Seeing Kurenai's clear stance, Komatsu immediately turned to Mamoru, clutching his legs. "Please, I beg you..." His voice cracked with desperation.
"The opponents are ninjas, we could end up dead. Why should we help you?" Mamoru irritably tried to shake his leg free but couldn't.
"Besides, you can't even pay the rest of the fee. What are you bargaining with?"
"I... I'll give you money! Lots... lots of money!" Komatsu clutched at this last straw and shouted urgently.
"Hold up." Mamoru froze. "You say you've got a lot of money?"
"Yes, a fortune!" Komatsu nodded frantically.
"Where is it?" Mamoru crouched to look him in the eye.
"It's..."
The words reached Komatsu's lips but he swallowed them, eyes darting. "I can't say."
"Oh?" Mamoru drew the sound out, his gaze suddenly sharp. "Can't say."
"Still trying to trick me?" He slammed Komatsu's head to the ground.
At last, Mamoru realized what had felt wrong. Tosuke insisted on capturing Komatsu alive instead of silencing him, it had to be for the hidden fortune.
With that, the picture became clear. Besides the missing Nishimura patriarch, Komatsu himself was the only key to that vast sum.
Terror gripped Komatsu, his secret had been seen through.
Head down, he babbled, "N-no... once it's done, I can pay the rate of a B-rank—no, an A-rank mission."
"Don't, brother." Mamoru cut in, voice icy and mocking. "If I deliver you straight to Nishimura Hiroshi, maybe he'll thank me with an S-rank mission reward."
The moment those words fell, Komatsu went rigid. He'd overlooked the possibility. As the defaulting client unable to pay, he himself could be bartered for a bounty.
The rest of Team 8 were also stunned.
That was an option?
Yet on second thought something seemed off.
"Wai—" Kurenai began.
Mamoru lifted a finger to his lips, signaling her to stay silent.
A long silence followed, broken only by distant carriage wheels, footsteps, and muffled chatter.
"Hinata, Shino..." Mamoru withdrew his hand from Komatsu's head and stood. "Pack up, we're heading back to Konoha."
Hinata and Shino didn't answer, instead looking instinctively toward Kurenai. Kurenai merely gave a slight shake of her head and said nothing.
Just as Mamoru stepped away, a hand shot out and clamped around his ankle.
"Wait!"
"Enough." Mamoru's tone chilled. "Not turning you over to Hiroshi is already more than generous, stop making pointless trouble."
"The fee... I'll pay a million ryō." Komatsu rasped.
"Half is mine." Mamoru looked down at him, brooking no argument.
"H-half!?" Komatsu jerked his head up, voice trembling with shock.
"If you want me to risk my life, that much sincerity won't cut it." Mamoru crouched again, grabbing his hair and forcing their eyes to meet. "My life is expensive."
"Half..." Komatsu's face twisted in fierce struggle.
Realizing that unless Tosuke was removed, he'd never see the money anyway, he gritted his teeth. "Fine, half. Get rid of Tosuke and win back Nishimura Trading Company for me."
"Done." Mamoru clapped his hands, his expression thawing instantly. "Thanks for your patronage."
He even pulled Komatsu to his feet and cheerfully brushed the dust from his trousers—an abrupt, shamelessly mercenary turnaround.
Komatsu's legs, numb from kneeling, buckled. He nearly collapsed again before Mamoru steadied him.
"Thank you!"
Once upright, he reflexively expressed gratitude—good manners ingrained since childhood.
"Oh, you're too kind." Mamoru patted his shoulder, eyebrows lifting in a sunny smile. "Relax, ninjas are nothing. As long as the money's right, I'll take care of even a Kage if you want."
Watching his reckless promise, Kurenai pressed her palms to her forehead in exasperation.
Hinata and Shino stared, stunned. Events had veered far beyond anything they'd imagined and were racing toward the absurd.
"You, come here." Kurenai stepped forward, grabbed Mamoru's arm, and dragged him into the shade of a nearby tree.
"You agreed to a new mission without consulting me." Her tone was stern, crimson eyes fixed on him. "I'm the captain of Team 8."
"Captain, are you taking this mission or not?" Mamoru shot back, meeting her gaze without flinching. "If Komatsu is telling the truth, can we really stand by and do nothing?"
"Idiot, of course we weigh the situation." Kurenai hissed. "Leaving you aside, are you insane to take Hinata and Shino against a ninja group led by a Jonin?"
"Obviously we'd leave the two Genin out, this is way too soon for them." Mamoru glanced at his distant teammates.
"Isn't that obvious? How many Genin act like you? Though intel is scarce, their leader is very likely a rogue Jonin, are you underestimating the enemy?"
Listening, Mamoru merely shrugged. He thought of Team 7's pair, who, paid for a C-rank, took on B-rank trouble, they weren't much better.
"Our goal is to help Komatsu regain the trading company, not to fight the entire group head-on..."
He paused and raised two fingers. "We only need to do two things. First, assassinate Tosuke. Without him, the syndicate collapses. Second, capture his uncle, Nishimura Hiroshi."
"Easy for you to say." Kurenai folded her arms, crimson eyes flickering as she weighed the plan.
Mamoru stood quietly, giving her time to think.
At length, Kurenai looked up, expression grave. "Fine but this operation follows my command every step of the way. No more recklessness."
"Yes, ma'am." Mamoru nodded obediently on the surface.
What he actually thought?
No one could tell.
—
Inside bustling Nagakawa City, a grand mansion blazed with light.
In its most lavish room, candle-flames swayed. Calligraphy scrolls danced like dragons on the walls, a landscape painting breathed distance, and on a rosewood stand in the corner, rare porcelains from every province glowed softly in the warm light.
Ten oddly dressed men lounged along both sides of the room, sprawling with careless swagger. In the center, a dancing girl in brilliant scarlet sleeves moved to the shamisen's tune, her gold-leafed fan flicking open and shut, steps light as a butterfly, every turn sending silk sleeves fluttering.
At the head of the room sat a towering man cross-legged—Tosuke. Muscles bulging against his robe, a wild mane of hair loose down his back, eyes flashing as they opened and closed.
In sharp contrast, beside him crouched Nishimura Hiroshi—pock-marked, swarthy skin, squat body swallowed by embroidered silk, stubby limbs twitching now and then.
"It's been so long, your men still haven't found Komatsu? Could something have gone wrong?" Worry creased Hiroshi's face, the fine sake in his mouth tasting like water.
Tosuke tossed back his cup and refilled it unhurriedly. "The Land of Grass is only this big, where could he hide?"
His thick fingers rubbed the rim, gaze never leaving the dancer. "News will come."
Hiroshi set his cup down with a sigh. "Still, I can't shake this unease…"
Before the words faded, a thunderous crash cut him off.
Clatter—
Tosuke slammed his cup onto the low table, sake spraying. "Enough!"
He swallowed the flare of temper. If this tubby little man weren't useful, that constant jumpiness would have earned him a fist through the skull long ago.
Yet irritation aside, Tosuke jerked his chin at a lieutenant. "Shida, double the patrols, widen the net. In three days I want Komatsu in front of me."
"Yes, Chief!" The man called Shida grimaced. "But… three days might be…"
"No excuses, do it." Tosuke lifted his cup, the sharp glare silencing Shida instantly.
"Understood." Shida bowed low, and scurried out without another word.
(End of Chapter)
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