Noble Lady

The damp air rising from the Naka River still carried the chill of late summer. Tobirama Senju was bent over a desk in the side hall, checking the clan's recent deployment of forces.

Ever since his father, Butsuma Senju, and Tajima, the Uchiha Clan Head, had killed each other on the battlefield.

Most of the clan's affairs had fallen on Tobirama's shoulders, and he had not slept for several days running.

"Lord Tobirama, a strange noble lady has come to the mourning hall." The clansman bringing the report approached with quiet steps.

He lowered his voice. "She says she received a favor from the late clan head by the Naka River years ago, and she came especially to bid him a final farewell today."

"A noble lady? Where from?" Tobirama looked up at the clansman standing by the door. "Did she present a calling card?"

"She brought neither a card nor any token, but she insists the clan head did her a favor." The clansman edged half a step closer and leaned toward his ear.

"When asked her family name and clan, she would only say that she lived in seclusion and could not reveal her identity. All she asks is to enter the mourning hall and offer incense, so she can fulfill her wish."

He hesitated for a moment, not daring to say that the noble lady's guard looked familiar, like a child who had died young ten years ago.

He merely urged Tobirama tactfully, "We didn't dare drive her away and make the Senju lose face, but we didn't dare let her wander freely either, so I came to report to you first."

Butsuma Senju's funeral had been arranged in haste but was a grand affair, and the entire Shinobi World was watching the Senju.

At a time like this, even a stray dog entering the clan compound was cause for vigilance, let alone a noble lady of unknown origins.

Tobirama straightened up and adjusted his haori. "Go inform my elder brother. I'll take a look first."

The mourning hall had been set up in the clan compound's main hall, with white funeral banners hanging all along the way.

The clansmen coming and going all walked softly, their breathing tinged with restrained grief.

Tobirama Senju entered through a side door off the corridor. A draft swept in through the doorway, lifting the white drapes hanging before the altar.

The figure seemed to sense the movement behind her and instinctively turned to look at him standing in the doorway.

She was a beautiful young woman in a dark blue-green straight-hemmed robe. Even with a pearl-studded white veil covering most of her face, her extraordinary beauty was difficult to conceal.

Her figure was relaxed and soft, not taut and sharp from Ninjutsu training.

She was a delicate noble lady raised in seclusion from childhood, one who had never done a moment of heavy work.

Standing there quietly, she looked like a beauty who had stepped out of an ukiyo-e print.

Candlelight fell on her exposed face and wrists. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and even the faint blue veins beneath it were clearly visible.

Her thick, jet-black hair cascaded down her back, its ends just reaching the small of her back.

A strange fragrance spread from her. It was not the incense commonly worn by noblewomen, but a rich scent like a hundred flowers blooming in spring.

As it wafted faintly into Tobirama's nostrils, even his nerves, strained by days without sleep, began to relax.

Tobirama could not help lowering his guard, and an inexplicable fondness arose in him.

With her striking looks and exquisitely aloof bearing, she would have been a noble lady sought in marriage by the ruler of any small country.

How could she have any connection to the Senju, or to the late clan head who had died in battle?

The moment the thought arose, Tobirama came to his senses.

The tenderness that had just appeared in his scarlet eyes vanished instantly, replaced once more by sharp vigilance.

No, there's something wrong with this fragrance, and this inexplicable fondness is even more wrong!

Is this some kind of Genjutsu that can beguile the mind and make people lower their guard?

What is she plotting, barging in here with a trick like that?

Tobirama's gaze traveled downward and finally settled on her hands, folded before her abdomen.

They were hands that had truly been sheltered and pampered. Her fingers were slender and well-proportioned, her nails neatly trimmed and rounded, with a healthy pink sheen.

Her fingertips were so soft and tender they seemed full of water. Never mind calluses from wielding a knife or sword—there were not even the thin calluses left by years of holding a brush and studying.

Tobirama Senju frowned almost imperceptibly.

He knew his father all too well.

The Senju clan head had spent his life on the battlefield and never readily did favors for strangers, much less stepped in to save a noblewoman raised in seclusion.

For her to willingly brave unknown risks to pay her respects at the Senju mourning hall, it must have been an enormous favor.

Yet his father had never mentioned such a great debt of gratitude to anyone, nor had he left the slightest trace of it.

Why would she tell a lie so easily exposed?

What was she plotting, coming to the Senju Clan Compound, where fighting and killing never ceased, and telling a lie so easily uncovered?

"I hear my father once did you a favor, and you came especially to pay your respects," Tobirama said first. "May I ask what year it was, and what favor he did for you?"

He took two steps forward, his presence growing more oppressive. "Could you tell me about it, so the Senju can remember this connection as well?"

Utsusemi lowered her head, and the white veil hanging from her hair covered half her face. "It was a long time ago. I received a favor from him in the past, and today I came only to bid him farewell."

As she spoke, her young household retainer kept his left hand on the hilt of his sword. The contradictory, guarded posture made Tobirama narrow his eyes.

If she came to pay her respects and repay a favor, why does her guard look as though he's facing a formidable enemy?

A noble lady too weak to truss a chicken, accompanied by a guard no more than seven or eight years old who was on constant alert.

She had come to pay her respects under the pretext of repaying a favor, yet she refused even to speak of the past in any detail. Everything about her was contradictory.

She had plainly not come to bid farewell, but to attend a negotiation with a knife hidden beneath it.

When Utsusemi rose and bowed, her guard bowed as well.

As his sleeve slipped back, it revealed a faint old scar, a crescent that looked as though it had been carved upward by some sharp object.

That's... that scar is...?!