Juza Momochi moved with an easy, almost careless gait, but Renjiro could tell that the man was anything but relaxed. A seasoned shinobi like him never truly let his guard down, especially not when escorting a foreign shinobi into his homeland.
The moment they stepped past Kirigakure's heavily guarded entrance, Renjiro subtly extended his chakra field, being careful enough not to raise any alarm, gauging the strength of the shinobi flanking them.
The results were… underwhelming.
'Barely jōnin,' Renjiro thought, feeling the flickering, inconsistent chakra reserves of the Mist shinobi moving in formation around them. Their presence was meant to be intimidating, but to him, it was little more than a formality.
If Kiri wanted to ensure he didn't try anything reckless, they should have sent someone stronger.
Still, the fact that they bothered with an escort at all spoke volumes.
As they walked further into the village, Renjiro took in Kirigakure through keen, calculating eyes.
It was almost noon, and the thick mist that gave the village its name had thinned slightly, allowing the light to filter through in a dim, almost ethereal glow. The streets were damp from the late morning's condensation, the stone pathways slick with moisture, reflecting faint distortions of the people walking across them.
It was a stark contrast to Konoha's bustling, open-air streets. Where Konoha felt warm and alive, Kirigakure felt… closed off. Watchful.
The civilians they passed threw wary glances in his direction, their eyes flickering between him and the Leaf symbol engraved into his forehead protector on his neck.
Some were openly distrustful, their postures stiff with unease, while others observed him with quiet curiosity. The shinobi were less subtle. Though they said nothing, Renjiro could feel the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on him.
A foreign jōnin walking freely through their streets? Of course, they would be on edge.
Not that Renjiro could blame them. Kiri wasn't exactly known for its hospitality.
Still, the attention made him slightly uncomfortable, so he decided to distract himself by focusing on something more productive—studying Kirigakure's architecture and village layout.
His sharp eyes traced the structure of the buildings, noting the dense, compact nature of their construction. Unlike Konoha, which spread outwards with natural forestry blending into the landscape, Kiri's infrastructure was tightly packed, with multiple layers built into the rocky terrain. The towering structures, connected by narrow walkways and hidden alleys, were designed to control movement.
'No unnecessary openings,' Renjiro observed. 'No blind spots. Every street and rooftop has a clear line of sight for defenders.'
A well-fortified village, to be sure. But not impenetrable.
'Breaching Kirigakure wouldn't be impossible,' he mused. 'Challenging, yes, but not impossible.'
His gaze flickered to the thick fog lingering around the higher points of the village.
'They probably rely on the Sea of Death as their main deterrent. The village itself isn't as hard to infiltrate as Konoha—if you get past the sea, you're inside. No walls, no outer gates. But Konoha…'
Renjiro frowned slightly as his thoughts drifted back to his own village.
Konoha, for all its military might, had one glaring weakness—it relied too much on its shinobi power as a deterrent rather than actual security measures. There were no great barriers or natural defences to stop an enemy from walking right up to the gates or many mechanisms to avoid an invasion. The village's strength was in its people, not its fortifications.
'If someone truly wanted to, they could get inside Konoha without much effort. Case in point Suna in the future.'
It was an uncomfortable thought, one that lingered in his mind longer than he would have liked.
He considered, briefly, whether he should take the initiative to change that.
But then, he exhaled quietly, shaking his head.
'What a hassle.'
It wasn't his job to fix the village's security flaws. The Hokage and the council had enough strategists to worry about such things. If they hadn't done anything about it yet, they probably never would.
Renjiro pushed the thought aside as Juza Momochi led him up a flight of stone steps toward an imposing structure near the centre of the village. The building was distinctly different from the others, with a dark, weathered exterior and the unmistakable aura of authority hanging over it.
They had arrived at the Mizukage's hall.
The moment they stepped inside, Renjiro immediately sensed the presence of others.
At the far end of the chamber, seated on a slightly raised platform, was the Mizukage himself—Hiroshi of the Hidden Mist. His sharp features were unreadable, his gaze piercing as he regarded Renjiro's arrival.
But the Mizukage was not alone.
Five other individuals stood in the hall, their presence as distinct as their chakra signatures.
Renjiro's eyes flickered across the group, identifying two of them almost immediately.
The six-tails jinchūriki stood off to the side, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. His presence was unmistakable—his chakra signature held a turbulent quality, something raw and untamed beneath the surface. Renjiro didn't know his name, but he didn't need to. The subtle fluctuations in his chakra were proof enough of what he was.
The woman standing a few feet away was the same.
The three-tails jinchūriki.
Her chakra felt different—heavy, slow-moving, like waves rolling over the ocean floor. But it carried the same presence, the same unique frequency that all jinchūriki possessed.
Renjiro didn't even need to activate his chakra field to notice.
'Maybe this is a perk of staying around Kushina for so long,' he mused, amused at the thought.
He had grown accustomed to the way a tailed beast's chakra felt, how it lingered in the air around its host. It wasn't something one could sense normally, not unless they had been around it long enough to recognize the differences.
Hiroshi finally spoke, his voice even.
"Uzumaki Renjiro."
Renjiro met the Mizukage's gaze, keeping his posture neutral.
"Your arrival was surely more peculiar than expected," Hiroshi continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge of curiosity.
Renjiro shrugged. "Didn't feel like dealing with the Sea of Death. Bit of an inconvenience."
The reaction was immediate.
A few of the shinobi present exchanged sharp glances, and one of the men let out a scoff under his breath. The six-tails jinchūriki raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
'A snub, then?' one of the men thought.
Renjiro ignored them.
Hiroshi, to his credit, didn't react beyond a mild narrowing of his eyes. Instead, he shifted the conversation.
"You are here to deliver something, I presume?"
Renjiro nodded, reaching into his pouch and retrieving a scroll. With measured steps, he approached the Mizukage and presented it respectfully.
Hiroshi took the scroll, unravelling it carefully before channelling a pulse of chakra into the seal.
With a quiet poof of smoke, the Kabutowari materialized in his grasp.
For a moment, Hiroshi simply held the weapon, running his fingers along the aged steel, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, he muttered:
"The sword is finally back home."
A heavy silence settled over the chamber.
Then—
"So this is the Konoha jōnin who defeated one of the Seven Swordsmen?"
Renjiro turned his head slightly, meeting the gaze of the six-tails jinchūriki, who was now openly smirking.
There was a spark of challenge in his eyes.
"I've been curious about you," the jinchūriki mused, rolling his shoulders. "What do you say, Uzumaki? How about we see if you live up to the stories? Fight me."
Renjiro stared at him for a beat.
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