Rin moved rooftop to rooftop, shadow to shadow, his Viatras cutting clear paths through the boulevards below and marking every patrol before it marked him. Shinobi Black rippled in the wind, pulling his hood back a fraction, the cloth tail of his Kokuryū headband streaming behind him. He kept his aura pressed down tight, barely a whisper, as he passed over the outer band proper.
The city changed character beneath him with every block.
He crossed above Le'Bell's, the smell of savory forge-bread butter drifting up through an open window, drowned under the chatter of late-night diners. Past it, a stretch of shops that never closed — Seekers of every rank moving in and out under the pink moonlight, fresh off assignment or heading toward one. High-tailor storefronts gleamed with luxury wear. Iced-out chains and pendants sat behind glass, set with stones grown through a specialized blend of Water and Earth Muti, the kind of work only a house like Avicci put their name on. A perfumer's sign glowed faintly — Vernal Divongcci — the scent bleeding out into the street even with the doors shut. A young Seeker sprinted past below, cutting into a supply shop before it closed, chasing down potions, wands, spellbooks, whatever he needed before tomorrow's mission.
Guild banners marked the skyline wherever Rin looked. Flama — Rage's house, the largest and strongest guild in the world. BLADE, second in the standings, wind and spatial specialists with a reputation to match. Terra Firma, the finest Earth guild anywhere, planted right here in Janoah like everyone else who mattered.
A rooftop patrol swept its light across the tiles twenty feet from him. Rin folded into the dark at the edge of a chimney stack, let it pass, and was already moving again before the patrol finished its turn.
He landed on one of the tallest buildings in the outer band and crouched low, breathing out slow.
*I'm going to need help if I want to come out of this alive.*
He laced all ten fingers together, tight, tucking his fingertips into his palms until they vanished.
"Kairo Summoning Arts."
A black circular seal bloomed beneath his boots, ancient Shènjī characters rotating slowly around its rim. His shadow spread outward from the edges of the seal, splitting into dozens of small openings. Tiny black ears emerged first. Then whiskers. Then the Onzu mice themselves, climbing out one after another, silent, taking up position without a sound.
Nezubunta came last.
A larger opening widened, and the gray rat climbed through it, adjusting his little inspector's hat, dragging the hem of his cloak straight. He checked a pocket watch. Looked around. Looked up at Rin.
Then held out a paw.
"Cigarette."
Rin, sweating faintly from the aura drain, smirked anyway. "Good to see you too, you little baka."
Nezubunta gave him a flat side-eye. "Before we begin, boy. A cigarette. And it's *Chief Inspector* to you."
Rin dipped a hand into his own shadow and pulled out a pack of Mr. Green's. "Figured you'd say that. Lifted it off a guy in a carriage I hitched a ride under." He handed it down.
Nezubunta took one, lit it, and passed the rest to a waiting mouse to stow away. He took a long pull. "So. Who are we stealing from?"
"We're looking for a box," Rin said. "Expensive. Important to a woman named Moisha Brown."
Nezubunta turned and looked up at him, deadpan, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth.
"So. Basically nothing." He shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. "I guess those Viatras of yours don't see quite as far as you'd like people to think."
"Yeah, yeah, I screwed up, alright." Rin crossed his arms. "But I don't have time to stand here getting roasted by a rat. I've got a mission."
Nezubunta took another drag, studying the outer band spread out below them — the public streets, the residential rows, the inns and supply shops and transport platforms, the whole ordinary churn of people living their lives in the shadow of something much larger.
"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "A masterpiece of a city. Haven't seen anything like it since Zhushen, back when it still answered to the Soryu Dynasty. Height of the Chu Empire." He exhaled a long stream of smoke, satisfaction plain on his small face.
Then, abruptly, he snapped upright. "Men! Line up!"
The mice scrambled into formation instantly, dozens of them, each fitted in matching black stealth gear — dark cloth face coverings, soft-soled boots, tiny equipment pouches, short shinobi jackets, miniature utility belts cinched at the waist. Each carried its own kit depending on the job: thin climbing lines, scent markers, small aura-reactive instruments, little hooked blades no longer than a fingernail.
Nezubunta paced the line once, hands clasped behind his back. "We need everything we can find on Moisha Brown. The box, and however it connects to her." He stopped. "And the real target. Find Benjamin Johannes, somewhere in this ring."
He turned, looked up at Rin with the same flat expression.
"Did I miss anything, boy?"
Rin rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. "No."
Nezubunta's grin flashed once, then vanished behind something serious.
"Onzu Art: Gesshi Rui Dōsatsuryoku."
The mice scattered — every direction at once, vanishing off the rooftop and down into the district in heartbeats. It was one of Nezubunta's old secret arts, taught to him personally by Emperor Urasawa centuries back — a full reconnaissance sweep, mice spreading across the assigned ground to mark guards, mark civilians, count every entrance and exit, trace patrol routes, and flag every blind corner a watcher might miss.
Nezubunta threw both arms wide and laughed, loud and delighted.
"There's a time to smoke and laugh, and a time not to — but this! This is *absolutely* the time!" He took one more pull from the cigarette, grinning up at the rooftops. "Magnara. Lend your eyes, nose, and ears to the Inspector!"
Rin looked down at him in the pink moonlight, smirking despite himself, as the night around them settled into something darker than black.