"I am planning to move soon," As Kyra was cleaning her place of seating, she told Mina, her mentor. Mina did not reply quickly. She was a old woman, nearly in her 60's. She had taught Kyra how to earn her living here. She owed her life here to Gini-san and Mina-san. She had already said her goodbyes to Gini-san, which was more emotional than Kyra predicted. It was not a easy moment, especially when she didn't know how to deal with the crying.

She loved challenges, but not like this. It was still better than worrying about jobs, assignments and tests.

She started for, well, she wasn't sure for where. She started in the North direction. She will stop at whatever city she across first, selling the produce she had on her back. It wasn't much, because of the fear of getting robbed and the weight she could possibly carry on her back. As she was walking on the road, she met multiple interesting people from around the Fire country. Apparently, half of them were heading to Wave country, while she was going away from that direction. She was not a fan of crowds back home, and she is not a fan now.

While travelling, whenever her money was about to run out, she stayed in the closest village, worked for a penny or two, and moved on once she had saved enough for a week. It was a slow method of travel, and quite frustrating, but she was unwilling to spend the money she collected from her first job with Mina-san. Besides, she had hidden the money in the sewing's of her dress, so if she had to spend it, she will have to unsew and sew it again, which was a hassle, so better if she didn't get it out before she was in a secure place where she wanted to stay more than a month.

A month went by before she got good vibes from a place. It was a good town on the larger side. It had walls around it and a gate, where she was interviewed before allowed to enter. It was a weird procedure here, but she felt more secure, despite knowing if Orochimaru attacked, it would collapse in a few minutes.

As she entered and looked around, she saw a few antique shops and book stores. It must be a town famous for books and antique stuff. Something a ninja is rarely interested in. She was excited to visit a library or a book store and look around. It was not exactly new to her, but the history of this world, that was something she looked forward to explore.

Kyra adjusted the straps of her pack, feeling the familiar weight of her meager belongings pressing against her back. The town's streets were well-maintained, paved with smooth stone instead of the dirt paths she had grown used to in smaller villages. It had the air of a place with history, the kind of town that had stood for generations without war tearing it apart. She could hear the faint hum of daily life—the chatter of merchants, the shuffle of passing villagers, the rhythmic hammering of a blacksmith at work.

She let herself wander, drawn instinctively toward the bookshops lining the main street. The first shop she entered smelled of old paper and ink, a comforting scent that made her exhale in contentment. Shelves stacked high with scrolls and bound manuscripts filled the small space. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with thin spectacles, gave her a curious glance before returning to his work.

Kyra ran her fingers over the spines of several books, marveling at the delicate calligraphy on the covers. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but something in her gut told her that the history of this world—of its shinobi, its wars, and its people—held answers she needed.

Her eyes landed on a thick, leather-bound book titledLegends of the Five Great pulled it off the shelf and flipped through the pages, skimming over the names of legendary figures she had only heard about in passing.

"You have an interest in history?" The shopkeeper's voice was rough with age.

Kyra hesitated before nodding. "I'd like to understand more about the world I live in."

The old man hummed, adjusting his spectacles. "Not many young people care for history these days. They are too busy destroying the present." He studied her carefully, then gestured toward the book. "That one is a good start, but if you truly want to understand the world, you should look beyond just the great names. There are stories hidden in forgotten places."

Something about his words made her perk up.

"What do you mean, sir?" Kyra asked, a small part of her afraid, but she had left that part of her behind.

"I said what I said, make of it what you want."

"What do you mean, sir?" Kyra asked. A small part of her was wary—she had learned to be cautious—but curiosity had always been her weakness.

The old man's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply, as if he had already said too much. "I said what I said. Make of it what you want." And with that, he turned away, lowering himself into a creaky wooden chair and rustling open a newspaper, effectively dismissing her.

Kyra swallowed, suddenly aware of the silence in the shop. It wasn't as if anything had changed, yet the walls felt closer, the air heavier. She glanced at the book in her hands, its pages worn from years of use. The title no longer seemed as innocent as before.

She cleared her throat. "Thank you for the book," she said, her voice steady, though her fingers tightened around the worn leather cover. The old man gave no indication that he had heard her.

Not wanting to linger, Kyra turned and left the store, stepping out into the bustling streets. The contrast between the shop's eerie stillness and the town's liveliness made her heart pound. She walked quickly, weaving through the crowd, as if trying to shake off the strange feeling clinging to her.

It wasn't long before she found a quiet corner of the town—a small, shaded courtyard with a stone bench beneath an overgrown tree. The sounds of the market were distant here, softened by the rustling leaves above her. She let out a slow breath and set the book on her lap, staring at it as if it might reveal something on its own.

Why had the shopkeeper spoken so cryptically? Why had his words unsettled her so much?

She traced the embossed title with her fingers before flipping the book open. If there were stories hidden in forgotten places, maybe this was the first step to finding them.

Kyra traced the embossed title with her fingers before flipping the book open. The pages were old, slightly yellowed at the edges, filled with elegant calligraphy detailing the rise and fall of different shinobi clans. She skimmed through the first few paragraphs, but her mind wasn't focused. The shopkeeper's cryptic words lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts.

A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back against the rough bark of the tree. Maybe she was overthinking things. Maybe the old man was just another one of those eccentric types who enjoyed messing with unsuspecting travelers.

"That book giving you trouble?"

Kyra startled slightly at the voice, her head snapping up. A man stood a few feet away, casually leaning against a wooden post with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere and nowhere at once. His brown eyes held a lazy amusement, though there was a sharpness beneath the surface, like a blade hidden in silk. He had a senbon dangling between his lips, shifting slightly as he spoke.

Kyra took a second to gather herself. "Not exactly. More like the shopkeeper that sold it to me was... weird."

The man—who looked to be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties—chuckled and pushed away from the post, strolling over. He wore a standard Konoha jōnin vest over dark clothing, and there was a casual confidence in his movements, like he was always half a step away from a fight but completely unbothered by the idea.

"That sounds about right," he mused, taking a seat on the bench beside her without asking. "Old man Taichi, right? Runs the bookstore near the main street?"

Kyra nodded cautiously. "You know him?"

"Yeah, I've been through here a few times. He's got a habit of spouting cryptic nonsense to the people he finds interesting." The senbon in his mouth twitched slightly as he smirked. "Looks like you made the cut."

She scoffed. "Lucky me."

"Guess so," he said, his tone light. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "Haven't seen you around before. You passing through?"

Kyra debated for a moment how much she wanted to say. She wasn't in the habit of trusting strangers, but there was something disarming about him. Maybe it was his relaxed posture or the way he didn't seem particularly invested in her answer.

"Something like that," she finally replied. "I'm looking for a place to settle for a while."

"Good luck with that," he said easily. "This town's decent. Safe enough, though the guards can be a pain." He exhaled, stretching his arms behind his head. "Name's Genma, by the way."

She blinked. "Genma?"

"Shiranui Genma," he clarified, arching an eyebrow at her reaction. "You heard of me?"

Kyra shook her head quickly. "No, just… I wasn't expecting an introduction."

His lips quirked into something between a grin and a smirk. "Well, now you've got one."

She huffed a laugh, some of her earlier tension easing. "Kyra."

"Nice to meet you, Kyra," Genma said smoothly. "Since you're new here, let me give you a piece of advice: don't let Taichi's words get under your skin too much. Half of what he says is nonsense. The other half… well, even he probably doesn't know what he means half the time."

Kyra hummed, glancing down at the book. "And if this turns out to be part of the other half?"

Genma tapped his senbon against his teeth, considering. "Then I guess you'll find out soon enough."

She wasn't sure if that was reassuring or not.

Kyra shut the book and placed it beside her on the bench. She wasn't going to get any reading done now, not with this conversation hanging in the air. Genma had that presence—relaxed but sharp, the kind that made you feel like he was assessing everything without really trying.

She stole a quick glance at him from the corner of her eye. He looked exactly like she remembered from the anime—messy brown hair, easy smirk, the ever-present senbon shifting between his lips. It was surreal. But she had long since learned to school her reactions. The last thing she wanted was to make him suspicious by staring too long.

Instead, she leaned back slightly, feigning nonchalance. "So, what do you do, Genma?"

She kept her tone light, casual, as if she were just making small talk. In reality, she was testing herself, trying to act as if she had no prior knowledge of him. She had played this game before, asking questions she already knew the answers to.

Genma gave her a sidelong glance, a flicker of amusement in his brown eyes. "What, the vest didn't give it away?"

Kyra shrugged. "Could mean anything. You could be a guard, a messenger, or someone who just likes dressing the part."

He laughed at that, a low and easy chuckle. "Fair point. But nah, I'm a jōnin from Konoha. Special assignments, mostly."

She tilted her head. "Special assignments?"

Genma stretched, rolling his shoulders back. "Yeah. Missions that require a little more finesse than your average brute-force approach. Guard duty, information relay, sometimes escorting important people." He smirked, flicking his senbon to the other side of his mouth. "Basically, I'm a very expensive babysitter."

Kyra huffed a small laugh, though she knew that was only half the truth. Genma wasn't just a babysitter. He was an elite shinobi, someone who could fight and kill with terrifying efficiency. He had been part of the Fourth Hokage's personal guard, and he had led the Chūnin Exam finals in the anime. But she had to act like none of that meant anything to her.

"Sounds glamorous," she said dryly.

"Oh, it's the dream," he deadpanned. "Chasing after nobles who can't go five minutes without whining, keeping dignitaries from getting themselves killed—real fulfilling work."

Kyra smirked. "And yet, here you are, sitting in a random town like you've got nowhere to be."

Genma exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Even we get days off, y'know. Thought I'd pass through, see if the town's changed since the last time I was here." He nodded toward her. "And you? What's your grand purpose in life?"

Kyra tapped her fingers against the book absentmindedly. "Still figuring that out."

He hummed, watching her for a beat. Then, lazily, he said, "You don't talk like a local."

Her heart gave a small jolt, but she kept her expression neutral. "Because I'm not."

"That obvious, huh?"

Genma smirked. "A little. You move like you're used to watching your own back. That usually means you're either a traveler, a shinobi, or someone with something to hide." He tilted his head. "Which one are you?"

"a traveler."Kyra raised an eyebrow. "do i look like a criminal to you?'

Genma let out a low chuckle, shifting the senbon in his mouth. "Well, you don'tnotlook like one."

Kyra scoffed, crossing her arms. "Wow. Rude."

He shrugged, completely unapologetic. "Hey, I've met plenty of criminals. Some of them look just like you—normal, unassuming, maybe a little too good at avoiding questions." He gave her a lazy once-over. "Though, I gotta say, if youarea criminal, you're doing a terrible job at blending in. You're carrying a book about legends like you're about to go write an essay."

Kyra rolled her eyes. "Right, because that's exactly what all the dangerous outlaws are doing these days—brushing up on their historical knowledge."

"You never know," Genma mused, tilting his head. "Maybe you're part of some underground book smuggling ring. A black-market librarian, sneaking rare texts across borders."

She snorted. "Yeah, that's me. The most feared book dealer in the land. People hear my name and tremble at the thought of overdue fees."

Genma grinned. "Hey, don't knock it. I've seen shinobi go into hiding over less."

Kyra shook her head, unable to stop the amused smile creeping onto her face. He was sharp, but he had a way of keeping things light—like he was testing the waters but didn't mind if they ended up just goofing around instead.

"Alright, genius," she said, slipping the book into her pack. "Since you're such an expert in spotting criminals, what does that make you?"

Genma smirked. "Oh, I'm the worst kind."

Kyra raised an eyebrow. "And that would be?"

"A government employee," he said solemnly.

She burst out laughing. "Yeah, okay. Thatisterrifying."

Genma gestured dramatically. "Exactly. Overworked, underpaid, and responsible for way too much paperwork. A truly cursed existence."

Kyra shook her head, still chuckling. "Sounds like you should consider a career change."

"Nah," he said with a wink. "Where else am I gonna get paid to nap on rooftops and pretend I'm doing surveillance?"

She gave him a deadpan look. "I feelsomuch safer knowing the village is in your hands."

Genma clutched his chest like she'd mortally wounded him. "Ouch. That hurt, book smuggler."

Kyra chuckled, shaking her head. "Relax, I just like reading. That's why I got the book."

Genma hummed, shifting the senbon in his mouth. "Huh. A traveler and a bookworm. Unusual combo."

She shrugged. "I like learning about the world. Figured history was a good place to start."

His eyes flickered with something—interest, maybe, but also that quiet kind of wariness she had come to recognize. Despite the easygoing attitude, he was still assessing her. "And that's why you're here? For a history lesson?"

Kyra sighed, glancing down at her boots. She didn't blame him for asking, but it still left an odd weight in her chest. "I just want to explore," she said honestly. "See the world, figure things out. I sell things from the forest—herbs, dried fruits, whatever I can gather—so I guess that makes me a trader." She met his gaze, her expression firm. "Not a thief."

For the briefest moment, Genma looked—well, not guilty, but maybe a tiny bit sheepish. "Didn't say you were."

"You implied it."

"Tell you what," Genma said, giving her a small smile, stretching his arms behind his head. "Since you're new here, I'll show you around. Think of it as my way of making up for, uh… well-"

Kyra raised an eyebrow, interrupting him. "Didn't peg you for a tour guide."

"But aren't you from Konoha?"

Genma just shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. "And? Doesn't mean I can't know my way around."

Kyra narrowed her eyes. "That's not an answer."

He grinned. "Exactly."

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, fine. Lead the way, oh mysterious government employee."

"Now we're talking," Genma said, already turning down the street. "Just try to keep up, book smuggler."

Kyra followed, figuring she didn't have anything better planned—and at the very least, this might turn out to be interesting.

As they walked through the bustling streets, Genma weaved effortlessly between crowds, nodding at a few vendors and occasionally stopping to chat. Kyra followed, taking in the town's details—the colorful banners strung between buildings, the smell of fresh bread wafting from a bakery, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer. It was lively, but not overwhelming. A good place to settle, even if only for a while.

"And here," Genma gestured dramatically to a nondescript tea shop, "is the best place to get tea in the entire town. You can tell because the old lady who runs it hates everyone equally. Real sign of quality."

Kyra snorted. "That's your standard?"

"Absolutely. If a tea shop owner doesn't insult your life choices, it's not worth it."

Shaking her head, Kyra peered inside. A grumpy-looking old woman stood behind the counter, glaring at a customer like they had personally offended her ancestors. She had to admit, Genma might have a point.

They continued on, Genma pointing out various spots—the market square, an inn "that doesn't have bed bugs, probably," and a weapons shop run by a guy with "questionable fashion choices but decent kunai." Kyra found herself enjoying the easy banter, but something nagged at her.

Genma wasn't just walking. His eyes flickered over the streets, watching people a little too closely, his body shifting slightly whenever someone passed too near.

Then it clicked.

"You're on a mission," she blurted.

Genma didn't pause, but there was a brief hitch in his step—so brief that if she hadn't been watching, she might have missed it.

"You wound me, book smuggler," he said smoothly, flashing a lazy grin. "Can't a guy just show a traveler around out of the goodness of his heart?"

Kyra folded her arms. "Sure. And I'm the Hokage."

"That'd be a twist," he mused. "Paperwork would be a nightmare, though."

"Genma."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright, fine. Yes, I'm on a mission. But you're not in trouble, if that's what you're worried about."

She narrowed her eyes. "You sure? Because I'd like to know if I should start running."

"Relax." He waved a hand. "If I was after you, I wouldn't be giving you a grand tour. I'm just keeping an eye on things. Town's been… tense lately."

Kyra glanced around. Now that she was paying attention, she noticed the way some shopkeepers kept glancing toward the streets, the occasional pair of guards stationed at corners, hands resting near their weapons.

"What kind of tense?" she asked.

Genma smirked. "The kind where an innocent book-loving traveler should probably not get too nosy."

Kyra huffed. "You know that just makes me want to ask more questions, right?"

"Yeah, I figured," he said, leading them toward a quieter street. "C'mon, let's get some food. If I have to do my job and entertain you, I at least deserve a decent meal out of it."

Kyra followed, trying to shake the unease settling in her gut. Something was definitely going on in this town—and now, she wasn't sure if she wanted to stick around or run in the opposite direction.

The smell of sizzling meat and spices filled the air as Kyra and Genma sat at a small food stall tucked between two larger buildings. The vendor, an old man with a face like a dried prune, handed them skewers of grilled meat (and grilled vegetables for her) without a word, already moving on to the next customer.

Kyra took a bite and hummed in approval. "Okay, I'll give you this one. This is good."

Genma smirked around his own skewer. "Told you. I've got impeccable taste."

"Debatable." She waved a hand vaguely. "You did recommend that inn withprobablyno bed bugs."

"I stand by that assessment," he said, completely unbothered. "Risk builds character."

Kyra rolled her eyes but took another bite. The easy conversation helped push away the lingering unease from their earlier talk.

A few minutes later, the stall's fabric curtain shifted, and another shinobi stepped in. He was tall, lean, with sharp eyes that swept over Kyra before landing on Genma. Without a word, he gave a small bow of acknowledgment before slipping onto the seat beside them, opposite Genma.

"Genma," the newcomer said, voice low but casual.

"Raido." Genma nodded, chewing lazily on his skewer.

Kyra resisted the urge to stiffen. The way Raido had looked at her wasn't hostile, but it was… assessing. Like he was mentally sorting her into a category. Civilian? Threat? Bystander?

Genma, either oblivious or entirely unbothered, stretched out his legs. "What brings you to this fine dining establishment?"

Raido gave him a flat look. "You know why."

"Ah." Genma flicked his senbon between his fingers. "Work talk. Right."

Kyra slowly lowered her skewer. "Should I… not be here for this?"

Raido gave her another glance, then looked at Genma. "Who is she?"

"Book smuggler," Genma said smoothly.

Kyra nearly choked. "Excuse me?"

Genma grinned. "She's a traveler. Just passing through. Likes books, sells forest things,nota thief, and is very suspicious of my intentions."

Raido exhaled through his nose, clearly used to Genma's nonsense. "Right."

Kyra hesitated. "So… is this where I leave before I hear something I shouldn't?"

Raido considered her for a second, then leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp but not unkind. "That depends. Do you know how to mind your own business?"

Kyra met his gaze evenly. "Depends. Is your business going to becomemybusiness?"

There was a pause. Then—unexpectedly—Raido smirked. Just a little.

Genma chuckled. "Careful, Raido, she's already getting attached to our thrilling company."

Raido sighed, rubbing his temple. "Just eat your food, Genma."

Kyra picked up her skewer again, but she wasn't sure if she'd actually be able to enjoy it now. Whatever was happening in this town, she had the distinct feeling she was getting pulled right into the middle of it.

Kyra had enough sense to know when it was time tonotask questions.

As soon as Genma and Raido lowered their voices, their conversation slipping into something quieter, sharper, she focused on finishing her skewer. She didn't try to eavesdrop, didn't shift closer or pretend to be disinterested while listening. That was the kind of behavior that got people into trouble.

Instead, she wiped her hands on a napkin, slid off the stool as casually as she could, and reached for her coin pouch. "I'll pay for mine," she said, already fishing out a few coins.

Genma's hand was faster. He plucked the coins from her fingers and dropped them back into her pouch with a smirk. "Nah. My treat, book smuggler."

Kyra huffed but didn't argue. She had a feeling he'd be annoyingly persistent about it. "Fine. Consider it an apology for calling me acriminal."

Raido actually looked amused at that, which was somehow worse than his earlier scrutiny.

Not wanting to linger, Kyra gave them a quick wave. "Alright, well, enjoy yourdefinitely legal and upstandingconversation."

Genma gave her a lazy salute with two fingers. "Be careful out there, traveler."

She didn't bother replying. With one last glance at the two shinobi—who were now leaning in slightly, voices even lower—she turned and made her way back to the quiet spot she had found earlier.

The town was bustling, but she slipped through the streets with ease, sticking to the edges where the crowds were thinner. By the time she reached the secluded nook between two old buildings, where the noise of the market was only a distant hum, she finally exhaled.

She wasn't planning to get involved inanything.

Kyra set up her tent with practiced ease, securing the fabric and making sure the entrance faced away from the wind. It wasn't much, just a simple canvas shelter, but it was enough. She had slept in worse places.

The shrine nearby provided some comfort—shrines usually meant people didn't cause trouble around them. The presence of a few homeless folks nearby didn't bother her; if anything, they were just like her in a way—people trying to get by without drawing too much attention. No one paid her any mind, and she returned the favor.

She sat down on her bedroll, pulling out a small bag of dried fruit and nuts to snack on. As she chewed, she glanced at the book she had of the Five Great ran her fingers over the cover but didn't open it. Her mind was still on Genma.

He had been too casual, too easygoing—like he had nothing to do but wander the town and tease travelers. But he was still on a mission. He had been alert in a way only a practiced person could be, his posture too controlled, his eyes always shifting just enough to keep track of his surroundings without making it obvious.

A mission,she had realized, and that was all the reason she needed to leave as soon as possible.

Any place where shinobi gathered wasn't good for her. She wasn't doing anything illegal, but that didn't mean she wanted to get caught up in their business. She had been careful about staying on the fringes, trading quietly, keeping her head down. Shinobi meant chaos. War. The kind of things she wanted to avoid.

I'll move on tomorrow,she decided, finishing her snack and tucking the book back into her pack.

She lay down, using her arm as a pillow, listening to the distant sounds of the town winding down. Somewhere, bells chimed from the shrine, soft and rhythmic. Kyra closed her eyes, willing herself to rest.

Tomorrow, she'd find another road. Another town.

Someplace where shinobi didn't show up.

Kyra took one look at him, then at the shinobi now emerging from the shadows. One of them stepped forward, calm, composed.

Genma.

But this wasn't the relaxed, teasing man who had shown her around the town earlier. He wasn't smirking, wasn't leaning back lazily like he had all the time in the world. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, and something in his posture made her stomach twist. He looked dangerous.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Kyra took a cautious step back, her pulse thundering in her ears. She tried to steady herself, to remind herself that she wasn't the one in trouble here—but then she saw the look on the bleeding man's face. Terror. Pure, unfiltered terror as he stared at Genma like he was something out of a nightmare.

Her thoughts snapped back into focus, and that's when she took in the full extent of the situation.

Her tent was ruined, collapsed under the weight of the man who had crashed into it. Her blanket was stained red. Her pack—her only belongings—was torn open, its contents scattered, trampled, and ruined. The last of her food? Probably stepped on.

Kyra swallowed, lifting her gaze back to the shinobi standing in front of her. There was no warmth in Genma's expression, no hint of the casual, easygoing demeanor he'd carried throughout the day. And the man standing just behind him—another shinobi, clad in dark gear, face set in an emotionless mask—looked just as cold.

Her breath hitched.

This was not the man she had met earlier.

Panic flared in her chest. Before she could think, she turned on her heel andran.

She didn't care that her belongings were left behind, didn't care that her shoes pounded against the dirt loud enough to announce her escape. She just knew she had to get away.

Away from the blood. Away from the shinobi. Away from whatever nightmare she had stumbled into.

She felt a sharp pang of regret leaving everything behind, but it didn't matter. She could start over. She still had money sewn into her dress. She wasn't completely helpless.

But one thing was certain—

She wasneverassociating with shinobi again. Not now. Not ever.

Kyra reached the market just as her lungs began to burn, each breath coming sharp and uneven. The once-busy streets were now eerily empty, the stalls abandoned for the night, their awnings swaying gently in the cool breeze. She braced her hands on her knees, forcing deep breaths, trying to calm the frantic pounding in her chest.

No one had followed her. No shinobi. No bleeding man. No Genma.

Relief warred with something bitter in her chest. A small, ridiculous part of her wished Genma would show up, casually leaning against a post, apologizing for ruining her things. But the thought infuriated her just as much as it unsettled her. Shehatedthat she had evenwantedhim to show up.

She shook her head, pushing away the thought. It was better this way. She wasgladshe wouldn't have to see him again.

Still, her hands wouldn't stop trembling.

She forced herself to move, walking aimlessly through the quiet town until she spotted a familiar place—the small, empty garden she had passed earlier that afternoon. It was tucked between two buildings, a forgotten patch of earth where stray flowers clung stubbornly to life.

She collapsed onto the bench with a weary sigh, wrapping her arms around herself as a shiver ran down her spine.

Her mind refused to quiet. The scene replayed endlessly—Genma's cold expression, the fear in that man's eyes, the blood staining her tent.

Sleep was a battle she lost and won in turns, slipping in and out of fitful, restless dreams.

Kyra woke up with a groan, her back stiff, her neck aching from the awkward position she had slept in. The cold morning air bit at her skin, and for a moment, she let herself sit there, blinking blearily at the gray sky. But then it all came rushing back—the blood, the torn tent, the look in Genma's eyes.

She needed to .

But she wasn't stupid. Running out of town looking like a beggar would only make things harder. No village would take in a ragged girl with nothing but dirt on her face and desperation in her eyes. She needed supplies. Food. Money.

With a deep sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled hair, doing her best to make herself look somewhat presentable. Then, she walked toward the forest. She was going back to what she knew—foraging and selling, earning enough to leave as soon as possible.

The forest was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and chirping birds. She scoured the undergrowth, finding some edible berries and popping a few into her mouth. Her stomach growled, protesting its emptiness, but she ignored it, chewing slowly. She filled a basket—one she had gotten from a kind shopkeeper on the way out of town—and continued on.

As she walked, her frustration boiled over, and before she could stop herself, hot tears of anger pricked at her wasn't had done nothing wrong. She hadn't asked to get caught up in shinobi business. Now, she had to start over. Again.

Wiping her eyes roughly, she wandered until she stumbled upon a small stream. The sight of the clear, running water made her sigh in relief. She knelt by the edge, washing the berries carefully before splashing her face. The cold water shocked her system, but it helped clear her mind.

Shereallywanted to wash her clothes, but this was the only pair she had. And shedefinitelywasn't unsewing the money from her dress yet. She tugged at her shirt, grimacing at the faint smell of sweat and is disgusting.

She sighed. She wasn't a princess, but shelikedbeing clean. And right now? She felt far from it.

Straightening, she took one last deep breath before turning back toward the town. It was time to sell what she had and get out of here.

Kyra made her way back into town, keeping her head down and shoulders relaxed—just another trader coming in from the forest, nothing worth noticing. She had learned long ago that looking too cautious made people suspicious. She forced her breathing to stay even, ignoring the way her heart still pounded from last night's events.

The marketplace was already alive with the early evening bustle. Vendors called out their wares, children weaved between carts, and the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat filled the air. Kyra's stomach twisted at the smell, but she pushed her hunger aside. First, she had to sell the berries.

She spotted a fruit vendor she had traded with before—an older woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. Perfect.

"You again?" the woman said as Kyra approached, eyeing the basket in her hands.

Kyra forced a small smile. "Thought I'd try my luck again. Picked some fresh ones this morning."

The woman took a berry from the basket, rolling it between her fingers before biting into it. She chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small nod. "Good quality. I'll take them, but don't expect a fortune."

Kyra wasn't in the mood to haggle, not today. "Fair enough."

Coins clinked into her palm, and Kyra resisted the urge to sigh in relief. It wasn't much, but it was enough for food and maybe a cheap cloak to replace her ruined tent. She muttered a quick thank-you before slipping away from the stall, eager to put as much distance as possible between herself and any potential trouble.

As she weaved through the streets, she kept an ear out for any gossip, but there was no mention of the incident from last night. No whispers of bloodied shinobi or terrified travelers. It was like nothing had happened.

That should've reassured her.

It didn't.

The thought made her move faster. She bought some bread, stuffing half of it into her mouth as she walked, and tucked the rest away for later. Then, she searched the market for a place selling cloaks or blankets. She needed warmth for the journey ahead.

Kyra let out a slow breath, trying to steady herself. She had food, she had a cloak, she had a plan. She just needed a little more money before she could stash everything safely away and slip out of this cursed town before sunrise.

She kept her head down, weaving through the thinning crowds in the market, searching for any chance to sell the berries she had foraged. The streets were growing quieter, colder, the last light of the sun slipping behind the rooftops.

And then—"You really are stubborn, huh?"

Kyra jolted, nearly dropping her basket. She spun around, heart already pounding.

Genma stood there, hands shoved casually in his pockets, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

It was too casual, too familiar. After everything, it made her blood boil.

She didn't hesitate.

"Fuck off."

Genma blinked at her, genuinely surprised for a split second before the amused glint returned to his eyes.

"Wow," he said lightly. "No 'hello'? No 'how's your day going'?"

Kyra could feel the heat burning under her skin, her fists tightening around the worn basket handle. She wanted to scream, to tell him that the sight of him now only reminded her of the blood, the coldness in his eyes, the way fear had clawed at her gut so hard she could barely breathe.

But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. She wouldn't show him how deeply he had scared her.

"Not interested in small talk," she muttered, turning away.

"Wait," Genma said, and this time the teasing left his voice entirely.

"I—look, I'm sorry."

Kyra froze. She didn't turn, but she listened, arms stiff at her sides.

Genma exhaled, sounding genuinely frustrated with himself. "For last night. I should've—hell, I don't know. Given you a heads-up. Or gotten you out of there sooner. Either way," he added, voice quieter now, "I didn't mean for your stuff to get trashed. Let me replace it."

Kyra let out a short, bitter laugh. The idea was almost funny if it wasn't so insulting.

Charity? From a shinobi? From him?

She'd rather starve.

"I don't need your money," she snapped.

"It's not about that," he said quickly, stepping closer.

Instinct screamed at her, and she stumbled a half-step back, away from him.

The shift in Genma's face was immediate—he went still, the cocky smile wiped clean, his features hard to read.

Kyra swallowed hard, but forced the words out, voice low and shaking but determined.

"I might not have anything left, but I still have my dignity. I don't want your charity."

The moment hung in the air between them, taut and ugly and heavy.

She knew it was ego talking—knew she could use the help, desperately—but she didn't want to take back what she had said. She couldn't.

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, each step heavy but determined.

Genma didn't follow.

She didn't look back.

The streets grew even emptier as she made her way through the town, her steps echoing in the silence. She clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders, shielding herself from the night's bite.

By the time Kyra reached the old shrine she had found yesterday, the sky was dark and full of stars, the town behind her nothing more than a scattered, distant glow.

The shrine looked older at night, forgotten and solemn, the cracked steps and weathered statues casting long, broken shadows. Kyra dropped her basket heavily at the base of the stairs and began searching through the mess, her hands cold and shaking.

She brushed aside leaves and splintered wood, heart clenching tighter with every fruitless search.

The sting of wasted supplies gnawed at her. She could pretend she didn't care, but it hurt. It hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Her fingers finally caught on fabric—a shirt. She yanked it up, hope flashing—

—but it was soaked in dried blood, the fabric stiff and ruined. Useless.

She gritted her teeth and threw it to the ground with a growl, wiping her hands angrily on her pants. She wasn't mourning the shirt. She wanted the book. The one she had chosen, bought with her hard-earned money, dreaming of peaceful nights reading by campfires.

She combed the area for what felt like hours, her frustration mounting, until finally her body gave out and she sank heavily onto the cold stone steps. She hugged her knees to her chest, breathing slow and shallow.

At some point, footsteps broke the quiet.

Kyra stiffened instantly, head snapping up, adrenaline surging.

Two figures approached through the shadows—Genma and Raido.

Raido looked like he wanted no part of this, hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth pulled into a grimace like he was watching a doomed mission.

Genma, meanwhile, had something tucked under one arm—a familiar book—and a cloth bag dangling from his hand.

Kyra jumped to her feet, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

Genma came forward, stopping a respectful distance away. He held out the items, not forcing them on her.

"Found these," he said, voice casual but quieter than usual. "Figured you might want them back."

Kyra stared, heart hammering. It was her book, a little bent and dirty, but still intact—the gold edging still gleaming faintly under the starlight.

"And this," Genma added, offering the bag. "Something to replace what you lost."

Kyra didn't move to take them. Her fingers twitched at her sides, nails digging into her palms.

Genma seemed to sense her hesitation. His voice softened, serious in a way she hadn't heard before.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

"For ruining your stuff.

It comes with the job—being a shinobi. Things get wrecked. People get wrecked.

I've never been sorry for that before."

He shrugged, almost helplessly. "But this time... I am."

Behind him, Raido snorted under his breath, muttering something sarcastic Kyra didn't catch.

Genma ignored him.

Kyra stared at the book, at the bag, at the man who had terrified her less than twenty-four hours ago—and she felt anger flare up sharp and bright.

She crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

"And it's not charity," he said. "It's a farewell gift. And an apology.

Nothing more."

Kyra wavered.

Every stubborn part of her wanted to shove the things back at him, spit a few more harsh words, walk away without looking back.

But... she wasn't stupid.

She knew how hard it was for someone like him—someone used to violence, not remorse—to say something like that.

And it wasn't about pride anymore. It was about accepting an apology when it was real.

She slowly, stiffly reached out and took the book from his hand, clutching it tightly to her chest. Then, the bag.

She didn't thank him.

She couldn't.

Not yet.

Instead, she gave a short, jerky nod—acknowledging him, acknowledging what he'd done.

Genma nodded back, simple and unbothered, like he understood.

Raido gave a mocking salute. "Alright, heartfelt moment over. Can wegonow? I'm getting bored watching you two stare at each other."

Kyra didn't laugh, but a tiny, reluctant breath escaped her—something halfway between exhaustion and relief.

Without another word, Genma turned and walked away, Raido trailing behind with exaggerated yawns and complaints.

Kyra watched their figures fade into the night.

Then, when she was sure they were gone, she sat back down on the cracked steps, setting the bag beside her.

She ran her fingers over the worn cover of her book, the familiar texture grounding her.

The night was still cold. The town was still distant.

But somehow, the loneliness didn't feel quite so sharp anymore.

She was still standing.

She was still herself.

And tomorrow, she would leave this place behind.