As she run across the buildings, half-lost in thought, the world around her began to shift.
More heroes on patrol than usual. Too many. Watching, moving in tight formations. And not just in Kraken's zone—she saw them even near the fringes of the black market.
Strange, she thought. Something's happening.
But it wasn't just the heroes.
When she crossed into the Eight Precepts' territory, she noticed the switch—heroes disappeared, replaced by Yakuza patrols. Armed, alert, watchful. The air buzzed with tension.
This isn't random.
As soon as she stepped into the black market proper, she spotted a man standing at the gate—broad shoulders, a short cut to his hair, the kind of presence you didn't ignore. Exactly as Eichi described him earlier that morning.
She walked right up to him and calmly showed him the business card Eichi gave her. The man's eyes landed on the mask she wore—a perfect twin to Eichi's. He gave a faint smirk.
"Eichi-sama, I started to believe you threw me away." he smirked, clearly expecting the same voice.
But instead, a young girl answered, steady and polite. "I apologize to disappoint you, Ijiki-san. I'm not Eichi. I'm his assistant—You can calle me Neko. I'd like to request an appointment with Shie-sama."
The man blinked, surprised. But he didn't argue.
And as he led her deeper into the market, her hand brushed the burner phone in her pocket—the one Shie had handed her earlier. She hadn't used it yet.
Eichi had warned her not to. He said to keep it away from her body when possible. Don't trust it. Don't rely on it.
At first, she'd thought it was paranoia. But Eichi wasn't the kind of man who panicked over nothing. If he said there was something off, there probably was.
Still, he gave her clear instructions: only use it when the assignment progresses—or if something goes wrong.
Now, standing at the entrance of the building's upper floor—the so-called "stage"—she found herself staring again. The place looked even more extravagant than earlier. Rich wood, soft lights, velvet curtains. And the people... they weren't just anyone. Well-dressed, quiet, powerful. Men and women with money and pull.
It was easy to forget how out of place she looked when wearing a mask and a black cloak with boots like Eichi's. Still, the way she stared must've said enough.
"It seems his subordinates don't know the unspoken rules in a place like this, right, Neko-san?" the man beside her said smoothly.
She turned to look at him—Ijiki-san, the one Eichi had warned her about. His voice was casual, almost friendly, but she could hear the edge behind it.
He didn't stop there. "It's not good to stare at people in a place like this. You'll invite the wrong kind of attention. And with that comes the kind of problems nobody wants."
She remembered what Eichi said that morning—how Ijiki looked, how to find him, what to say. And more importantly, how not to blow his cover. Only the Boss and his personal guard knew who Eichi really was. To everyone else, he was just the masked man exept Ijiki. A ghost.
And now, she was one too.
Neko turned slightly, just enough to show she was listening, but kept her posture polite. "Apologies," she said simply. "I didn't mean to stare. Just taking in the setting."
Ijiki hummed, unimpressed but not hostile. "This way. Don't keep him waiting."
Just as she stepped inside, she caught Shie glancing over at her from his seat.
"Neko-san," the white-haired man greeted warmly. "What do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today? It's not time for the shipment yet."
He smiled kindly, different from the cold, professional face he usually showed to his subordinates and even to Eichi.
Shie, in truth, had a much softer side toward children—especially his adopted son Kai and other young ones he saw potential in. And even though Neko, or rather Shino, wasn't exactly a child, there was something about her that made Shie drop his guard a little. Around her, he felt a rare sense of ease—something he could never allow himself to show around someone like Eichi, even if he was a child not much older than her.
Neko bowed politely, her voice calm. "Shie-sama, forgive me for the sudden appearance. I hope you would be willing to help me with something."
Shie nodded, gesturing for her to come sit across from him. As she walked over, her eyes caught the large TV screen in the room. A news channel was playing: the headline talked about a mercenary group called "BloodyMist" establishing itself in Mexico, supporting the military side in the civil war against the cartels and republican forces.
Nothing new, she thought. Mexico had been locked in endless conflict for years. Even the Global Hero Association was slowly giving up on it.
Turning back to Shie, she sat down neatly. His attention shifted fully onto her.
"So?" he asked, voice even. "What matter requires my attention today?"
Neko didn't answer immediately. Instead, she asked, "Before I present my request, could you tell me what's happening outside?"
"You mean the patrols?" Shie chuckled lightly. "Oh, it's nothing serious. Just some troublemakers stirring things up. Happens all the time."
He spoke casually, but Neko knew better than to take things at face value.
Still, she bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Shie-sama. Now, onto the real reason I came."
She raised her head to meet his gaze. "There's a man... nicknamed the Surgeon of the Underworld. I would like your help finding him."
At her words, Shie leaned back slightly in his chair, humming thoughtfully.
"While I would like to assist you, I must ask—does this man have a bounty on his head?"
"Yes, Shie-sama. He does."
A soft sigh left him. "That's unfortunate. Very unfortunate indeed." His tone was sympathetic, but a small smile crept back onto his face. "You see, the bounty you're after falls under the authority of another black market faction, not ours. As fellow businessmen, it would be... improper for us to meddle in their affairs."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.
"However, I can point you in the direction of the man managing that sector. From there, though, you'll be on your own."
Of course, it was all bullshit.
After all, Shie was under no obligation to not meddle in other businesses, or more precisely in a way that could very well help the black market in question.
However, he unfortunately was under influence of Eichi, whom forced him to let the girl be on her own.
He was well aware of what he was doing to her—he was training her.
And while some part of him objected to it, especially knowing she was just a 14-year-old kid, he tried to bury that guilt. He told himself that maybe, just maybe, she was doing something meaningful for the world... while he sat back and did nothing.
Shie might be a Yakuza boss, but he was still a father, still a human being. And in his heart, he believed that the young should be free to live their lives, not shackled by the weight of blood and politics.
Still, Eichi had reassured him that it was Neko's own will driving her. Maybe those words weren't fully true—maybe they were just carefully crafted excuses—but so far, the kid had never lied to him outright.
And knowing more Eichi, he wasn't the type to force someone into chains unless there was no other choice—as he believed it was an unwanted variable.
If he said she was doing this willingly, Shie had to believe there was some truth to it.
Even if it made the guilt in his chest a little heavier.
Shie leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest. His easy smile didn't leave his face, but his eyes sharpened just a little.
"I do wonder, Neko-san," he said casually, almost like he was making small talk, "why go through the trouble for a person like that? Your work under me was supposed to be light. Clean. Nothing that would... dirty your hands too much."
He wasn't asking just out of curiosity. He wanted to see how she'd handle it—how well she could walk the line without giving herself or Eichi away.
How much was she like him.
Neko lowered her head slightly, thinking carefully before answering. She couldn't say too much. Couldn't say the truth outright.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady. "I understand, Shie-sama. And I thank you for your concern. I assure you, I do not seek conflict or blood. This task... is personal to me."
She paused, searching for the right words.
"I believe that if I can complete it, I will grow. I will be able to serve better, cause less trouble for the people around me. That is why I chose to pursue it. Not because someone told me to... but because I want to."
It wasn't a lie. Not really.
Shie watched her for a moment longer, his face unreadable. Then, he gave a small chuckle, closing his eyes like he was satisfied.
"You speak well, Neko-san. You choose your words carefully—good. That alone will keep you alive longer than half the fools out there."
He tilted his head.
"But remember," he said, his voice dropping just a little, "the underworld isn't like the playgrounds up there. Down here, even innocence can get twisted if you're not careful."
Neko bowed her head again. "I will remember your words, Shie-sama."
Neko was about to rise from her seat, feeling like the conversation had ended, when Shie's voice stopped her mid-movement.
"Wait a moment, Neko-san," he said, his tone lighter than before, almost casual. "Before you go... I have a selfish request."
She paused, lowering herself back onto the chair without a word.
"It's not much," Shie continued, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just a simple answer to a question of mine."
He leaned forward slightly, studying her with a strange look—half curious, half exited.
"Tell me," he said, voice calm, "are there more of you?"
For a moment, she blinked, unsure what he meant. More of her? More masked operatives like herself? Or was he asking about shinobi?
She kept her posture steady, feigning ignorance as best she could. "I'm not sure what you mean, Shie-sama."
Shie chuckled lightly, like he expected her to say that.
"You know," he said, "when I first met Eichi... or whatever name he uses... I asked him the same thing."
He gave a small shrug.
"He didn't answer either."
Neko kept silent, unsure whether lying or denying would make it worse.
But then, Shie's smile faded a little, and his expression turned slightly more serious.
"Recently... something strange appeared," he said. "In Mexico."
Neko tilted her head slightly, curious despite herself.
"A group of masked individuals... calling themselves the Bloody Mist," he continued. "This group of individuals, while not known much to the public, were spotted at crime scenes related to the deaths of numerous cartel members."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Some low-profile ones, sure," he said. "But surprisingly... a lot of high-profile ones too. Big names."
Neko stayed still, absorbing the information, her mind working quietly in the background.
"But what puzzles me," Shie went on, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair, "is not just their ability to bypass their obviously outrageous security..."
He leaned back a little, studying her face carefully.
"...but their resemblance to your type of masks."
He said it without accusation, almost like he was making an observation. But Neko could feel the weight behind the words.
Neko blinked, confused for a moment.
The memories from that morning, still fresh in her mind, bubbled up — Eichi's genjutsu, the lessons he had drilled into her before they came to Shie's mansion. The mask he wore, and the one she now wore, wasn't just to hide identity. It was reinforced, built to protect the face as well as conceal it. Not some cheap balaclava or a piece of cloth like common criminals used.
No one else should have had something like this. It was supposed to be unique — a part of Eichi's world, not this one.
Shie, catching the flicker of emotion in her posture, gave a soft chuckle, one without much humor.
"Seems even you didn't expect that, huh, Neko-chan?"
He pressed a button on the remote in his hand, turning the TV on so she could see the screen what he meant.
"Here," he said simply. "Take a look."
Neko leaned forward without realizing it, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the screen.
Shie noticed her interest and picked up the remote. He switched the TV to a recorded video. The screen flickered, revealing grainy CCTV footage from just a few days ago.
The footage showed a hallway smeared with blood, its walls cracked and dimly lit. The place looked like it had been through a war. Three figures appeared in the frame, caught by a surviving security camera.
One figure crouched beside a body, inspecting or taking something from it. Another stood nearby, their body tense, head turning as if scanning for danger. The third sent a chill through Neko—this one clung to the ceiling like a spider.
All three wore the same type of mask with paintings: reinforced, covering their entire faces. These weren't simple disguises; they were built for protection, the kind of equipment used by professionals.
Their outfits were sleek and dark, designed to absorb light rather than reflect it, making them blend into the shadows. Subtle armored plates protected their vital areas, but the design didn't restrict their movements. They looked like they were built for combat—trained, efficient, and lethal.
Neko's stomach tightened. It wasn't just their professionalism that bothered her—or even their height, which indicated that they were young.
It was the symbol on their masks.
Each mask bore the same carving on the forehead. The sight sparked a memory from that morning.
In the Genjutsu Eichi had used to trap her in a battlefield simulation, the people she saw didn't wear masks or gear like this. They had uniforms and headbands, each marked with different symbols to identify them.
But one headband in that vision stood out. It carried the same symbol she was now seeing on the CCTV footage.
Four short, horizontal wavy lines, stacked neatly. The lines curved back and forth like waves, a clear representation of mist or fog.
Neko froze. This wasn't a coincidence.
Shie's voice cut through her shock. "You recognized them now, didn't you?"
Neko blinked, sweat prickling at her temples. She forced her voice calm. "I...I need to speak to Eichi first."
He watched her closely, then nodded once. "Very well."
Neko stood, then she dipped her head respectfully. "Thank you for showing me this, Shie-sama. I'll take my leave."
Shie gestured absently toward the door, his eyes never leaving her. "Of course. Send Eichi my regards."
She turned and walked toward the exit.
As she stepped into the night air, her chest tightened.
She needed to find Eichi, to make sense of this. She couldn't afford to wast time.
---
Shie leaned back in his chair, staring at the frozen image on the screen. The masked figures, their smooth movements, the way they carried themselves—it all reminded him of Eichi.
But it wasn't him.
He poured himself a glass of sake, the soft clink of the bottle breaking the silence. "Eichi's style," he muttered, "Good Kami..."
It wasn't just their masks or the gear they wore. It was the way they moved—quiet, careful, like shadows. It was too much like Eichi to ignore. Shie's grip tightened on the glass. If Eichi had trained them, what was he planning? If he hadn't, then who had?
And then there was Neko. She reacted to the footage, he was sure of it. She knew something, but she didn't say. Not yet.
"What kind of fuckery did you cause this time, Eichi?" Shie said quietly.
He took a sip of the sake, his eyes still on the screen.
The resemblance was no accident.
Shie exhaled, leaning back. He didn't like unknowns, and this was a big one. If these figures were connected to Eichi, there may be complications. If they weren't... that might be worse.
Shie set the glass down and exhaled slowly. "Damn it... God damn it all. Let's just hope it doesn't blow up all over to japan."
He stared at the screen a moment longer, then reached for the remote. The footage replayed, and his thoughts didn't stop.
---
In a forest, devastated beyond recognition, kunai and shurikens littered the ground like the remnants of a battle long past.
A figure darted through the trees at an incredible speed, so fast most eyes wouldn't even catch a blur. But he wasn't alone. Three more figures followed close behind, leaping from branch to branch, closing the distance with every passing second.
The child in the lead, moving as fast as his legs could carry him, suddenly stumbled. His foot caught on a root, and he fell hard onto the forest floor.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he cursed, scrambling to his feet. But his panic made him clumsy, and he tripped again.
Looking behind him, his breath hitched as he saw the figures emerging from the shadows.
They had caught up.
"Get the fuck away from me!" he screamed, crawling backward, his voice trembling with fear.
But instead of hearing the mockery or threats he expected, their voices carried a single word that sent a chill through his spine.
"Monster..."
As they stepped closer, their appearances became horrifying.
One had no face—its skin peeled away, leaving nothing but exposed muscle and blood. It grinned horribly, its teeth visible through the raw flesh. He wore a bloodstained White flak jacket.
The second figure was burned beyond recognition, its body blackened and charred like it had been roasted alive. This one wore tattered Grey armor.
The third figure, standing in the center, made Eichi's heart stop. He wasn't a mutilated corpse like the others—he was a child. He wore a blue uniform, identical to Eichi's own, and an Uzumaki headband glinted on his forehead.
"Coward..." the boy muttered, his voice cold and flat.
"Fuck off!" Eichi screamed, hurling a kunai at him with trembling hands.
The blade struck the boy square in the chest. He staggered back, choking on a gurgling sound as blood bubbled from his lips. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.
Eichi froze. His eyes widened, filled with terror as he stared at what he had done.
"No, no, no!" he muttered, crawling toward the boy. His hands shook as he pressed them against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. He fumbled with a bandage, desperately trying to save him.
But it was useless. The wound was too severe. Blood poured from the boy's mouth, drowning his breath.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," Eichi whispered, tears streaming down his face. He tried to offer the boy water, wiping blood away from his lips. "Please, just hold on a little longer. They'll come for us. Just hold on!"
The boy's eyes, glassy and emotionless, stared back at him. No anger. No fear. Just emptiness.
Eichi's panic grew as the boy's cough worsened, each breath rattling with more blood than air.
"It's your fault."
Eichi froze. A voice came from behind him, low and accusing. A hand rested on his shoulder.
He turned his head slowly, trembling. The faceless man stood there, staring down at him with that grotesque, permanent smile carved into his raw, peeled flesh.
"It's all your fault," the man said, his voice dripping with disdain. "He died because of you."
Eichi couldn't speak. His hands trembled as he stared at the boy lying lifeless on the ground.
"He warned you," the faceless man continued. "And you didn't listen."
"Wake up, Eichi."
Eichi's breath quickened as the man's words cut deeper. "You wanted to protect them," the man sneered, his tone sharp, relentless. "But you failed, Eichi. You failed them all."
The shadows seemed to close in around him. "You're nothing more than a coward, Eichi..."
"Eichi..."
"Boss!"
Eichi's eyes snapped open. He sat up with a jolt, his hand swinging reflexively and striking the figure beside his bed. The figure vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving only silence in its wake.
Sweat dripped from his brow, his chest heaving as he looked around. It had been a dream—a nightmare.
"Damn it..."
He gripped his head as a splitting headache hit him. The memories from his shadow clones flooded back all at once.
The thing about shadow clones was that they weren't just tools—they came with a cost. Every experience and memory a clone went through was transferred back to the original when it dispelled. It saved time and effort, sure, but the process wasn't easy.
The more clones you used, the more strain it put on your mind. The brain, for all its complexity, still needed time to process everything. A normal day's worth of shinobi experiences was already a lot to handle. Add the memories of one or two extra days from the clones, and it became overwhelming.
The side effects were well-known to frequent users. Overstimulation. Splitting headaches. A foggy mind. And, worst of all, insomnia. The brain compensated by refusing to rest, keeping you awake as it tried to sort through the overload of information.
But did Eichi care? Not at all. He saw it as a shortcut—a way to grow stronger, faster, and avoid wasting time on something as trivial as sleep. His clones often warned him against overusing the technique, but he ignored them.
And that was the ironic part. His own clones, created from his thoughts and experiences, often argued with him. They reprimanded him, acted more rationally, and even had different views of the world than he did.
Maybe it was because they didn't feel the exhaustion he did. They didn't suffer from the sleepless nights or constant headaches. That alone explained a lot
The memories from his clones settled into place, and one stood out. Shino chakra was felt by the clone awake. It seemed urgent.
Eichi frowned slightly. He hadn't expected her to locate the surgeon so quickly. The bounty he'd given her was deliberately challenging—a test of her tracking and information-gathering skills.
Finding Doctor Jigoku hadn't been hard for him, but that wasn't the point. The point was for Shino to grow, to figure things out on her own.
He'd prepared for this, of course. Eichi always did. In case she failed to gather the information, he already had the details. The surgeon was loud and proud, his bragging making him easy to track. Far easier than the man "Smoker" or any other targets Eichi had pursued.
He also suspected Shino might try to lean on others, like Shie, for help. That's why he had preemptively warned Shie not to interfere, ensuring she had to rely on her own skills.
"Fuck sake, can't have a moment of respite now do I?"
As if on cue, a figure slipped in through the window of his room.
A tense silence followed as both figures stood still, staring at each other.
"You were asleep," the intruder said quietly, breaking the silence.
It was Shino. Her gaze landed on Eichi's weary state—his bloodshot eyes, his irritated expression. She couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and awe at how he had noticed her presence, even while seemingly asleep.
Also, the tear streaks...
"Shino, speak up," Eichi said finally, his voice gruff as he rose to his feet. He began gathering his gear, preparing for whatever had brought her to him at this hour.
"I found something," Shino began, but she hesitated before continuing. "Do you have a phone? It's better if I show you."
Eichi froze mid-motion, his hands pausing over his pouch and gear. Slowly, he turned to her, his irritation bubbling to the surface. "Excuse-fucking-me?"
Shino sighed, stepping down from the windowsill and settling on the futon where Eichi had been lying moments ago.
She removed her mask, revealing a weary expression. "Just bring me a phone. You'll want to see this."
Eichi shot her an intense look, but eventually let out a sigh of resignation. He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved a small box. From it, he pulled out a phone, one that had been issued to him but that he barely used, knowing only the basics of how it worked.
He handed it to her, and Shino immediately unlocked the phone and began navigating through its interface. She opened an app called "YouClips," but instead of loading, it prompted an update from the app store.
Shino stared at the screen in disbelief before turning to Eichi with an incredulous look. "You've never used the phone, have you?"
"Why would I?"
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Shino muttered under her breath, "Never mind. It's already done updating."
The update finished quickly, and as if her words had triggered it, the app opened automatically, displaying its welcome page.
Eichi, curious about why she came all this way, sat down beside her, back henched as he looked at what she was tiping.
Bloody mist.
And that was when Eichi fully woke up, and he started to pick up the peaces at what was happening.
"Bloody mist?" he asked as he leaned in.
And as Shino clicked search, what came was a bunch of videos, with different languages speaking about a shadowy mercenary organization operating in mexico under the banner of the military junta.
She tapped on one of the videos, a broadcast from a Mexican news outlet. Unlike the brief mentions by Japanese media, this report went into detail.
Shino activated the video's auto-translation feature, and subtitles appeared at the bottom of the screen. The voice of the news anchor began, calm but serious.
"Reports continue to emerge about the group known as 'Bloody Mist,'" the subtitles read. "This shadowy organization has conducted numerous operations against cartel leaders and government forces during Mexico's ongoing civil conflict. While eyewitness accounts remain scarce, this footage clearly reveals the use of children within their ranks. These individuals appear highly trained and avoid the use of firearms, relying instead on blades and other close-combat weapons, as seen in this video."
The screen shifted to grainy footage of a smoke-filled hallway. Small, swift figures darted between shadows, their movements barely visible in the chaos.
"¡La ala suroeste está comprometida! Southwest wing is breached!" a man's voice barked in Spanish, panic lacing his words. He dragged a wounded comrade behind cover, his cartel military uniform soaked with sweat and grime.
A sharp thunk echoed as a projectile embedded itself in the wall inches from his head.
"You missed, puta!" he spat, his voice trembling with anger and fear. He raised his rifle and fired wildly into the haze. "You want to kill me?! Come on!"
Unbeknownst to him, a figure hung silently from the ceiling above, concealed by the dim light and swirling smoke. Without a sound, the figure descended like a shadow, striking with lethal precision. The cartel soldier barely had time to gasp before he was impaled, collapsing lifelessly to the ground.
Eichi's jaw tightened as he watched, his expression dark.
"Shinobi," he muttered, his voice low and tense.
Shino nodded beside him. "And they're not just kids," she said quietly. "Look how disciplined they are..."
The video's perspective shifted, revealing three young figures clearly for the first time. One crouched near a body, another stood as if guarding the area, and the third clung to the ceiling, eerily still.
All three wore masks marked with a familiar insignia—the Hidden Mist Village's symbol.
"Mission complete. Echo has been dealt with," said the one crouching, his hand pressed to an earpiece. His voice betrayed his youth—likely no older than sixteen.
There was a pause before he stood and gave a curt command to the others. "Change of plans. Ignore the original escape route. Leave nothing alive."
The air seemed to thicken with tension as the three figures vanished in a flash, their speed almost impossible to follow. The screen lingered on the empty, smoke-filled hallway, the eerie silence broken only by the faint echoes of distant gunfire.
The news anchor's voice continued. "The origins of this group are unknown. Some believe they are part of a secret training program. Others think they are leftovers from an old, hidden system of combat. Either way, their presence has added to the chaos, raising questions about who they really serve."
"Kiri ANBU," Eichi muttered under his breath.
Shino glanced at him, confused. "ANBU?"
"Ansatsu Senjutsu Tokushu Butai," he said simply. "Special Assassination and Tactical Squad."
Shino frowned, still processing. "You're telling me... there are different kinds of shinobi?"
Eichi nodded. "Every village had their own. ANBU were elites, but their jobs weren't the same everywhere. Some focused on spying, others on hunting missing-nin. Kiri was known for assassins. Cold, ruthless. That's why they were called the Bloody Mist."
"But isn't that what shinobi work is supposed to be? Spying, assassinations... that's just normal shinobi work, right? What's the difference with ANBU?"
Eichi shifted his gaze from the screen to her. "It's not the same."
He leaned back slightly. "You're thinking of the shinobi you know—mercenaries, maybe, or shadows working in the dark. But in truth, shinobi were much more. They weren't just assassins or spies. Most shinobi were part of a village's main fighting force, an army trained to defend and protect. Some worked as bodyguards. Others acted as police or even messengers. They had roles that didn't always involve bloodshed."
Shino blinked, surprised. "Wait, so... they weren't all killers?"
"No," Eichi replied simply. "The role of a shinobi was broader than that. It wasn't all about death or secrets. They were problem-solvers, protectors—tools of their villages."
"But ANBU..." he continued, his voice dropping slightly, "they were the exception. If you're talking about the textbook definition of what a masked shinobi should be—silent, deadly, unseen—that's ANBU. They were the real thing. Their work was all about assassination, espionage, and keeping the village's darkest secrets. They were the blade in the shadows, doing what others couldn't or wouldn't."
Shino's lips pressed into a thin line as she processed his words. The idea of shinobi being more than just assassins or spies was hard to reconcile with what she'd grown up hearing.
Reading about them in the fictional stories, it was said they were nothing more than peoples with unnatural talent needed for dirty work.
Her own clan for example, was known in the history books for their help in helping the then Daimyo Tokugawa Ieyatsu into becoming Shogun.
All their involvment were hidden, and only some were on the battlefield. Never a single text was mentionned about them being glorified administrators, messengers, or bodyguards.
"So the ANBU..." she started, her voice hesitant, "they were like the elite?"
Eichi nodded, his gaze returning to the screen. "Elite, yes. But also expendable. When something needed to be done, no matter how dirty or dangerous, ANBU were sent. They carried the weight of their village's darkest choices."
Shino frowned, her gaze drifting back to the unsettling footage on the phone. "And these kids..." she murmured, her voice trailing off. Then, after a pause, she asked, "Wait, does that mean you were ANBU too?"
Eichi exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. "No," he said firmly. "I only borrowed the uniform. It's specific to Konohagakure. Their methods—those are still a mystery to me. My brother however..." He stopped mid-sentence, his voice faltering for a moment before he fell silent.
Then, without warning, Eichi stood and moved toward the window. He grabbed a mask and placed it over his face with practiced ease.
"Change of plans," he said abruptly, his tone sharp and decisive. "We're tracking him down."
Shino blinked, startled. "The doctor?"
"Yup," Eichi replied, already securing his gear. "We've wasted enough time."
Shino nodded, rising to follow.