The dangers of the mission

Vendors' cries rose and fell on both sides of the street. The air carried the charred aroma of roasted lamb and the pungency of unfamiliar spices, with the occasional sales pitch reaching their ears.

Aoba's gaze swept casually over his surroundings, but every glance searched for hidden irregularities.

"Aoba, don't you think something feels off about this city?"

Asuma's voice came from behind him, low and tentative.

He had one hand in his pocket, while the other unconsciously rubbed his chin. His eyes roamed through the crowd.

"Be specific."

Aoba did not turn around. His tone was as calm as if he had asked an idle question, but his fingers had already settled lightly on the ninja tool pouch at his waist, ready for anything.

Asuma quickened his pace and drew closer, lowering his voice. "It's that feeling... how do I put it? Like someone's watching us, but I can't find any solid proof.

"You know my instincts are usually pretty good."

"Instincts?"

Yuhi Kurenai gave a soft snort and glanced sideways at him. "Asuma, last time your instincts told you that old man selling grilled fish was a Sunagakure Anbu. And what happened? He was just an ordinary fisherman."

"Hey, that was a fluke!"

Asuma scratched his head awkwardly, trying to defend himself. "But this time's different. I'd bet anything someone's watching us from the shadows.

"Haven't you noticed the strange looks some people are giving us?"

Aoba did not answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly and glanced at the street corner on his left from the corner of his eye.

A man in a gray cloak leaned against the wall, eating a meat skewer at a leisurely pace. He seemed unconcerned, but Aoba caught something subtle: his chewing was too regular, as though he were trying