The once-crimson sky had faded to a dull, bruised gray.
A cold breeze carried the faint, metallic tang of smoke. Hayashi drew in a slow breath; his lungs still complained where a kunai had found them not long before. The ache in his chest was a dull, persistent reminder.
He reached for the kunai on the ground and rose to his feet. Nawaki and Mikoto mirrored his motion, collecting the small blades.
The three of them moved through the door together.
They were not strangers to killing, but they had never been asked to strike unarmed people. That was different. The weight of it settled over him like a chill.
What Orochimaru had told them was plain: this was the road they had chosen. Once set upon it, they would see it through, whatever it demanded.
Hayashi stepped inside and saw more than a dozen captives bound in the dim room. Men and women sat or crouched, some already injured beyond recognition. Snakes coiled around a few victims; their eyes shone with terror.
A middle-aged man, bound and bruised, looked up with something like disbelief and fury. Once, he must have been someone of consequence in the Windmill Village. Now he could only watch the kunai as it approached.
Hayashi moved without expression. He had prepared himself for this possibility when he elected this path; prepared to face death, prepared to make death for others if the mission demanded it. That did not make the moment easier.
The man struggled, his wounded arm sending fresh pain through him. His face twisted with anger and fear. Maybe he had expected a more worthy end than dying at the hand of a child.
Hayashi raised the kunai and, without a tremor, slit the man's throat.
Blood painted the stone. The sound of the man's breath stopped in an instant, and the cold that followed felt like a physical thing, settling in the back of Hayashi's throat.
He examined the blade, wiped it on the man's sleeve, then moved to the next captive.
A woman begged and sobbed, voice thin and desperate. The plea did not change what needed to be done. The kunai passed across her throat.
When Hayashi finished, he stepped back out. He left the remaining executions to Nawaki and Mikoto.
Orochimaru was seated on the ground outside, head tilted toward the sky. Hayashi joined him and also looked up. The moon hung low, and beyond its pale light the forest's silhouette blurred into shadow.
From where they sat, the world would have been lush and bright if not for the ruin that framed their view. Hayashi had liked Konoha when he still lived there — the trees, the quiet corners. Now a single week away from home had already made him miss it.
That small homesickness vanished under the stronger scent of blood. The remnants clung to his clothes, to his skin, and to his thoughts. He felt altered, and he could tell Orochimaru noticed.
Orochimaru inclined his head. "Because a jonin intervened on this mission, and you eliminated that jonin, I'll petition to have this mission upgraded to A-rank."
Hayashi's jaw tightened. Orochimaru spoke easily, as if pleased by the notion.
"Completing an A-rank mission before you're even a genin—it's a notable achievement," Orochimaru added, licking his lips.
Hayashi bit a word back. He had nearly died. He had no taste for praise or rank. If he went hungry, froze, or threw himself from a cliff, he swore he would never accept another A-rank mission. Let someone else take them.
He glanced at Orochimaru, then spoke. "You're saying you're an earth-style clone, right?"
Orochimaru nodded. "My main body went after that leader."
Hayashi felt the confirmation of his suspicions settle like a stone. The scarred man, the innkeepers, the way events had unfolded—everything bore Orochimaru's fingerprints. The inn was no accident. The scarred man and the innkeepers were connected, and Orochimaru had known it long before they arrived.
That knowledge had been Hayashi's saving grace in the moment he had deployed genjutsu. He had sensed Orochimaru nearby and had acted with the confidence that came from that certainty. He would never ask if Orochimaru would have saved them had he failed; trust could not be tested that way.
Hayashi asked, voice low, "What's the full situation with this village?"
Orochimaru answered without hurry. "This mission to root out the bandits has been issued twice before."
Hayashi frowned. "So it was cleansed twice and still the bandits returned?"
"That's right," Orochimaru replied. "When I investigated, I found the second-in-command traveled frequently to the nearby town. That second-in-command resembled those innkeepers."
Hayashi listened as Orochimaru laid out the scheme. The town and the bandits were part of the same system. Merchants passed through the town on trade routes; local informants fed information about wealthy caravans to the bandits, who then picked the most profitable targets. As long as the town existed, the cycle would continue. Wipe out the village, and the next day the town would rebuild it.
Hayashi's face reflected his dismay. The ninja world had always been harsh, but the deliberate collusion between town and brigands revealed a deeper rot than he had imagined.
"How do you intend to deal with the town?" he asked.
Orochimaru shrugged, voice dry. "That's why they sent you here. This town sits on a trade route leading to the Land of Rivers. If war breaks out with the Land of Wind, this place becomes invaluable. It could be turned into a base with minimal effort."
Hayashi remembered the earlier talk of alliances and political maneuvers. "You said Konoha just signed something with the Third Kazekage."
Orochimaru only smirked. "Keep that to yourself."
Hayashi rolled his eyes inwardly. Orochimaru could boast and then tell him to be discreet.
"And the couple—the innkeepers?" Hayashi pressed.
"That's your mission," Orochimaru said, indifferent. "Seal their memories, give them funds, send them to the daimyo's household."
Hayashi nearly retorted. "Sensei, that's not mercy. If it were a mission, I would have no hesitation to kill. They are not part of the bandits' organization. They won't expose anything. They are insignificant to the problem."
Orochimaru's smile was a thin line. "Killing is the essence of a shinobi," he said.
Hayashi's reply came with a cold, steady heat. "If killing is the essence of a shinobi, then I want to change what that essence means. I want to speak with the ninja world."
Orochimaru's eyes glittered. "And if the ninja world will not listen?"
Hayashi's expression hardened. "Then I will make it listen. I want to remake the world to the way I believe it should be. That is the right of the strong, is it not?"
For a moment nothing was said. The moon kept its measured course across the sky. Hayashi felt the weight of the choices he had made pressing in on him, but there was no turning back.
___
Happy New month