The day dragged by in a blur. Even after the team left Shenzo's house, the heavy silence clung to them like dust.
There was no discussion after that...just a silent understanding as they broke into smaller groups, methodically combing through the village.
Each team carried out their duties with the professionalism expected of Konoha shinobi… but there was a strange, uneasy distance in every step.
No one wanted to talk about what they'd heard in that dark little house. No one wanted to admit how it had shaken them.
Shikamaru led the questioning for his group, Kurenai kept watch with eyes sharp as ever, and Asuma, always a calm anchor, now seemed lost in his own thoughts—fingers absently rubbing his palm where he'd clenched it tight.
The survivors they found—those who'd made it past the third day—were all men. Every single one. No woman had yet survived the sickness.
That uncomfortable fact pressed in on everyone, lingering like a question no one could answer.
When they tried to bring up Shenzo's "antidote," the reaction was as expected… anger, suspicion, outright refusal.
"You… you want me to do what? Are you freaking crazy… cough, cough… get out of here—cough—"
Another villager spat at the ground, eyes wild. "You Konoha types got rocks for brains, huh? Try your weird tricks on your own fathers!"
"What's next, you want me to drink piss too? Go test that garbage on yourselves!"
"Filthy outsiders! You're just here to poke at us while we die!"
A younger man, pale and sweating, barked, "If this is a joke, I hope you all choke on it. Take your miracle and shove it!"
Curses were hurled at them one after another, sharp enough to leave even seasoned shinobi feeling ashamed. And the worst part was—they couldn't refute a single word.
The reaction was exactly what they had expected. Honestly, if not for the villagers fear of shinobi, it felt like they would've been beaten and driven out on the spot.
It was only when one desperate man—gaunt, burning with fever...stepped forward and said, in a trembling voice, "I'll try anything," that they were even able to test the method at all.
Tears streamed down his face as the symptoms faded, yet he didn't dare let go of his fear. Relief wasn't certainty. Tomorrow would be the day that decided whether he would truly live… or not.
By the time the sun hung low in the sky, the two teams had finished their rounds. The routine of a shinobi never changed—even when the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on.
They reconvened at sunset, exhausted, shoulders heavy, and no closer to peace of mind.
Kurenai spoke first, her expression weird—uneasy in a way that immediately drew everyone's attention.
"So it's basically confirmed now," she said quietly. "Of the men who caught the sickness, a few survived—using the same 'method' as Shenzo." Her eyes darkened. "None of the women did."
Airi folded her arms, fingers digging into her sleeves. Her voice wavered despite her effort to steady it.
"...That method doesn't work on women." She hesitated, then added softly, "And the ones who survived—every single one was a man. Honestly… the more I think about it, the stranger it feels."
Shikamaru let out a slow breath, rubbing his temple.
"Not just strange. It almost feels staged. Like someone's idea of a sick joke." He paused, frowning. "Maybe I'm overthinking it...but none of this makes any sense."
Kiba scowled, his teeth clenched, fear flashing plainly across his face—the kind every man in the room understood all too well.
"It's seriously messed up. That 'cure'—if you can even call it that—doesn't add up at all."
Chōji spoke last, unusually quiet. True to the serious atmosphere in the air, even his snacks lay untouched.
"That guy who volunteered…" His voice dropped.
"I can't get it out of my head. Did you see him crying?"
He clenched his fists. "Even if he survives… it's just not fair."
Ino glanced at Asuma-sensei, hesitating for a moment. Her gaze moved carefully over everyone present, but in the end, she said nothing.
Truthfully, she had noticed something serious.
She just didn't know how to say it.
Kurenai on the other hand, looked at Asuma and frowned slightly.
"What's wrong, Asuma?" she asked. "You've been really quiet since we gathered here… is something going on?"
Asuma blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere far away.
"…Huh?"
He looked around, clearly realizing everyone's eyes were on him. For a brief moment, his expression faltered—just slightly—before he broke into a familiar, easy laugh.
"Hahaha… sorry about that," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Guess I spaced out for a second."
Shikamaru squinted slightly, his intuition warning him that something was off.
"That's not like you, sensei."
"Yeah, well," Asuma replied lightly, exhaling through his nose, "I was just thinking. Trying to see if there's been any kind of… pattern we missed. Some kind of angle we haven't looked at yet."
He took a drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring softly in the gathering dusk.
"Honestly," he continued, tone growing more serious, "I think we should stop here for today."
The group reacted differently to that—some looked hesitant, while others seemed relieved.
Airi, in particular, let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"This mission's already gone way past 'routine,'" Asuma said, continuing on. "And whatever this is—whether it's man‑made, natural, or something else entirely—it's dangerous. If we push recklessly, we might end up adding our names to the casualty list."
Shikamaru nodded slowly. "That's not a bad call. We don't even know what rules we're dealing with yet."
Ino crossed her arms. "Yeah… I hate to admit it, but this place gives me a really bad feeling."
"I couldn't agree more, Ino-chan," Airi said, as she and Ino exchanged a glance—already a little traumatized.
Kiba clicked his tongue, unease clear on his face. "I don't like leaving things half-finished… but I don't want to die like this either."
"Woof!"
Akamaru also barked, clearly voicing his very 'important' opinion.
Chōji nodded quietly. "Resting sounds… good."
Kurenai studied Asuma for a moment longer than the others, her frown deepening just a fraction. Then she gave a small nod.
"…Alright," she said. "We'll rest for one day. Keep watch rotations light, avoid unnecessary contact with the villagers, and document everything we've learned so far."
She met Asuma's eyes. "Tomorrow morning, we head back to the village and report immediately."
Asuma smiled faintly. "Exactly."
The decision wasn't easy, but everyone accepted it.
They still didn't know if this sickness was being spread by a person… or if it was something far worse.
And that uncertainty was reason enough to be careful.
As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the village into long, stretching shadows, none of them noticed Asuma's hand curl slowly into a fist at his side.
--
The room was silent except for the ragged, uneven sound of Asuma's breathing as he slumped against the wooden wall, his broad shoulders shaking with each cough.
He'd been holding it in all day—fooling the team, keeping up the calm façade, playing his role as the anchor.
But now, alone, he couldn't hide it anymore.
His vision swam with a hot, stinging haze as he gritted his teeth, the urge to curse tearing at his throat.
"Damnit… damnit…"
Each word came out rough, barely above a whisper.
He glared at the floor, rage simmering behind his eyes. He didn't fear death—not really. He'd lived as a shinobi long enough to know it could come at any time.
But this? Dying in some nameless, miserable village, to a sickness nobody understood… dying a meaningless, pointless death?
No. That, he couldn't accept.
His thoughts churned with bitterness. Even if he survived tonight, he only had one day left... tomorrow would be his last.
Even if he tried to head back to the village now, the chances of making it in time were slim.
And even if, by some miracle, he reached Konoha… then what? Could the village really find a cure in a single day?
Asuma knew that wasn't possible.
This was no ordinary virus—whatever this bullshit was.
There was no time to search for another cure, no room for miracles, especially this far from home.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. The sheer unfairness of it all made his chest tighten harder than the sickness ever could.
If the damn railway had been built through this backwater, maybe he could've left before the infection took hold. Maybe he'd have stood a chance. But fate had other plans—and right now, fate was a bastard.
Asuma let out a long, shaking breath, trying to steady himself. He fumbled in his pocket, fingers numb, and finally managed to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The lighter sparked on the second try.
He took a drag, the familiar burn searing his throat, and coughed so hard he nearly dropped the cigarette. It didn't matter. For a moment, the smoke helped—something familiar, something normal, to cling to as everything else spun out of control.
He closed his eyes, listening to the creak of the old boards and the distant murmur of the village at night.
Tomorrow… tomorrow he'd decide. One way or another.
But for tonight, all he could do was curse the darkness, smoke his cigarette, and stare down the end.
Asuma had no earthly idea that he wouldn't be the only one coughing and choking through the night.
Elsewhere in the village, someone else would be fighting a different kind of battle—one that couldn't be seen or heard through thin wooden walls.
For now, the team was none the wiser.
--
It was late. The moon hung heavy and pale above the crooked rooftops, leaking its cold light through paper screens and rattling shutters.
Kurenai lay in her small, spare room—alone, finally still. The day's tension hadn't left her body, it clung to her shoulders and weighed down her chest, refusing to be shaken off even in sleep.
She'd collapsed atop the thin futon without changing, her crimson eyes drifting shut almost the moment her head met the pillow.
Suddenly a faint distortion rippled through the air.
At first, it was nothing more than a subtle warping—space bending in on itself, silent and unnatural. Then it widened, twisting into a slow, swirling vortex that swallowed the dim moonlight spilling through the paper screens.
Kurenai remained asleep.
Her breathing stayed steady, unaware, her body too exhausted to register the wrongness creeping into the room.
A single figure stepped out from the distortion.
The vortex collapsed behind him without a sound, leaving the room exactly as it had been.
Only the air felt dangerous now, thicker, as if the space itself recognized an intruder.
Moonlight brushed against the man's mask as he moved forward, its surface smooth and pale.
Two eyeholes stared out from it and within them, crimson light pulsed faintly.
Sharingan.
His shadow stretched across the tatami floor, long and distorted, creeping up the futon until it spilled over Kurenai's face. Her brows twitched faintly, but she didn't wake.
The man stopped beside her, looming over the sleeping kunoichi. For a moment, he simply watched—head tilted slightly, studying her as if measuring something unseen.
A quiet chuckle slipped out after a while.
"Tch. Konoha really hides its assets."
He leaned a little closer, his gaze drifting without urgency—first noting the subtle rise and fall of her chest, then lingering lower where her hips and ass seemed to challenge the limits of her clothing.
Thanks to her careless sleeping posture, she looked for all the world like someone just asking to be spanked.
"Sleeping. Defenseless. And completely unaware."
Pause.
"…Yeah, this is the perfect time to prescribe a little 'hands-on' treatment from Dr. Obito."
His fingers hovered over her waist, stopping just short.
"So," he muttered, amused, "do I traumatize you psychologically…"
Another pause.
"…or just do something really, really inappropriate and call it field research?"
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