By the time we'd combed through half of Yugakure's steaming streets, my patience was wearing thinner than my travel-stained shirt. We'd chec
By the time we'd combed through half of Yugakure's steaming streets, my patience was wearing thinner than my travel-stained shirt. We'd checked every hot spring, every sake house, every place that looked like it might attract a certain white-haired pervert with questionable research habits. Nothing.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, wiping sweat from my forehead as we passed our third bathhouse in the last hour. "How hard can it be to find one old man in a village this size?"
"Maybe he's not here?" Mikoto suggested, though she didn't sound convinced. "Your source could have been wrong."
"Or maybe he's just really good at hiding," Tsume added. Kuromaru had given up any pretense of dignity and was sprawled flat against the cooler stone pathway, tongue lolling.
I glanced up at the night sky, where stars blazed clearly through the steam rising from the village's natural springs. We'd been at this for more than an hour, and my stomach was making increasingly loud protests about the lack of actual food.
"You know what?" I stopped walking and turned to face the others. "It's getting late, and we're not going to find him wandering around in the dark. Let's get a room for the night and start fresh in the morning."
"A room?" Tsume's eyebrows shot up. "Like, here? In an actual inn? With actual beds?"
"Why not? We've got the funds, and after the week we've had, I think we've earned one night of sleeping in real beds instead of on the tree." I nodded toward the ryokan across the street. Traditional wood and paper construction, soft light spilling from the windows, the kind of place that probably had futon that didn't feel like sleeping on rocks. "Besides, if he's here, he'll probably show up at one of the hot springs eventually." Perverts always do.
Mikoto looked at the inn, then back at me with a small smile. "You know, that actually sounds amazing. I can't remember the last time I had a proper bath."
"See? Mikoto gets it." I started walking toward the ryoukan before either of them could change their minds. "Come on, let's go live like civilized people for one night."
The Moonlit Springs Inn was exactly the kind of place that made you want to stay forever and never deal with the real world again. Traditional architecture, sliding paper doors, and the gentle sound of water flowing through carefully tended gardens. Even the entrance smelled like cedar and jasmine instead of road dust and old sweat.
A middle-aged woman in an elegant kimono greeted us with a bow as we approached the reception area. "Welcome to Moonlit Springs Inn. How may we help you this evening?"
"We'd like a room for the night," I said, already reaching for my coin purse. "Three travelers, and give us your best. We're not looking to pinch coins."
She pursed her lips, mentally running through her rooms. "Festival season's kept us busy, but I think I can manage something. Second floor, overlooks the garden springs. Private bath, full meal service." A slight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That work for you?"
"Perfect." I dropped the coins on the counter with a satisfying clink. "We'll take it."
"Holy shit," Tsume said suddenly from behind me.
"Language," Mikoto chided automatically, though she was following Tsume's gaze with curiosity.
A bulletin board hung beside the entrance, covered in the usual mix of village notices and bounty postings. But one poster dominated the center, and the number at the bottom hit like a slap. 75,000 ryo. The sketch above it looked like someone had drawn it during an earthquake while blindfolded, but something about those crooked features made my brain itch.
"I know that face." Tsume was practically nose-to-paper now, studying the disaster of a drawing. "That stupid nose, those piggy little eyes..."
Mikoto crowded in beside her. "You know, now that you mention it, there is something familiar about the drawing."
I stepped up to read the text below the artistic disaster:
===
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
Goro "The Crow" Matsuda
Crimes: Banditry, Highway Robbery, Manslaughter, Extortion
Reward: 75,000 Ryo
Last seen operating between Fire and Hot Water Country borders
Distinguishing marks: Gray hair, multiple scars, crow tattoo on his forearm
===
"That's him!" Tsume practically shouted, pointing at the poster like she'd just solved a murder mystery. "That's the militia leader from the road! Same ugly nose, same beady eyes! I knew there was something sketchy about that guy!"
The inn clerk looked up from her ledger with obvious concern. "Is... is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine," Mikoto said quickly, grabbing Tsume's pointing arm and lowering it. "My friend just recognized someone from the poster."
Tsume spun around to face us, practically bouncing on her toes. "I told you guys there was something off about him! The way they all looked so nervous when we showed up... I knew he was hiding something!" She stopped mid-sentence, waiting for us to share her excitement.
Instead, Mikoto and I just looked at her.
"Wait," Tsume said slowly, her excitement deflating. "You two already knew?"
I scratched the back of my neck. "Six-man patrol formation, but they moved like a raiding party, loose spacing, eyes constantly scanning for escape routes instead of threats. I shrugged. "Wasn't exactly subtle once you knew what to look for."
Tsume stared at us. "And neither of you thought to mention this?"
"Mention what? That I had a hunch?" I shook my head. "We had no proof, and playing bounty hunter wasn't our job."
Mikoto smiled, nodding toward the poster. "But now we've got proof, a crime list, and seventy-five thousand ryo worth of incentive."
Tsume's eyes went wide as she processed the number, and I swear I could see her doing math in her head. "Seventy-five thousand ryo..." she whispered, then her expression shifted to pure bliss. "Do you know how much premium ninken food that could buy? The good stuff, not the cheap kibble! And training treats! Kuromaru could have beef jerky every day for a month!"
She was actually drooling a little as she continued, "And those special bone supplements that help with coat shine, and maybe even some of those fancy chew toys that are supposed to be good for his teeth..."
Kuromaru's ears perked up at the word 'treats,' his tail starting a hopeful wag.
I looked at the poster again, then at my teammates' expectant faces. The smart thing to do would be to ignore it. We had a mission to complete, and chasing down bandits wasn't part of the plan.
I stared at the poster again. Seventy-five thousand split three ways was still serious money. Twenty-five thousand ryo each. That was more than four hundred bowls of ramen per person. Enough to eat like pigs for weeks.
"No," I said. "Absolutely not."
Both of them looked like I'd just kicked their favorite puppy.
"But Shinji," Tsume started, "think about what we could—"
"We're not bounty hunters." I held up a hand before she could launch into a speech about premium dog food. "We're on a mission. A specific, important mission that doesn't involve chasing down wanted criminals for money."
"But he's right there!" Tsume gestured wildly at the poster. "Practically gift-wrapped! We know where he was a few hours ago!"
"And by the time we track him down through mountain passes, our actual target could be three villages away." I shook my head. "We stick to the plan."
"Even if those criminals are probably out there killing innocent people right now?" Mikoto asked quietly.
"Look, I get it," I said. "And yeah, if they really are bandits, they're probably not taking a vacation. But chasing them down isn't exactly on our schedule."
"Seventy-five thousand ryo though," Tsume said. "That's more than most C-rank missions pay."
"And it's not like we'd be going out of our way," Mikoto added. "They're probably still in the area. We could handle them easy."
I looked at their hopeful faces. Sometimes having teammates with flexible moral priorities was more trouble than it was worth.
"Fine," I said, and their faces immediately lit up. "I won't object if we just 'happened' to run into these bandits while completing our mission. Would be our civic duty to help apprehend dangerous criminals."
"Really?" Tsume looked like I'd just told her Christmas was coming early.
"Really really?" Mikoto added, though she was trying to hide her smile.
"I'm not saying we go looking for trouble," I clarified, holding up a finger. "But if trouble 'accidentally' finds us while we're going about our perfectly legitimate business, well... it would be our civic duty to help apprehend dangerous criminals. Very incidentally."
Tsume grinned. "Right. Totally incidental. We're just good citizens who happen to stumble across wanted criminals."
"Exactly. The most accidental bounty collection in history."
The inn clerk cleared her throat delicately. "Um, excuse me? About that room...?"
"Oh, right." I turned back to her with my most charming smile. "Three travelers, one night. And we'll definitely want access to the hot springs."
"Of course. That'll be sixty-eight hundred ryo, with spring access and breakfast."
"Wait, let us split that," Mikoto said immediately, already reaching for her coin purse.
"Yeah, we can cover our own—" Tsume started.
I waved them off with a casual gesture, pulling out the money without even checking the amount. "Don't worry about it. My treat."
Both girls paused, looking at me with surprise.
"Shinji, you don't have to pay for all of us," Mikoto said softly.
"Seriously, it's fine." I slid the payment across the counter. Between the side deals I had going with some of those rich academy brats and my arrangement with Choza's family business, I was doing better than most genin. "After the week we've had, we've earned one night of actual luxury."
"Are you sure?" Mikoto asked, though I caught the way her eyes lingered on my face when I smiled.
"Absolutely. Besides," I said with a grin, "what's the point of having money if you can't spend it on good company?"
Tsume snorted. "Smooth talker. But thanks, I guess."
"My pleasure," I said, and meant it. The way Mikoto was looking at me right now made it worth every ryo.
I turned back to the clerk and pulled out additional coins. "Actually, could we also get your finest dinner service? Whatever your chef recommends. We've had a long journey."
The clerk's eyes widened slightly at the generous tip. "Of course! Our chef prepares an excellent multi-course meal featuring local specialties. I'll have it sent to your room whenever you're ready."
"Perfect."
"Excellent. Here are your room keys." The clerk's relief was obvious as she handed us each a worn brass key. "Your private suite includes access to your own hot spring, and breakfast is served from dawn until mid-morning. Is there anything else you need?"
I leaned against the counter, going for casual. "Actually, you wouldn't happen to know if there are any... interesting characters staying in the area? White-haired guy, probably loud, definitely has an inappropriate sense of humor?"
Her brow furrowed as she considered this. "I'm sorry, but I can't recall anyone matching that description. Perhaps you could try the bars down the valley? They cater to a more..." She paused delicately. "Eclectic clientele."
"Perfect. Thanks for the tip."
The wooden stairs made soft, muffled sounds under our feet as we climbed to the second floor. Our room turned out to be better than I'd hoped—a spacious suite with pristine tatami mats and wide windows overlooking gardens where lanterns cast warm pools of light through the evening air. A wicker basket sat near the sliding door to what I assumed was our private spring access.
"Not bad for 6,800 ryo," Tsume said, dropping her pack with a satisfied thud.
I set my own pack down beside one of the sleeping areas. "Okay, let's get cleaned up and hit the springs. We can plan our search over dinner."
Tsume was already elbow-deep in the basket. "Dibs on the blue one!" She pulled out a deep indigo yukata and held it up triumphantly.
"I'll take the one with the flower pattern," Mikoto said, holding up a cream-colored yukata decorated with delicate cherry blossoms.
Twenty minutes later, we met in the main room, all dressed in our spring attire. The yukata were comfortable and surprisingly well-made, with soft cotton that felt amazing against skin that had been living in travel gear for days.
But when I looked up and saw Mikoto, my brain pretty much short-circuited.
The cream-colored yukata with its delicate pink and gold cherry blossom pattern suited her perfectly, the colors bringing out the warmth in her dark eyes. The rich reddish-brown obi emphasized her waist, and the neckline... well, let's just say the cut was generous enough to make it very clear that Mikoto was definitely not the little Academy student I'd first met.
"Earth to Shinji." Tsume's voice snapped me back to reality. She was grinning like she'd just discovered something entertaining. "You're staring."
Heat crept up my neck. "I was just—thinking about our mission."
"Sure you were." Tsume's grin widened.
Mikoto smiled, and I noticed she was standing just a little straighter than usual, like she was aware of the effect the yukata was having.
"Well then." Mikoto's fingers found her obi, smoothing the silk. "Shall we go enjoy the springs? I hear the mineral water is supposed to be very... relaxing."
I swallowed hard, then shook my head reluctantly. "Actually, you two go ahead. I've got something I need to take care of first."
"What kind of something?" Mikoto asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Mission stuff." I kept it vague, hating how disappointed she looked. "Won't take long, but I should handle it while I have the chance."
Her expression shifted slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features before she covered it with understanding. "Of course. The mission comes first."
"Don't wait up for me," I said, trying not to think about how good she looked in that yukata or how much I'd rather be joining them. "Enjoy the springs. You've both earned it."
"If you're sure..." Her voice had gone soft, almost questioning.
"I'm sure. Go relax. I'll catch up with you later."
They moved toward the door, and I tried not to watch the way Mikoto's yukata swayed with each step. At the threshold, she glanced back, her dark eyes catching the lamplight for just a moment before she turned away.
The door slid shut with a whisper of wood.
I stood there in the sudden quiet, already second-guessing myself. Even if I didn't have actual mission business to handle, nothing would've happened with Tsume playing chaperone anyway. But still...
I shook my head and reached for my pack. Work first. Everything else could wait.
…
…
The thing about being a spy—even a temporary one—is that you need to become someone else completely. Not just your appearance, but your entire presence. Your posture, your speech patterns, even the way you hold your drink. Most people think transformation jutsu is about looking different. They're missing the point.
It's about being different.
I stood in the narrow alley behind our inn, mentally reviewing the faces and mannerisms I'd cataloged during our walk through Yugakure. The first step was observation—every local quirk, every way they carried themselves, every detail I could use.
The elderly sake merchant with the slight limp and the habit of tugging his beard when he laughed. The middle-aged carpenter who kept wiping his hands on his apron even when they were clean. The young dock worker with callused palms and a laugh that carried three streets over.
Perfect.
I formed the hand seals for transformation jutsu, feeling the familiar tingle as chakra reshaped not just my appearance but my entire presentation. When the smoke cleared, I wasn't me anymore.
A dock worker grinned back from a puddle's reflection. Sun-weathered skin, work-stained clothes, and hands that looked like they'd hauled rope for years. Even my shoulders had shifted, taking on that loose, easy posture of someone who spent his days by the water.
The real test wasn't looking the part. It was thinking like him.
The first bar was called The Laughing Crane, and it lived up to its name. The moment I pushed through the door, voices and laughter washed over me like a wave. The air tasted of spilled beer and grilled fish.
Perfect hunting grounds.
I lingered near the entrance, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lighting while taking inventory. A group of regulars had claimed the far end of the bar, their voices getting louder with each drink. One of them banged his empty mug on the counter. "Oi, Taro! Another round when you get a chance!"
I approached the bar and slid onto a worn wooden stool, already letting dock worker's mannerisms take over. My shoulders relaxed, my grin got easier, and when I spoke, it carried the casual familiarity of someone who'd spent years swapping stories over cheap drinks.
"Evening, Taro."
The man looked up with instant recognition. That's the beauty of small communities. Everyone knows everyone, so when someone acts like they belong, people's brains just fill in the gaps. No suspicion, no second-guessing, as long as you sell it right.
"Kenji! Haven't seen you in a while," he said, already reaching for a bottle. "The usual?"
"You know it." I had no idea what 'the usual' was, but I'd figure it out fast enough. "Been working the night shifts at the docks. Finally got a free evening."
"And how's the wife? Still giving you grief about spending too much time at the taverns?"
"Same as always." I kept my voice flat, letting my shoulders drop like a man worn down by domestic arguments.
The bartender chuckled, poured something clear into a small cup, and slid it across the counter. The smell hit me first—sake, sharp and slightly sweet, with a kick that promised warmth. I took a sip and managed not to wince.
"About time you got some peace." He poured something that smelled like it could strip paint, which was probably perfect for a dock worker. "On the house. Consider it payment for that tip about the lumber shipment last month."
I raised the glass in thanks and took a sip, managing not to wince. Holy hell, what did they make this stuff from? Regret and poor life choices? But Kenji would drink it like water, so that's what I did.
"Speaking of tips," I said, settling into the conversation like I'd been part of it all along, "anything interesting happening lately? Been working those night shifts so long, I feel like I'm missing all the good gossip."
That opened the floodgates. For the next hour, I learned more about Yugakure's social network than I ever wanted to know. Who was sleeping with whom, which merchants were jacking up prices, and why the village council was considering new regulations on the hot springs. The regulars traded stories like currency, each one trying to top the last with juicier details.
Nothing about white-haired perverts skulking around, unfortunately.
But that was fine. The first bar was about warming up, getting comfortable in the role. I laughed at the right jokes, groaned at the right complaints, and made sure everyone in the place would remember Kenji as just another regular having a typical evening.
When I finally left, three different people told me to stop by again soon. Two of them meant it.
The second bar required a complete personality switch. The Steaming Kettle was packed with an older crowd—craftsmen and shop owners who'd been in Yugakure since before the village had even been officially recognized. The kind of place where weathered hands wrapped around sake cups and conversations centered on decades of accumulated wisdom. This called for a graying carpenter with gentle eyes and steady hands.
"Evening, friends," I said as I entered, my voice carrying the kind of warmth that came from genuine contentment. "Mind if an old woodworker joins you?"
"Hiroshi-san!" An actual elderly man waved me over to his table, sake already warming his cheeks. "Come, sit! We were just discussing the new construction near the eastern springs."
I took the offered seat, letting the familiarity settle in. The real Hiroshi clearly had a reputation, well-known, well-liked, the sort of name that pried open doors and loosened tongues. The sake was leagues above Taro's paint thinner, smooth enough to drink while listening to men gripe about crooked beams and clueless contractors.
"Young people these days," I said with a resigned sigh perfected by every older generation since the beginning of time. "No respect for traditional methods."
That got me twenty minutes of enthusiastic agreement and stories about apprentices who couldn't tell a mortise from a tenon joint. I contributed my own fictional tales of lazy workers and impossible clients, each story met with knowing nods and murmurs of sympathy.
But again, no mention of any white-haired visitors. These men were too focused on their crafts to pay much attention to transient guests.
By the time I left, half the table had invited Hiroshi to examine their current projects and offer advice.
The third bar was a sake house called The Wild Boar, and it demanded my most ambitious performance yet. The place was packed with a younger crowd—off-duty village guards, traveling merchants, and anyone chasing excitement over quiet conversation.
This time I wasn't borrowing someone else's life. I became a merchant's assistant with easy charm and just enough coin to buy rounds without looking like I was showing off. Young enough to match their energy, old enough to have stories worth hearing.
"Hey!" I called out to a group playing cards in the corner, approaching with the sort of confidence that suggested I belonged. "Room for one more? I've got coin burning a hole in my pocket."
They looked me over, assessing whether I'd be fun or trouble. I let just enough cockiness show through, an attitude that said I could hold my own without being a complete ass about it.
"Depends." One of them grinned, cards fanned in his hands. "Can you actually play, or are you just here to fund our drinking?"
"Only one way to find out." I dropped a handful of coins on the scarred table, enough to prove I was serious. "But fair warning, I've got beginner's luck that borders on criminal."
That got me laughs and a seat at the table. For the next hour, I played cards with them. Win just enough, lose just enough, and keep my ears busy while my hands shuffled.
The conversation bounced from work complaints to relationship drama to elaborate plans for spending theoretical gambling winnings. I contributed just enough to stay involved, but more importantly, I started paying attention to what made each person light up.
The younger guard loved complaining about his job. The older one had opinions about everything. The dock worker next to me was clearly the gossip type who enjoyed being the center of attention.
"You know, Masa," I said after he finished an elaborate tale about catching his supervisor with a merchant's wife, "that's the kind of thing only someone with good instincts would notice. Most people walk around with their heads in the clouds."
Masa's chest puffed out a little. "Well, I do keep my ears open. Amazing what folks miss when they're not paying attention."
"Exactly." I shook my head in frustration. "Like my wife - she never notices anything. Could have a parade march through our neighborhood and she'd ask what all the noise was about."
That got chuckles from the married men at the table.
"Women," the older guard agreed. "My wife's the same way. Though she did notice that weird fellow hanging around the springs yesterday. Kept going on about how 'inappropriate' he was."
I rolled my eyes sympathetically. "Let me guess - she wanted you to do something about it?"
"Course she did. 'Why don't you guards ever deal with the real problems?'" He pitched his voice higher, mimicking his wife's tone. More laughter rippled around the table. "Like I'm gonna fill out incident reports over some harmless old fool."
"So…" I leaned in. "What kind of fool are we talking about here?"
"White hair down to his shoulders, carrying this small notebook. Kept giggling to himself like he'd just heard the world's best joke." The guard shook his head in obvious disgust. "Total creep, if you ask me."
"Giggling?" I raised an eyebrow. "That's... disturbing."
"Right? And get this—had the balls to ask me about the best vantage points overlooking the women's baths." The guard's expression soured. "I told him to take his perverted ass somewhere else before I arrested him for being a public menace."
"Good call," I said, shaking my head in apparent disapproval. "Some people have no shame. Did he actually leave?"
"Oh yeah, real quick once I made it clear we weren't messing around. Probably slithered off to bother someone else with his research." The guard made air quotes around the last word, clearly knowing exactly what kind of 'research' the pervert had in mind.
The conversation drifted toward safer territory after that, crop yields and merchant prices, the kind of talk that filled taverns every night across the country. I nursed my sake and nodded at the right moments, but my mind was already working.
Jiraiya had been here. White hair, notebook, inappropriate giggling—that was definitely my target. And if the guard's wife had spotted him yesterday, he couldn't be far.
I drained the last of my sake, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. The ceramic cup made a soft clink as I set it down on the wooden counter.
Now I just needed to figure out where he'd gone.
The fourth bar was my last shot at useful intelligence, so I pulled out all the stops. The Moonlight Garden was the kind of upscale establishment where information flowed as freely as the premium sake, loosened by alcohol and the comfortable assumption that everyone present could afford to be there.
For this performance, I chose to become a successful trader. The inspiration had struck during my conversation with a pompous young merchant at the previous bar. I crafted expensive clothes that whispered wealth rather than shouted it, paired with a confident bearing that suggested old money, and an effortless social grace honed through years of reading people and closing deals.
The transformation settled around me like a perfectly tailored suit. "Good evening," I said to the bartender. "I don't suppose you have any of that excellent sake from the Bamboo Valley region? The one with the subtle cedar finish?"
His eyes brightened with professional pride. "Ah, a connoisseur! I have exactly what you're looking for - we just received a shipment yesterday."
"Excellent." I smiled and settled onto a stool that gave me a perfect view of the other patrons. And within minutes, I was nursing a cup of genuinely excellent sake and listening to him explain the subtle differences between regional brewing techniques.
More importantly, I was positioned to overhear the conversation happening two stools down—three well-dressed locals discussing the day's events over increasingly expensive drinks.
"I'm telling you, the council's losing their minds," one of them was saying, gesturing with his cup. "New regulations on spring access fees? During festival season?"
"It's about revenue," another voice replied, sounding resigned. "Tourism's been down since those bandit reports started circulating. They're trying to make up the difference."
"Short-sighted if you ask me." The third man shook his head. "Raise prices when people are already nervous about traveling? That's how you kill a tourism industry."
I listened with the appropriate level of polite interest, occasionally nodding or making sympathetic sounds while nursing my excellent sake. Between their complaints about local politics, I scattered some well-placed breadcrumbs about unusual visitors or recent arrivals, hoping to steer them toward more useful territory.
They took the bait eagerly enough, sharing gossip about various newcomers and traveling merchants. But after twenty minutes of patient fishing, it became clear these men knew nothing about where my white-haired target had gone. Their world revolved around trade regulations and festival preparations, not the movements of perverted old man.
I finished my sake with the appropriate appreciation, complimented the bartender on his selection, and made my polite exit.
The walk back to our inn dragged more than my earlier scouting run. Sure, I had proof the bastard had been here yesterday and a decent sake buzz warming my face, but the frustration clung all the same, the flavor you only get from chasing someone else's footsteps.
Four bars down, and all I got was that he'd been here asking about the bathhouses, until a guard kicked him out.
Jiraiya had definitely passed through Yugakure, leaving his usual trail of scandalized innkeepers and irritated guards. The man at The Wild Boar had been particularly colorful in describing how he'd chased off "that white-haired pervert." But after that? Nothing. He could be holed up in some corner of the village I hadn't checked yet, or already halfway to the next hot spring town.
I kicked a loose stone down the empty street. It skittered into a drainage grate with a hollow clang that echoed between the buildings.
Up ahead, the Moonlit Springs Inn waited like a promise of relief, warm light bleeding from its windows and the constant murmur of water somewhere in the background. After hours of playing different characters—all the little masks you wear when you're fishing for information—the idea of just existing without needing to think sounded pretty damn good.
I took the stairs two at a time, already thinking about soaking in one of those mineral baths until my brain stopped buzzing with half-formed leads and dead ends. The door slid open with barely a sound, and I stepped inside to find both my teammates waiting for me.
They were still in their yukata from the hot springs, hair damp and faces flushed from the mineral water. Mikoto sat gracefully on her futon with her legs folded to one side, the cream-colored fabric with cherry blossoms making her look like something out of a classical painting. Tsume was sprawled more casually nearby, her indigo yukata slightly rumpled in a way that suggested she'd been moving around restlessly.
"Finally!" Tsume said, sitting up straighter as I entered. "How did your—"
"Tsume." The name came out soft, but it stopped the Inuzuka mid-sentence. Mikoto's gaze flicked toward the door, then back to her teammate. A reminder that walls had ears, even here.
Tsume's mouth formed a small 'o' of understanding. "Right. Sorry."
I kicked off my sandals and let some of the tension drain from my shoulders. "Long evening. Productive, though."
"Good." Mikoto's eyes studied my face. "You should relax now. Take some time to rest."
"The springs are amazing," Tsume added. "Really hot, but in the best way. And the water's got this mineral smell that's supposed to be good for your skin or something."
"Sounds perfect." I started loosening my shirt, already imagining the luxury of soaking in hot water after hours of drinking. "I could definitely use a good soak."
"There are fresh yukata in the basket," Mikoto said, gesturing toward the wicker container near the door. "And towels. Take your time.."
"Thanks," I said, meeting her eyes.
"Don't mention it." Mikoto's smile widened slightly.
I grabbed a yukata from the basket—plain dark blue, thankfully—and headed toward the sliding door that led to our private spring access. Behind me, Tsume was saying something about the water temperature, Mikoto's soft laugh following.
Then the hair on my neck stood up.
The shadows by the garden entrance moved wrong, and every muscle in my body coiled as my senses screamed danger. Three distinct killing intents—moving fast, converging on—
Tsume.
She stood with her back to the garden, still adjusting her rumpled yukata, completely oblivious to the death closing in from three angles.
I didn't think. Couldn't think.
My feet left the ground in a desperate diving leap, body already twisting to intercept the spot they were all aiming for. The wooden floor blurred beneath me as I calculated distance, speed, timing in the split second I had left.
Three figures exploded through the garden entrance. Three blades—a tanto from above diving toward her neck, a second blade lunging low from the right toward her ribs, a third slashing horizontally from the left to gut her. All three strikes timed to hit at exactly the same moment, a perfect killing triangle with Tsume at the center.
I intercepted them mid-flight.
Suspended in the air between my teammates and death, I caught all three weapons at once. My left palm slammed into the flat of the tanto, sending the downward thrust wide past Tsume's ear. My right foot caught the spine of the low blade, deflecting the strike into empty air. The upward thrust met my left foot, but the attacker's momentum kept driving the blade forward—so my right hand shot out, clamped onto his face, and yanked his head back, throwing off his angle. The thrust went wide, missing Tsume by inches.
Time froze.
For one moment, I hung there between three killers—my left hand and right foot deflecting two weapons, my left foot and right hand working together to neutralize the most dangerous strike.
"Well, well." I tightened my grip on the assassin's face. "Looks like three little mice just wandered into the wrong room."