Fuckin’ shit nuts! A litany of profanities paraded through Jurou’s mind as he searched his bag for a single spare ryo.

  Ever since Jurou had left the hidden cloud, his life had spiraled downwards through a never ending storm of bullshit. The first village he hid at was too close to Kumo, and he’d almost been caught. The investigator never would’ve found him if that stupid bartender hadn’t given him up. He’d left his weapons behind in his campsite since he had to flee directly from the bar.

  Then, he’d tried to camp out in the mountains, but that’d gone poorly when the mountain ridge Jurou had claimed for himself flooded. A torrent of water had fallen out of the bottom of the storm that loomed over his mountain and almost washed him away.

  Finally, after traveling towards the coast for a few days, he found a seaside village filled with a bunch of gullible yokels and drunk fishermen. He’d nailed his performance as the inconspicuous traveler, and no one had paid him a single mind. It was going swimmingly until that kunoichi showed up and flushed him from cover.

  She appeared randomly one day, towing a kid with her that couldn’t have been older than ten. Sensing trouble, he’d lain low that day, and when night rolled around, she disappeared from his senses. An hour later, she reappeared like nothing had ever happened. Curious and worried about what could’ve brought the kunoichi to such a backwater town, he investigated where she’d disappeared. Traveling through the woods, he discovered over a dozen wolf corpses scattered around a cave. Jurou had initially been confused about why she would butcher a bunch of random animals. That was, until he remembered overhearing some villagers complaining about a pack of wolves ransacking their fish stores at night.

  She must’ve gotten a request from the mission hall, but why did she come from the opposite direction? She’d entered town from the road leading away from Kumo, and it would be crazy to circle the country the other way. Plus, that didn’t explain the kid with her, unless…

  Oh shit, she’s picking up for that recruitment program. Jurou recalled that everyone was talking about it right before he’d been forced to flee. A bunch of teens who’d graduated from the Polisher Program had taken top spots in this year’s chunin exams, beating out a couple of clan kids in the process.

  Jurou figured one of those overachievers would pounce at the chance to bag a missing-nin. So, he hightailed it out of there, booking it to Yoshiwara. He picked Yoshiwara because of its size and distance. It was big enough to hide in and far enough from the village to not have any nosey shinobi poking around.

  When Jurou made it to town, He rented a room at a local inn and tried not to draw attention. He avoided going outside too much, put on a disguise jutsu when he did leave, and was overall very bored for a whole week.

  He could hardly stand it, though. Whenever he went outside to grab food, the red light district would taunt him with delights just out of reach. So, after carefully considering his options, he decided the coast was clear and dropped his guard.

  The women he visited were always impressed with his ninja status; it never got him any attention in Kumo, but he was a rare commodity to the girls in Yoshiwara. They begged him to tell stories about his missions, and he regaled them through the night as they filled his drink. After a week, he’d established a solid routine. He would walk around, relieve gawky-eyed tourists of their poorly secured purses, and then spend his craftily acquired coin at the fine establishments in the red light district. However, just as he settled in, something alerted his senses on the edge of town.

  He immediately recognized her; it was the kunoichi from the seaside village. He knew it was her because of the absurd sharpness of her chakra, like the cutting wind on the peak of a tall mountain. It wasn’t the scariest or most unique he’d seen, not after serving in the Island Turtle War, but it shined like a fucking beacon compared to the civvies in Yoshiwara. He’d panicked and rented a different room at his inn, disguising himself with transformation jutsu to look like an old man. The first night was quiet, but something about seeing her a second time set off alarm bells, so he continued his watch into the next day. His caution was rewarded when he felt her enter the inn the next day.

  He’d inquired to the inn keeper about the woman, and she’d told him the kunoichi had come in asking about spare futons. The dumb woman prattled on about the details, but Jurou was already forming his next plan.

  The kunoichi was likely here on other business, completing missions while escorting her little program recruit. So, if he kept his head down, she’d likely pass him by. So, he kept up his disguise at the inn and limited his club visits. Not going was out of the question, after all, it didn’t feel right to leave those women without his luminescent company. He knew it was only a matter of time before one of them took him upstairs.

  His plan went smoothly, and he predicted she’d have to move on soon to make it to Kumo in time for the school year. That was, until the fourth night after the kunoichi had come to town. He was strolling toward one of his usual clubs, disguise released so his handsome face was on display, when he noticed her chakra signature growing closer. He panicked, hid on the roof of a nearby building, and watched as a disturbance slowly grew in the club he’d been about to enter. After about a minute, her chakra signature moved to the opposite side of town, and a crowd had gathered around the door to the club.

  Deciding to investigate, he activated his disguise and tried to sneak into the crowd. He heard whispers and murmurs, but couldn’t make out anything concrete. Then, he managed to squeeze to the front, and his blood froze in his veins as he looked inside. Lying in a pool of her own blood was Shino. The worker he’d spent the most time with in Yoshiwara, and the woman he’d been convinced would take him to a private room tonight.

  Oh my god. She’s hunting me. She has to be! Why else would she kill the exact prostitute I’d been seeing? Yes, he saw it now. The kid was a cover! The kunoichi was likely sent by the village to capture him. But why put so much effort into catching him? He’d only poisoned a couple of genin; they usually just slap a medium-sized bounty on his wanted poster and call it a day.

  Memories of a masked man, a suitcase full of cash, and a set of vials filled with neon liquid flashed through Jurou’s mind.

  Oh, motherfucker. They must’ve figured out someone paid me to poison those genin. Now they wanna bring me in for questioning. Well, not today! I’ve heard what they do to missing-nin in the pillar of screams. Jurou dashed back to his room, gathered his things, and took off towards Kumogakure. They’ll never look for me closer to the village! I can just skirt the surrounding towns, keep my head down for a few months, then break for one of the port towns. From there, the world is my fuckin’ oyster.

  Not two days later, he cursed himself for underestimating his opponent. The kunoichi had somehow seen through his masterful gambit and arrived in town. This time was different, though. She had dropped her facade, committing fully to the hunt. Jurou had to constantly keep on the move despite his ability to sense her coming from over a kilometer away.

  Every night had been a desperate game of cat and mouse, where she hunted him from dusk till dawn, driving him to exhaustion by the time morning came around. Every time he tried to leave, she’d somehow notice and circle the village’s perimeter with insane speed. Jurou deduced that she was probably a wind nature user, given her prodigious speed, and was probably tracking him with a wind-based tracking jutsu. Perfect for someone sent to catch a sensory-nin.

  Since his nature was water, he hadn’t bothered learning the details of any wind-related jutsu, but he’d known a guy in a separate squad who used something similar. However, that knowledge didn’t count for shit since he didn’t know how to counter her technique.

  Jurou’s stomach rumbled as he threw his bag on the ground. He’d run out of food yesterday and was penniless from his indulgences in Yoshiwara.

  Stupid whores, overcharging for every little thing! Jurou lamented his misfortune and used every inch of his massive intelligence to try and think of a way out of this, but his damn stomach wouldn’t stop rumbling long enough for him to think.

  Dammit I just need some cash or some food, but I can’t do anything with this cursed woman chasing me around! Then, Jurou had a brilliant idea. It was so obvious, he was pissed he hadn’t thought of it earlier. The kunoichi hadn’t found him while he hid in the inn, but hounded him relentlessly when he camped outside. If he hid inside, she couldn’t find him. She probably couldn’t track his scent without a breeze. He could just hide in some random villager’s stuffy attic and wait for her to give up.

  But Jurou knew he couldn’t outlast his hunter, not on an empty stomach. So, while he still had the strength, he decided to kill two birds with one stone.

  Everyone’s gotta sleep, and how hard could it be to kill one sleeping shinobi?

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Pakin awoke suddenly from a nightmare, hands clammy and breath uneven. Ever since Yoshiwara, he’d been having nightmares. They’d never woken him up before, though. Opening his eyes, he briefly wondered what was different when a noise sent shivers down his spine.

  It was the soft clinking of metal on metal. Pakin recognized it instantly as the sound of throwing weapons clinking together, as they so often did when he pulled them from Gera’s pouch to clean them every morning.

  He thought that maybe Gera had returned from whatever her mission had been, but she’d never woken him up. Plus, every night she set up her weapons for him to clean and had never woken him.

  It was probably nothing. I should just go back to bed. Pakin thought as he closed his eyes. Who would even try to sneak into a shinobi’s room anyway? Only someone stupid would try to steal from their room, especially when Gera could return at any moment and catch them in the act.

  Pakin tried and tried to reason with himself, but nothing penetrated the certainty he felt that something was wrong.

  I’ll just open my eyes and see for myself. I’ll find no one in our room, feel silly, and then go right back to sleep.

  So, he opened his eyes again and slowly panned his vision across the side of the room he was facing. He’d woken up lying on his right side, facing towards the door to their room, and nothing in his view seemed out of place. The door was closed, the futon beside him was undisturbed, and their backpacks were unmolested.

  See? Silly. He thought to himself.

  So, partially reassured, he turned over to check the other side of the room so he could relax and go back to sleep. The tatami mats were clean, the window was closed, and a small crack revealed the inside of the closet.

  Huh. I thought I closed that after I pulled the futons out.

  Pakin’s heart pounded in his chest, but he clamped down hard on the panic he felt building. He slowed his chakra down and let the slower vibrations bring him to that familiar sense of calm.

  Okay, there might not be anything wrong. Maybe I just think I closed the closet, and everything is normal. Pakin knew that was a lie.

  He waited, but nothing changed, and the memory of him sliding that closet door closed was crystal clear in his mind’s eye. So, barely keeping hold of his calm, he turned over onto his right side again and made a plan.

  I’ll pretend to wake up, slowly get out of bed, and walk towards the door like I’m gonna use the restroom. There’s a shared bathroom in the hall leading to our room. Hopefully, if someone is in the closet, they’ll ignore my departure, and I can wait in the lobby until Gera comes back for the night.

  His plan formed, he was about to set it into motion when he had a thought. Ever since Yoshiwara, Gera had given him a few weapons to carry with him every day. Now, he was glad for her caution.

  He moved so slowly it was painful, the strain and stress causing him to sweat profusely, as he pulled his weapons from the side pocket of his bag and into his hands. Delicately, he hid the senbon between the fingers of his left hand and grasped the kunai in his right. Then, he pulled his pajama sleeves down to cover part of his hands and hopefully his weapons.

  With his armaments secure, he began the first part of his plan. Pakin yawned loudly, sat up slowly, and pretended to blink the sleep from his eyes. After that, he got up out of the futon and started towards the door.

  clink, tink tink tink tink

  Time slowed to a crawl as Pakin stopped mid-step and, glacially, turned his head to look down at the single senbon that had slipped between his sweaty thumb and index finger onto the floor.

  Pakin whipped his head towards the closet, and the door slammed open as a man in shinobi gear burst from inside. Pakin barely managed to get his kunai up in time to block the man’s leading slash. The force of the blow was tremendous, and Pakin’s kunai was blown out of his hand.

  The shinobi followed up with another slash, and Pakin half ducked, half fell, to avoid it. He scrambled backwards towards the door, but his assailant caught him in the gut with a kick. Pakin felt all the air leave his body as he was picked up by the force of the blow and sent flying through the flimsy sliding door into the hallway.

  His back slammed against a wall, and Pakin landed on his hands and knees, the senbon in his grasp digging painfully into the webbing between his fingers. He tried desperately to get up even as he gasped for air and his vision swam, but his enemy was already upon him.

  A calloused hand scooped Pakin up by the throat, squeezing his airway as it lifted him into the air. His attacker started to growl something as he finished lifting Pakin, but he was already moving.

  Pakin used his right hand to grab the wrist of the hand choking him. At the same time, he squeezed his left hand so tightly that blood trickled down his palm from where the senbon poked him. Pakin aimed his fist straight up and slammed his payload into the soft underside of the shinobi’s arm.

  “FUCKING PISSANT!”

  The man screamed, and his grip slackened enough for Pakin to push it away. He fell to the floor and scrambled to get his legs underneath himself. Pushing off the floor, he got one leg up and took off.

  Pakin loped down the hallway, praying the man was in too much pain to chase him. His prayers went unanswered as a kunai whizzed past his face, leaving a thin line of searing pain across the left side of his face. Pakin felt hot blood drip down his cheek as he hissed through the pain.

  Pakin could hear other guests waking up and reacting to the noise, as he hurtled towards a corner. He gritted his teeth and shot his arm out to catch himself.

  Pakin turned the corner, maintaining his speed by grabbing the inside wall and throwing himself around the bend. His goal was in sight now, and his feet slammed harder against the floor as he willed himself to move faster. His brain finally catching up to the rest of his body, he wondered How am I gonna make it down those stairs? As he finished the thought, he heard his pursuer’s footsteps pounding behind him and focused on just making it there first.

  In less than a second, he’d reached the stairs and, without thinking, threw himself down them. He felt the man’s fingers brush his foot as he sailed through the air. Pakin’s body, honed from hours of dodging practice, knew just what to do. He tucked his head in, covered it with his arms, and curled up tight as he let out a grunt for each of the dozen stairs he hit on his way down.

  A large dresser brought him to an abrupt stop, and he managed to shake off his disorientation just in time to see his attacker standing at the top of the stairs. The dark circles under his eyes enhanced the rage that burned within them. His chest heaved with every breath, and Pakin could see his hands were shaking.

  His attacker bared his teeth, reached into a pouch at his side, and Pakin slammed his eyes shut in horrid anticipation.

  Pakin waited, but the sensation of a kunai slicing into his flesh never came. Instead, a loud crash and a soft thunking reverberated down the stairwell until something bounced softly against his shin. He opened his eyes and saw a strange hairy ball resting against his shin. Before he could figure out what it was, he was lifted up and wrapped in a tight embrace.

  “Oh my god, Pakin! I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry!” Gera apologized profusely while something wet began to drip onto his head. After a moment, she pulled away and held him at arm's length, taking in his condition with a quick scan. He saw two wet lines trailing down her face as she assessed him.

  Her eyes locked on the left side of his face, and moving him towards the lobby, she said, “Come on, we need to get you taken care of.” As she started to move him, his legs lost their strength and he stumbled, almost falling before Gera caught him. She simply lifted him into her arms and carried him to a couch by the front door.

  After placing him on the coach, she instructed, “Here, take this cloth and hold it against the cut. I’ll be right back.” She looked around for a second before spotting one of the inn workers staring at them with bewilderment. “Watch him for me.” She commanded the woman as she flickered out of sight.

  The woman didn’t register Gera’s words for a few seconds. When she finally managed to snap out of her confusion, she walked over to Pakin. He recognized her from one of his nightly explorations, so he waved at her weakly and said, “Hello, Marin.”

  She reached the couch and gave him a concerned smile. “Hello, Pakin.”

  She sat with him for a few minutes, but didn’t say anything more. Pakin let the silence hang between them. Now that he was still, all the pain from his wounds had come into sharp relief. His cheek throbbed with his heartbeat, his left hand stung like hell, and every time he breathed, his stomach, chest, and back hurt so bad he had to bite back tears.

  Fuck it. Pakin figured he’d earned it, so he let a couple of tears drip down his face. That turned out to be a bad idea when they started to soak into the cloth in his hand, and the salt made his cut sting even worse.

  Gera returned quickly with a doctor in tow. The man looked like he’d been pulled straight out of bed, grabbed a medical kit, and run straight here without even changing out of his pajamas.

  “Hello Pakin, I’m Doctor Hari, it’s nice to meet you.” Dr.Hari kneeled beside the coach and began taking supplies out of his bag. “Can you move that cloth so I can see the cut?” The man’s tone was calm and gentle, which made Pakin think of Dr.Kucha.

  He complied with the doctor’s requests, and the man began a basic examination of Pakin’s wounds. Gera hovered nervously over him the whole time, and when she caught Pakin looking at her, she gave him a strained smile. He tried to return one, but the movement pulled at the cut on his face, making him wince.

  Dr.Hari finished his examination with expert speed and gave his results. “Alright, it looks like you avoided any serious damage. No broken bones, and the punctures on your hand can just be disinfected and bandaged up. However, I will need to stitch up the cut on your face, just because it’s so long.” Dr.Hari winked at Pakin and said, “Don’t worry, young man, it won’t ruin your dashing good looks.” Pakin chuckled weakly at the doctor’s joke.

  Dr.Hari turned and looked at the kunoichi standing uncomfortably close to him. “Miss Gera, I’d appreciate it if you could give me some space to work with my patient.” for a second, it almost looked like she was going to snap at him, but Pakin reached out and took her hand.

  “It’s okay, sensei. I’m okay now.”

  A complicated look flashed across her face, but she quickly painted over it with a toothless grin. She gave Pakin’s hand a quick squeeze and let go, walking away and leaving through the front door.

  Good. She probably needs a cigarette.