Clang!
Baishi's fingers tightened around the Explosive Tag. His fingertips scraped against the rough paper with a faint, crisp sound.
The howling wind, the dense canopy, and Wildcat's eerie Yin Release Chakra shattered in his mind like a broken mirror.
The acrid smell of saltpeter and moldy leather rushed back into his nose. In the dim light, the puff of tobacco smoke the blind old man had exhaled had not even fully dispersed.
That "pursuit out of the village" spanning several kilometers had been nothing more than a tactical simulation. Standing at the counter of the Underground Black Market ninja tool shop, Baishi had used Max-Level Lightning Release to stimulate his cerebral cortex and completed it in just three seconds.
Danzo isn't targeting Minato. He's trying to force Minato into a mistake. Baishi sneered silently beneath his mask.
He instantly filled the gap in his reasoning. Wildcat had not broken away from the team to assassinate Minato. That would have been suicide. Wildcat's real mission was to cut off Minato's team's route to support him. Danzo wanted to make certain that Baishi, the "bait," was torn apart by Iwagakure in Kikyo Valley, while Minato took the blame for a command failure because help had arrived too late.
A vicious, layered trap.
"Kid, what are you standing there for? The goods are all here. Money for goods." The blind old man tapped his pipe against the edge of the counter.
Baishi refocused. Rather than stuffing the Explosive Tags into his Ninja Tool Pouch like an ordinary ninja, he broke down the "explosive yield" he had bought for three hundred thousand ryo into precise tactical uses.
He took out five Explosive Tags and folded specific angles along the edges of their vermilion seals. Linking them with an extremely fine, transparent Chakra-conducting thread, he tucked them into the left sleeve of his black coat. If his hand signs were interrupted, he could fling them out one-handed during the brief moment he was left exposed, creating a fan-shaped spread of fire.
Next, he pressed another ten Explosive Tags tightly against three spare Substitution Logs. He carefully disguised them with mud and bits of dead leaves, then slipped them into the easiest-to-reach hidden pocket behind his waist.
To him, the Substitution Technique had never been merely a means of escape. Used from a blind spot, it was the ultimate move for setting off an explosion right in an enemy's face.
Finally, he tucked the three Soldier Pills, with their strong, bitter, fishy smell, close to his body. Swallowing them would forcibly drain the life force from his cells and cause organ failure. But paired with the incomplete Uzumaki Clan constitution he had just acquired, they could give him an absurd advantage in recovery time.
He had already run thirty-one encounter scenarios and seventeen sequences for turning a losing fight into a kill through his mind until they were practically muscle memory.
No mindless attempts to withstand an attack. Every move was calculated to kill.
Once he had checked that he was armed to the teeth, Baishi fastened the pallid "Owl" mask over his face again.
Creak—
He pushed open the heavy wooden door. The morning sun was a little dazzling. The mist had lifted from Konoha's streets, where vendors setting up early mingled with civilians hurrying past. Noise washed over him.
Baishi walked against the flow of people, his steps as steady as a precisely calibrated machine. His stride and the weight of each footfall stayed within a range that conserved as much energy as possible.
Twenty minutes remained until the gathering at the main gate.
He crossed the busy shopping street. His planned route would take him straight to the main gate through the alley ahead.
Just then, the rich aroma of pork-bone broth drifted over on the morning breeze and slipped through the vents of his mask.
Ichiraku Ramen.
The only refuge in Konoha that spoke not of the Will of Fire, but of a warm meal.
Baishi had no interest in such pointless warmth. He kept his eyes forward, pulled down his ANBU hood, and prepared to walk straight past.
But as he passed the half-raised curtain, his keen Lightning Release senses caught two familiar Chakra signatures.
One was warm and bright, but carried a hint of stiffness that was easy to miss.
The other was wild and scorching, like magma trapped deep beneath a volcano, ready to erupt at any moment.
Baishi's step faltered for the slightest instant.
Behind the curtain, two people sat at the narrow counter.
Namikaze Minato, dressed in a clean Jonin Flak Jacket, was trying to push a bowl of ramen topped with Narutomaki toward the person beside him. At his side, Uzumaki Kushina's vivid red hair stood out sharply in the morning light.
She did not look at the steaming food before her. Both hands gripped her chopsticks so tightly that her knuckles had turned pale.
"Kushina, please eat something. About last night... the Third Hokage has already kept it under control. He'll be all right." Minato's voice was gentle, but he could not quite hide his exhaustion or the strain in it.
Kushina did not answer. Like a startled mother leopard on high alert, she was wound tight.
Baishi gave them one sidelong glance, then immediately looked away. He was ANBU agent "Owl" now. He had no reason to stop here.
He pulled his coat tighter and quickened his pace.
But just as he was about to pass the ramen shop's narrow glass window—
Snap!
The wooden chopsticks in Kushina's hands broke.
As if she had sensed something etched into the depths of her soul, she whipped her head around. Her bloodshot, obsessive eyes found Baishi's cold gaze beneath his mask through the gap in the curtain.
Across the thin morning mist, their gazes met.
Minato sensed the violent shift in his fiancée's emotions. His smile vanished at once, and his right hand darted toward the Ninja Tool Pouch on his thigh as he turned to follow Kushina's gaze out the window.
Baishi's pupils contracted sharply.