(I'm Already Honest, Please Let Me Go)
The next day at noon, Tokugawa Takahara gathered everyone and declared that the greatest danger had passed. His voice, usually confident and commanding, carried a trace of relief. "The threat is behind us. Continue your journey with peace of mind."
Indeed, the second half of the escort mission went surprisingly smoothly. Only a few short-sighted bandits attempted to harass the convoy, and they were swiftly dealt with by the supply guards. Despite the tension, Neji remained vigilant, scanning the horizon from the roof of one of the transport vehicles.
On the third-to-last day before the mission's completion, the supply convoy successfully entered Grass Country. The vast lands stretched endlessly, filled with plains and dense forests, eerily similar to Konoha's geography. Yet, despite the resemblance, Grass Country lacked Konoha's wealth and resources. The scars of war were still evident: blackened fields, scorched earth, and barren soil where grass struggled to grow even years later.
Neji's gaze lingered on a distant landmark—a collapsed bridge spanning a small river. "Cannabi Bridge," he muttered quietly. During the Third Great Ninja War, Minato Namikaze's squad had crushed the Iwagakure logistics supply line here, allowing the Land of Fire to secure a strategic victory. Technically, Earth Country hadn't lost, but Grass Country bore the brunt of devastation.
"Grass Country's foreign policy is flexible," Yugito commented, her voice serious. "Their leaders side with whoever is stronger at the moment. During both the Second and Third Great Ninja Wars, they officially allied with Konoha and Iwagakure but secretly passed intelligence to opposing forces. Sometimes, they even supported both major ninja villages simultaneously."
Neji frowned, his Byakugan activating subtly. "So, they're essentially opportunistic."
Yugito nodded. "Exactly. That's why Konoha and Iwagakure view Grass Country as a wild card—a potential threat if not carefully monitored. During the Third Great Ninja War, placing the battlefield here wasn't just about geography; it was a strategic decision, factoring in their unpredictable alliances."
Neji remained silent, contemplating the tragedy of small nations caught between greater powers. The fate of Grass Country was a microcosm of countless minor states that had struggled to survive under the shadow of dominating neighbors. But the responsibility for their suffering often rested not on the people but on the Daimyo.
"In an area as small as a palm, the wisest long-term strategy is to align with a major power," Yugito continued. "Even if someone like Hanzo arises, using extraordinary skill to defend the country, it only delays the inevitable. Only through strategic alliances can such nations ensure survival and prosperity."
As Hidden Grass Village appeared on the horizon, the reality of their journey hit hard. The convoy, now halved in size, bore the emotional weight of loss. Many of the guards who had survived broke into tears, mourning comrades who had fallen the previous day. A cold reminder: in the ninja world, loyalty often demanded the ultimate sacrifice.
The mission was complete only when the convoy reached Hidden Grass Village. Rewards were distributed, but Neji and Yugito politely declined Tokugawa Takahara's invitation to stay. With three days remaining before the official mission deadline, they planned to enjoy some downtime within the village.
Late that night, at a modest inn in Hidden Grass Village, Neji sprawled lazily on a couch, peeling an orange. He glanced toward the bathroom, where Yugito had been inside for nearly an hour, and muttered under his breath, "Women are such a pain in the neck."
The duo had only booked a single double room. Initially, Neji was somewhat reluctant, preferring solitude. Yet Yugito had insisted; protecting a Byakugan prodigy like Neji required constant vigilance, especially under the Fourth Raikage's orders. She was officially his team leader, responsible for his safety, and Neji, pragmatic as ever, understood the logic.
Eventually, the sound of running water ceased, and Yugito stepped out of the bathroom wearing a simple bathrobe. Steam clung to her skin, giving her a pearly, radiant glow that both intrigued and distracted Neji. His gaze lingered, and she noticed immediately.
"What are you staring at?" Yugito asked, though her expression lacked any real anger.
Neji smirked slightly. "I'm just… observing."
Yugito rolled her eyes but remained composed. Neji, however, was not just a child in physical stature. His Byakugan had matured him unusually quickly, and years of specialized training had honed his body to near perfection.
As Yugito turned, preparing to get dressed, Neji noticed her eyes catch on something unusual—a kunai in his hand.
"Neji, why do you have a kunai in the shower?" she demanded, cheeks tinged with pink.
"Kunai? What kunai?" Neji replied innocently, though the small smile tugging at his lips suggested he was teasing her. Yugito's expression faltered, realizing instantly that she had underestimated him.
Within ten minutes, Neji emerged from the bathroom in his own bathrobe. The first thing he saw was Yugito seated on the bed, adjusting her golden-rimmed glasses. Her robe barely concealed her form, the glow of her skin reflecting off the dim light. Neji's gaze lingered slightly longer than usual, though he quickly averted his eyes, sensing Yugito's slight embarrassment.
"Neji…" she started hesitantly, her voice betraying both shyness and authority.
"Don't speak," he interrupted calmly, fetching a glass of cold water and drinking it in one motion.
Yugito's frustration was evident. "You're very clever… did you anticipate this?"
Neji's expression remained unreadable. "I only know my responsibilities. You've accepted your task, and I've accepted mine."
The inn fell into a quiet stillness. In the ninja world, emotion was often a liability, and yet moments like these revealed the humanity hidden beneath the combat-ready exterior. Neji thought about the world around him: the Five Great Nations, the struggles of small villages, the hidden machinations of powerful clans. Each day, life was a lesson in strategy, survival, and morality.
Yet despite everything, Neji felt a tug of defiance. Ninja life demanded self-abandonment, complete devotion to orders, and suppression of personal emotion. Kisame, Hidan, and many others had embraced such a philosophy. Neji could not. He refused to let the harsh world of ninjas strip away his own sense of self, even if it meant standing apart.
With deliberate precision, Neji drew a small kunai, pricked his finger, and let a drop of blood fall onto the inn's sheet. Cutting the fabric slightly, he handed it to Yugito.
"This should be enough for your delivery," he said. Her eyes widened slightly, understanding the unspoken message: trust had to be earned, and sacrifices had to be made.
Yugito accepted the sheet, her heart racing. Neji, despite his young age, had already demonstrated wisdom and strength beyond most adults. She realized then that protecting him was not just an assignment—it was an honor, a responsibility she could not shirk.
Outside, the village remained silent, a quiet witness to the small but significant human interactions within. Inside the inn, Neji and Yugito sat in relative silence, two individuals bound by duty, strategy, and an unspoken understanding of each other's burdens.
In the world of shinobi, survival often came at a cost, and loyalty was both a shield and a weapon. Yet moments of trust, honesty, and even lighthearted defiance provided a rare glimpse into what it truly meant to live—not just exist—in the midst of chaos.
As Neji leaned back, peeling the remaining orange slices with methodical patience, he allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. The world was cruel, the missions dangerous, and the future uncertain. But for now, in this small inn in Hidden Grass Village, he allowed a quiet smile to form. It was a smile that acknowledged the chaos, accepted responsibility, and promised vigilance.
The night stretched on, filled with unspoken thoughts, subtle glances, and the quiet comfort of companionship. And as the moon cast its silver glow through the window, one truth became clear: even in a world designed for warriors, there remained space for humanity, understanding, and fleeting moments of peace.