A bright campfire crackled, red tongues of flame dancing, casting warm light across faces and robes and stretching long, wavering shadows across the ground.
Night lay like spilled ink. The forest smelled of grass, dew, and the mouth-watering aroma of meat broth bubbling in an iron pot.
Not far off, the wagon's outline melted into the darkness.
Beside the fire, Mamoru's group ate in silence—ladles scraping the pot, chopsticks tapping bowls, soft chews sharp in the hush.
Flickering firelight painted every face in shifting colors, the warm smoke driving away the forest's chill.
"Never expected a feast on the road." Komatsu beamed, eyes narrowing in delight.
"Thank Shino. Without him, dinner wouldn't be half this good."
Mamoru flicked his chopsticks toward Shino, teasing, "I caught a rabbit, but Hinata made me let it go and so did you. Who knew you had such a maidenly heart?"
"We had enough ingredients, no need for the rabbit." Shino adjusted his sunglasses, flustered by the praise and grin.
"But I wanted rabbit." Mamoru sounded wistful, glancing toward the trees as if mourning the escaped meal.
"Where's your compassion?" Kurenai laughed, shaking her head. "Rabbits are adorable."
"Right, right, rabbits are cute and I'm heartless. Happy?" Mamoru rolled his eyes.
"Haha…"
Komatsu burst out at the sight.
"What are you laughing at?" Mamoru shot him a sideways glare.
"Nothing. It's just… I never thought you'd make that face." Komatsu pressed his lips together, fighting giggles.
"Tch." Mamoru lifted his chin haughtily. "Easily amused."
The fire crackled, sparks leaping into the night and tracing brief arcs of light.
—
After five grueling days on the road, Mamoru and the others finally crossed the border into the Land of Grass.
Because the Land of Grass shared both soil and sky with the Land of Fire, the scenery had barely changed—only endless rolling hills and dense woodland, enough to weary even the most patient eye.
Mamoru lounged against the carriage wall, hands pillowed behind his head, eyes shut in rest. One knee was bent, the other leg stretched out, swaying gently with every jolt of the wheels.
Days of travel had left him sun-scorched and wind-chapped. Whenever it became unbearable he ducked inside the cabin. Kurenai shook her head at his laziness and finally swapped places with him.
Hinata hugged her knees, sitting scarcely an arm's length away. She kept her head down, yet her gaze flicked repeatedly to the boy beside her. The moment Mamoru stirred, she hastily lowered her eyes, fingers knotting together.
Inside the carriage, all was hushed but for the rhythmic rumble of wheels and the occasional snort of the horses.
As the carriage rolled on, they reached the first major crossroads of the Land of Grass. Merchants and travelers grew thicker, creaking wagons passed within inches, and voices floated on the air.
Suddenly a sharp whinny sliced the air, the carriage lurched and shuddered.
"Komatsu-sa?" Kurenai's puzzled inquiry drifted from outside.
Mamoru opened his eyes slowly—no trace of sleep in them. "What's wrong?"
"The carriage stopped," Hinata whispered.
Mamoru lifted the curtain and leaned out. "Why the halt?"
Komatsu didn't answer. His face was paper-white, covered with sweat, lips trembling. Veins bulged on the hands that clenched the reins, and his ragged breathing sounded loud in the stillness, as if the next gulp of air might never come.
The unnatural hush set every passenger on edge.
Sensing trouble, Mamoru rose and frowned. Past the shaft, his gaze locked on two figures ahead.
The pair wore sleeveless vests and masks that hid nose and mouth. They swaggered into the road, waving wagons to a stop, roughly shoving aside protesting merchants, yanking curtains open. One sprang nimbly into a cart and rummaged with bandit-like brutality.
Finding nothing, the man jumped down, and waved the wagon away like a troublesome fly, impatience scrawled across his face.
Mamoru's eyes lingered on their gear and manner. Moments later, he knew what they were—ninja.
"Ninjas?" He murmured.
"Rogue, most likely." Kurenai answered, voice calm. "They may not be after us. Don't move yet."
Mamoru laid a light hand on Komatsu's quaking shoulder, feeling the taut muscle beneath. "I think we should hear what Komatsu has to say."
Every gaze on the carriage turned to the driver. Komatsu clutched his head, voice cracking. "Th-they've come for me."
Mamoru snorted. "Lying about the contract—accounts later."
He stepped over stacked goods, and vaulted from the tail, boots striking dust.
As sunglasses settled into place, hiding the blue of his eyes, the scene inside his mind sharpened: Komatsu's terror when threatened at the Mission Assignment Office, yet his swagger once outside. Fear that should have kept him distant, yet forced friendliness. A trading-company heir traveling without even a groom, calling it a test of succession—details that now loomed as gaping holes in a shabby lie.
While he pondered, Mamoru walked past wheels and shafts to stand before the horses.
The two ninjas advanced and halted a few steps away.
One tall, one short.
The tall man folded his arms, while the short one cocked his head with arrogant disdain.
The tall rogue ninja ignored Mamoru, pointed at Komatsu on the box, and shouted, "Hey, kid up there! Raise your head!"
Komatsu hunched lower, arms wrapped round his skull, shivering.
"Deaf?" The short one stepped forward. "Lift your face!"
Still Komatsu cowered.
The rogue ninja's temper flared, but his partner caught his arm, eyes flicking toward something. "Wait, look at that forehead protector…"
The short man glanced along the wagon, gaze settling on the metal plates. After confirming the emblem, his free hand flickered through hidden signals.
He thought himself unseen but to Mamoru's senses, every twitch was luminous, including the allies crouched in the roadside woods.
"Last warning, brat! Raise your head or we get rough!" The short ninja snarled.
Mamoru dug a finger in his ear. "Stop yapping. You're hurting my ears."
He cocked a thumb toward Komatsu, wicked amusement in his tone. "You hunting Komatsu? That's him on the box."
Komatsu went rigid with despair.
"Idiot…" Kurenai pressed fingers to her temples.
Selling out the client outright—madness.
"You're Konoha ninjas?" The tall rogue ninja said, voice lowering. "Komatsu is ours now. Walk away."
"Hold up." Mamoru lifted a hand, tone flat. "He's still our employer, fee unpaid. You want him, fine, but two sentences won't make us blink. If you're taking him—"
"Enough! If you won't scram, we bury you here!"
Both rogue ninjas flicked out shuriken and Kunai and hurled them without hesitation.
Shrieks cut the air, yet every blade froze a foot from Mamoru, hanging against an invisible wall.