Chapter Five: Lethal Dose
Despite the whirlwind onset of her mission, much of espionage, Sakura found, was simply waiting for conversations to happen. Life at the estate was unsettlingly peaceful. Aside from the house staff who delivered her meals, Sai's nightly check-ins, and the rotating security staff, Sakura saw not hair nor hide of another person. Higa, despite his promise of two weeks, never asked for her again; he either lost interest or forgot her altogether.
Which wouldn't do.
On the third day of radio silence, Sakura took mattered into her own hands.
When his carriage returned, she ran to the third floor of the southern wing. His footsteps rounded the corner, and she pretended to examine a porcelain dragon vase.
"Warring States Era." Higa wore formal robes and carried a silk-lined scroll, tied in red string. A contract?
"Welcome home, Masao," Sakura said.
His brows drew. "You sound like my wife." He gestured at her to follow him and led her through double doors into a small library.
"I didn't know you were married." She took a seat before a table. In front of her was a thick wooden box with a grid surface, painted in black and gold floral vines lacquer with four feet of jade. It was much fancier than her dad's set, but she recognized the Go board all the same.
"Does it matter?"
Sakura supposed it wouldn't to a courtesan— benefactors were frequently married. But what did his wife think of his hobbyism? Moreover, what kind of a woman would marry him? "I guess not."
"You can relax," he said. "I'd take death over monogamy." He unfurled the scrolls at a back table, next to a rack of calligraphy brushes and a block of solid ink, carved with flowers. Was he going to hand copy the contracts?
To her disappointment, he motioned to leave. "Wait," she said. "Let's play a round."
"I have work."
"One quick game," Sakura said, holding out the black and gold bowls. "You can pick the color."
"How generous," he said, but he sank into the couch besides her. He took the black stones. "Never give up the first move."
Sakura placed a white stone. "We'll see."
Higa played a whole board opening, a style which required forethought and anticipation of next actions. As they played, Sakura watched him. Hard to imagine that three days ago, he'd cut at her with a katana. Did he suspect her still, or was he too wrapped up in the crystal gem business?
"You said you admired my success."
"Yes."
"Do you know what I do?"
Sakura's heart rate jumped. "You trade minerals," she said. Tell me all about it.
"A meager venture compared to military supplies. Shinobi villages make exceptional clients." He captured three of her pieces. "Some condone what I do. They call me a warlord and say I have blood on my hands."
You do. Sakura swept a pair of his pieces into her jar. "That's hardly fair."
"You don't agree?"
Sakura recalled Anko's advice about feeding the target's ego and forfeited a corner of the board. "If a man is stabbed, I don't blame the blacksmith."
"If the blacksmith hadn't forged the blade, the man would've lived. The victim's fate was sealed with the first strike of the blacksmith's hammer."
They were reaching endgame now, discordant battles wrapping up across the board. Sakura felt strange, defending Higa's actions, and not a little like he'd cornered her into doing this. "The knife might've been used in self-defense, or even in a kitchen, for cutting fruit. He couldn't have known it'd be used for murder."
Steely grey eyes met hers. "What if he did?" Remorseless.
They finished the game in silence. Sakura placed their last piece and they poured the pieces they captured on the board to count. "Well played," she said.
"You let me win."
"You give me too much credit."
He smirked. "And you're an awful liar."
She hoped he meant about throwing the match. "Fine. Let's have a rematch."
He swept his stones into the cup and stood. "I really do have work."
At the rate she was going, they'd never get back to Konoha. "When will I see you again?" she asked hastily.
"So bold." He laughed. "Shall we have dinner?"
"That would be lovely."
Finally.
After three days of eavesdropping on Higa's office receiver, he let it slip— the name of the mineral he planned to mine. Sasuke was unfamiliar with the name, but he bet Sakura would know. She knew everything.
He climbed through her window, and in a stride, was looming over her shoulder. "He said it's—"
Sakura's knee thumped against the bottom of the table, rattling the assortment of powder tins, jars and tiny brushes spread on top. "Dear gods," she hissed, clutching her chest. "You're so quiet."
"It's crystal gem," he said impatiently.
Sakura's brow furrowed. "What? His mine? No way."
"He's expecting a hundred and twenty thousand carats in the mountain."
"Unbelievable." Sakura turned back to the mirror. "Explains why he was in such a good mood this morning." She was drawing on her face with a tiny hairbrush, pausing every few moments to stare in the mirror. He'd never seen anyone do this before; it was strangely fascinating.
Sasuke folded his arms. "What is it?"
"It's a precious gemstone that amplifies chakra," she said. "Tsunade-sama used to have a necklace made out of it from the First Hokage. He used it to control the tailed beasts."
Hashirama couldn't control the beasts on his own? Interesting…
"That necklace was worth three mountains of gold mines. If Higa builds this mine and pitches it to the Union, he'll be the biggest weapons distributor in the West."
"He wants a bidding war," Sasuke said. One Konoha would refuse to cede.
She nodded, still not looking at him.
"What are you going?" he asked.
"Higa wants to have dinner."
A date. All this effort for a date with Higa. He watched her meticulous little movements, and irritation sparked. "He's not going to notice," he said.
Sakura shot an annoyed look at him, one eyebrow darker than the other, and Sasuke fought to keep a straight face.
A knock sounded at the door.
They moved as one, her to the door and him into the bathroom. There was a low hum of conversation, and her door shut again. "You can come out," she said.
He returned to find a new pile of gift-wrapped boxes on her bed and a vase of fresh flowers on her desk. "What's all this?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, tugging on her eyelid in an awful way. "Would you mind opening them? I'm running behind."
There were four boxes. Sasuke read the note on top. "Wear these tonight." The first one was tissue paper and gold fabric. He held it up. "Dress." Between the flimsy straps and the missing swaths of fabric, he couldn't tell which side was up. The smallest box was a pair of emeralds, cut like teardrops. "Earrings." He scoffed. Sakura didn't have pierced ears. She never wore earrings. He snuck a glance as she brushed her hair— oh, she did.
He opened the third box. "Shoes." There was no way these were made for human feet. He could wrap his hand around the heel like a weapon. How was she supposed to walk? Another stupid gift. At the last box, he paused. Tissue paper, black lace cups, whimsical straps, tiny pearls—
"What is it?" she asked.
His mouth filled with cotton. "Underwear."
"What?" She bolted over and snatched the box out of his hands. "How does he know my size?" she hissed.
He faltered. Her face looked extra… nice. Jade green eyes, plump lips and sooty dark lashes. She looked like a princess. Sasuke entertained a brief fantasy of setting the box on fire. "Are you going to wear it?" he asked thickly.
"N-none of your business," Sakura said. She gathered everything into her arms— not the lingerie, to his relief— and ran into the bathroom.
Alone in her room, Sasuke glared at the pile of boxes on the bed. Sakura was making progress with Higa if he was sending her gifts. Was she pleased with them? Sasuke had never thought to get her flowers before. He didn't see the point, if they were going to be thrown out and forgotten in a few days.
"I just remembered something Shikamaru said." Sakura sailed barefoot out of the bathroom. Her loose hair flowed around her delicate shoulders. The dress followed the sharp tuck of her waist and flared around her hips, metallic threads catching on the light of the lamp. "… worried about losing face to the Tsuchikage. He runs the show at the Union meetings. Do you think they're going to call our mission off?"
She slipped on one of the shoes, securing the straps around a delicate ankle. When she leaned forward, her silky hair tumbled off her back to reveal a creamy expanse of skin. Oh. The dress was backless. Sakura wasn't wearing a bra. Sakura was naked under the dress. Dress, Sakura. Naked. Those straps were so flimsy—
A string was plucked somewhere between his gut and groin.
He followed the smooth column of her neck down to the base of her spine, where the fabric gathered around the contours of her pert bottom, swaying in hypnotizing way. When she bent over the vanity, and the fabric pulled taut. The hem hiked higher on her toned thighs.
Did she dress up like this in the village? Whenever he came over for appointments, she wore aprons and house slippers. Not that he cared—
"Sasuke-kun." Sakura stared at him in the mirror, mic in hand.
Shit. She'd asked him a question. What was it? Flies buzzed between his ears.
She turned to him. "Are you okay?"
A knock at the door spared him from answering.
"Oh no. You have to go," she whispered. Then her hands were on his chest, her hair right under his nose with her new height. He caught a whiff of citrus-y perfume as she corralled him to the window. A gust of wind was icy against the heated skin of his nape. Her new height brought their faces closer, and when her lips parted, an insane urge to wrap his hands around her waist welled up.
She shoved him.
The world flipped on its axis as he fell. The side of the building rushed by, one story, two stories—
He caught himself against the alabaster wall and clambered onto the roof. He turned the recorder on. They spoke in low tones, Higa in an appreciative murmur, and Sakura in a sultry lilt that he'd never heard before.
"—splitting."
"You look beautiful."
"Thanks to your gifts."
Something unpleasant twisted in Sasuke's gut.
"Would you prefer kaiseki or omakase?" asked the host, collecting their cloaks.
"Omakase," Higa said. He turned to her. "Forgive me, I'm short on time."
Sakura shook her head. Higa had spent the entire carriage ride with his nose in a work portfolio, scratching out values and scrawling notes on the papers within. What was there to forgive, when he'd done her the massive favor of bringing the juicy document into the restaurant?
She fully intended on capitalizing on his generosity.
The host led them into a private room that featured two seats before a smooth counter. The chef with a broad jaw wearing a fitted fabric cap bowed from behind the counter. "Higa-sama, welcome back."
"Masahiro," Higa greeted. "Nanami, my date."
Sakura bowed, probably a little more excited than she should be. Sushi like this was expensive in Konoha, and the last time she'd had omakase was on a mission three years ago in the Land of Waves, as a treat from the hospital's medical director.
She climbed onto the seat with some difficulty. Between Higa's simple robes and the chef's unassuming attire, she was a peacock in a chicken coup. "I feel a bit overdressed," she said.
Higa didn't look up from the document. "I can take care of that, but you'll have to wait until we get home."
Masahiro dutifully shucked an albacore.
Sakura had to give Higa credit— he couldn't have picked a worse outfit for concealing a mic. She wondered if it was Sasuke or Sai tailing her tonight.
Hopefully Sai. Sasuke was entirely out of it tonight, responding to her questions with a thousand-yard stare. After she'd shoved him out of the window, she was tempted to check the ground below, in case he'd splattered against the pavement. The crystal gem revelation was quite shocking, she supposed.
A lynx-eyed apprentice in a black apron appeared from behind the counter with a small menu. "Our sake selections tonight."
Higa didn't look up. "What would you like?"
Did Higa plan on working through dinner? That wouldn't do. She needed to get his attention. What was next in Anko's guide?
Step number two: ask the target to teach you something. This one had confused them all. Makes them feel smart and gets them comfortable with speaking uninterrupted to you at length.
It'd have to do. He loved to drink.
The menu had twenty different listings, sorted into five categories. "I don't know much about any of these," she said sweetly. "What's the difference between them? Teach me, and teach me all about crystal gem.
He waved a hand. "We'll take the Kenbishi."
Sakura pouted.
Masahiro held up a rectangular fish with tiny fins and a white belly. "Fugu?"
"Always," Higa said.
Sakura started. "Wait, to eat?" Fugu was a species of blowfish native to a distant island in the Land of Sun. It contained a neurotoxin so potent, a single drop was enough to induce total respiratory failure in minutes. During her externship in Suna studying poisons, Kankuro had shown her his jar of fugu ovaries— the most toxic organ— which he used to dip his weapons in. "Isn't that dangerous?"
"You'll offend the chef," Higa said. "He's trained for a long time to prepare it. He's even got an apprentice." The apprentice chef bowed.
"I'm very careful," Masahiro said, setting the fugu aside.
He served a litany of bite-sized morsels— creamy sea urchin, tiger prawn, octopus sashimi— steely knife flashing while his apprentice watched on. Something about the two men unsettled her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Neither had any a particularly noticeable chakra signature.
Higa ate in silence, engrossed in his work.
"Thank you for the meal, Masao," Sakura said, trying to read over his hand. Purity 99.7%; refractory index—
He snapped the portfolio shut. "I'm not good company. How's the meal?"
"Delicious," she said. "Work going well?"
"Very."
Masahiro set two cuts of grilled eel before them. Higa ate his without reaction. "May I ask you something, Nanami?"
Sakura tried hers; it was the best thing she'd ever put in her mouth. "Of course."
"Hypothetically, if you knew I planned to kill you—" Higa swirled the sake in his cup "— what would you do?"
Sakura willed herself to remain expressionless, and was satisfied when his eyes searched her for a reaction. "I— I don't know." At the counter, Masahiro picked up the fugu fish and sliced open its belly, his face betraying nothing.
"Would you plot to kill me preemptively?"
"I— no," Sakura said. She had to stay calm. Had Higa intended on poisoning her here?
"Why not?"
"That would be murder."
Masahiro removed the fugu organs, and she watched him like a hawk. One slight of hand, one surreptitious knick of an ovary, and the sashimi was as good as a lethal dose. The apprentice moved closer to the workstation, his hands on the cutting board.
"What if I attempted to kill you, and you strike me in self-defense, and in doing so, kill me?"
"I couldn't."
"If you could. Is that also murder?"
"Well, no," Sakura said. What was he getting at?"
"In both scenarios, you have killed me," Higa said.
Masahiro sliced the fugu into sashimi so thin, it was translucent, arranging it on a bed of fish roe. While he turned to clean the knife, Sakura caught it— the attendant, swiping his finger quickly along the roe, while Masahiro's back was turned.
Her blood ran cold.
Had he poisoned the dish?
It would've been easy to dab the discarded fugu organs in the waste bowl and contaminate.
It wouldn't work— she was immune to tetrodotoxin. But that Higa was making an attempt like this didn't bode well for the success of her mission.
"Nanami?"
"Yes?"
Higa regarded her with curiosity. "Why are they different?"
"Well, I think the intention is different. In your first example, you're actively trying to kill me—" Masahiro finished plating the fugu sashimi "— and in the second, my death is an unintended consequence."
The apprentice lifted the two plates and set the contaminated one…
… before Higa.
Sakura whirled to him.
Before he could lift his chopsticks, she shoved his piece in her mouth. She could hardly taste the delicacy over her fear, but better her than him. The worst it would do was weaken her muscles, and the effect wouldn't kick in for an hour or two.
Higa's brows rose. "Greedy."
Sakura laughed sheepishly.
He turned to her, leaning against the counter. "You're quite an interesting girl."
"In what way?"
"You don't look upset."
Sakura was sweating bullets. "We're having dinner."
"Yes, but I asked you to consider yourself a murderer. Most women would find the implication off-putting, but you seem… eager." He smirked at their empty plates. "Makes me wonder if my life is in danger."
Sakura looked into his grey eyes, unsure of what to say.
At her expression, he laughed. "I was joking."
Chakra spiked from the back of the restaurant, too close to be Sasuke or Sai. The apprentice was gone.
"Pardon me," she said, standing up. She'd forgotten she was wearing heels.
"Did you feel that?" she whispered to the mic.
Sakura closed the sliding door and followed the chakra spike around the corner, down a narrow hallway, and through a nondescript door.
The chill of the evening wind cut through her dress. She stood at the back door of the restaurant, facing an alley lined with dumpsters.
The door clicked behind her.
Sakura dove to the right, and something metallic scythed through the air where her left ear had been.
She spun around.
The apprentice stood in his uniform, brandishing a large knife. "Who are you? A bodyguard?"
"Who are you?" she returned.
He arced the knife in a downward slashes, gaining on her. Sakura ducked under his next blow, dropped to one knee, and swept her leg behind his knees. He fell like a tree. She pinned his chest with her knees. Her right fist slammed into his jaw.
He disappeared in a puff of smoke.
A shadow clone.
Sakura dusted off her mud-stained knees, catching her breath. The alley was deserted, and she sensed no chakra signatures around. But there was no doubt: someone tried to kill Higa Masao tonight, and whoever it was knew about her.
Sakura returned to the their dining room, Masahiro and Higa were deep in conversation.
They stopped when they saw her.
"Are you alright?" Higa asked.
"Yeah," she said. "The sake is a bit strong."
The chef did not appear to notice anything amiss. Higa glanced at her. "Should we go?"
She nodded.
In the carriage, he set the portfolio on his lap, regarding her quietly.
Sakura's thoughts raced.
Tonight's attempt was premeditated; a wealthy businessman with a penchant for danger tries a lethal delicacy and dies from accidental poisoning— a tragic case of food mishandling.
"Have I upset you?" Higa asked.
Who was that? Masahiro said he'd been an apprentice.
"As you intended?"
"Yes, I suppose," he said with indifference. "I confess, your reaction was not as amusing as I'd imagined it to be."
"I'm sorry you found me lacking."
"You can make it up to me." Grey eyes crawled to her bared thigh, an inches from his trousers. She was glad she'd scrubbed her knees of dirt. He leaned in. "We've gotten to know each other."
"Some," she said. Sakura needed to meet with Sasuke and Sai about tonight's developments. "Do you go there often? That restaurant?"
His gaze chilled, and he sat back. "It's been a while."
"Masahiro seems pleasant."
Higa flipped the portfolio open with an air of petulance.
"I wonder what sort of master he is," she tried again. "How long has he been training his apprentice?"
Higa shrugged. "I've never seen him before."
Was he throwing a tantrum because she'd refused him? This was not going the way she'd hoped at all.
What do rich old men crave? Anko barked. Adoration. Appeal to his ego. He may be uglier than a monkey's armpit and older than dirt, but make him feel like he's the handsomest man you've ever met. Then the mannequin was brought out.
"Masao." What should she compliment him on? Manipulation? Lack of moral compass? Unabashed war-mongering? Sakura settled for a polite touch to his knee.
His eyes flitted to her hand. "Don't touch me unless you intend to fuck me."
Sakura snatched her hand back. It was a tantrum.
They spent the rest of the journey in silence, and as the gatekeeper led them to the complex's front door, Sakura wondered if it wasn't simply easier to defect from Konoha altogether and live out the rest of her days as a crone in a distant village, undisturbed by the machinations of men.
No, her promise to Honjo. And Sai and Sasuke. And measuring up to Ino. "I—"
"Your procurer," Higa said. They walked up the front steps. "Is he a shinobi?"
Sakura blinked. "Yes." He must've been clued off by Sasuke's sword.
"Is he affiliated with a village?"
"He's from Stone," Sakura said. "He completed an apprenticeship."
As Stone had no hidden village, would-be shinobi learned ninjutsu the old fashioned way— private apprenticeships. Disciples sought masters in fugitives from Suna and Iwa, in desperate need of coin, and trained in whatever techniques the missing-nin knew in exchange for tuition. In Konoha, unauthorized dissemination of village techniques warranted a kill-on-sight order from ANBU, which made Sasuke's cover incredibly ironic.
"I'm hosting a party on Sunday for a few friends in the arms industry," he said. "They're curious about these apprenticeships. Would you ask if he's available at eight? You may come as well, of course," he said.
That curiosity sounded very illegal. "Of course."
