The band played, and the girls danced.
Slender and long legs, or plump and shapely ones, glowed beneath the blazing sun with a color called "youth."
Only at times like this would the people of the Land of Wind feel thankful for the scorching sun.
The hotter, the better.
The residents of Warsaw City were blocked outside by the samurai, clearing the main street.
Holding cups of coffee and dressed in refined clothing, even when craning their necks to watch, they still had to maintain an air of sophistication.
"Twenty-one cannon salutes, what kind of big shot is coming to Warsaw City? Don't tell me it's a daimyo from another nation?"
"Hopefully not the daimyo of the Land of Fire. We've got trade deals with them, if he's visiting and delays the customs document signing, we could lose tens of millions."
"What daimyo? You people don't keep up with current events at all! The one coming today is that man whose name must not be mentioned."
The man whose name must not be mentioned?
Among all the heroes under heaven, the only one whose name people feared to even speak, was probably none other than Ryosuke, known as "Invincible Beneath the Stars."
Of course, leaders of corporations, ninja villages, and other organizations avoided mentioning Ryosuke's name for fear that strange little vine of his might come visiting.
But the few commoners chatting here, even if they chanted Ryosuke's name day and night, the Purple Hermit wouldn't so much as twitch.
They only said that to make themselves sound important, as if they too were people tied to those grand organizations.
Such posturing was common in Warsaw City and often sparked a little trend.
On this, Enotori could only comment with two words, "Idiots."
He muttered quietly.
Enotori was a boy about sixteen or seventeen, with messy hair and a short stature. He wore a gray-black cloak, and when he moved, one could see the left side of it hung empty, his left arm was gone.
He weaved through the crowd, his remaining right hand flicking out from under the cloak like lightning. When he left, an empty wallet would be lying on the ground.
Enotori was one of the "rats" who lived underground.
Having lost one arm, he couldn't work in a factory, so his trade was theft.
Because he only had his right arm, if he were ever caught, he'd have no way to hide the stolen goods, and losing his last arm would mean death.
So every time he stole, he was utterly focused.
He had never failed.
Enotori had heard early that a big shot was coming today. Knowing Warsaw's citizens, they'd surely oil their hair, dress neatly, hold their coffee cups, pretend to "happen to be passing by," and stand along the roadside chatting loudly.
And if someone was listening, they'd make their tone even grander.
Enotori never understood why they wasted time on such things, but to him, it was like a buffet.
He casually lifted a wallet, glanced through the crowd's gaps, and saw the approaching figure.
'Hm?'
Enotori's eyesight was sharp. Ryosuke wasn't walking, he was floating, ghost-like, in midair.
"Hah, so that's the 'big shot,' huh."
He sneered. "Doesn't look like much."
Just as he finished, a hand grabbed his wrist.
Startled, he looked up into the cold eyes of a samurai.
'Crap!'
'He'd been caught!'
Before he could run, the samurai's grip, like an iron clamp, yanked him out of the crowd and kicked him hard in the stomach.
"Get lost! A sewer rat like you shouldn't be loitering here ruining Warsaw City's image!"
Still not satisfied, the samurai gave him two more kicks before leaving.
Painful as it was, Enotori actually felt relieved. For a second, he thought they had caught him stealing.
When the samurai finally walked away, he got up, headed toward the outskirts, lifted a filthy manhole cover, and slipped underground.
Walking through the empty tunnels, he counted his spoils one by one and muttered, "Ryosuke doesn't come, I get beaten."
"Ryosuke comes, I still get beaten."
"So isn't Ryosuke basically the jinx himself?"
Enotori shook his head.
All that talk about the "Awakening Movement" was nonsense, just talk dressed up as idealism but rooted in business.
He'd seen it too many times. It was always the same, some fancy new slogan, just another excuse to make others work and die.
As for Ryosuke? Just another kind of big shot.
Thinking that, Enotori turned a corner. More people filled the tunnels.
He twisted left and right through the underground passages until he reached a door. He pushed it open and went inside.
"Boss, huge haul today!"
He took a thick wad of cash from his pocket and slapped it on the table with a soft thud.
Behind the table sat Kurosaki, who looked up and adjusted his glasses.
Kurosaki was the leader of the underground rats, the equivalent of Iwamine Genyako in Gollin City.
Taking the money, his cracked lips curled into a faint smile.
"With this, we can finally get the sick kids treated."
Then, as if remembering something, he looked closely at Enotori.
"You didn't keep any for yourself, did you? I heard you haven't eaten properly for days."
Enotori waved his hand. To him, feeding himself mattered less than helping those sick little ones recover. Besides...
"I've seen workers die from exhaustion, but have you ever seen a thief starve to death?"
He lifted his chin, skipping the subject.
"Oh, and some news, your 'big shot,' Ryosuke, came to Warsaw City. Boss, you gonna go pay your respects?"
"I will," Kurosaki said. "But not yet."
Enotori shrugged.
Under Kurosaki's influence, the rats treated the Awakening Movement like scripture, so this visit was basically their idol meet-and-greet.
Only Enotori didn't care about Ryosuke or any "awakening."
He only cared about money.
"I'm heading out."
He decided to find another place to "crowdfund" more money for his younger siblings' treatments.
Kurosaki pulled a hard piece of bread from the drawer and tossed it to him. "Eat properly. And next time, knock before entering."
"Yeah, yeah."
Enotori left.
The door closed again.
Silence filled the room. Kurosaki slowly took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a sleeve.
A few strands of long hair fell across his forehead. He brushed them back.
That simple gesture transformed his entire presence,
From a gentle, overindulgent leader into a man with sharp eyes and burning ambition.
"Put away your blades," Kurosaki said coldly.
Plink~ Plink~
Two soft sounds echoed as shadows dropped from the ceiling.
One was a bald monk holding a biwa. His face was handsome enough, but the scar across his nose added a touch of menace to his otherwise serene expression.
The other had thinning hair, a thin frame, and darting eyes that never stopped moving, clearly a schemer through and through.
Both were defected nin from Sunagakure.
The first was Monk Faichi, personal disciple of Monk Bunpuku, the First Jinchūriki of the One-Tail, well-versed in sealing techniques.
After Bunpuku's death and Gaara's appointment as the new Jinchūriki, Faichi gradually lost influence in the village and became just another monk.
Later, unable to stomach Rasa's reckless decision to lead Sunagakure in rebellion against the Land of Wind, he secretly left the village.
If Faichi's defection was somewhat understandable, the other man's was purely for selfish desire.
His name was Mukade, a master puppeteer. To seek greater power, he experimented on villagers just like Orochimaru did, until he was exposed and forced to flee.
Kurosaki studied the two.
"Let's continue where we left off. Ryosuke has arrived in Warsaw City… our chance has come."
Faichi pressed his palms together.
"To shed the mortal coil… and be reborn as dragons."
Yes, not to crawl from the dirt like the rats of Gorlin City, finally standing beneath the open sky as "humans."
They had waited so long, plotted so long, and now, with this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, they would become dragons soaring above the heavens, gazing down upon all below.
Success or failure, all would be decided today.
The three exchanged glances, right hands pressed to their chests.
"Long live the awakening."
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