Author's note:
Happy New Year, everyone! 🎉
Thanks for reading, supporting, commenting, and sticking with this story. Here's to more chapters, more chaos, and more Otis moments this year. (￣▽￣)
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"People who can't throw something important away can never hope to change anything."
— Armin Arlert
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By the time they reached the Capital of the Land of Grass, the sun had dipped behind the distant hills. Golden light washed over the roofs and the market streets. The city wasn't as large as Konoha or Suna, but it buzzed with life — merchants shouting, lanterns swinging, and samurai on duty.
As the guards opened the main gate, people stopped what they were doing.
It was impossible not to stare.
A caravan led by the samurai escort, followed by a colossal white bear's shadow, and a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a wolf pelt. Otis stood at the front, looking less like a ninja and more like a bouncer from a shady nightclub who had wandered into the wrong universe — tall, scarred, hair tied back loosely.
He paused, looked at his reflection in a window, and muttered,
"…Huh. I do look like that guy by the club door."
Children pointed. Adults whispered as they passed by.
"Who's that monster?"
"Is that a bear?"
"Why is the bear taller than the gate?"
"Is he wearing a wolf on his back—?"
Otis only shook his head.
'Yeah, I look like the security guard your security guards fear.'
Otis ignored all of it. But Yuki didn't.
The bear glared at every whisper, puffing her chest like a diva covered in fur.
The merchant, Takeshi, walked beside Otis, wiping sweat from his brow.
"We've arranged rooms at the Silver Birch Inn. Best in the whole capital. Two beds, large chamber. Should… fit your companion as well… and the meals are also covered."
Otis's eyebrow twitched at the last part. Free food?
"You sure about that?"
Takeshi coughed. "I'll… warn the chefs."
Otis glanced at Yuki. The bear was already drooling.
They reached the inn, a wide, well-lit place with polished floors and ornate lanterns. The innkeeper nearly fainted when Yuki squeezed through the entrance.
The room they were given was surprisingly large: two thick futons, a wide window, and enough space for Yuki to lie down without crushing anything important.
Otis and Yuki exchanged a look.
The same thought hit both of them.
Food.
They didn't speak.
They just marched downstairs in perfect sync toward the kitchen like two starving demons.
The inn staff made a critical miscalculation:
"Meals are included with your stay."
They didn't say how MANY meals.
Two hours later, the kitchen staff was traumatized. The inn's pantry was empty. One chef sat in a corner muttering prayers. Another was crying softly while stirring soup.
Bowls stacked high like miniature mountains.
Chefs collapsed against the walls.
"It's fine," Otis said casually. "We're guests."
Yuki belched loudly in agreement.
Otis wiped his mouth.
Yuki burped loud enough to vibrate the roof beams.
Satisfied, Otis leaned back. "Alright. Time to get back to work."
Takeshi and his family were already asleep in their rooms. The samurai kept watch nearby. While the inn quieted down and everyone returned to their rooms, Otis strapped on his gear.
"Yuki," Otis said, voice low, "watch the merchant family. And don't eat anyone."
"He looked edible!"
"Just don't eat anyone, and when I come back I'll give you meat."
The bear grumbled but nodded.
Otis wrapped a cloth loosely around the lower half of his face, hiding his features. He looked more like some hunter than a ninja.
He jumped silently from the inn balcony.
The night swallowed him immediately. The capital was behind him within minutes.
Otis sprinted through the grassy plains, silent and swift, his earth chakra flowing through the ground with every step. The sensation spread outward like invisible sonar, and with it he could feel the movement of insects, animals, humans and even the wind patterns through the tall grass as he moved.
…two deer to the east
…a patrol of Grass shinobi, thirty meters ahead
…one drunk merchant collapsed in a field
Every small presence was mapped inside his mind.
If someone tried to ambush him, he'd know before they even realized he was coming.
Hours passed, the moon shifting overhead. His breath never faltered.
Finally, he reached a high cliff overlooking a settlement tucked into the valley — the Village Hidden in the Grass, Kusagakure. The wind here was sharp, carrying scents of wet soil, smoke, and something faintly metallic.
Otis crouched down and closed his eyes
He focused.
Chakra surged upward.
Enhancing his vision with chakra until the world sharpened like a blade.
When he opened his eyes again, the village below was crystal clear, every lantern flicker, every moving figure, every chakra pulse drawn cleanly into his sight.
It didn't take long.
"Found them," he muttered. He could see them clearly, moving among the villagers, blending in, staying low-profile.
Six figures.
All of them with red hair.
Otis frowned under his mask.
"Uzumaki… six of them?"
He leaned forward, eyebrow raised.
'Well, it seems there are more Uzumakis here, and the canon didn't mention them.'
His eyes tracked them one by one, some older, some younger, but their unmistakable chakra looked like a light bulb in a dim night.
The world might've forgotten the Uzumaki.
Kusagakure clearly hadn't.
Otis smirked under the cloth covering his face.
"Well," he said quietly, "I guess I should check this out."
He rose to his full height, hair whipping behind him.
Otis cracked his neck.
Tonight, he was a hunter following a thread history chose to ignore.
"Let's see what the Grass has been hiding beneath its leaves…"
He took one step forward—
and vanished into the dark.
***
Kusagakure at night looked peaceful.
But every shinobi knew that villages that looked peaceful at night always hid the worst things underground.
Otis didn't enter through a gate. The earth propelled him along walls and roofs. His senses scanned every corner as pulses of chakra mapped the life around him.
He crouched on the rooftop of a tall pagoda, eyes glowing faintly with chakra.
He scanned every chakra signature. Every breath. Every movement.
"Red hair… red hair… red hair."
Some were working in healing facilities.
Some locked in isolated buildings.
Some… underground?
Otis's jaw tightened as he zeroed in on one location where the chakra signatures felt very weak and sick.
Something was very wrong there.
He followed the feeling to a building with no lantern, no marking and no visitors.
Otis didn't bother with the door.
He scaled the wall silently, stuck to the ceiling like a spider, and slipped inside through a ventilation hatch.
The scent hit him first.
Iron.
Medicine.
Rot hidden beneath disinfectant.
A laboratory.
A long hallway stretched before him — dim green lights flickering overhead. Shinobi in flak jackets moved between rooms; some carried trays filled with organs.
Otis crawled across the ceiling, upside down, his eyes cold as he observed everything.
Children lay on tables, their bodies strapped to wooden frames, their stomachs and chests cut open. Some were unconscious, while others were shivering.
One small boy, maybe four — was still awake, eyes wide and screaming as a man injected some fluid into his arm.
One girl's ribs were visible, not from a wound, but from a surgical opening.
Otis's fingers twitched.
Three Grass-nin stood over them, taking notes and laughing.
One of them said,
"Specimen C survived the extraction longer than expected. Uzumaki's vitality truly is remarkable."
A doctor flipped through a clipboard, reading his notes.
Otis listened to every word.
"You think we can extract more chakra from this one? His reserves look strong."
"Try another cut. The daimyō wants a batch ready by next week."
"We should drain the girl. She's useless now."
Another chuckled.
"Good. The daimyō wants at least two more viable cores. The jōnin overseeing this project said the Hok—"
A pebble about the size of a fingernail pierced through his skull.
The man dropped mid-sentence, eyes rolling back as blood dripped from his nose.
The surviving shinobi stared at his partner, confused—
before another pebble passed cleanly through the center of his forehead.
Otis didn't stop.
Tiny stones, each the size of a fingernail, formed around Otis's palm, floating in a slow circle around his wrist like a halo.
Flick.
Flick.
Flick.
Dozens of Grass-nin collapsed across the lab rooms.
Clean, instant deaths. No time to scream. Each stone punched through the skull and brain like a bullet.
A doctor noticed the bodies and fell to his knees, trembling so hard his hands wouldn't stay still.
"No—please— I–I'm just following orders—"
Otis dropped from the ceiling, landing silently in front of the doctor.
He didn't look at him. He stepped past him, gaze sweeping over the room as a plan formed sharply in his mind.
"You're lucky the children are alive," Otis said, voice flat, cold enough to freeze bone. "Treat them. Now."
The doctor scrambled for supplies.
"If even one dies," Otis continued, "I'll open you up the same way you opened them."
The doctor sobbed. "Y-Yes, yes, please—just don't—!"
Otis stepped aside, watching him scramble to gather tools and healing supplies.
The children watched him with hollow, exhausted eyes. One little girl met his gaze. Her lips trembled.
Otis formed a shadow clone and pointed at the doctor.
"You stay," he said to the clone. "Make sure he doesn't try anything stupid."
The clone nodded, folding its arms.
Otis stepped out the side door and disappeared down the hall.
(Pic)
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