Chapter Seven - Hunting Ground
Under the guard of night, they skirted the western extent of the Dead Zone, tracing their way to a tree hollow in view of the ruined footing of a bridge.
It took a few tries to find the right tree. Just when they thought they had found the one, Yochi would grumble that it was 'not dense enough' or Shīkā would shake her head and move on. All before Obito had even stuck his head in the hollow to try and search for any scrap of remains. Turns out that in the middle of a forest, there were a lot of contenders for the tree, even in the view of a great hunk of bridge.
As Yochi and Shīkā's search continued, Gosei sat in the trees above, his Byakugan active for any potential interlopers while Gankyō shuffled about in the underbrush, eyes drawn for any hint they might have missed. In theory. Obito was sure she was more likely just fucking about and amusing herself by inspecting animal tracks, as useless in this current situation as he was. He caught flashes of her raccoon mask through the bushes from time to time, the red scoring through the porcelain a sharp bloody edge under the gaze of his Sharingan.
Obito propped himself against a gnarled trunk, folding his arms. Fine time to be standing around with his thumbs up his ass. After Obito's own poor attempt, Bisuke had scented the area and found nothing, whining as he laid down on his belly in apology. Rain had passed through some time in the past handful of days and with animals habitually making use of the tree hollows, a single shinobi's scent had become lost with nothing more of the target's to go off. Minato hadn't asked for the return of the warped hitai-ate from Kusa, and Obito was inclined to think the Morikage would have tried putting it through the Hokage's skull if he tried. Obito laid his head back against the trunk. It was with some annoyance that he realised his ninken might be of little use unless they got far closer to their target. Feeling glum on his behalf, Obito had thanked Bisuke and sent the little dog off with a scratch behind the ears.
In the dark, he listened to the creaking of insects mixing with the unintelligible undertones of Yochi and Shīkā's murmured conversation. Their target had rested in a newly created glade, in thanks to the colossal hunk of stone that flattened the trees beneath it. The shattered branches had scraped away fingers of red paint from the mason marks. Still as red as Obito remembered them. They'd even used the same rough hewn stone for this newer iteration, its likeness so apparent he tripped over the memories of when he had last seen chunks of the destroyed bridge.
In his head, Obito heard himself yelling. A younger version of himself seethed in anger at another boy for daring to carry on the mission while their teammate was bound and abused somewhere. 'Where's the 'honour' in that?' he had spat. The other boy had cast down his eyes, gripping his mother's silver kunai tight in his fist. 'The White Fang wouldn't ever have abandoned his comrades.' It had felt good to press that knife in at the time.
'The mission has to be completed!' the boy had insisted, his hackles raised. 'No matter the cost.' He had taken out his father's tanto from the sheath on his back, determined, though the look in his eyes had been wounded; off-kilter at Obito's words.
'Do you really believe that, Kakashi?'
Seventeen years later, Obito felt the weight of his own tanto on his hip and the flat pull of deep scars on his cheek.
A woman approached, her hare mask catching pools of moonlight. "Captain," Shīkā called in her airy voice. "We've found it."
Obito pushed the memories aside. Shīkā and Yochi stood before one of the larger trees, the latter gesturing for Obito to take a look. Curious too, Gankyō glided from the underbrush to sidle up to him, her steps a whisper. Sharingan active and searching, Obito poked his head between the tangle of roots. The hollow was clean. The moss was flattened and scored through at the entrance, but a fox could just have done that just as easily as a man. No trace of fabric scrap remained nor droplets of dried blood; anything that would suggest the man had been wounded. Now it only smelled of damp moss, packed dirt, and animal shit. ROOT had picked it over.
Though he wasn't much of a sensor, Obito cast his senses out anyway. The all-consuming neutral thickness of demonic chakra was present, but it was present in some form throughout the entire glade. Maybe if Obito looked at it sideways, he could agree that it was a little denser in that single oval space.
Yochi turned to him as he straightened, the beak of his crow mask ducking. In the hollows of the porcelain, his brown eyes were bright. "The chakra's still dense here. The target must have stayed for a while. Maybe half a day or more."
All that and Obito could hardly tell the difference. "How long ago?"
"Not sure. We haven't calculated the fall off rate of demonic suffusion or been given any estimates by others yet. Best guess would be between three days to a week." A highly trained shinobi could be a third of the way across Iwa in a week. He told him as much.
"Sorry, Captain. There's too many unknowns here. We shouldn't have waited so long,"' Yochi said, with a note of irritation. "The trail would've been stronger if we started searching near a week earlier. We should've begun with Lady Kushina's initial investigation."
"Our hands were tied," Obito replied mildly. "Being on Kusan land without an official investigation would've been another disaster if we were caught. We aren't ROOT."
Gankyō heaved her shoulders in a lazy shrug. "Plus, it wasn't our problem before."
"Regardless," Shīkā cut in. "As it stands, the trail remains. It leads further west, toward the northbound road. But it's strange..."
Obito raised an eyebrow, though with his mask, the woman couldn't see it. "Strange how?"
"Beneath the demonic chakra, the human signature is weak. Very weak. Almost non-existent. Are we even sure our target is shinobi?"
That gave Obito pause. "That's what the intel said," he said, frowning. A civilian, then? But that wasn't possible. An untrained civilian couldn't activate a Sharingan with its exigent costs to a man's chakra reserves, nevermind a Mangekyō with a space-time ability. Even if their vitality were strong enough to mutate the eye, the chakra cost to move something with the density and power of that demonic blast would have quickly drained them dead.
You're assuming the target was the guy that set the bomb off in the first place, he chided himself. Anyone could wear chakra weave. ROOT seemed to believe that the target was a shinobi, but then again, the operatives weren't infallible. What if their target wasn't the one who had co-opted Kamui but just some helper? A group, Kushina had suggested. With unknown motives and inclinations.
How fun.
"Chakra weave was found. The target could've been badly injured, which could lead to a weaker signature," he argued instead. "Or almost dead from chakra exhaustion." He knew well the feeling of a chakra signature growing fainter and fainter; to wink out of existence entirely when the spiritual body was pushed beyond its limit. Knew what it was like to see a friend, a comrade, crumple from the strain, never to get up again.
"Hm." Shīkā sounded unconvinced. "A warning, Captain. What we follow now is near purely the suffusion of demonic energy. With a chakra signature so weak, if the demonic chakra were to dissipate completely..."
They wouldn't have any trail to track at all. "Then let's get a move on," Obito replied darkly.
Under the guidance of Yochi and Shīkā they followed the trail, sidling along the northbound road via the canopy, careful not to stray too close to the road proper and out of the view of nin and civilian alike. Yet it was only the next day that they hit a snag when the trail, for a lack of a better word, congealed.
They stood alone in the long stretch of road under a shifting shade. With a voice that was strained as much as it was irritated, Yochi confessed that he could no longer sense the unique chakra signature amongst the mass. Shīkā paused, inspecting ruts of hoof marks aside Gankyō who churned one in the malleable mud with her foot. Having had a quick look in the hollow before they left, Gosei for his part attempted to see any remnants of the signature they followed, only to give Obito the solemn hand sign: 'no good.'
"There are multiple chakra signatures," he explained in that melancholy way of his, "all of them variably weak and all of them suffused with demonic energy. Unfortunately, this thus has caused the remnants left behind to become extremely warped, doubtlessly unhelped by traces of the essences being days old." He pointed back the way they came. "You can feel it, yes? The demonic chakra is spreading from the Dead Zone. Thinly, mayhaps, and to be evaporated soon enough, but it is as Yochi told to our Lord Hokage: the lingering demonic chakra overwhelms the remains of natural human signatures, obscuring them, and in this case — practically causing them to melt into a single amorphous mass."
"So the target met up with civilians also affected by the blast and who also carry demonic chakra in them. And thanks to the properties of demonic chakra, the remains of their signatures have all mixed into... goo," Gankyō concluded, translating Gosei's overwrought explanation.
"Sounds like it." Obito nodded. "He probably met up with a caravan of some kind. Refugees or merchants." He looked north, inspecting the sunken lane and quiet sway of the trees either side. "This road heads straight to Midorino. We follow this larger trail there unless it leads otherwise. Stick close and keep your senses sharp for any indication someone split from the group."
Obito laid a hand on the hilt of his chakra tanto, digging his thumb into the uchiwa fan on its butt. Something told him that tracking this man was about to become a whole lot harder once they arrived at the crossroads and found a town filled to the brim with displaced men, women, and children.
At a glance, Midorino could have been any town found in Northern Fire. Surrounded by rice paddies, it looked rounded and fat, a jumbled mass of buildings squeezed inwards and upwards. From their position high on the hill and huddled within the shroud of trees, the flow of carts and people looked like ants tugging chips of browned leaves up and down the southern road from a blocky hive of concrete and timber. With his Sharingan, Obito could see more specks flowing out the eastern road, heading for the fields in the early morning or somewhere new altogether. Far on the northern horizon sat the distant teeth of Iwa's mountains.
He really did hate being right.
Even sat on the outskirts of town, Shīkā, Yochi, and Gosei had become dour. The influx of so many people caused a heavy blanket of demonic chakra to lay over the town. They hadn't needed to point it out. It was noticeable enough that even Obito, with a lack of special talents in chakra sensing, could feel it. While not nearly as bad as the Dead Zone, from a distance the chakra signatures of those within felt... murky. Trying to find their little caravan of refugees from their current position suddenly presented several difficulties.
They had initially attempted to mitigate the issue by sticking close to the trail, near tracing each boot print and indented hoof of the caravan. But in straying so close to the crossroads, so came the presence of Kusa's shinobi; their nin on the lookout. Official investigation or not, being seen was inviting trouble. Minato had been clear in his order. And likewise, Obito would rather not have the Kusans catch onto their lead.
He straightened from his crouch, stretching out his legs. With a quick hand sign, he ordered the others to attention. "Ready your disguise kit. We're going in to collect intelligence and follow the trail as closely as possible."
Shīkā looked up at him, her eyes wide behind the porcelain. "But the Hokage ordered us not to be seen."
"As ourselves," Obito corrected. "We'll go as displaced townsfolk looking for safety and supplies." He directed to a scatter of farm houses a mile out from the town, sitting amongst the rice paddies. "Borrow some clothes from there. Keep it simple." He received several nods. Shīkā morosely shifted on her feet. "Does everyone have everything else they need?"
"Sure do, Captain." He could sense Gankyō's grin behind her mask and her enthusiasm by the way she tugged out several scrolls from her pockets, handing them off like shots of shochu. Obito released a soft snort and fought down his own sudden urge to grin. He waggled the offered scroll in thanks and quickly went about inspecting its contents.
The raccoon-masked woman was a specialist in field intelligence and like her, Obito had always preferred a similar way of doing things. There was something invigorating about gliding through a setting unseen. Mingling with people, speaking and stringing together just the right words that would get them to say just the right things. It was entertaining — fun. Really, he could use some fun after a tense handful of weeks. For a moment, the Demon Star didn't matter. Here Obito would become an actor, and Midorino the stage of a secret play.
Pilfering five sets of clothes proved laughably easy with the farmers focused on their fields and those that remained puttered about the outbuildings stuck deep in their troubled thoughts. In anticipation of their mission turning in this direction (and in some amount of laziness), Obito had let his clean shaven face grow in stubble. Utilising Gankyō's healthy disguise kit and weaving in subtle layers of genjutsu to hide each of their more defining features, they were set to join the inward flow of the masses.
Entering Midorino also proved a little too easy. They encountered little resistance at the town's southern gate. Obito handed over his forged papers to the tired clerk without issue. She flicked through them with a blank sort of tiredness, before she brought down her jade stamp hard on the end paper. On the opposite side of the great gate, the tail of a long queue wound back out into a muddy stretch of grass where people stood and others sat, waiting for hours under the hot sun to be granted leave to enter: unfortunates who hadn't had the forethought to arrange their papers, or who couldn't, or who were unaware of the Morikage's newer set of orders. As he took back his documents to tuck them into his borrowed vest, Obito caught the rant of a harried man who threw his hands, gesturing wildly at the pale-faced genin forced to take his name and details. Behind him, many were just as irritable. Some of the more incensed among them stamped their feet and yelled back, both at the man holding up the line and the genin forced to endure it. More than a few threw dirty looks Obito's way simply for having the means to breeze through. More organised than they had been maybe, but the Grass nin were now overworked and likely underpaid. Sloppy. "A point in our favour," Gosei murmured as they waited for the others, his pale, pupil-less gaze hidden behind a pair of blue contact lenses.
Obito craned his head to look up at a nearby complex of concrete and timber, curved in style that went out of fashion thirty years ago. Up close, it was even more apparent that Midorino was a mix of timber and squat concrete monstrosities all riddled with steel pipes and sagging, painted signs. Squashed between them lay eternally wet alleyways that looked more like dark rat tunnels. Despite being surrounded by miles of rice paddies and dotted bunches of swaying wheat, the compactness of Midorino made the current influx of people feel all the more present. To Obito, it seemed as though the town's inhabitants were loath for their living space to encroach on their sources of income in their single patch left bereft of the colossal trees that surrounded the town miles out.
With so many people and surrounded by so many pulsing chakra signatures, their pace slowed to a lazy wander as Shīkā and Yochi led them forth. They pretended to peruse the shops and stalls, Gankyō happily playing Yochi's wife as she hung off his arm. She pointed out charming paper lanterns and inviting tea shops while the man kept his expression shuttered, intently focused on tracking their amorphous blob of a caravan. Every so often he made the same subtle hand seals, replenishing his jutsu and his focus. On the other side of the street Shīkā did the same. Obito, for his part, perused the people. Wares were hawked, men pushed past one another to lean over stalls; the well dressed mixed with those in threadbare scraps. It was easy to spot the refugees amongst them. Men and women dressed in garments — fine ones, even — which had become dirted, the hems of their robes and trousers caked with mud. They likely hadn't changed in days. Those were likely the only clothes they owned.
Finally, in the northern reach of the crowded market square, Yochi paused. "Ren," he whispered furiously.
"What is it?" Obito muttered back, inspecting a blocky figurine shaped into a lucky cat. It was cute. Maybe Rin would like it. He glanced out of the corner of his eye. Yochi's expression drew into a frown — his disguised face not far off his natural one albeit with a larger nose and thicker eyebrows. He directed his pursed look toward the scribbled price set below an amateurly carved panther. The face looked like half of it had been shaved off and its eyes bugged comically out of its head. Yochi rubbed his hands, flexing his fingers into the sign for 'split' as he threaded them together. He glanced toward a shopfront, its sign painted with gaudy pink and green dancing mochi.
'The rest?' Obito signed back.
Yochi gave a pointed look in another direction. North.
'Lead,' Obito signed and caught the others' attention with a subtle spike of his chakra.
They stopped once more not far from the northern gate at what had once been a patch of green. Somewhere, Gankyō had obtained a hefty bag of fruit. She handed out portions as they sat themselves down on the edge of what had been the camping ground of their refugee caravan. Now, the grass was churned and flattened. Cart wheels tracked in kicked up mud. Half eaten grass still bore the vague imprint of the forms of large beasts. Rectangles of brown grass lay where the refugees had set up their tents. Obito pushed his senses out, casually looking over his shoulder before slipping his summoning scroll from his trouser pocket. In a small puff of smoke, Bisuke appeared under the shade of his legs.
"Tell me where the caravan went," he asked, petting the little dog on his ribs, "and make it subtle." The dog whined cheerfully as he set himself to the task. He raced about, rolling in the half-chewed grass, digging the tent prints while furiously wagging his tale. Obito leaned back, taking bites of his apple and keen to let idle conversation flow. They were just five common folk, watching their little dog and sharing lunch away from the bustle back behind the gates.
He contemplated their mysterious man. Sure, it was always possible that the one who had split from the caravan wasn't their quarry, but if Obito were the one that had knowingly caused a massive explosion, he certainly wouldn't be hanging around his victims for longer than he could help it. If the man really was of Konoha and Fire Country, he had to be sleeping with one eye open.
"Do you think you can follow him?" Obito asked around a chunk of his apple.
"Maybe," answered Yochi. "If Shīkā and I start from that shopfront." The formly blue, now brown haired woman nodded. "I want Gosei too. He might be able to see traces that we can't sense."
"Alright then." He cuffed Gankyō on the arm. "Congratulations, we're now happily married." Obito rolled his eyes as Gankyō fluttered her eyelashes with a coy 'oh, Captain'. "We'll go to the market and see if anyone remembers a large caravan passing through." After all, people were far more likely to answer the questions of a poor and aggrieved young couple than they were some lone stranger. A man supporting his wife was admirable. Trustworthy. And a woman who relied on her husband cut a sympathetic figure.
"I want a wedding gift," Gankyō said.
"Don't push it." He hesitated. "Maybe. If you get me a name." Satisfied, she gave his hand a firm pat. "If the target has split, he's likely stayed in Midorino for a night or two," Obito continued.
Gosei bobbed his head. "It would be rather conspicuous to leave so quickly."
"Konoha has assets in several of the innkeeps. Let's hope he's visited one of them," said Obito.
The innkeeps of Midorino could be a vicious lot. Making money in one of the largest settlements in Kusa had made them fiercely competitive and ever more greedy for extra income on the side. There was no doubt in Obito's mind that they were some of those who now scalped money from the desperate people passing through. Years ago, he'd had the unfortunate pleasure of reading a handwritten report sent by one of them regarding the sighting of a target. A nobleman under the threat of blackmail, on his way to Ame and passing through Midorino. The report's author had been one to stick her nose in others' business and ever more so if it happened to be her competition. In the end, only half the report had actually been of any use. The other half was little more than a long-winded rant on 'tradition' and the quality of the patrons staying at other inns.
Bisuke yipped. Sitting up, Obito found the dog ramrod straight, paw raised and nose pointed north-west. Straight toward the distant mountains of Iwa. Well, if things went awry, at least they had another lead. He turned to the others. "If you find anything, use your mark. Move out."
The marketplace was no less busy than when they had left it, even with the sun leaning toward the slow hours of the afternoon. He and Gankyō walked the stalls asking subtle, underhanded questions. Initially, luck was not on their side.
Most gave them blank looks. Others turned them away, sensing the tone present in the queries and not wanting trouble. Eventually, Obito became irritated enough to try a far more blunt approach. "Excuse me, have you seen a van of refugees pass through here some days ago? Did any amongst them seem like they hailed from Fire?"
That had earned them more startled looks. And eventually: success.
"Do I recall? There was a one," a middle-aged man said, sat behind his stall and chewing on tobacco. "Senju," he said and hacked a browned lump of spit at the dirt.
Obito hid his frown. And his surprise. Senju? All the way up here?
Catching on, Gankyō perked. She leaned forward, tanned hand set on her chest. "My brother-in-law is a Senju!"
The man snorted. "Oh yeah? If that be true, then I don't want none of your business or any more of your questions. Off with you."
Obito kept his voice and his genjutsu'd eyes sharp. "Please, sir. Where did you see this Senju? Was it a man? We've been looking for him. He and my wife's sister were visiting when the Demon Star happened and we've been trying to find him since. What did he look like?"
"Don't care what he looked like, do I? Off with you!" He took up a ball of paper and looked ready to throw it at Gankyō. Obito moved closer to her side.
"Sir." Obito feigned an appalled look. He wrapped an arm protectively around his 'wife's' shoulders and Gankyō snuggled into his side. He felt a pinch on his hip and squeezed her arm a little too tight in retaliation. Don't start. Somehow, playing disguise with Gankyō always led to this. They'd almost failed a mission once when the dramatics got out of hand.
A middle aged woman, her hair done up in jewellry, stepped around her husband, beckoning Obito and Gankyō to the side. "Here now," she said, her voice full of pity. "I recall him." Her husband scoffed and looked away. She led them between the stalls, away from her huffing other half. "Hearing the name Senju called out startled me, you see. You don't find many Senju this far north." Obito caught her meaning. You didn't find many Senju this far north who admitted to being one. Was their target trying to get caught? "A man carrying an old spear called another man by the name as the lot of them were walking through. The Senju was tall, if I remember. With grey hair and one eye."
"That's him!" Gankyō gasped, turning her illusioned amber eyes on Obito and clutching at his hand. "Ren!"
"I know," Obito soothed. He ran a gentle thumb over her knuckles. "Do you know where he went?" He asked.
The woman's eyes lingered on their joined hands before she gave a small smile. "He stayed behind but after that I'm not sure. My interest was a passing fancy, you see." Her expression turned thoughtful. She pointed across the way to a stall of fluttering green canvas set beside the mochi shop. Handmade masks hung from a rack and the long table was manned by a pair of women. "Might be that the girls know better. He was standing around there last time I saw him."
"Thank you," he told her, furiously. "Thank you!" He laid a hand on Gankyō's shoulder. "Darling."
Tear's sprung into Gankyō's eyes and her face crumpled. She latched onto the older woman's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Obito's lips twitched. She really does love to lay it on thick.
"Thank you!" Gankyō told her. "Bless you! Bless you!"
The women hawking their masks — a pair of young sisters by their similarities — were far more willing to concede their information. Confused at first, the taller of the pair's eyes widened in recognition at the prompting of seeing a man of this 'Senju's' description.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, her lips rounding at her sister. "Yes! The handsome man with the—" she motioned around her head as though the man's hair stuck up partially to one side, "—you know, the grey hair?" She pointed to her own face. "And the eye? The one you were secretly staring at the whole time he was standing outside Hayashi's?"
The other sister's eyes widened likewise. "Oh, him! Hard to forget a man like that." She cocked her head. "I'd say his hair was more of a silver, actually."
"Well if you want to be precious about it."
"He was with that couple and their little boy. Very cute."
"And he only looked young! Imagine travelling all that way with a child. How tragic."
"We're looking for my wife's brother-in-law," Obito interrupted, gesturing to Gankyō who once again looked on the verge of tears as she wiped under her eyes. "The grey-haired man sounds like it might be him. We got separated on the way to Midorino. Do you remember a name?"
The taller woman tapped her chin in a pout. "Hm. What did that lady say? Ken..." She looked to her sister. "...Ken-something...?"
The shorter sister shrugged. "Kenshi?"
"Kenshi! That was it!"
Obito heaved a dramatic sigh and clutched at Gankyō's hand. "It's him," he said, breathless. "He's here."
She gave a tearful nod, her mousy hair swaying. Her face suddenly scrunched, as she 'tried' to hold back her tears. "He must have hurt his eye..." she whispered, wiping her cheeks with a trembling hand. Obito wrapped a hand around her waist.
"Thank you," he told the sisters who looked on with sympathy. "Do you know where he went? How long ago?"
The taller shrugged. "We saw him four, maybe five days ago?" She pointed east, the same direction as Yochi had. "He went that way, I think. Most of the inns are down in that direction anyhow."
In attempt at thanks, Gankyō offered a set of bills for a mask. A raccoon, painted in the brightest, gaudiest colours Obito had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. The sisters refused her, handing it over for free and going so far as to carefully wrap the thing in rice paper.
"Free-loader," Obito muttered once they were away from the stall. Gankyō smirked and mimed putting it on her face.
They hung about the market, idling down side streets and making sure to keep away from the mochi shop. Gankyō became persistent in her attempts to get Obito to keep his end of their bargain. Unfairly, in his opinion. She had only gotten half a name while he'd been the one to complete it. He ignored her point that she had also gotten a description. That wasn't part of the deal. He was thankful when he felt a light burning sensation on his bicep.
Their cell met in an alcove along a deserted stretch of the town's outer wall, settling on the benches and pulling out the remainder of Gankyō's fruit. Returned, Yochi, Shīkā, and Gosei had been surprised as he that their potential lead chose a name like Senju. More odd that he would advertise it. With tensions so high, admitting to being a descendant of the old clan would be more likely to get him beaten bloody in these parts. It did, at the very least get him noticed. Good for them. Still, the name didn't mean all that much if the man truly did come from Fire. Great, Obito thought, unimpressed. That narrows it down to about half of Konoha.
Nevertheless, they had a name, a description, and a direction. Yochi recounted their tracking of the eastward trail, following it all the way to a hole-in-the-wall inn. "It's our target," the man said with confidence, nodding. "Compared to the surroundings, the chakra suffusion was consistently dense. Very dense, even for being days old." The mistress of the inn happened to be one of Konoha's assets, albeit one of the more expensive to get information out of.
"We can put it on the Hokage's tab," Obito dismissed as Shīkā was sure to point this out.
"We can continue following the trail once inside," she continued. "But it'll take some time to set our jutsu. If the target stayed overnight, there should be remnants of his chakra. Even if others have stayed in the room since." The way she frowned didn't provide Obito with much confidence. "It would be much easier if we already knew which room."
Gankyō's smile relaxed into something that was sickenly smug. "Hey Captain, Seika said you're pretty good at charming old ladies."
Obito sighed. Gods damn you, Yūgao.
When she had taken one look at him, Obito had narrowly missed being thrown back out onto the street. He jerked his fingers in a subtle hand sign as he mimed scratching his cheek and the old woman behind the counter had deflated before ordering her boy to take charge with a wave.
"Mr. Dai, please, this way." She led him into a corridor beside the desk, firmly shutting the door behind them. Down the hall, Obito heard the distant clatter of plates and chatting kitchen staff. As soon as her fingers left the door handle, her wrinkled face turned mullish. "I've already dealt with you lot."
Obito didn't let his surprise show nor the suspicion that sparked in the back of his mind. "We're returning, just to be sure. And to ask a few more questions. You'll be compensated as per usual." He paused. "Extra, even."
That mollified her. "Well, I suppose..." She smoothed the belly of her kimono, bobbing her head. "Go on, then."
"Have you had any interesting clients of late? Within the past four or five days. Ones that stood out to you."
"I don't let rabble in here, you understand. And I've had a lot of visitors spending good ryō to stay." She hummed thoughtfully. The wrinkles around her lips folded like hung cloth. "There was a man with scars on his face. He hid them under make-up. Tall, dark haired. There was also a woman that covered the lower half of her face with a mask."
Too obvious. "Anyone else?"
"Hm. There was also a man. Handsome, with grey hair. Though he looked only young. He was missing an eye, poor lad."
"His name?"
"Mr. Koji," she replied instantly, brightening. "Yes, I remember him well. I've a good mind for these things."
"And the others?" It wouldn't do to make the woman think he favoured a certain someone over the others. Even if it did feel somewhat coincidental that she happened to remember the exact man he searched for. Koji. Their target must have realised walking around as a Senju would earn him no favours.
"I must look in my book for the other man, but if I recall, the masked woman said her name was Reiki. If that means anything to you."
It didn't and Obito hardly cared. He gave his best smile. "If you could show me your guestbook, Ma'am, that would be deeply appreciated. I'd like to know which rooms they stayed in."
He followed her back to her desk. Her boy was nowhere to be found.
The old woman muttered darkly under her breath as she opened her guestbook. A strangled noise erupted from her throat, drawing the curious stares of patrons seated at the tables. Obito looked over her shoulder. The names were present, but a black wash of ink had been spilled over the column of room numbers. He narrowed his eyes.
"Must have been that useless assistant of mine," she warbled, blotting the ink with her fingers and only making it worse.
"Where—" He cut himself off, feeling the burn on his bicep. A signal from the others that they either had all the intel they could get or found themselves at an impasse. I haven't even given them a room number. This wasn't good.
He left the fussing woman, taking the stairs two at a time until Shīkā stuck her head out of the corridor of a fire escape on the third floor. He held up a fist for quiet as he slapped blank paper tags on the closest walls and the door, biting blood onto his thumb and scribbling the highest order of barrier seal he knew.
"Tell me this hasn't gone to shit."
Yochi looked pained. "We weren't able to sense the unique essence," he admitted. "Not consistently, at least. It started to dissipate in the stairwell then we were only able to sense fragmented remains until here where the trail just... disappeared. Or changed."
Obito shook his head. "How the fuck can a chakra signature just change?"
Shīkā answered for him. "Could it be the warping from other patrons passing through?"
"No," Yochi said, adamant. "It definitely changed. I don't know how. But we can't sense what it changed into. There's no continuous trail to follow."
"He speaks true, Captain," Gosei's smooth voice cut in. He folded his arms, looking contemplative. "The chakra simply... broke up."
"Honestly, it might be that this demonic chakra fucks with the coils on a fundamental level," the shorter man continued. "Whatever the case, the best we were able to do was sense a signature with deep demonic suffusion in two of the rooms on this floor. Both people stayed the night and both headed east."
Almost back to square one, Obito thought bitterly. Almost. Here wasn't the middle of a rain-damp forest with animals to smother out scents. "They occupied?"
"One is, but they're gone for the moment. We should be quick."
They led Obito down the hall to the first room. A travelling case lay open, women's clothing and lingerie scattered across the bedspread while in the kitchenette sat a half-eaten bowl of rice. He summoned Ūhei, letting the greyhound sniff at the areas Shīkā pointed out: a chair by the window, and a place at the flimsy dining table. Both positioned well to watch passersby and to see shadows of movement down the corridor from beneath the lip of the front door. The dog shook himself, sticking his snout into the frame of the chair, his tail drifting in a lazy wag. When he pulled back, he seemed mesmerised by what he found and went to insistently scratch at the door. Obito was forced to unsummon him to stop him from racing down the hall. Promising, he thought as Shīkā led him to the next room.
This room he gave to Shiba, the other fastest ninken in the pack. Shīkā directed him to the bathroom to scent around the toilet before directing him to the bed. The woman noted the chakra density there with some interest. The strongest felt in both rooms. Shiba took the scent of the sheets and yipped, rolling in the spread before pausing in what Obito could only describe as a frown. As though the dog was both excited and confused at what he sensed. That makes two of us. Like Ūhei, he sprung up when directed, racing over to press his paws at Obito's slacks, nipping and pulling the fabric before he lunged at the door, eager to get going.
"Both of them?" Gankyō hissed. "How're we supposed to tell which is the right one?"
"I suppose we just follow them until they split again." Shīkā shrugged, helpless.
"It's the best lead we have," Obito said darkly. What in the hells is going on? He didn't like this. Suspicion gnawed at his mind. Was it... them? But why would they? Unless... Obito growled and shook the thought from his mind.
Supported by the cell's sensors, Ūhei and Shiba led them east. Team To followed with fervent speed. The trails lead them through the night and into the next evening as they neared the eastern village of Yonohara.
"Captain!" Gosei called.
Obito saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He tensed, swiping a kunai from his pouch and whistled to the others. Several trees over, the shadow darted forward, even quicker than them to circle around in front. Obito called them to slow. Below near the main road, the hounds skidded to a halt, their huffing breaths causing their bodies to expand and contract under the view of Obito's Sharingan.
The shadow revealed itself to be a masked stranger. Covered head to toe in black chakra weave, the only contrast was the stark porcelain strapped to his face, moulded into something that looked vaguely like a frog. He made a hand sign that Obito recognised. "Captain Ryouken," he greeted with a voice that was jarringly deep.
"Agent," Obito greeted in return. He wouldn't lie, that they were found by ROOT so easily rankled his pride. He looked down at Ūhei and Shiba. Then again. "You've got information to share."
"As do you, I think." The agent nodded. "Mushi," he introduced himself. "I will lead you to our cell. It would be prudent to bring your pups."
Gritting his teeth, Obito pocketed his kunai. "Then lead away."
He brought them to trees crowded around a small clearing where even the crickets ceased their chirping. Grimly, the others of Mushi's cell — three of them — were gathered around a corpse. A Blackguard, slung over one of the tree's branches, each thicker than a man's torso. The corpse was a woman by the look, her dark hair matted with sticky blood and the entirety of one of her arms torn off at the shoulder. It had been long enough that the wound no longer drained blood, only existing as a unfurled mass of ripped flesh around the joint, vivid by the keenness of his dojutsu. What he could see of her cheeks were red raw. Obito didn't need to turn her over to imagine what the state of the rest of her face looked like.
"She stuck her nose where it wasn't welcome," Mushi explained, coming to sit on his haunches. Obito doubted she even had a nose anymore.
Another of their darkly dressed cell leaned forward. "Captain," he greeted with a short salute. "Lieutenant Okibi. I understand you have been following the promising trail of a target with a weak chakra signature." He gestured to the ninken sniffing at the grass directly below the Blackguard. "As have we."
"Report," Obito ordered sharply. He had no command over Okibi's cell in any practical sense but Obito got the feeling he was a man who thrived on respecting the chain of command. As brief as his time with them had been, Obito was still the highest ranked agent here. In ANBU and in ROOT. Once upon a time.
The man went quiet for a moment before he answered. "For several days now, we have been tracing the weak trail of a severely spiritually injured nin or a specialised civilian from the western extent of the blast site. As per orders. This target appears to have gone by the name of 'Senju Kenshi' and he made his way eastward before turning towards Earth Country on the road north out of the village of Yonohara. Yet that is not all we have sensed."
Hearing this, Obito tensed. He forced himself to relax. "What else?"
"There is more activity. Further densely infused chakra signatures have been sensed around the greater area, likewise heading to Yonohara. And likewise heading north. We had been conducting a survey of the surrounding lands before you arrived. These signatures, however, are far more potent. Shinobi, undoubtedly. Likely within the B to S-ranked category. We head north to investigate. We would appreciate the aid of your ninken to support our own abilities as it seems at least one of them has sensed the trail of this Senju Kenshi. Is this agreeable, Captain Ryouken?"
More nin. Perhaps he had been right that night at the tree hollow and they'd found the trace of one of many. A group. And one of these nin could be the bastard that had wreaked havoc on his Kamui. As much as Obito didn't like the prospect of dealing with multiple high ranked nin, it did at least, fall in line with Kushina's hypothesis. "How many additional signatures?"
"Four. But there may be more."
"Then we follow my dogs until the trail splits."
Under the light of the moon the ANBU and ROOT cells moved as one. Obito whistled to the dogs to continue on and they followed as they slipped through the thicket of the forest until the trees peeled away into a wide berth of farmland that stretched for miles. The cell that joined them made four, including the lieutenant. Okibi, Mushi, and two women, all in clean standard dark clothes and unimaginative masks. Obito gave them a brief once over before focusing on the landscape.
Sat on a riverbank was the quaint village of Yonohara. Without the trees for shelter, they were forced to remain low in the village's open fields. Even under the cover of dark, it was too unconcealed for his liking. He had always preferred the comfort of shade or at least healthy ground cover. It wasn't yet light, which was in their favour. In daylight, moving through rice paddies and knee-high grass would either mean another go round with the disguise kit or slowing significantly. Or, in the more dire case, passing under the village. Right now, Obito felt as excitable to get a move on as Ūhei and Shiba.
On the central road leading through the village, the dogs split. Ūhei turned his snout north, eager to continue yet waiting on Obito's permission. Shiba appeared a little less confident, shooting forlorn glances to the east. He weaved back and forth, aborted barks filling the dead silence of the sleeping village with gentle squeaks.
'Shīkā, Gosei, Gankyō, Agent, Okibi — north,' Obito rapidly signed. 'Yochi, Agent, Mushi, myself — east. Follow for one hour. Meet at point.' He pointed directly southward to the edge of the river.
Obito kept the coarse, churning feeling in his gut to himself.
Their team didn't get far. Only two miles out of the village, Shiba stumbled. The dog stopped to sniff at the damp dirt where the road wended around a copse of trees and the lane dipped into a hollow. He flattened his ears. Tense, Obito watched as the hound once again weaved back and forth trying to find a scent. Subdued. Finally, Shiba laid on his belly, his tail thumping the packed road.
"Has he lost the scent?" Mushi asked. The man stood alone in the middle of the lane, the black oval eyes of his mask impossibly dark.
Obito fisted the hilt of his tanto so hard he could feel the skin over his knuckles ache in a bloodless stretch beneath his glove. "Seems so," he said evenly. He offered his hand and Shiba shuffled forward, licking his fingers limply. "Yochi?"
"On it, Captain." Yochi held his hands in the bird sign. The beak of his crow-mask dipped. Tiger. Ram. The wait was long enough that Obito's confidence took a dive. "It's... weak. But I think I can see it. Still heading east. Maybe. I... I don't know." He cleared his throat and dropped his hands. "Sorry, Captain." He quietened in a way that spoke volumes.
The female Agent shifted on her perch in one of the trees, catching Obito's attention. Her own gaze was eastward on the road. She was petite, dressed in skintight knitwear amongst ANBU grey with a pulled hood attached to her flak jacket. Obito narrowed his eyes at the form of her. Could it be...?
"If there is nothing left to follow, perhaps we should return to point. The others may have had better luck," Mushi suggested lightly, walking to join them with an uncannily smooth and easy grace. Annoyingly, Obito couldn't argue otherwise.
They returned to the trees. Obito let himself be caught in thought as they whipped past. A subtle flit of a hand caught his eye. Yochi kept pace beside him. As he lept and landed, he adjusted his hand just so, forming a pattern of drawn out hand signs.
Area. Is. Clean.
The implication was clear: too clean. Obito wanted to spit a curse. Someone is fucking with us. Swivelling his head, Yochi checked that the attention of their guests remained on the path ahead before flicking his thumb one last time. 'Lead.' So he could sense something. Obito tucked the thought away.
He watched the woman again. She was deft, light on her feet and supremely balanced. Her hood shifted and with his Sharingan he could see how closely the black knit of her skull cap laid against her head. Bald. Behind his mask, Obito's eyebrows raised.
It was her. Matsuma. She's still in the Garden. After all this time.
Before he could consider the woman further, they arrived at the edge of the river and to Shīkā awaiting them. She saluted. "Follow quickly. You should see this."
She took them north, skirting around Yonohara and away on the trail Senju Kenshi had followed according to Ūhei's proficient nose. Perched in a tree on the edge of the clearing, Gosei saluted as they arrived at a dilapidated farmhouse. It looked more like an overgrown mound of moss beneath the dark overhead canopy and pooling moonlight. The comparison was unhelped by the use of a more traditional thick straw roof. Obito didn't have to enhance his sense of smell to catch the heavy scent of mould. Part of its outer wall had collapsed, crushing a section of the veranda and making the edge of the roofing look like a lopsided mouth.
Obito stretched his senses as much as he could. Besides the bright flares of those present, a faint ember glow of old chakra signatures hung about the farmhouse. Four. Perhaps more. At least two of them felt powerful to Obito and every one of them bore a smothered edge, like chalk rubbed by a finger. The same kind of neutral heaviness he felt at the epicentre of the blast. It threw him. A group. If there's a Mangekyō user, it could be one of these. But... In his mind, Shiba lay whining on his belly.
Gosei dropped from a tree, landing with a soft one-two. "This is promising," he said. "I have sensed the same kind of suffusion as at the inn. Seven chakra signatures, Captain. Including a very faint one. I am inclined to agree with our ROOT colleagues. Severe damage to one's circulatory system could produce such a faint and unsteady signature."
Obito bit his tongue. "Is it safe to go in? I'd prefer not to have a roof collapse on me."
He could tell that behind his mask, Gosei was frowning at his lack of comment on such a revelation. "It is safe enough."
Inside, the building was a den of old rot. Shards of light impaled the shattered shoji and poured over the fragmented scatter of old things: broken ceramics, battered cast-iron, scraps of fabrics torn by years of dampness on the warped remains of the timber floor. The place had been looted several times over. If it ever had modern niceties, they had long since been picked clean of the place.
He activated his Sharingan, now aggravatingly used to doing so in only one eye. The dojutsu revealed more: a post with a gouge of a kunai in the timber, freshly chipped. The hint of a sandal print where the dust on the floor had been otherwise scattered. Obito closed his eye and lifted the underside of his mask, forcing chakra into his nose just as Pakkun had taught him. Body odour. He moved in further, hanging his head low and trying to scent for more. Not their own cell's or ROOT's. It was faint now, but a mix of several tones lingered and all of them stale enough that whoever had been here was here days ago. Multiple people, pushing themselves into a sweat. He cut the flow of chakra, frowning. Maybe if he had the time and ability, he could follow their trail by scent alone but it would be wasted effort. He wasn't proficient enough with the heightened sense.
A whine broke him from his thoughts. Ūhei appeared in the threshold of the house, giving an excited yip as he spied Obito. The greyhound quickly picked his way over the warped wood and domestic scatter, his tail set in a furious wag. He yipped again, jumping to push at Obito's knees.
Obito stared and let his glove be licked. The dog's eyes darted wildly. Unfocused. Pilant. A seething roll of anger filled Obito's chest. With a seal, he dismissed the dog in a puff of smoke. Obito lingered until it turned into curling wisps. The dilapidated farmhouse was too quiet. He replaced his mask.
Outside, the two cells stood together, trading conversation in low tones and hand signs. Drawn once more, Obito passed his gaze to the small woman leant back against the trunk of one of the trees. He looked away and purposefully cocked his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Matsuma roll one of her shoulders. Finally, an acknowledged greeting.
Hello.
"Report," he ordered to the loose ring of operatives.
Shīkā stepped forward. "From the evidence we've found here, it seems seven unknown persons — most of which possess powerful enough signatures to suggest a high proficiency with chakra — met here before continuing north. The suffusion of demonic energy in the signatures, as well as a preliminary scout of their chosen pathways furthermore suggest that they came from the direction of the blast site, albeit in different directions. Likely to alleviate suspicion. One of these seven are confirmed to be very similar in nature to the weak chakra signature detected at the tree hollow in view of the ruined footing of the former Kannabi bridge."
He turned to Yochi. "You can confirm it's similar?" Shīkā tensed. A small movement, but one Obito caught.
"I mean, it does feel kind of similar, but it's hard to tell with the demonic chakra warping the signatures." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders in a manner that looked defeated. "It is similar. I can't dispute that," he finished nonchalantly.
"I can confirm," said Okibi with a hand to his chest. "I was part of the original cell that scouted the area. It was the first trail we had found with physical remains." He gestured to the female agent Obito had never caught the name of. "Sensai can also confirm. She was another in the cell." The woman inclined her head.
Obito dutifully followed to the conclusion he was supposed to make. "So. Team To only picked up the trail of one of the culprits — the hardest to follow, apparently. Someone with a severely damaged chakra system and who slowly made their way here to meet up with six others before fleeing the area. How our culprit, Senju Kenshi, managed to hurt himself so badly is unknown, but he seems to have chosen to take the long way around to get all the way... here." Obito shot a furtive look over his shoulder once more at the sad state of the drooping farmhouse.
Shīkā nodded, as did Okibi. Even Gosei bobbed his head. "I'd say our next move is clear," Mushi commented, turning up a palm. Obito flattened his mouth.
Matsuma's silence was noteworthy. At some point, his old mentor had joined their loose circle to hang behind Okibi's shoulder. Strange. She was usually the first to lead the conversation. Once again, Obito found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. She shifted on her feet ever so slightly. The way she used to when she was irritated, though the woman would never admit to having a tell. She doesn't like what she's hearing, he realised. She doesn't agree?
"So you say," Obito answered Mushi. "But I'd like to hear some suggestions."
He let them talk. From the back, Matsuma tilted her chin up. 'Leader,' she said, formed from ROOT's far more subtle sign language. 'Warning.' Against her waist, she made her most bold hand sign: 'Senju.'
Obito kept his mask facing forward and let the dark of the night do its work to shade the eyes of his mask. 'Tell me.'
She flexed her hand and shifted in her stance, setting her fingers around the hilt of the tanto strapped to her waist. 'Target is to be captured and detained. ANBU rank order to be obfuscated.'
Obito steadied his breathing.
A set up.
But why? No. He knew.
All the way from the inn. He knew what that meant. The second chakra signature they had found there was a lie. Their other lead conspicuously amounted to 'nothing' and even had Shiba giving up. Somewhere out there in Kusa, another game was being played. And here they were, wasting time while elsewhere, ROOT kept apace. There was a Senju Kenshi with a strangely weak chakra signature somewhere out there. Just not this one. Clever. Obito wanted to punch his fist into the closest object that wouldn't get him suddenly manhandled to calm down. His thoughts raced, catching up to his anger. Didn't that mean Kushina had it wrong? Did that mean one man did all of this? But the signature they sensed at the tree hollow was too weak, too fragile to control a dojutsu so then how in the hells could— Despite the vindication of having his instinct hold true, Obito stayed the inclination to clench his jaw. The ROOT agents would see the tension in his neck. The rest he could figure out later, but for now, Matsuma's implication was painfully clear: if you do not pursue this lead and do it as fast as possible, Senju Kenshi will be lost to the bowels of Konoha's Great Tree.
Danzō, it seemed, was interested in making a claim.
A claim to something even Matsuma was of the opinion he shouldn't. There was an implication in that, as well. Consequences too. Matsuma had decided to take a dangerous risk by telling him. She was not a woman to break orders lightly.
Obito looked east. "Team To will follow the trail toward Waterfall," he ordered, interrupting a long-winded suggestion by Shīkā. The others went quiet, confused. The atmosphere around the ROOT agents dropped into something strangely cold. "Shiba detected the remains of a trail on the edge of the village heading eastward. We can't assume we've detected the correct target here while potentially losing another. We might lose the true trail completely. I—"
"Captain—!" Shīkā interrupted, stepping forward. "Our evidence leads us north. Surely we ought to follow their trail. We could lose what lead we have here. I must insist—" Obito looked at her for a brief moment before turning away, disgusted.
Compromised. He kicked himself for not realising it earlier. He truly was getting rusty.
"Your opinion is noted, Operative. And it's my order that Team To will follow east." She stiffened then stepped back, saying no more. Obito turned to the agents standing uncannily still. There was tension there. In all except for Matsuma. "Okibi, your cell will go northwest and shadow this larger group approaching Earth. Capture and detain them if you can. If not, keep at least one for questioning. Understood?"
Sharply, the tension thickened. For a moment Obito was convinced the man would say no. Then the lieutenant gave him a salute. "As you will, Captain," he said lowly. Across the circle, Mushi's hand curled into a slow, subtle fist. Shīkā faded into the background.
Matsuma broke the tension in her grave, sing-song voice. "If your trail takes you close, there is an asset in Kijima. A retired medical nin by the name of Kaishun. It would be prudent to visit the man before crossing the border. He keeps his gaze out for several miles beyond the town and knows its inner workings intimately. If this Senju has passed through, he will know it."
Obito nodded his thanks. "Dismissed."
He watched Mushi's back as the ROOT agents began their journey to the northern border. Only once he could sense the man's chakra signature receding did Obito turn away. He hoped for the man's sake, they never met a second time. Mess with my dogs again, you son of a bitch, and I'll make sure you wish you hadn't.