The sea breeze, heavy with salt and the stench of fish, whipped through the ship's cabin. The wooden hull groaned under the crashing waves, each sway turning the messenger beside Roshi a shade paler. He was a capable young man under normal circumstances, but now he clutched at his clothes with white-knuckled fists, his eyes flicking nervously toward the churning, dark-blue sea beyond the porthole.
"Th-they're chasing us! Hurry!"
"Get your weapons—harpoons, now!"
Above, the sailors' rough shouts rang out across the deck, mingling with the sharp clang of metal. The steady rhythm of the voyage shattered into chaos.
Meanwhile, Roshi sat cross-legged on the damp floorboards, his eyes closed, body rising and falling in time with the ship's pitch. He looked as unshakable as a stone in a storm. The messenger's panic didn't ripple him in the slightest.
"They're here…"
His eyes opened, calm and unhurried, and he rose smoothly, his movements flowing with the ship's sway instead of against it.
"Stay put," he ordered, halting the messenger who was about to stand.
The cabin door creaked as Roshi pushed it open. He stepped onto the deck, behind a row of sailors bracing harpoons with pale knuckles, their eyes wide with fear. His gaze fixed on the sea.
A figure was racing across the waves, fast and steady, skimming the surface of the water with practiced steps.
Tall. Lean. Clad in a sleeveless black bodysuit beneath a dark breastplate that gleamed coldly in the sun. A mask hid his face, leaving only eyes sharp as a hawk's visible.
Roshi's eyes narrowed. "Black Snake Group… or just one of their men?"
To chase a ship so far, balancing on open water without faltering—the chakra reserves and control required put the enemy at least at the elite Chūnin level.
If this was only a subordinate, then the Black Snake Group's true strength was even more formidable than his initial estimate.
At the same time, back at Haifi Pavilion inn—
A shadow slipped in through the first-floor lobby like smoke, merging seamlessly with the bustle of waiters, guests, and the innkeeper. Despite his outlandish appearance, no one seemed to notice him. Their eyes slid past as if he wasn't there.
Genshoku.
His ears caught every sound. His senses extended upward. From the three rooms above, he felt them clearly—three distinct life forces, each sharp, condensed, undeniably shinobi.
"Konoha ninja… all here," he muttered. He didn't climb the stairs, but the pulse of their chakra signatures was unmistakable.
Yet unease gnawed at him. Wasabi Jirocho had been anything but discreet—gathering the port's leaders, flaunting his evidence, declaring he'd already sent a messenger to the Daimyō, and invoking Konoha's name to add weight. It was too loud, too obvious. A provocation daring his enemies to respond immediately.
If that was the case… then why were all three Konoha shinobi still here?
'Was the messenger who left just a decoy? Did the real courier already slip away in secret?'
But then—why had no news come from the Daimyō's palace yet?
The chakra upstairs was real, he confirmed again. No illusion. No clone.
Or… had Konoha sent reinforcements he couldn't sense?
Genshoku's thoughts churned, and unease coiled in his gut. He turned on his heel, slipping out into the street.
The wind carried the bustle of Deai Port around him. He scanned upward—and froze.
From a half-open window on the top floor, a pair of calm eyes stared down at him.
His chest tightened. Instinct kicked in—he leapt back several paces, wrist rising. The bell tied there, carved with the character "Shoku," rang with a low, urgent hum. An invisible ripple spread out, cloaking his body.
No genjutsu. No barrier trap.
He exhaled once, steadying his breath, and lifted his gaze again.
The eyes were still there. Watching. Unblinking.
This time, three figures appeared behind the window—Roshi, Anko, and Itachi. Their eyes, calm and unyielding, fixed on Genshoku with identical indifference.
"Shadow Clone Jutsu…" Genshoku muttered, fury and caution flaring at once. So that explained it—three distinct chakra signatures, yet only a single scent.
"Damn clever…" he hissed, the copper coin gritting between his teeth, scraping faintly.
To divide chakra into three while keeping each clone strong enough to fool him… that meant the real one was elsewhere. Likely the captain himself remained, while the ones dispatched were only the kid and the kunoichi.
With Shoshi's strength, those two would be easy prey.
That left Genshoku with one task: pin down this so-called captain. Keep him rooted here in Haifi Pavilion until Shoshi succeeded—or force him to move first and expose a weakness.
Abandoning his attempt to peer deeper into the inn, Genshoku melted into the street's shadows. The bell tied at his wrist gave off a steady, low chime—like a serpent's tongue tasting the air before a strike—as an invisible field spread outward, slowly enveloping the pavilion.
On the third floor of Haifi Pavilion, Roshi stood at the window, watching Genshoku's form vanish into the darkened street corner. Through the unique sensory link of his Wood Clones, the information synchronized instantly—the main body intercepted at sea, Genshoku lurking here.
"The bait is taken. Diversion begins."
At his thought, the two Wood Clones behind him—shaped as Anko and Itachi—slipped wordlessly to a corner. Their forms unraveled, crumbling into blocks of wood that clattered to the floor. The chakra they carried did not dissipate, but returned to the clone at the window like rivers flowing back into the sea.
Though his Sage Mode training was still incomplete, Roshi's relentless practice had honed his chakra control to a razor's edge. Especially with Wood Release clones, he could split, reclaim chakra with ease.
Time shifted back—just after Tanzai's cargo ship set sail.
"The plan splits three ways," Roshi said evenly, standing in the inn room with Anko and Itachi. "First is the messenger. I'll take that route myself. Since Jirocho openly reported to the Daimyō, the enemy will likely focus on intercepting him. That path has the highest chance of encountering the Black Snake Group's core or their elites. Key intelligence will come from there."
Anko crossed her arms, brow arched. "And here? What about old man Wasabi's place?"
"Haifi Pavilion must look as if all three of us remain here. It serves two purposes—misleading scouts and acting as bait for any ninja bold enough to investigate. That's why I'll leave behind clones to impersonate us." His gaze swept over them both.
"Clones, huh? If you're using Shadow Clones, won't your chakra get shredded, Roshi?" Anko asked, frowning. Splitting chakra evenly between multiple bodies—on top of combat—was no small burden.
"It'll hold." Roshi gave no further explanation. He had no intention of revealing the secret of Wood Release.
Anko clicked her tongue, but didn't press. "Fine. Then Itachi and I take the third route—the Wasabi estate?"
"Correct. If the enemy targets the Wasabi Family directly, they'll be facing more than assassination—they'll bring numbers. A single jōnin can keep Jirocho safe from small strikes, but if the enemy commits to a full assault…" Roshi's voice grew heavier. 'Shizune's medical ninjutsu won't be enough. And Tsunade… once blood is spilled, her presence could turn into a liability the enemy might exploit.'
So, Itachi and Anko's task was clear: reinforcement, should the enemy strike the Wasabi Family in force.
Before dismissing them, Roshi added one final instruction. "The person at the Wasabi estate is an exceptional medical ninja. Trust her. But don't ask questions about her background. Consider that a personal request from me."
Anko scratched her cheek with a crooked smile. "A request from the captain, huh? Guess I'll keep my mouth shut. But… you know what I mean, Roshi."
He did. After Orochimaru's defection, Anko had no patience for secrets that endangered the village. If this truly touched Konoha's safety, she would report it regardless of sentiment.
Itachi, however, only gave a quiet nod.
Knowing Roshi's true identity, the Uchiha understood better than anyone—this was the last person who would ever betray the Leaf.
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