---Third POV---
Shiori's gaze fell on her father's hollow eye sockets, and a complex wave of emotions surged in her heart. Without hesitation, she turned around and walked out of the basement.
"I'm going to the black market to buy you a pair of ordinary eyes, at least you'll be able to see again."
Homura didn't really care whether he could see or not, but since his daughter said so, he decided to accept her goodwill. There was a time when he would have rejected such assistance outright. But recent events had taught him the value of accepting help, especially from the only person who still seemed to care about his wellbeing.
He nodded slightly.
"Be careful," was all he said, knowing the risk she would be taking.
During wartime, every ninja village strictly controlled the coming and going of its ninjas. Barriers, both physical and chakra-based, surrounded Konoha's perimeter. Sensor-type ninjas continuously monitored these boundaries, while ANBU patrols covered any potential blind spots.
Leaving the village without an official permit was very likely to be treated as a missing-nin act.
So if she wanted to leave the village, she had to report to the Third Hokage, but she didn't have a reasonable excuse. She couldn't exactly say it was to buy a pair of eyes for her father. That would require explaining why a member of the Uchiha clan had their eyes gouged out in the village in the first place.
There was no way to make that sound right.
I'll go ask that guy for help, she thought to herself.
As long as she got Ryouma to use the Flying Thunder God Technique to help her bypass Konoha's large-scale barrier, it would be fine. But if she was going to ask someone for a favor, shouldn't she at least prepare a gift for the visit?
This sort of etiquette was a blind spot in her knowledge. The Uchiha clan emphasized combat training and fire jutsu mastery, not social niceties or proper protocols for requesting assistance. She frowned slightly, annoyed at her own uncertainty.
What would be appropriate?
She went out and bought some newly released "Three Coloured Pills" military rations from the Akimichi clan, planning to use them as a gift for Ryouma.
---
Knock knock knock~
Shiori raised her hand and knocked on the door of Tsunade's house. Come to think of it, it was quite strange for a member of the Uchiha clan to come visit the Senju clan's territory.
But nowadays, the Senju had long since abandoned their surname and blended into Konoha's civilian population, so no one really paid much attention to her along the way.
Inside Tsunade's home, Ryouma, who had just returned from the Hyūga clan not long ago, heard the knock on the door. He glanced outside, oh, it was Shiori.
Now that was a rare visitor, an Uchiha knocking on a Senju door. But realistically speaking, she was most likely here to see him. He just didn't know for what reason.
Lying on a rocking chair, he didn't feel like moving. The mid-afternoon sun had created the perfect warm spot, and after the morning's emotional visit to the cemetery followed by the somewhat tense meeting at the Hyūga compound, he had been enjoying the simple pleasure of doing absolutely nothing.
"Shukaku, we have a guest. Please get the door."
Shukaku was lying on the sofa, basking in the sun, and didn't want to move either, so he simply pretended to be asleep. One eye cracked open just enough to confirm that yes, Ryouma was still in the rocking chair, then closed again.
"I should have known better than to ask you for help. You're even lazier than I am," Ryouma sighed.
Shukaku responded with a muffled "Mmmph," not bothering to deny the accusation.
Left with no choice, Ryouma finally got up and opened the door himself.
"Is there something you need?"
Just as Shiori was about to speak and explain her purpose directly, he had already turned around and walked into the house.
"Come on in first."
Shiori had no choice but to close the door and follow him inside, "Sorry for the intrusion."
The formal phrase felt stiff on her lips, a social nicety she rarely had occasion to use. The Uchiha compound wasn't exactly known for casual visitors, and her own social circle was virtually nonexistent.
---
"You want me to use the Flying Thunder God Technique to get you out of the village?" Ryouma picked up the flavored military rations that Shiori had brought and glanced at them, then casually placed them on the table nearby.
"And you even brought a gift, you're being way too polite."
"So, does that mean you agree?" Shiori, unfamiliar with small talk, got straight to the point.
Ryouma let out a dry laugh. "Of course I can. Are we leaving now?"
Shiori raised an eyebrow and asked, "Aren't you going to ask why I'm leaving?"
"Alright then, why are you leaving the village?" Ryouma sensed the Flying Thunder God mark he had left outside the village and asked half-heartedly.
Shiori suddenly felt mischievous. "I'm defecting, going to destroy Konoha."
"Wow, in that case, could you please spare me when you destroy Konoha?" Ryouma widened his eyes dramatically, clearly playing along with the joke. "And if you could accidentally destroy the paperwork building while you're at it, every ninja in the village would secretly thank you."
Shiori curled her lips, feeling speechless, but eventually decided to reveal her true purpose.
"I'm going to the Land of Fire's black market to buy a pair of ordinary eyes."
Ryouma seemed to have guessed something and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "They sell that kind of thing there?"
Shiori dismissed it casually. "It's just organ trafficking. What's so surprising about that?"
To her, the existence of such markets was simply a fact of life, one of many ugly realities in a world where violence and death were everyday occurrences. In this war-torn ninja world, human life was the least valuable thing, let alone a few body parts.
Although Ryouma had been in this world for quite a while, deep down he still held on to some of his past life's values. Just like when he destroyed Kiri, he had deliberately leaked intel so that the Third Mizukage and Yagura had the chance to evacuate civilians.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Markets form around whatever people value, regardless of legality," he said thoughtfully.
Ryouma called for Shukaku, took hold of Shiori's outstretched hand, and focused on the marker coordinates outside the village. Shukaku finally abandoned its pretense of sleep, stretching leisurely before hopping onto Ryouma's shoulder.
"Get ready. I'm jumping."
"Mhm."
Flying Thunder God Technique, activated.
Considering that Shiori would need his help sneaking back into the village later, he decided to accompany her to the black market as well. He was also a bit curious about what these underground networks that spanned the shinobi world were really like.
---
"Uh… this is the underground black market?" Looking at the wide, empty hall in front of him, Ryouma felt like it was nothing like what he had imagined.
Shouldn't there be a bunch of shady underground merchants squatting on the ground with stalls, all surrounded by suspicious rogue ninjas in black cloaks?
Shiori didn't know why he was standing around at the entrance zoning out and reminded him, "Stop daydreaming at the door. Get in already."
"Yeah, yeah."
As they entered the empty hall, she reached out and touched something on the wall, some kind of mechanism. The wall in front of them opened automatically, and Ryouma followed her inside.
Inside was a tall counter.
"What can I help you two with?" Behind the counter was an old man with glasses and a long beard, his face practically shouting "shrewd." He was flipping through a scroll while examining the two in front of him.
"Browsing today, or looking for something specific? We received several new acquisitions this week."
But when his gaze landed on Ryouma's face, and especially on Shukaku on his shoulder, he suddenly had a coughing fit, violently hacking as the scroll fell onto the counter.
"My apologies... dust in the throat. Hazard of the business."
"No need to apologize. I have that effect on people sometimes," Ryouma replied, clearly amused.
The old man quickly reached under the table and pulled out a booklet, flipping to the first page, which just so happened to contain a sketch of Ryouma's face.
The string of zeros after the bounty was particularly eye-catching.
Ryouma leaned forward to examine the sketch. "Is my nose really that big in the sketch? I feel they've done me a disservice. Well, at least they got the hair right. Hard to mistake that part."
Shiori, seeing how unprofessional this guy was, slapped the counter in irritation and loudly stated their business. "We need eyes. Human eyes. Functional, preferably fresh. Do you have them or not?"
The old man adjusted his glasses and took out a scroll, unrolling it in front of her. The sudden business-like request seemed to reset his professional demeanor. Celebrity or not, a customer was a customer, and he had merchandise to sell.
"Of course, of course. We maintain an extensive selection of ocular products for various needs. Medical? Cosmetic? Transplantation?" he asked, his tone now businesslike.
"Transplantation. Permanent. For a middle-aged male," Shiori replied directly.
On the scroll were various prices for eyes, with pricing seemingly based on the original owner's strength and age at the time of death. The list was organized with clinical precision, categories for civilian versus shinobi, age ranges, special attributes, preservation methods, and extraction dates.
"'Enhanced peripheral vision from career scout, 45,000 ryo.' They're actually rating them by previous owner's profession?" Ryouma asked, reading over Shiori's shoulder.
"Quality assurance is our priority. Each product is verified and guaranteed functional at time of purchase," the proprietor assured them professionally.
Ryouma was a little stunned. Was this industry really this developed in the shinobi world?
Shiori looked through the options for a while and picked out a relatively fresh pair of eyes, buying them on the spot.
"These. The ones from the retired courier. They're less than a week old and should have good distance vision," she said, pointing to her choice.
The proprietor nodded in approval, reaching beneath the counter to retrieve a sealed container from a cooling compartment. A preservation seal glowed faintly on the container's lid, maintaining the optimal temperature and humidity for the contents within.
"Excellent choice. The preservation jutsu will last another two weeks, but I recommend transplantation within five days for optimal results," he advised as he wrapped the package.
"Surgical tools?" Shiori asked, examining the container.
"Included in the side compartment, along with basic instructions. For more complex procedures, I can recommend a specialist."
Honestly, the whole experience felt like something out of a horror story, but this was just another day in the shinobi world.
As they exited the black market's doors, Ryouma couldn't help but wonder, who was really behind this vast, sprawling underground organization?
Was it the daimyō of various countries? Or, if he stretched his thinking further, could it be someone like Isshiki?
Just as he was pondering this, an uninvited guest suddenly entered his sensory range.
---
I had an accident. Writing is possible now though I'm not fully recovered, but I can't do it for long durations.
---
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