Chapter 2: Koizumi Town
To use an analogy from Shūji's previous life, the Land of Rivers was like a demilitarized zone in the shinobi world.
It had a dignified Daimyō, a functioning bureaucracy, and even maintained a contingent of sword-wielding samurai. But it had no Hidden Village.
In a world where chakra dominated the balance of power, this was no different from walking naked through a pack of wolves.
When trouble exceeded the scope of what a samurai's sword could solve, they had no choice but to send mission requests to Konoha, Suna, or even Ame, trading gold for foreign military might.
This strange political ecosystem had given birth to Koizumi Town, a border town that was both misshapen and full of life.
The town had no high walls, no heavily guarded checkpoints; only a single dirt road winding through it.
Spices from the Land of Wind and mountain delicacies from the Land of Fire converged here, and the air perpetually carried a unique, mixed aroma of exotic goods.
Uchiha Itachi was currently sitting in an unremarkable restaurant, a steaming, fragrant bowl of stewed beef in front of him. A trace of imperceptible confusion was in his eyes.
Their journey had proceeded according to plan: they arrived at the border, completed the handover with the local officials, received the briefing on the bandits, and then, as was customary, paid a visit to the local merchant association.
"They're nothing but a gaggle of petty thieves," the association's head—a well-maintained, pleasantly smiling, and wealthy-looking man—had said dismissively, twisting his neatly trimmed beard.
"They've hit a few caravans, of course, causing a little trouble for trade." This was followed by a long-winded string of pleasantries and empty well-wishes. The core request was simple: he wanted the Konoha shinobi to solve the problem as quickly as possible.
Faced with this almost perfunctory attitude, Shūji-senpai's expression hadn't changed at all.
He had recorded the man's information with a business-as-usual air—information that was identical to what was on the mission scroll. Then, the topic of conversation shifted naturally. "Koizumi Town gathers goods from three nations. I imagine you have just about everything?"
"Naturally, naturally!" the headman beamed.
"I've heard the beef in the Land of Rivers has a unique flavor?" Shūji's tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather.
The man's eyes lit up, and he offered an enthusiastic recommendation. "Shinobi-sama has excellent taste! If you want to try the authentic flavor, Zaemon's stewed beef is the talk of the town. You simply must try it!"
At that point in the conversation, Shūji-senpai seemed to instantly lose all interest in continuing. He politely excused himself, and now, here they were, sitting in that very shop named "Zaemon's."
Itachi's gaze fell on the ceramic bowl before him. The amber-colored broth rippled slightly, revealing large chunks of beef stewed to perfection. The meat was so tender that a light touch of his chopsticks showed its distinct, soft fibers.
The reddish-brown meat was steeped in the thick gravy, glistening enticingly, and garnished with fresh green onions. The rising steam carried the rich fragrance of star anise and cinnamon, woven with the deep, savory aroma of the beef itself. The scent alone was enough to awaken the senses.
"Senpai," Itachi finally broke the silence, his voice barely a whisper, "are we not going to complete the mission?"
"The mission will get done, of course," Shūji replied distractedly, firmly lifting a trembling piece of beef to his mouth.
As the impossibly soft, rich meat melted on his tongue, its robust flavor, coupled with a subtle spiciness, filled his senses. He couldn't help but narrow his eyes in satisfaction.
All the tension he had felt since coming to this world seemed to be quietly smoothed away by this single, perfect bite.
He savored it, searching for the faint, sweet aftertaste deep within the broth—the signature mark left by the unique grasses of the Land of Rivers.
Itachi helplessly picked up his chopsticks and muttered, "I'll begin."
Seeing this, Shūji's lips curved in a slight smile. He raised his hand, signaling to the busy figure behind the counter. "Owner, another one of these, please."
His gaze landed on the lean owner, who was meticulously wiping a clay pot. Shūji's eyes showed sincere admiration. "Your control of the heat is simply exquisite. The sauce is perfectly balanced—it doesn't overpower the beef but instead brings its natural flavor to the absolute forefront."
The owner, Zaemon, heard this, and his bronze-colored face instantly lit up.
He wiped his hands on a faded apron, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. "You're a true connoisseur, sir! I only use the finest beef, delivered fresh from the pastures every morning. It takes hours of slow-stewing to get this flavor. Mastering it... I'd say it takes no less effort than mastering a complex ninjutsu." He'd noticed the Konoha symbol on the boy's forehead protector and deliberately used a comparison a shinobi would understand.
"Would you care to try our grilled beef? I have two servings of the best cuts left for today," Zaemon offered enthusiastically.
"We'd be happy to," Shūji agreed with pleasure.
A small charcoal brazier was quickly brought to the table. The owner served them personally, laying slices of meat on the grill. "This here is the short rib—wonderfully rich. And this is the haneshita, the tender chuck flap. Shall I grill them for you?"
"If you would, thank you." Shūji nodded with a smile, his eyes fixed on the sizzling meat as its fat dripped onto the coals. As if making idle chat, he asked, "I hear it's been a bit rough around Koizumi lately. With all the bandits, has your beef supply been alright?"
"Ah, the bandits..." Zaemon skillfully flipped the meat. The fat dripped onto the fire, making a cheerful sizzle and releasing a cloud of fragrant, smoky air. "That's true enough. But from what I hear, they've mostly been hitting new, out-of-town caravans that don't know the routes. The pastures that supply me are old partners, decades-old. They know the roads, they know the people. We haven't been affected at all. So you can rest assured."
"Besides," he added, "the caravans are much more cautious now. Most wait until they have a large group before setting out, and they don't stop as much along the way."
Itachi's hand, holding his chopsticks, paused almost imperceptibly. The head of the merchant association had never mentioned this key detail—that the bandits were selectively targeting their victims.
"Please, enjoy." Zaemon placed the perfectly grilled beef on their plates.
By the time Shūji had slowly and deliberately finished the lavish meal, the setting sun had coated the roofs of Koizumi Town in a warm, orange-red glow. The crowds in the streets were thinning, and the distant shouts of caravans unloading goods for the night could be faintly heard. A light breeze carried the fresh scent of grass from the forest's edge, mixing with the comforting, lingering aroma of food from the marketplace. Shūji took a deep breath of the air, unique to this border town.
The food had been delicious, but the cost was steep. The bill was a heavy 750 ryō—by his memory, that was several days' hard work for a common person. Still, considering his own share of the mission's 30,000 ryō reward, this one-time luxury was acceptable.
"Senpai, are we going to investigate the attacked caravans next?" Itachi asked, hurrying to keep up with Shūji's pace as they walked out of town.
"No need." Shūji didn't stop, his gaze fixed on the distant lights of Shirakawa Village, which were just beginning to twinkle in the twilight. "I figured out two things today."
"First, those bandits are deliberately avoiding caravans with deep local ties. That's why the merchant association, while cooperative on the surface, doesn't actually care about this. The intel they gave us was, naturally, useless."
"Second, those bandits had already successfully fled to the Land of Rain, yet they took the extreme risk of returning to the Land of Rivers border, where they are actively being hunted."
"Such abnormal behavior points to only two possibilities—"
Shūji looked out beyond the town, where the scattered lights of the village looked like fallen stars in the growing darkness.
"Either they were in such a hurry when they fled that they left behind something extremely important, something they must retrieve..." His gaze cut sharply through the dusk, landing on the familiar silhouette of the village. "Or, the answer is simpler—they are from here. It's not that they don't know the danger. It's that this is their home."