Komainu remained ever–nomadic—he never stayed in one place, not before and not now. Even as the official city guard captain of Degarashi Port, he changed residences daily, ensuring that not even the Chasan Group could discover his location before he chose to reveal himself.
"Just a bit longer—only a little longer," he thought, uneasy. Those Konoha ninja would depart soon—they were here only for an escort mission.
Still, he worried. The Wasabi family had sought Konoha's aid, and a Konoha shinobi had taken that request seriously. Not a good sign—but now was not the time to strike.
Komainu regretted not acting sooner. Waisuke Yūma had urged him to eliminate Wasabi Jirōchō when the latter was still compliant. Yet Wasabi had remained dutiful, despite hidden resentments.
He could not attack Konoha ninja rashly.
Nor could he remain idle.
He made up his mind.
The next morning, Shuji rose early and wandered the city again.
As sunlight dispersed the last mists, bathing the harbor in dazzling gold, Shuji returned to the inn. Hiroyama Makoto, anxiously awaiting him, greeted him as a savior: "Captain Shuji! Great news! The port authorities have relented—my cargo can load onto a ship today! Please, if you and your team would—"
With permission granted, Hiroyama hurriedly marshaled his crew. He longed to leave Degarashi Port at once.
The docks roared with activity. Hiroyama's porters carefully moved the tarped bolts of silk from the warehouse onto a waiting ship.
Those shady former "guards" merely watched, but Shuji, Anko, and Itachi sensed their gaze was not on the expensive cargo but on the ninja squad.
Shuji strode across the bustling pier toward Hiroyama and the port official deep in whispered discussion. Anko followed half a step behind. Their forms slipped through dockworkers and stacked crates, and in that instant, the Chasan sentries' eyes locked on them.
Now!
Itachi, seated silently on a crate, lifted his head as scarlet Sharingan tomoe flickered in the sunlight—rippling the sentries' unfocused gazes like stones dropped in a pond.
Only a momentary lapse.
When they refocused, Shuji stood beside Hiroyama, speaking calmly and pointing toward the ship as Anko leaned against his side. Where was that brat? A sentry spun around—only to see the black-haired youth still seated, quietly watching the laborers. Thinking himself mistaken, the sentry relaxed.
Using the cover provided by Itachi and Anko, Shuji left a shadow clone behind and swiftly made his way to the Wasabi compound. Hiroyama's early departure showed that the locals were now on alert, so Shuji knew he had to act quickly.
The Wasabi rear courtyard was still tranquil. Tsunade lounged under the eaves, holding a plain sake cup, her gaze drifting over shadowed patterns in the garden, lost in thought. The crisp scent of sake mingled with the morning breeze, carrying a hint of languor.
Wasabi Jirōchō sat respectfully at a distance in silence.
"There's someone here to see you." Tsunade's soft reminder pulled Jirōchō from his reverie.
Jirōchō blinked, then rose swiftly. He traversed winding corridors and, at the gate to the small garden, found Shuji waiting.
Without speaking at the gate, Jirōchō ushered Shuji back into the reception room.
"I'll be direct, Mr. Wasabi," Shuji began. "Have you noticed the significance of the Chasan Group's presence?"
Jirōchō did not answer immediately. He cleared his throat and spoke: "My family formed to protect Degarashi Port's fishermen and vendors from wandering marauders. We've always overseen port matters—and we've rarely faced ninja threats, thanks to Konoha's protection. The current chaos stems from opportunistic scoundrels seeking profit; Degarashi Port dislikes their greed."
"The Wasabi family is Degarashi Port's indigenous faction," Shuji observed. "By contrast…"
"The Waisuke family clearly feels otherwise," Jirōchō replied.
"They are outsiders interested only in money," Shuji continued. "And the Chasan Group's recruitment as port guards—are you certain they were truly eradicated?"
"Of course!" Jirōchō's eyes flashed. "We have proof ready."
Shuji tapped the table's edge with his fingertip. "Would you be willing to present this to the daimyō? To report the events of the past weeks?"
Jirōchō frowned. Reporting to the daimyō? What purpose would that serve? The daimyō had tacitly approved the Chasan Group. This samurai before him—respectful though he was—must not grasp the complexities of adult politics…
Shuji smiled and spoke firmly: "The Tea Country daimyō never sanctioned a bandit group as Degarashi Port's guard, nor entrusted port security to a bandit leader."
"They will not acknowledge such evidence," Jirōchō mused, preparing to warn Shuji of repercussions. "They may even accuse you of narrow–mindedness and move against the Wasabi family." Shuji's tone was calm. "If only Konoha were not involved."
Silence fell in the reception room. Sunlight through the lattice cast stark patterns across Shuji's young face as he met Jirōchō's uncertain gaze. His words, measured and clear:
"You need only state in your report: 'With the assistance of the Konoha ninja squad dispatched to escort the caravan, it has been confirmed that the Chasan Group bandits at Yacha Slope were never truly eliminated. The Waisuke family, whether eager for glory or misled by bandit leader Komainu, mistakenly recruited these ruthless outlaws as port guards, leading to port disorder and merchant outcry. We respectfully urge the daimyō to investigate thoroughly and restore order for the people's peace of mind.'"
At once, Jirōchō's confusion, doubt, and subtle disdain melted away, replaced by stunned clarity. He drew in a sharp breath and sat up straighter. "You, Shuji-kun… you are no mere shinobi."
He marveled, "Such a strategy at your age—truly admirable."
From Tea Country's perspective, they did not wish to clash directly with Konoha. A local ninja village would benefit the daimyō by securing resources. But from Konoha's standpoint, the situation differed: small ninja villages rarely thrived when the Five Great Villages could allocate tasks and funds elsewhere. Only now, with Tea Country's port territory critical to Konoha's mission quotas, could the village not cede control.
The night breeze surged through the open window, ruffling papers on the desk. Three shadows stretched long and still across the floor, bathed in lamplight and sea–tinged wind.
Chapters in advance there: patreon.com/Thaniel_a_goodchild