Chapter 19: Sinister Sentiments

Great. Just Great. What the hell do I do now?

First things first, I retreated back down the steps and found a good, shady spot to summon and dispel a copy of myself to inform Satwoja of the roadblock. Message delivered, I strolled around town for a bit so I could think things through.

Going in as my normal self was 100% out of the picture. Konoha, especially Danzo, might go to extreme lengths to figure out who provided the info. I would be absolutely screwed without a disguise. Waiting for the chance to drop it off at a different city was also no bueno. The exams started only a month or so after I returned to Konoha, and I couldn't be sure I'd travel to another city before then.

Should I coerce someone to hand it over in my stead?

Unless they thought I was a powerful individual they'd certainly just report me to the courier service. Even if I somehow convinced them I was threatening enough that the couriers couldn't handle me, I would probably still get the authorities on my ass because there was a powerful unknown force roaming the city.

I could try bribing somebody, but who the hell do I bribe?

I needed someone who was guaranteed to just take the money and do the task, no questions asked, which would probably take quite an outrageous lump of cash. Cash that I needed in order to pay the couriers in the first place. Even if I found someone willing to do some work for only a handful of Ryo, there was nothing stopping them from also taking the extra money meant to pay for the delivery.

Unless I threaten them… which brings me right back to square one.

I needed to rethink this whole thing. How could I get some ID? Getting it legally was unlikely, and I lacked the skills for forgery. So… that left me with stealing.

I might be able to pickpocket someone, but what if they reported the missing document? If I knocked them out instead then there'd be hell to pay as soon as they woke up. There may be some sleeping drug I could use, but I hadn't packed any. Plus poisons weren't really concocted with non-shinobi in mind—if I got the dosage wrong I might accidentally kill someone.

And what if I just kill them?

My mind and body came to a screeching halt. I glanced around as if someone could have overheard my inner thoughts. The alley I stood in was thankfully abandoned. Running my hand through my hair, I took a deep breath and resumed my steps. I shouldn't concern myself with intrusive thoughts.

Surely it would simplify the matter.

My jaw clenched. Bad Satoya!

I couldn't compromise my morals like that. Killing someone just to stay anonymous was… exactly what a ninja would do. Damnit. I still wouldn't do it. There were certain lines one shouldn't cross, and involving the lives of innocents was a definite no-go.

What if they aren't innocent?

Who was I to decide such a thing? I'm not exactly a moral authority here, being a killer for hire and all. Then again, I had spent a separate life living in a relatively peaceful society that greatly valued human rights. I was decently sure my ideology hadn't been warped by my academy upbringing… right?

No, Jonathan would have never seriously considered killing someone on Earth. Then again, my past set of morals wouldn't get me anywhere in a shonen battle manga. Sending my info out would likely save a lot more people than I hurt to do it. Yeah, yeah, utilitarianism is bad—but in most theoretical cases one couldn't be sure of the consequences of one's actions.

This wasn't most cases. I could confidently state that warning Konoha about Orochimaru's machinations—not to mention the fourth war at Obito's behest—would save a lot of people in the long term. Heck, killing a criminal would likely save someone in the future all on its own!

I once again paused my steps. Had I seriously just talked myself into killing someone? Sure, I'd fought Mizuki with the intent to kill, but we were on mostly even footing and Waho had been in life-threatening danger at the time. Going full vigilante and killing some petty crook in an alley with what were effectively superpowers was different; it wouldn't be fair.

I scoffed at myself. Really, who cares if it's fair? Just be glad it's an easy fight.

The harder part would be making sure nobody figured out what happened. Or alternatively, delay that eventuality for long enough that I'd be long gone by the time they did.

So, I want an unabashedly evil scoundrel that wouldn't be missed if they suddenly disappeared. The best place to find someone like that…

My eyes drifted to the distant mountainside.

The slums.

I took out the pamphlet I got earlier to trace my route. The action reminded me of the time I got lost in Venice and spent the evening trying to figure out where the hell Google Maps was telling me to go. I had never been any good at navigating disorderly streets. Back then I had only found my way back thanks to bumping into…

I forcibly derailed my train of thought. I was clearly trying to distract myself from what I aimed to do, but getting emotional over the past wouldn't do me any good.

The map was stowed away and I relaxed my tense posture. The clueless tourist was gone, in his place stood a weary worker on the way home from his crappy evening shift.

The mask did its job and nobody bothered me as I approached the rift between buildings in need of repair and buildings in need of tearing down. This unofficial border housed a number of establishments, one of which immediately caught my eye. One of those grimey, old-timey spaces. A wretched hive of scum and villainy some may say.

I entered the bar, casually nodding towards the bartender as I pondered what drink I should order.

Hold on, I can't afford a drink.

I turned 90 degrees toward one of the free seats in the corner.

"If you don't order then you don't sit," said the bartender.

I completed my 180 degree rotation and walked out of the building.

Meh, too early for alcohol anyway. Time for plan B.

There was no plan B. This whole detour was improvised to begin with.

Thanks for nothing, brain.

But how hard could it be to find a crook? The festival meant there would be lots of people out and about. Being poor didn't mean you couldn't have a good time with friends. I simply had to trust in the gods of plot convenience and hope to overhear some critical info or, even better, catch a criminal red-handed.

How hard could it be?

Hard.

Navigating between the neighbourhood's stacked shacks was tiresome enough on its own. Adding the challenge of doing so while seeking to surreptitiously listen in on people's conversations? Hard. And that was before considering how benign most of these conversations were.

Believe it or not, people didn't tend to just boast about their crimes to one another without good reason. Especially heinous deeds like, oh I don't know, 'Working for money is tough. That's why I just murder and rob people instead.'

Spy thrillers make it look so easy.

Most of what I got so far was smalltalk about the ongoing festival and foreign visitors, with a smattering of local gossip—some boys who got thrown out of a tavern, the neighbouring Daimyo's son touring the country, or predatory pricing practices from the Land or Rice's crop exports forcing farmers into cities.

That last one actually handed me a good excuse to use if someone found me suspicious. And though I disparaged it, the other smalltalk wasn't completely useless either. It at least helped me figure out where I could find a sizable congregation of people, and that knowledge certainly came in handy for a more hands-on approach when sniffing out delinquents.

I neared one of the more populated areas where a group was performing a sort of collaborative ritual dance around a large brazier placed on a raised wooden platform. Their singing provided a nice backdrop to lull myself into a trance for my spiritual sense.

Civilians typically lacked enough chakra for me to tease out any specific emotions with the technique, and had I not spent the last few weeks training with Hayate I doubt I'd have felt anything at all. However, standing in a crowd of celebrating individuals overlaid their emotions into a kind of mood soup. Any gathering of grumpy, dissatisfied cynics stuck out like a gaping chasm in a flat plane. Not immediately obvious from the outside, sure, but impossible to miss when you peered down from above.

Of course, mere dissatisfaction didn't mean they were criminals; I mostly heard mundane gripes about the status quo. Still, I didn't give up my targeted approach just yet and kept strolling from crowd to crowd. At least hearing people bicker was more interesting than typical niceties.

There were whispers of family members having been denied entry to the city, people getting barred from stores, an employer accusing miners of stealing metal, locals disappearing while guards refused to investigate.

Wait, that's a lead!

It had come from a group of old men huddled on an outcropping and passing around some cheap liquor. They probably wouldn't appreciate my intrusion, but…

"People are disappearing?" I asked, barging into the conversation with the elegance of a newborn foal.

The men eyed me warily. They looked to be between fifty and seventy, but an unhealthy lifestyle meant they might be far younger than that.

One of them with half his teeth missing and a grungy salt and pepper beard spoke up, "You better mind your own damn business, rubbernecker." He punctuated his statement by spitting at me from his perch. His aim wasn't great, and the spit landed on the ground in front of my feet.

"Rubbernecker?" I asked.

"Tourist, you dimwit," supplied another group member. He looked a bit younger with messy curled brown hair and mutton chops.

Wow, downtown I'm a street rat and in the slums I'm a tourist. Make up your damn mind, people!

"My apologies for butting in," I said sincerely, masking my face with a concerned frown as I continued, "I'm a migrant from Nomono in the Land of Rice, and your remarks about missing people worry me greatly."

My concern was genuine, though right now I was far more interested in the fact that these disappearances were going unaddressed by the city guard.

"Tch, playing dumb, are we?" snarled the man who'd spat earlier, "Betcha you're some undercover agent of the Lord here to stamp out the rumours!"

The last of the trio placed a hand on the angered man's shoulder to calm him down. He looked to be the oldest of them, his wrinkly face paired with a long grey beard and hair. If I squinted just right he reminded me of Gandalf.

"Calm yourself, Manabu. It is most rude to throw out wild accusations," he said softly, though his grip was anything but. "My name is Fumito. May I know yours, young man?"

"My name is Aizen," I replied, internally cringing as soon as the words left my mouth—it had seemed like a funny idea when I originally thought of it.

"Aizen…" Fumito mulled it over for a moment. "It is good to meet you. Why don't you come and join us?"

The man was obviously cautious, but I couldn't sense any hostile intent. He probably just wanted to probe my cover story. I didn't mind getting closer, save for the fact that these men weren't very hygienic.

No worse than sitting in the subway, I told myself suppressing my distaste as I walked up to sit down between Fumito and the thus far unnamed third man. Maybe that's how they identified me as a tourist?

"And what's your name?" I asked my curly-haired seat neighbour.

"Nonya," he replied gruffly, taking a swig from the bottle. He did not elaborate.

Did this guy just ligma me?

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh or frown. Instead I gave a pleasant smile, "Nice to formally meet you all. Again, sorry for intruding."

"It's no bother," assured Fumito, "Us old men could always use company."

The other two clearly disagreed, but didn't openly say as much.

"Now, why don't you tell us a bit more about yourself, traveller? What brings you to Yao? Your story sounds a lot more interesting than ours."

I deflated a bit and let some of my fake cheer dissipate. "It's not, really. Not in the way you might think. Our Daimyo… he's, well, it's been rumoured he's gone a bit cuckoo. Not only that, there's also been a bunch of people disappearing. Not just individual people, but whole towns."

The men momentarily shared a sullen look, before Fumito clapped my back. "Surely those rumours are blown out of proportion. It could have been bandits or some such."

I frowned and retreated into myself, partially to get away from Fumito's grimy hand. "That's what I thought too, but then one day I stopped getting letters from my dear cousin who lived in Anjo. When I travelled there to see what happened…"—I let a haunted look come over my face—"the town was entirely deserted."

The story wasn't entirely made up. In fact, the true story of Anjo's unexplained vacancy was part of my faked documents. I couldn't be 100% sure of Orochimaru's involvement, but framing him for a crime he didn't commit was the least of my worries.

'Nonya' handed me his drink. "M'sorry for yer loss," he said with a pained grimace, although I wasn't sure if that was due to sharing his drink or genuine sympathy.

I figured it was rude not to imbibe and took a swig; it tasted like burnt rubber. "Well, I had no idea what to do about it. Nobody knew what really happened. Only one thing was for certain, I'd be a fool to stay in the Land of Rice any longer. For all I know it's the damned Daimyo himself who's responsible for the mess."

'Nonya' grumbled in seeming agreement, while Fumito hummed in discontent—he must have been sceptical. Meanwhile Manabu, who'd silently glared at me since I joined, did an emotional 180 and wrapped me in a tight hug.

"There's nothing you coulda done," he assured me, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's always those damn royals trampling on us little folk. Just like with my—" he took a shuddering breath "—my poor Yasuho-chan."

I wasn't quite sure what to do with this bout of sentimentality and awkwardly rubbed the old man's back. "I take it she's gone missing too?"

He loosened his bear hug and lightly nodded his head. "But of course our dear Lord Shinjyurou, doesn't care about that. I'm sure that the whole palace would be thrilled to find our entire district deserted one day."

"Shut yer trap, if ye know what's good for ye," Nonya hissed out. "Fer all we know our disappeared ladies landed themselves as unwilling servants in that castle. You better keep quiet if we want to keep our tongues."

"Our ladies?" I asked, "Did all of you lose someone?"

"Not personally," Fumito said, taking my place as Manabu's shoulder to cry on. "But Yasuho was far from the only one."

Isn't this perfect for me? My stomach twisted into knots at the guilty thought. "That's awful! Is this not being investigated at all?"

Manabu's pained look and Nonya's grit teeth told me all I needed to know.

"Not by the police," Fumito stated. "People out here go missing all the time and they can't spare the manpower, supposedly." His tone of voice remained carefully neutral, but I sensed the heat festering beneath his skin.

"That's different," Manabu snarled. "Those gang thugs just try things they shouldn't and then hide from authority. Everybody knows it.—"

There's even a gang for me to target? How convenient.

"—But Yasuho wouldn't just leave town without telling anyone, and neither would any of the other missing kids!" Manabu finished.

Kids? How old is Yasuho even?

Fumito must have noticed my shock. "Yasuho is Manabu's granddaughter," he clarified. "The girls that have gone missing are all quite young."

Those words chilled me to the bone. This sounded suspiciously like a human trafficking ring. "Are you sure this isn't the fault of some gang?"

Nonya growled. "The gangs' got their own code of conduct. Ain't nobody's laying their hands on kids. If they did, then the others would deal with 'em."

So either they're hiding their actions, or there's an unknown third party. At least I know what to investigate next.

I let the righteous fury I felt ignite my spirit. "Fumito-san, would you kindly tell me more about the missing people? This cannot remain unaddressed!"

Nonya scoffed. "Whaddya think yer gonna accomplish? Yer just some immigrant kid. Ain't no one here's gonna take ye seriously."

I didn't really want to play this card, but any second wasted was one second off my clone's lifespan. "I didn't make it to Yao without any personal connections," I replied. "If I bring it up with them, the problem will surely be dealt with."

Fumito nodded to himself, seemingly confirming some internal suspicions he'd still harboured. He then extricated himself from the still weeping Manabu, "Why don't you join me in a more secluded spot. I shall tell you all I know."

I agreed, but before I left, Manabu grabbed my arm. "Will you truly bring those responsible to justice?" he asked.

I couldn't dare quash the glimmers of hope in his spirit. "I will do my best," I assured him, following Fumito out of sight once my arm was released.

If this was as big of a deal as it sounded, then bringing in my team might well be necessary. My personal mission, however, came first.

Fumito and I wound up in a small shack after a few minutes' walk. "Should you truly succeed in this endeavour, we will owe you a great debt. Come find us when the problem is dealt with."

I doubted an old beggar could really offer me anything substantially valuable, but "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, then let us waste no more time. The string of disappearances in our community started a few months ago…"

After his retelling of events Fumito and I parted ways. He returned to his two friends while I turned back to the inner city—ostensibly to get in contact with my 'connections'.

Naturally this was not the case. I wouldn't broach the subject with my team until after I'd handed over my package. As soon as I was sure nobody was watching me any longer, I climbed into a vacant shack and created a clone to keep going in my place. It'd serve to inform Satwoya of my new objectives once dispelled.

Next I had to swap out my disguise for one that better fit my needs. Fumito had gone into quite a bit of detail regarding the missing people's habits and appearance. The latter info was what truly caught my interest; every victim had been a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes.

I summoned a polished shuriken from one of the seals strapped to my inner thigh to use as a makeshift mirror and got to work.

Golden blonde hair and blue eyes replaced my black and grey. My haggard body shrunk back down a good couple inches, filling in where appropriate. All the victims had been around 14 to 18 years old, so I bumped my apparent age just a few years up.

Internally applauding my foresight, I reached for another seal on my other thigh to retrieve a blue, roughspun dress that reached down past my knees. After I workshopped the look a bit more and put on the dress, I wound up looking somewhat like a mishmash of girl-Naruto and girl-Satoya.

Yes, I was indeed playing bait; it was a calculated risk. I had limited time and I was also a frickin superpowered ninja. Anyone who laid their hands on me would find them swiftly broken.

My shuriken-mirror was returned to its rightful place just in time to feel Jonathan II. pop out of existence. Another minute passed, and I got a blip of acknowledgement from Satwoya.

He'd used our modified variant of the Shadow Clone that only partially formed the two gates located in the brain before dispelling. It could only transfer very basic thoughts but was a whole lot more affordable and therefore didn't rob my clones of too much lifespan.

Guess that means I can officially get started.

The basic plan involved ceaseless sensory sweeps to seek out scoundrels with shady thoughts. It hadn't worked out too well last time, but hopefully knowing where to look would improve my chances.

Fumito didn't precisely know where the disappearances happened, though it was clear they usually took place at night in the south-western outskirts of town. If I wanted to get caught, I simply had to venture further out past the spot I'd left the old men in and stay in obviously shady places hoping to attract the right kind of attention.

It didn't take long for me to find what I'd been looking for.

"Well well well, what have we here?" said some drunk hoodlum as he cornered me in a dark, dead-end street. "Dontcha know this is an awful dangerous place for lonesome young ladies like you? There's all sorts of ill-tempered folk out and about."

His aura was hard to read with his piddly pool of chakra, but his displeased sneer made his intentions obvious. "I suppose you're some hero out to protect the innocent?" I asked.

"Don't screw around, girl! Kindly come with me so I can return you to your parents where you belong."

I wanted to laugh. What sort of idiot would actually fall for that?

"Sure thing, mister," I said instead. "Thanks for the help."

I mentally prepared to deliver my fist to his diaphragm when he got close, but before I could enact my plan I heard a dull whump and my target face-planted on the ground. There was a fresh laceration on the back of his head and a brick lying beside him.

The perpetrator dropped down from the rooftops a few feet away—a young woman with short platinum blonde hair and lavender eyes. She wore a sleeveless brown vest and skirt.

"He's right, this is no place for a lonesome lady," she said. The corners of her eyes crinkled as her face lit up with a gorgeous smile. "Two ladies sounds a lot better."