Ninja and Netsuke

Executioner, assassin, voyeur, murderer, monster, weapon.

These are common perceptions of Ninjas.

Indeed, this is what they mainly do—violent, cruel, and harmful things that no one else would do—and this has been the family tradition for generations.

Unlike Samurai who observe etiquette and respect their opponents, they will seize any opportunity to kill their target without hesitation.

From sneak attacks and breaking promises to targeting children and indulging in romantic escapades, they will stop at nothing to achieve their goals.

It's no wonder that people despise and belittle them, viewing them as untamable weapons, objectifying and dividing them.

Regardless of how others address them, they secretly consider themselves superior.

After all, they are the ones who wield power, and their abilities unconsciously instill in them an arrogance no less than that of the nobility.

That's exactly how Ōnoki is right now.

He felt somewhat offended by being called an "Ordinary People".

They are Ninjas, who wash their blades with blood and pave their way with bones. Every surname that survived the chaos of the Warring States period holds in their hands the souls of the dead that Ordinary People could not accumulate in ten lifetimes.

They are knives, shadows, and deadly weapons capable of determining the fate of a nation.

How can someone like this be compared to a roadside tea vendor, a cart puller, or someone sitting indoors chatting idly?

The two men in the teahouse were still chatting. The one in the short jacket took a sip of tea, smacked his lips, and said something that made the one in the kimono laugh.

Laughter drifted out of the window and landed lightly on the Ōnoki.

If it were a slightly more hot-tempered Ninja, Ōnoki thought, they would have already lifted the curtain and gone inside.

There's no need to actually fight. Just standing there and releasing a little Chakra, letting that oppressive aura weigh heavily on the air, will immediately shut the two men who are chatting up.

They would hunch their shoulders, lower their heads, and dare not look at him. They would realize that the person sitting opposite them was not an "Ordinary People," but someone who could take their lives in an instant.

But his personality prevented him from reacting on the spot; instead, he walked away, wanting to avoid seeing or being bothered by it.

Just as he was about to leave, a small, dark shadow darted out from the shadows and landed precisely in his path.

As Ōnoki walked along, he suddenly noticed a crow-shaped Netsuke lying on the ground.

Netsuke, a weight that hangs on an inro or tobacco pouch, used to fasten it to a belt to prevent it from slipping off.

Ordinary People households prioritize practicality, using readily available wood. But this one...

He bent down to pick it up, examined it in his palm, and saw that it was Black Peach Wood. The crow's wings were folded, its head was tilted to one side, and its beak was slightly open, as if it were preening its feathers.

A deep red gemstone was embedded in the eye, and when it was illuminated by the sunlight, it shone brightly and seemed to come alive.

Such craftsmanship and such materials are not something the average person can afford.

Ōnoki turned the Netsuke over.

The back is flat, with two small holes drilled in it for threading rope. The edges of the holes are worn smooth, indicating that it has been used for quite some time.

There is a small mark engraved on the bottom, which is Pentagram.

It belongs to a wealthy family.

But this is a main street, a dusty cobblestone road, with ordinary shops on both sides, and people coming and going wearing coarse cloth clothes, pushing carts and carrying vegetable baskets.

How could a Black Peach Wood Netsuke lying in the middle of the road in such a place?

He raised his head and glanced around.

There weren't many people on the street. The noren curtain of the teahouse swayed gently in the breeze, and wisps of smoke rose from the stove used to boil tea. The owner was turning over the Dango on the grill with his back to the street.

There are no abnormalities.

He looked away, then glanced again at the Netsuke in his palm. The crow tilted its head, staring at him with its deep red eye.

Ōnoki clenched it in his palm.

He didn't intend to keep it for himself. The owner of this thing is probably looking for it.

The item is made of Black Peach Wood and is an antique, so it won't be easily discarded. If someone comes looking for it along the way, he'll return it. If not, he'll leave it at the Post Station for the Post Station to handle.

He carefully collected the Netsuke and continued walking.

The shade of the trees swayed overhead, and dappled sunlight spread across the ground.

A breeze blew by, carrying the aroma of soy sauce from the Dango Shop and the faint scent of perfume from the distant Pleasure Quarters.

The red-haired girl appeared near the Tea Room where Ōnoki had just stopped.

She stood beside the noren curtain, frowning, looking left and right, her gaze sweeping from the steps at the entrance of the teahouse all the way to the drainage ditch by the roadside.

"Hmm? Where did that child go...?"

She muttered to herself, squatted down, glanced under the table, then walked to the base of the wall and peered into the narrow gap between the two houses.

But nothing was gained.

The girl stood up, brushed the dust off her knees, and sighed.

"Sigh, that's a rare, high-quality item at our Izumoya. What am I going to do if someone wants to rent Netsuke next time we can't find it..."

Footsteps came from behind.

"A Hong, have you found it?"

Aotsugu, who had chased after her, stood behind her in a blue kimono. Unlike the girl called A Hong, he showed no anxiety.

"No." A Hong straightened up and turned to look at him. "What about your side?"

Aotsugu shook his head. "Absolutely no clues."

He paused, his gaze passing over A Hong and landing on the empty street behind her.

His expression was calm, not like he was worried about anything.

A Hong noticed his expression and her eyebrows rose slightly.

"Hmm? Could it be...?"

Aotsugu looked away, glanced at her, and nodded.

"Yes, it seems they've found it. Congratulations to him."

He spoke very softly, as if he were talking about something completely ordinary.

A Hong's anxiety disappeared; this wasn't the first time she'd seen something like this.

Sometimes, those items choose to leave on their own. Not because they're stolen, not because they're lost, but because it's time for them to go.

She lowered her head, glanced again at the empty street, and still felt a pang of regret. "Sigh... what a waste of such high-end goods."

Aotsugu smiled. "Alright, anyway, he just appeared out of nowhere, and we've only just seen him off. He's not really ours."

A Hong thought about it and agreed.

She couldn't quite remember when that Netsuke had appeared in the Izumoya storeroom.

It seems that one day when I was tidying up the shelves, it was lying quietly among a pile of bamboo baskets and small wooden carvings, as if it was always meant to be there.

Who made it, where it came from, we know nothing. Now that it's gone, it's simply returning to where it was meant to be.

"Yes, let's go back then." A Hong turned around, dusted off her hands, and started walking back.

Aotsugu followed and left alongside her.

Do you think it will find a good home?

"Probably. It chose it itself, so it can't be wrong."