The carriage creaked into motion, two gaunt horses tugging a battered wagon along its fixed route away from the dango stand.
The wheels crunched over loose stone, sending up a thin haze of dust to the steady, monotonous rumble.
Inside, the crates that had once filled the bed had been cleared away, freeing space for five or six people to sit or lie. Mamoru braced himself at the rear, chin on his forearm, gaze fixed on the scenery sliding past.
"I never imagined Tosuke's men would dare to act this openly." Kurenai 's cool voice cut the silence.
Mamoru kept his eyes on the window. "Not hard to understand. He's strong himself, and he's gathered a pack of rogue ninjas and hired thugs. Once a force grows that big, even the authorities flinch, he can run riot through Nagakawa City."
He turned sharply, locking eyes with Kurenai. "Forget him for now. We're getting close, we need to decide—enter the city straight off or wait outside for our moment."
He paused, glancing from Hinata to Shino. "If we go in, how do we place them? And when we move, how do we keep them safe?"
Kurenai rested a finger against her chin, lost in thought.
Only the roll of the wheels answered.
She had meant to leave them outside the walls, but the nearer they came to Nagakawa, the more dangerous the countryside became.
"After we're inside, I can arrange—"
Komatsu, acting as driver, broke in from the front, voice wavering through the curtain.
"Mm? You?" Mamoru lifted a brow, openly sceptical.
The man could barely keep himself alive, what could he arrange? Was he still hiding something?
Komatsu spoke quickly, "My father has an old friend in the city. If we find him and explain, he'll take us in for a while."
"You sure he'll dare hide us?" Mamoru sounded unconvinced. "Nagakawa's Tosuke's turf. Sheltering us is declaring war on him, he's not afraid of the fallout?"
"I escaped the Land of Grass only because that elder helped me." Komatsu replied with reverence. "He's related to the daimyo, a man of rank. Even Tosuke has to show respect."
Mamoru and Kurenai traded a glance, both only half-believing.
Kurenai weighed the risks a moment longer, then nodded.
"All right… we go in." Her gaze swept the three younger ones. "First we find Komatsu's contact. When night falls, we move."
Silence returned to the wagon, broken only by the clop of hooves and the grind of wheels.
When Nagakawa's towering outline finally rose against the sky, the carriage slowed to a halt just outside the walls.
Komatsu needed disguise. If he were recognised the moment he entered, the game was up. He took a stick of charcoal and carefully blackened face and arms, even behind the ears and between the fingers. When he finished, even his own father would have passed him by.
Mamoru and the others tucked their Konoha forehead protectors away, hid their ninja tools in travel packs, and became ordinary wayfarers.
Kurenai took the reins, while Komatsu crouched in the shadowed corner of the bed. The wagon rolled again, heading for the gate… and passed inside.
To their surprise, no one stopped or even questioned them. It was less lax security than complete indifference.
The very ease of it left them oddly adrift. Braced for trouble, they had swung at empty air.
By the time Mamoru understood, the reason was clear: Tosuke simply never dreamed Komatsu would dare return—entering the city looked like walking into a trap.
Wheels clattered evenly over level flagstones.
Through the curtain's slit, they sensed an eerie mood. The great city that should have bustled showed only desolation.
Sparse figures hurried along the streets, every face tight with dread. They scurried, never lingering, as though a man-eating beast might pounce at any instant.
Nagakawa felt wrapped in a formless nightmare, sliding step by step toward ruin.
As they mourned the city's fate, a clamour broke out ahead.
Three half-baked youths had blocked a middle-aged man, jostling him and hurling insults.
"Oi, uncle, what's the idea? You bump us and no apology? We're from the Fierce Tiger Gang, open your eyes." One seized the man's collar, snarling.
"I—I'm sorry… sorry…" The man tried to pull away but dared not resist, repeating the apology in a quaver.
"Ha? Didn't catch that, louder!" The young thug thrust his face close, spittle flecking the older man's cheeks.
"Sorry… sorry…" Eyes squeezed shut, the victim endured the spray.
"Ahaha, look at the coward!" The youth laughed, delighted by his own cruelty.
"Enough, Hashimoto." Another smirked. "Let's roll, meeting's soon."
"All right. Almost forgot…" The young man named Hashimoto finally let go, shoving the middle-aged uncle aside.
The older man staggered, crashed onto the hard ground, and even though it hurt, he didn't dare cry out. He just climbed back up, afraid of provoking another round of humiliation from those thugs.
"Hah, what a loser!" Hashimoto sneered and beckoned his buddies to leave.
As the carriage brushed past the three youths, Kurenai, who was driving, tilted her head slightly and murmured, "Mamoru, don't make waves."
"I'm not stupid, I don't need reminding." Mamoru turned his face away expressionlessly.
If he hadn't worried about wrecking the plan, he'd already have charged out to teach those punks a lesson.
The carriage rolled on and soon stopped in front of an old wooden townhouse.
"Wait here."
Komatsu said, jumping down and striding toward the house.
He rapped on the door. After a moment, a young maid in kimono and apron peeked out. Seeing a dark-skinned man at the entrance she froze for a second, then quickly composed herself. "May I ask who you're looking for?"
"Hello, I'm Komatsu from Nishimura Trading. My friends and I need to see Fujiwara-san." He gestured toward the carriage. "Could you announce us? Thank you."
"Komatsu-san, why have you come back?" The maid glanced around warily and whispered, "Come inside, quickly."
Mamoru and the other three hopped down and followed her into the front garden.
The maid slid the bolt shut, turned, and bowed politely. "I'll inform master. Please wait a moment."
With that, she hurried away with quick, light steps. While they waited, Komatsu wrung his hands and paced the courtyard uneasily.
Soon the maid returned and made a respectful "please" gesture.
"Everyone, this way."
"Thank you so much." Komatsu exhaled in relief, a smile finally forming across his tense face.
He turned to the others, and encouraged, "Great, he's agreed to see us."
Led by the maid, they entered a simple, elegant reception room. A single ink-scroll hung on the wall beside a pottery vase holding dry branches, every detail spoke of the owner's restrained taste.
Their host did not keep them waiting. A solemn middle-aged man in a grey-striped kimono entered, saying nothing, and began preparing tea with focused precision. His fluid, composed movements made the uninvited guests unconsciously straighten their backs.
By the time he finished the ceremony, the sky outside had begun to darken, and warm lamplight filled the room, stretching the tea-house shadows long.
Everyone lifted their bowls and sipped politely, except Mamoru, who downed the tea in one gulp, smacked his lips, and thought, 'This stuff's got nothing on soda.'
Silence stretched on until Mamoru's patience neared its limit and he was about to slam the bowl down when the host finally spoke.
"I am Fujiwara Hiroki."
Sitting upright at the head of the room, he radiated calm dignity, his voice steady and strong. "If my hospitality is lacking, please forgive me."
"Not at all." Kurenai replied courteously.
Polite pleasantries followed.
As he listened, Mamoru couldn't stifle a yawn.