"Ugh…"
Even after returning home, Lock's chest remained tight. He had considered staging the battlefield—making it look as though Hinata Toshiaki and the two Chūnin had killed each other—but abandoned the thought.
It was too clumsy. Too many contradictions. Toshiaki had no chance against those men, and forcing the scene would only create more flaws. In the end, erasing the corpses and wiping out the traces had been the cleaner choice.
The following days blurred into uneasy routine. He wore the new uniform, reported for duty, and waited for reassignment. Ten days crawled past, each one heavier than the last.
No one came knocking.
No Hyūga demanding answers. No ANBU dragging him before the Hokage. Not even one of Danzō's shadows lurking openly.
Lock kept smiling, eating, training, speaking politely. But the mask weighed him down. Every laugh felt forced, every meal tasteless. He was tired—tired of pretending nothing had happened.
Two fears gnawed at him: the Hyūga's Byakugan hunt, and Danzō. The old war hawk would never forgive the loss of two Root operatives. If anything, he would tighten the noose and watch more closely.
Lock dared not inquire directly, but information had a way of drifting through his family's restaurant. Patrons spoke freely over bowls of soba and steaming tea. From their chatter, he pieced that together.
The Hyūga had found the burned site. They had even tracked the area of battle—but the forest bore scars from many fights, and the truth had grown tangled. The patriarch had raged, demanding an inquest, even proposing to drag the Yamanaka Clan into it with their invasive mind techniques.
The Hokage had refused. Hiruzen was protector of the whole village, not servant of one clan. He would not sacrifice young shinobi to a witch-hunt.
And, to Lock's relief, not every Hyūga stood behind their patriarch. Many resented his favoritism, his refusal to brand his youngest son with the Caged Bird Seal. To them, Toshiaki's death was harsh—but it reaffirmed the clan's traditions. Hiashi's succession stood undisputed. Order was preserved.
Lock exhaled. Then… I'm safe.
The shadow over hthe is head began to lift. For the first days, he felt his body ease.
"Oi, Lock!"
A familiar booming voice broke his thoughts. Jiraiya strode into the restaurant, waving as though he owned the place.
"Jiraiya-sensei?" Lock blinked. It had been weeks since their team disbanded.
"What? Can't I come here to eat?" Jiraiya dropped into a seat without waiting for an answer, grinning like a rogue.
Lock gave a wry smile. His teacher hadn't changed. Thick-skinned, carefree—always eating at the shop without paying a single coin. Of course, that was only because his mother, Yuzu, never let him. Jiraiya had always repaid in other ways—slipping extra reward money to Lock during missions, watching out for him without ever admitting it.
The meal passed noisily, Jiraiya devouring dish after dish. When it was done, he leaned back and waved a hand.
"Lock. Come with me. We need to talk."
Lock excused himself to his mother, then followed. Their pace quickened. By the time they reached the edge of the village, Jiraiya abruptly halted, clapped his hands, and glanced around.
"The bugs are gone."
Lock frowned. "…Bugs?"
Jiraiya's eyes slid toward him, sharp and knowing. "Don't play dumb with me, kid. In front of me, drop the act."
Lock blinked innocently. "Pretend? Jiraiya-sensei, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Hah!" Jiraiya snorted, his grin twisting into a smirk. "You think I don't know you? Outwardly simple, but behind that face—you're always scheming."
Lock coughed awkwardly. He had played a few tricks on his sensei before, but did the man have to say it like that?
Then Jiraiya's tone shifted. The humor drained, replaced by something heavier.
"You've done well these past days."
Lock's chest tightened. "…Sensei, what do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Jiraiya jabbed a finger at him. "Don't insult me. You really think you covered your tracks? Killing men and burning corpses—does that count as clean?" His eyes narrowed. "I've taught you for years. You think I wouldn't notice?"
Lock froze. His body trembled before he forced a deep breath. "…Sensei. How do you know?"
If it had been anyone else, he would have dismissed it as a bluff. But this was Jiraiya. He never spoke without reason.
"Because I followed you."
Jiraiya's voice was a growl. "Not because I didn't trust you—but because I don't trust Danzō. I knew that bastard would make a move. And he did. Sent two Chūnin after you. Two Root dogs."
He folded his arms, studying Lock. "They weren't weak. Yet you killed them. And you silenced the Hyūga boy. Bold. Maybe too bold."
Lock's heartbeat slowed. Jiraiya's bluntness, his half-scolding, half-mocking tone—it was all real. If Jiraiya meant him harm, he wouldn't bother talking this much.
"…Sensei," Lock said quietly, "how much did you see?"
"Enough." Jiraiya's eyes flicked like steel. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "More than enough to know you're hiding things from me. Like that little teleportation trick of yours. That's no standard Body Flicker. I didn't teach you that."
If it had been anyone else, Lock would have lied. But Jiraiya wasn't "anyone else." This was the man who, even after disbanding their squad, still watched from the shadows to protect him. The only person besides his mother who gave him that kind of care.
So, for the first time, Lock considered telling the truth.