Nin-To-Five : Chapter 68

Wind Capital

Ryoma, Jonin of Sunagakure, Vice-Captain of the Puppetry Corps

They met their client in the lobby of an oceanfront hotel, an ancient looking man with a face deeply creased by wrinkles and spotted with livermarks. His head, if it was still capable of producing hair, was shaved entirely bald, with thin eyebrows being the only lingering traces left. His earlobes were long, his neck was thin, and he wore a very professional suit, tie, and haori combo. 

He carried himself with a straight back and a hand on a cane, with small reading glasses perched at the very end of his nose. There was an air of general sociopathic menace radiating from him, as if he was a coldblooded predator evaluating if his jaws could clamp down around you and how much effort that might take.

Which made for an interesting contrast with the note of apology in his eyes, as he waved a hand at the younger men next to him in the sandstone and coral lobby. “Honorable ninja of Sunagakure, may I introduce Lord Haruyoshi, son of Daimyo Hiroyoshi, who has decided to honor my business trip with his presence.”

The young man was black haired and black eyed, with a slight sunkissed tan and the obvious airs of higher nobility. He wore a black, long sleeved jacket decorated with an enormous amount of gold- golden cuffs, golden shoulders, golden strings, golden embroidery, and more parts of a formal jacket that Ryoma didn’t know the names of. His pants were pure white, with a long golden stripe running down each side and ending in fine leather shoes. 

Next to him was an obvious samurai by the trappings he adorned himself with. A kimono, wide-end trousers, socks and sandaled feet, a trio of blades on his hip, hair tied back in a loose knot, and so on. More distinctly was his rich brown hair with streaks of pale blond and his wide, stocky frame, along with the prominent banner announcing his clan to the world. 

The bold, difficult to describe, double-halo cross shape of the Senju clan.

A clan Ryoma honestly had thought was mostly extinct, from how little he had heard about them in the past few decades. The only notable Senju he had heard of was Tsunade, one of the legendary Sannin and current washout drunk who spent her days gambling the pain of the past away.

Judging from the distinct scent of alcohol coming from the samurai, maybe the alcoholism ran in the family. 

“There’s been some tension in Nagi recently that I thought was worth royal attention, and my father agreed.” The prince spoke in a casual, affably arrogant manner, using one hand to brush a stray lock back behind his ear. He looked and acted like the kind of flimsy prettyboy that teenage girls giggled over in magazines. “My presence should quell any rabble. This is likely to be a very boring escort mission for you ninja.” 

He smirked as if he was doing them a favor. 

“We are glad to have you with us, prince Haruyoshi.” Basuku was an expert at pretending to be grateful when suffering major annoyances, apparently, because nothing was revealed in his stoic grumble. “Are there any special considerations we must heed with your presence, or will we be free to conduct the mission as normal?”

The prince raised a brow and leaned towards his samurai escort. “Blunt to the point of rudeness, as you said.”

“It's the way of ninja, the mission is all, and all else is distraction.” The samurai declared with a wave of his hand, acting like a great authority on the topic of ninja. “Mind them not.”

“It’s somewhat refreshing, to be truthful.” The prince muttered like they weren’t in the room with him. Tilting his head back towards them, he addressed them again. “No, there shouldn’t be any special considerations. Keima is more than enough protection for myself, and I prefer a somewhat rougher living than my siblings.”

So somewhere between an expensive camping trip and a mobile home level of lifestyle. It was good that they didn’t need to accommodate that, thanks to the mission being directly from urban location to urban location. 

“Acknowledged.” Basuku turned from the prince and nodded at their client. “Mr. Arisaki. Whenever you are ready to depart.”

“We’ll be leaving at once.” Arisaki declared, nodding politely at the prince and then Basuku, before starting a stiff walk towards the doors of the hotel lobby. “My ship has a number of perishables aboard. Lingering will waste value.”

They silently moved to follow, walking in lockstep behind the old man while pointedly not exchanging looks about the unexpected guests to their mission.

Basuku’s hand flashed into a series of rapid, tiny gestures at his side, faced towards him. The secretive sign-language of the Suna ANBU.

‘Puppet Vice Captain Maintain Watch Unexpected Arrivals.’

Ryoma stepped slightly harder than normal, letting his boot make a distinct clack.

‘Affirmative.’

As the only real sensor present, Ryoma would naturally be the one best suited to keep an eye out for the pair. Not that he imagined that would be very hard, considering what he was seeing on the sensor array. Even through the low resolution of the puppet eye, he could make out the bright signatures of their unwanted guests.

A mild, yang-leaning signature of the prince.

And a brilliant, blinding, burning signature aligned to yang so absolutely that it almost hurt to look at, even through the puppet eye. Which should’ve been impossible considering that the puppet eyes had no actual nerves and were immune to bright flashes and irritants. This signature corresponded to the samurai, which told Ryoma he should probably watch him carefully. 

“They don’t talk much, do they?” The prince observed with a raised brow.

“Not unless spoken to, typically.” The samurai chuffed, reaching to his side and pulling out a flask. He uncorked it and took a swig, looking at them with an idle eye as they entered the busy streets of the Wind Capital and turned the roads leading towards the docks. “Say, ninja. You’ve a sword on your belt. Do you fancy yourself a swordsman?” 

The only one openly carrying a sword right now was him. Ryoma tilted his head. “More of a sword-user than a swordsman. My colleague gifted me a set and a few scrolls several months ago, and the skill is useful.”

“Bah, a few months… I was hoping for a half decent sparring partner while we travel.” The samurai grumbled with a shake of his head. “You got the air of strength, but if you’re that fresh to a blade, you’d be no challenge at all.”

“Probably not in a sword duel, no.” Ryoma replied blandly. There wasn’t any need to get into a pissing contest about how powerful he was compared to some random samurai he didn’t know.

“Heh. You’re probably imagining how you’d kill me in my sleep, I bet.” The samurai took a sip between flashes of a bloodthirsty smile. “Bet you think that would work well against me.”

“Hm, oh no. I’m no good as an assassin.” Ryoma waved off. “There are many in Suna who are much, much better at that business than I.” 

Like, for instance, their current Field Commander. 

“Oh?” The samurai replied with an interested smile and lean. 

“My actual specialty is…” Now, if he was a prideful guy, he’d go on a long winded rant about his accomplishments and achievements, and describe in detail his strengths compared to others.

Unfortunately for this samurai, Ryoma wasn’t a samurai. He turned and gave a smile with his eyes, raising his hand and waggling a finger. “...A secret!” 

“Bah!” The samurai shook his head in disgust. “An opportunity to brag and you waste it. I forgot that you were a ninja there.”

“Plenty of ninja brag, samurai. Those ninja have very short careers.” Basuku chimed in with a kernel of hardened wisdom. 

“Great Ancestor Hashirama was certainly known for his brags.” The samurai countered sharply, then seemingly thought better of it, smiled, and shook his head. “Then again, there’s a reason the Senju are samurai once more, and not languishing as ninja.” 

“Actually, speaking of that…” Ryoma spoke up, nodding at the samurai. “When was that, because the last I heard of the Senju was Tsunade of the Sannin.”

“Aunt Tsuna?” The man asked with a raised brow, then sighed and shook his head. “Wasting her life as a ninja. There’s an open door for her in Fire Capital and she refuses to walk through it. She’d rather be a wandering wastrel than live in finery.”

“Pardon, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Hm- oh yes- it was during the Second Ninja War, or right after depending on how you count it. The Daimyo offered us a position in his court, the Senju clan accepted, and we left the violence and mud of ninja life behind us.” The samurai nodded firmly. “All but aunt Tsuna, who stuck around for some ninja boy she wanted to marry who died right after anyways.”

“Were you not aware of this already, ninja?” The prince asked with a half-interested tone. 

Ryoma shrugged. “I try to keep abreast of larger events, but the world of ninja and the world of samurai… they’re two very different things, you understand? Further, this is something that happened in Konoha, not Suna.”

“The Land of Wind and the Land of Fire have been at peace for decades.” The prince pointed out with a dry and skeptical look on his face.

“The lands being at peace is a very different thing than we ninja being at peace.” Pakura chimed with a blunt, slightly bitter tone. 

“Hm. I suppose.” The prince clearly wasn’t interested enough to push the subject. He shrugged. “I would’ve figured that the story would be something all ninja would talk about- a chance to escape the life they’ve been born into if they just work hard and serve the Daimyo virtuously. Quite an aspirational story.”

There was no point in talking about this to the prince, so Ryoma stayed silent, looking forward. They were starting to approach the ship, Mr. Arisaki waved at strong men who set a bridge out for them to walk across. 

“Then again, father mentioned a certain stubbornness to you ninja. He told me how he decreased your budget to encourage downsizing, and the very next report was about how you had added a thousand ninja to your roster!” The prince laughed, throwing his head back as he walked across the plank and onto the ship. 

Basuku gave Pakura and Yusuku a sharp glare from the corner of his eyes, both of which had tensed up and clenched their jaws in response to the prince's words. 

“I don’t suppose you can ask him to revert that, could you? It’s been stressing our leadership out quite a bit.” Ryoma asked in his driest, bluntest manner.

“The Five Great Nations haven’t been at war for more than fifty years and you’re asking for more funding?” The prince replied scathingly, turning towards him and planting a hand on his hip. “No, I won’t ask that.”

“Ah, of course.” Ryoma spoke like the desert. “May I ask the official advice of the Daimyo’s court for how to adjust to this decreased funding then?”

“Trim the fat. I’m sure you have a great deal of less-than-perfect ninja.” The prince waved a hand airly, walking towards the doors that led to the interior of the ship. “Fire them. Send them off to be merchants or fishermen or something, the Land of Wind could always use more labourers and you don’t need so many ninja.”

The prince smiled like it was an obvious answer. “That would solve all your problems here.”

Afterwards, he disappeared into the interior of the ship, followed by his samurai guard and Mr. Arisaki. The ninja stayed on the surface with various levels of silent, seething anger.

“...I hate him.” Pakura declared coolly, turning about face and moving to the back of the ship. “Do not ask me to interact with him, Field Commander.”

“Acknowledged.” Basuku rumbled, a vein bulged on his forehead and a quiet rage in the undertone of his voice. 

“Like asking the samurai to throw away their swords and start toiling fields.” Yusuke hissed, eyes narrowed into a boiling hatred. He shook his head sharply and started walking away. “I’ll take the port side watch.”

“I can act as the go-between, if needed, Field Commander.” Ryoma said with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“You aren’t mad?” Basuku asked with a tilt of his head.

“There’s no real point in getting mad at it.” Ryoma shrugged, leaning back against the railing of the ship as the sailors got to work untying ropes and pulling up anchors. 

When the apocalypse was coming, it was hard to get worked up at the little stuff. 

“I have bigger things to worry about.”

—

“I have no idea what your fire is.” Ryoma stated plainly, staring at a wisp of unnatural, pale-orange flame held in a woman’s hand. Underneath the hand, the softly swirling vortex of green chakra characteristic to his Fire Eater Seals flowed in an idle swirling pattern, doing nothing in particular to the wisp held directly within its current.

“It’s Scorch release.” Pakura stated as if he didn’t already know, holding the flame gently.

“I know- I know that.” Ryoma assured, biting down a hint of irritation, hand raising in a ‘hold it’ fashion. “But I don’t know what it is, mechanically.”

“It’s not mechanical. It’s fire.”

“It’s properties.”

“It dehydrates.”

“I see why you and Nagare are friends.” Ryoma sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He held the position for a moment, hand falling away to rest in his lap and eyes staring at the swirl of green chakra, and the fire it wasn’t doing anything to effect.

Why wasn’t this working…?

“I’m not familiar with sealing.” Pakura offered, tilting her head forwards. “If you explain what is supposed to happen, then perhaps I can offer insight?”

“Right so…” Ryoma almost jumped into a technical breakdown, before stopping himself. She wouldn’t understand anything he was saying unless he got foundational with it. “There are three general branches of jutsu-shiki. Imperial, Dharmic, and Old.”

“Old?” Pakura asked with a raised brow.

“It…” Ryoma rolled his hand around, looking for the words. “Imperial Shiki is the system designed to interface with the five chakra elements that we know of today. Fire, Wind, Lightning, Earth, Water. It’s the most common form of shiki.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Dharmic is the system designed to interface with Yin and Yang energies- sometimes in the form of chakra, sometimes independently- it was allegedly pioneered and taught by the Sage of Six Paths, and its the most common style of shiki in the Suna.”

“Old is the style that predates the Sage of Six Paths. There’s probably a thousand names for it. It’s the system that interfaces with the five natural elements- Fire, Water, Earth, Wood, Metal. A lot of the basics are fairly widespread.” He shrugged, then reached forwards and tapped his seal.

“The Fire Eater is a two style, two stage, three part sealing shiki. It uses both Imperial and Old style fire symbols balanced by a Dharmic axle to project a cone of chakra, capture incoming fire both chakra and natural, draw it into the dharmic seal, contain it in a state of inaction-stasis, then release it later in a controlled blast as dictated by the release components.”

He huffed, then gestured vigorously at the pale wisp of flame in Pakura’s hand, jabbing towards it like it had murdered his dog. “For some reason- the seal isn’t recognizing this as fire, despite obviously being fire. It’s somehow neither chakra fire nor natural fire, despite you using chakra to make it.”

“There are two sets of elements?” Pakura asked, surprised by the information.

“Only when shiki are concerned.” Ryoma propped his head on his fist, leaning against the table and staring at the wisp of fire. The boat rocked uneasily in that moment, making his stomach twist in uncomfortable motions. He closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from the seasickness. “It's why fire, water, and earth are so easy to produce and seal with shiki, but wind, lightning, metal, and wood are all trickier. You need to rely on one style for either set and rebalance the entire array around it, or just not do it. Dharmic serves as a useful bridge between the two sets, but it's imperfect at the best of times.”

He rolled his head. “Which is why I’m baffled by your Scorch Release. You are using chakra to produce a fire, which should be covered by the Imperial identifier. If you were using chakra to produce an effect which creates natural fire as a by-product, that should be covered by the Old identifier, but somehow my seal is recognizing it as neither.”

Which boded poorly for his future use of the seal against more esoteric forms of flame. It wasn’t a problem yet, but there were very specific enemies he had in mind that a universal fire-eater was all but essential to battle against.

And if it was bugging out against mere scorch release, then he had some pretty big issues down the line.

“...Does Dharmic have any of its own properties? You noted it was used to interface with Yin and Yang release.”

“Not just Yin and Yang Releases, which is chakra exclusive. Yin and Yang in general. Dualities and balances.” He corrected with a wiggle of his fingers. “You could seal pure mental energies or project physical energy if you knew how to do it right.”

He didn’t. Dharmic was esoteric as hell beyond the most basic levels. Ah yes, he needed to decipher a koan in order to understand how to capture someone’s physical energy and bottle it. That sure made sense.

“...So the issue is that the seal does not recognize it as fire.”

“Correct.” 

“...You only gave it the ability to identify two of the three styles of fire.” 

Ryoma paused, then narrowed his eyes and glanced up at the woman. Pakura smiled in a coy fashion. 

Two of three. So not chakra fire, and not natural fire, but instead…

Yin or Yang fire…

He needed to add Dharmic identifiers.

He groaned and let his head fall into his hands. “I know how to fix this.”

“You do not sound happy about it, Ryoma.”

“Because I know how much of a pain in the ass it's going to be to redesign and rebalance everything.”