repairing damage from yesterday's raid. They nodded respectfully as she walked by.
The Command Center's corridors were quieter than usual, most of the staff busy with cleanup and damage assessment. Tsunade rounded a corner, then another, and found herself face-to-face with an ANBU operative walking in the opposite direction.
She gave him a brief glance as they passed. Standard ANBU—nothing unusual about his appearance or demeanor.
She took another turn and stopped outside Hideo's office.
Tsunade didn't bother knocking.
She kicked the door open and strolled inside like she owned the place.
"Morning, Hideo. Hope you don't mind the intrusion."
The Commander looked up from his desk with a weary sigh. "Tsunade, for the love of—could you please knock like a normal person? Just once?"
"Where's the fun in that?" She kicked the door shut behind her and dropped into the chair across from his desk. "Besides, normal people don't usually have anything interesting to hide."
Hideo's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Right. And I'm not a world-class medic." Tsunade leaned back in her chair, studying his face. "You look like hell, by the way. When's the last time you got a full night's sleep?"
"It's been a busy week."
"Busy." Tsunade repeated the word like it left a bad taste. "That's one way to put it. I've been thinking about yesterday's raid."
"Not this again."
"See, here's the funny thing," she said, voice calm but edged. "Enemy raids like that don't just happen. Not with our patrol net covering the border. It takes coordination. Timing. Intel. But somehow, yesterday, they slipped through everything. Hit exactly where we were weakest. Got inside the outpost like they had a damn floor plan."
She let the words settle.
"Almost like someone helped them get in."
Hideo's hands stilled on his desk. "Are you accusing me of something?"
"Should I be?" Tsunade's voice remained casual, but her eyes were sharp. "Look, Hideo, I've known you since the Academy. You were always the by-the-book type. Followed orders, did your duty, looked out for your people."
"Nothing's changed."
"Hasn't it?" Tsunade leaned forward slightly. "Because the Hideo I remember wouldn't leave eastern watchtowers short-staffed during high alert. He wouldn't delay patrol rotations when we had confirmed enemy scouts in the area."
A muscle in Hideo's jaw twitched. "Sometimes command decisions don't make sense to people who aren't seeing the full picture."
"Cut the crap." Tsunade's voice hardened. "I've been watching you for some time. You're twitchy, distracted, and pulling tactics that make no damn sense. That's not the Hideo I knew. So either you've lost your mind... or someone's holding something over you."
"Tsunade—"
"I'm trying to help you here." She stood up, placing both hands on his desk. "Whatever's going on, whatever they've got hanging over your head, we can fix it. But you need to let me in."
Hideo stared at her for a long moment, conflict playing across his features. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin, almost broken.
"You can't fix this."
"Try me."
"I..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "I can't lose her, Tsunade. She's all I have left."
Tsunade didn't blink. "And what choice did you make?"
Hideo's composure finally cracked. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion.
"They have my daughter."
The words hung in the air like a confession.
Tsunade felt something cold settle in her stomach. "Who has your daughter?"
"She's nine years old," Hideo continued, his voice muffled by his hands. "Mixed heritage. Her mother was from Lightning Country. Beautiful girl, smartest kid you've ever seen."
"Hideo—"
"I've been hiding her for years." He looked up, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion and guilt. "But they found her anyway. Brought her to Konoha, enrolled her in the Academy. Told her it was for her own protection."
Tsunade's voice dropped. "But it wasn't."
"It was a cage with nicer walls." His laugh was low and bitter. "She thinks she's living the dream now. Big city, shinobi training, everything she ever wanted. She doesn't know she's a hostage."
Tsunade sank back into her chair, the pieces finally clicking into place. "And in exchange for her safety… you've been sabotaging your own command."
"That's right." Hideo didn't flinch. "Yesterday's raid only worked because I made sure we weren't ready."
"And they want you to keep going."
Hideo reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a crumpled scroll. "My next assignment. And if I don't comply, the elders will hurt..."
The office fell silent except for the distant sounds of construction and repair work outside. Tsunade stared at the scroll, her mind racing through possibilities and implications.
Hideo slumped in his chair. "What am I supposed to do, Tsunade? Let them kill my daughter to save a few shinobi who don't even know they're in danger? Or keep following orders and watch good people die because of my choices?"
Tsunade stood up slowly. "You're going to do neither."
He blinked. "What?"
"We're going to find a third option." She moved toward the window, staring out at the outpost beyond. "But first, I need to know everything. Every order they've given you, every contact you've had, every detail about how they're holding your daughter."
"Tsunade, you don't understand. If they suspect I've told you—"
"They won't suspect anything because we're going to be very careful about how we handle this." She turned back to face him. "The old Hideo I knew wouldn't sacrifice innocent people to save his own family. But he also wouldn't abandon his daughter to save strangers. So we find a way to save both."
Hope flickered in Hideo's eyes for the first time in weeks. "You really think it's possible?"
"I think the people who are using your daughter as leverage are about to learn why crossing me is a really bad idea." Tsunade's smile was sharp and dangerous. "But first, we need to make sure they don't suspect anything has changed. You're going to follow their orders, but with a few... modifications."
Tsunade picked up the crumpled scroll from his desk. "How much time did they give you to implement this?"
"Forty-eight hours."
"Perfect. That gives us time to set up some insurance." She moved toward the door, then paused. "And Hideo? Next time something like this happens, you come to me first. We're going to make sure it never happens again."
As she left his office, Tsunade's mind was already working through the implications. The elders was using children as leverage to manipulate field commanders. That level of calculation suggested this wasn't an isolated incident.
Which meant there were probably other commanders, other children, other impossible choices being forced on people who just wanted to protect their families.
…
…
Six hours of bouncing through the treetops like a caffeinated squirrel had taught me several important life lessons. First, whoever said tree travel was faster than speeding in a car had clearly never factored in the part where every branch tried to personally introduce itself to your face. Second, the afternoon sun had apparently decided that Fire Country needed to be hotter than a blacksmith's forge, and it was taking that responsibility very seriously.
You'd think the forest would offer some relief from the sun's personal vendetta, but no—it was pulling the classic bait-and-switch. What looked like cooling shade from a distance turned out to be nature's version of a slow cooker. Every gap in the canopy became a personal spotlight designed to remind me that my shirt was now more sweat than fabric, and even the supposedly cooler patches under the thicker branches felt like sitting in a sauna. The air hung thick and still, carrying the kind of weight that made every breath feel like work.
At least the scenery was nice. Pine needles caught the light like tiny green mirrors, and somewhere in the distance I could hear running water that sounded infinitely more appealing than it had any right to. Birds were calling from hidden nests, probably laughing at the three sweaty humans trying to navigate their neighborhood without falling to their deaths.
Which, considering how empty my stomach was starting to feel, was becoming a legitimate concern.
"Water break?" I called out, spotting a decent-sized branch ahead.
"Thank god," Tsume muttered, landing with slightly less grace than usual.
We settled on adjacent branches, passing around water bottles and letting our heart rates settle back to something resembling normal. The forest was quiet except for the distant sound of a stream and the occasional bird call.
Mikoto wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "How much farther do you think we've got to go?"
"To Konoha? If we keep this pace, we'll hit the village deep in the night," I said, taking a long drink from my bottle.
"Deep in the night," Tsume groaned. "My stomach's already screaming. Why don't we stop and cook something?"
"You mean 'me' cook something," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Just suck it up—we're almost there. A little hunger never killed anyone. Think of it as a free diet."
Tsume let out a dramatic sigh. "At this point, I'm starting to hallucinate food that isn't wrapped in plastic." She pulled a sealed ration pack from her kit and glared at it. "What even is this? Meat? Vegetables? Compressed sadness?"
I squinted at the label. "According to this, it's a 'nutritionally balanced protein and grain mixture.'"
"That's not food, that's a science experiment," Mikoto said, unwrapping her own ration with resignation. "Remember when we thought Academy cafeteria food was bad?"
"Okay, now I'm curious," I said, settling more comfortably on my branch. "What's the worst thing you've ever eaten? And I mean truly awful—like, made-you-question-your-life-choices awful."
Tsume perked up immediately. "Oh, I've got a good one. When I was eight, my clan has this tradition where kids have to eat whatever the ninken catch during training exercises. Build character or something."
"That doesn't sound too bad," Mikoto said.
"Kuromaru's great-uncle caught a week-old fish. From a stagnant pond. In summer." Tsume shuddered at the memory. "I threw up for an hour, but my mom made me finish it anyway. Said it would teach me not to waste food."
I winced. "That's hardcore even by clan standards."
"Your turn," she said, pointing at me with her water bottle.
"Me? I'm a professional chef. I don't eat awful food."
"Bullshit," Tsume said immediately. "Everyone's had at least one culinary disaster. Spill."
I sighed dramatically. "Fine. When I was really young, I tried putting honey on grilled fish. Figured sweet and savory would work together."
"How'd that turn out?" Mikoto asked.
"Like eating candy-coated disappointment. Turns out some flavors should stay in separate food groups." I looked at Mikoto expectantly. "Your turn."
She was quiet for a moment, clearly debating whether to share. "Raw tomato and sake."
We both stared at her.
"You were drinking sake young enough to still be experimenting with tomatoes?" I asked.
"I was twelve. My older cousin thought it would be funny to see what happened." She made a face. "The tomato made the sake taste even worse, and the sake made the tomato... slimy. Like swallowing fish bait."
"Your family has some questionable ideas about entertainment," Tsume observed.
"Says the girl whose clan makes kids eat pond scum as character development."
"Hey, that's different. That's tradition."
We fell back into traveling after that, the conversation flowing between food disasters and increasingly elaborate complaints about military rations. The forest gradually changed around us as we moved deeper into Fire Country—the trees grew denser, the undergrowth thicker, creating a green tunnel that muffled sound and trapped the afternoon heat.
By five in the afternoon, my shirt had given up any pretense of being an actual piece of clothing and had fully committed to being a damp, clingy second skin. My water bottle was making those tragic sloshing sounds that meant I'd be rationing the last few drops, and the sun was finally starting to cut us some slack by angling toward the horizon. Long shadows stretched between the trees like dark fingers, and everything was painted in shades of gold and orange that would've been gorgeous if I weren't too tired to properly appreciate it.
That's when we reached the crossroads.
It wasn't much to look at—just a natural clearing where several animal trails converged, surrounded by massive trees that had probably been here since before the founding of the hidden villages. But it was a good place to rest, and more importantly, it was where I needed to make my pitch.
I landed on a particularly wide branch and held up a hand for the others to stop.
"What's up?" Tsume asked, settling on a nearby branch with Kuromaru curled up beside her.
"I've been thinking," I said, which immediately made both of them look suspicious. "We've had a pretty intense mission, right? Fought real enemies, survived a raid, proved we can handle ourselves in the field."
"Yeah..." Mikoto said slowly. "Where are you going with this?"
"I think we should celebrate. Take a little detour before heading back to report."
Tsume raised an eyebrow. "What kind of detour?"
I grinned. "Yugakure. Hot springs, good food, proper beds. Consider it a victory lap."
"Yugakure?" Mikoto's voice went up an octave. "Shinji, that's a long detour from here, even at full speed. And it's in completely the wrong direction."
Tsume added. "And we're supposed to report back as soon as possible. That's basic mission protocol."
"Come on, hear me out," I said, settling more comfortably on my branch. "When's the next time we're going to have a chance to do something like this? We'll be back to C or D-rank missions and training. This might be our only shot at a real celebration."
"The Hokage is expecting our report," Mikoto said firmly. "We can't just disappear for a day to go soak in hot springs."
"We won't disappear. We'll just... take the scenic route back." I tried my most persuasive smile. "Besides, think about the benefits. Hot spring water is amazing for your skin. You'll come back glowing."
Tsume snorted. "Nice try, but vanity isn't going to convince us to abandon our duty."
"Okay, how about stress relief? Physical recovery? The well-documented therapeutic benefits of mineral-rich water?"
"Still no," Mikoto said, though I caught the briefest flicker of interest in her eyes.
I sighed dramatically. "Fine. You want the real reason?"
They both leaned forward slightly.
"I have a secret mission from Tsunade-sensei," I said quietly, making sure my voice carried just the right amount of reluctance. "She asked me to deliver something to someone in Yugakure. I didn't want to drag you two into it, but..." I shrugged helplessly.
The change in their expressions was immediate.
"A secret mission?" Mikoto's eyes widened. "Why didn't you say that from the beginning?"
"Because it's supposed to be secret," I replied. "And because I was hoping I could figure out a way to do it without involving you. But if I go alone, you'll have to explain to the Hokage why your teammate wandered off by himself."
Tsume chewed on her lip, eyeing me. "What kind of secret mission are we talking about?"
"The kind where I can't give you details." I held up my gloved left hand, wiggling my fingers slightly. "But it's legitimate. Tsunade-sensei wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important."
Both of them glanced at the glove, then at each other, trading one of those silent conversations that teammates develop after working together for a while.
"Fine," Mikoto said finally. "But we're making this as quick as possible. In and out, no extended vacation."
"Absolutely. Quick delivery, maybe a short soak to wash off the road dust, then we head straight home." I paused, then added casually, "And I heard they serve actual food there. Not just travel rations that taste like compressed disappointment."
Tsume's expression immediately shifted. "Wait, what kind of food?"
"The kind that doesn't come in a wrapper labeled 'nutritionally balanced protein mixture,'" I said, watching her face light up. "Hot meals, fresh ingredients, maybe even some decent meat that wasn't processed in a factory somewhere."
"Okay, now you're talking," she said, pulling out one of her ration packs and staring at it with obvious disgust. "I swear these things are getting worse. This one claims to be beef stew, but it tastes like someone dissolved a boot in salt water."
"That's probably not far from the truth," Mikoto added with a small smile.
Tsume didn't look skeptical anymore. In fact, she looked ready to sprint. "Yosh! Let's hit Yugakure!"
"Excellent!" I bounced to my feet, already planning our route. "Trust me, you're going to love this place."
We picked up the pace, weaving deeper into the forest. The trees grew thicker here, their trunks wide enough that three people couldn't wrap their arms around them.
The conversation started up again as we moved, jumping from what Yugakure might look like to increasingly wild guesses about my mission.
"I bet you're delivering love letters," Tsume said, hopping between two particularly close trees. "Secret romantic stuff for our sensei."
"Or blackmail material," Mikoto added with a perfectly straight face. "Photos of important people in compromising positions."
"You two have seriously twisted imaginations," I replied. "Maybe it's just medical supplies. Or research notes."
"Boring." Tsume made a face like I'd suggested watching paint dry. "I'm sticking with the love letters theory."
"What if it's a marriage proposal?" Mikoto said, warming to the topic. "Tsunade-sensei could be secretly engaged to some mysterious figure in Yugakure."
"Now you're both being ridiculous."
Their theories got more ridiculous as we traveled, but I didn't mind. The chatter kept my thoughts from drifting to darker places. Like how Konoha would respond to the attack on their settlement. The Hokage was patient, sure, but there were limits. And when those limits got crossed, people started dying.
I shook my head, focusing back on Tsume's latest theory involving secret ninja matchmaking services. Better to think about that than what was probably coming.
A few hours into our journey toward Yugakure, the forest began to thin slightly. Through gaps in the trees, I caught glimpses of a dirt road winding through the valley below. We were making good time, but the sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of orange and gold.
That's when Tsume suddenly stopped.
"Hold up." Her nose wrinkled. "I smell blood."
We all went still. Kuromaru's ears shot up, and he let out a low whine.
"How fresh?" I asked, scanning the forest around us.
"Hard to say from up here, but recent." She pointed down toward the road. "Coming from that direction."
I caught her eye and made a quick hand signal. Both girls nodded, and we moved silently toward the smell. A moment later we spotted movement on the road—a group of men walking in loose formation. From this distance, it was hard to make out details, but something about the way they moved caught my attention.
"See them?" I murmured.
"Six of them," Mikoto nodded. "Armed, and..." She squinted. "Covered in blood."
"Bandits?" Tsume asked, then grinned. "Should we kill them?"
"Easy there." I kept watching the group move down the road. "We don't need to start another border incident. Could be they got bloody helping wounded travelers. Or they could be the ones who made the travelers wounded in the first place."
"There's an easy way to find out," Tsume said, already moving toward a better vantage point.
"Wait," Mikoto grabbed her arm. "Shouldn't we just avoid them? We're not supposed to go looking for trouble."
"Define 'looking for trouble,'" I said. "Because technically, we're just investigating suspicious activity in our area."
Mikoto gave me a flat look. "That sounds like exactly the kind of logic that gets us in trouble."
"Come on," Tsume said, practically bouncing with excitement. "What if they really are bandits? We can't just let them pick off innocent travelers."
"What if they're not bandits?" Mikoto countered. "What if they're hunters coming back from a successful hunt? Or village militia on patrol?"
I studied the group below, noting their formation, the way they carried their weapons, their general demeanor. They moved like people who were comfortable with violence, but that could mean anything.
"You know what?" I said finally. "Let's just go say hello."
Both my teammates stared at me.
"Say hello?" Mikoto repeated. "To the potentially murderous armed men?"
"Why not? If they're innocent, no harm done. If they're bandits, well..." I shrugged. "We're three capable shinobi. What's the worst that could happen?"
"Fair point," Mikoto said, already checking her weapon pouch. "Better to know for sure than wonder about it later."
"Now you're talking." Tsume grinned and did the same, clearly excited about the possibility of a fight.
We descended through the trees, moving quietly until we were positioned above the road ahead of the armed group. They were walking casually, talking among themselves in low voices. Up close, I could confirm that yes, those were definitely bloodstains on their clothes. Fresh ones.
"Still could be hunters," Tsume whispered.
"Or really messy eaters," I added.
"You two are the worst," Mikoto said, though I caught her fighting back a smile.
The group was about twenty meters away when I made the decision.
"Afternoon!" I called out, dropping from the trees with my most friendly smile.
The effect was immediate and dramatic. All six men spun toward us, hands flying to weapons, faces going pale when they saw our headband. One of them actually yelped.
"Easy, easy," I said, raising my hands as Mikoto and Tsume landed beside me. "Just saying hello."
"Holy—where did you come from?" one of the men stammered, his hand still gripping his sword hilt.
"The trees," I said helpfully. "We're shinobi, as you can probably tell from our outfit. Couldn't help but notice you looked like you'd had an interesting day."
The group's leader—a gray-haired man with sharp eyes and scarred hands—stepped forward. His gaze flicked between our Konoha symbols and my face.
"Konoha shinobi," he said, tension tightening his shoulders slightly. "You gave us quite a scare. Most people use roads instead of dropping from the sky."
"Sorry about that," Mikoto said with an apologetic smile. "It's a habit of ours."
"I can see that," the man replied with a strained smile. "I'm Goro. We're… militia from Yugakure, patrolling the area to clear out bandit camps. We've had quite a successful day, actually."
"That would explain the..." I gestured vaguely at their bloodstained clothes.
"Occupational hazard," another man said with a grim smile. "Bandits don't surrender quietly."
"They never do." Tsume nodded like she'd been fighting bandits her whole life, instead of just hearing about them in her dad's stories.
"True enough," Goro agreed. "But it keeps the roads safe for honest travelers. Always good to see friendly shinobi in the area—means the villages are taking security seriously."
We fell into step with them as they continued down the road. They seemed like decent enough people—rough around the edges, sure, but with the kind of casual competence that came from real experience. Their leader had the bearing of an old soldier, while the others carried themselves like men who'd seen their share of fights.
"So you're heading back to Yugakure?" Mikoto asked.
"Eventually," Goro replied. "We've got another patrol sector to check first. Can't be too careful—the bandit problem's been getting worse lately."
"What kind of bandits?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"The usual. Desperate men who think robbing merchants is easier than honest work." He spat to the side. "Though we've been seeing some organized groups lately. Better equipped, better trained. More dangerous."
"Sounds like someone's been recruiting," Tsume said.
"That's our thinking too. Which is why we're taking this seriously."
I let my gaze drift casually over the group as we walked, noting details out of habit. Weapon maintenance, posture, the way they moved together. Standard stuff. But something caught my eye—a glimpse of dark ink on Goro's forearm where his sleeve had rolled up.
"That's an interesting tattoo," I said, nodding toward his arm. "Looks like some kind of bird?"
He glanced down and tugged his sleeve back into place with a casual shrug. "Old military unit marking. Got it years ago when I served in the regular forces before settling down in Yugakure." He gave a rueful smile. "Young and stupid, thought it made me look tough. Now it's just a reminder that I'm getting old."
"What unit?" I asked, purely out of curiosity.
"Nothing fancy. Border patrol, mostly. Spent a lot of time chasing smugglers and bandits even back then." He laughed. "Guess some things never change. Though these days I'm doing it for my village instead of some distant lord."
"Must give you good insight into how they think," Tsume observed.
"That's the idea. Takes a certain kind of person to hunt bandits effectively—you have to understand how they operate, where they'll strike next. The organized ones especially. They're not just desperate anymore. They're planning, coordinating. Makes them much more dangerous."
We walked together for maybe half an hour, trading stories about bandit encounters and road conditions. When we reached a fork in the road, they took their leave to continue their patrol.
"Safe travels, young shinobi," Goro said with a respectful nod. "And thank you for the conversation. It's rare to meet such pleasant company on the road."
"Likewise," I replied. "Good hunting."
We parted ways with waves and well-wishes, the militia heading north while we continued west toward Yugakure. As their figures disappeared around a bend, Tsume let out a long breath.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," she said.
"You sound disappointed," Mikoto said.
"Maybe a little. I was hoping for at least one good fight before we head back."
"Hey, we fought Suna-nin and survived a raid on a border outpost," I reminded her. "How much more excitement do you need?"
"Okay, fair point."
We traveled in comfortable silence as the afternoon stretched into evening. The forest gradually gave way to more open countryside, and by the time we finally crested a small hill, stars were scattered across the dark sky above us.
Yugakure spread out below us in a natural valley, and even in the darkness, it was beautiful. Steam rose from hot springs scattered throughout the settlement like ghostly pillars, visible against the night sky. Traditional buildings with curved roofs clustered together along winding stone paths, their windows glowing with warm yellow light. Paper lanterns hung along the main roads, creating pools of golden glow that made the whole village shimmer like scattered coins.
"Not bad," Tsume said, impressed despite herself.
"It's beautiful," Mikoto agreed. "I can see why people come here to relax."
Tsume scratched behind Kuromaru's ears as he panted happily beside her. "Look at all that steam. Those must be some serious hot springs."
"Welcome to Yugakure," I said with a grin. "Village hidden in the hot springs. Best relaxation in all the elemental nations, supposedly."
"How do you know so much about this place?" Mikoto asked.
"I read travel guides. Research is important."
"Travel guides." She gave me a look. "Seriously?"
"What? I have varied interests."
"You're such a nerd," Tsume laughed.
As we made our way down the hill toward the village gates, I couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. The hot springs were definitely appealing after days on the road, but the real reason for this detour was sitting in the storage seal on my hand. Whatever message Tsunade had sealed away, I'd be delivering it soon.
Just had to find one perverted old man in a village full of hot springs. How hard could that be?
...
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