Zabuza the Rogue Ninja

The days after the bell test were even more like "everyday life" than Ringo had imagined.

It wasn't that there was no training; it was that the training wasn't missions. The missions were pulling weeds, finding cats, and picking up trash.

On the fourth day, when Naruto finally shouted, "Why are we still doing this?!!" Ringo was pulling weeds.

While pulling weeds, the system produced white fragments. "Weed-clearing experience." It wasn't combat; "any action could trigger fragments." The white fragments were tiny, and synthesis required a great many of them, but "once they piled up, there would be enough."

Kakashi said, "D-rank missions are the foundation." Looking at the white fragments, Ringo felt that the foundation was simply raw material for synthesis.

Bugs would jump out from the roots while he pulled weeds, landing on his hands. Ringo didn't swat them. He flicked them away with his fingers.

It wasn't fear. Flicking was more precise than swatting. Using Taijutsu Mastery to flick bugs was a bit wasteful, but precision was precision.

The bugs were green and tiny. When flicked away, they would flip over in midair before landing on other patches of grass. Ringo flicked seven of them. Six flipped over, while one did not and dropped straight into the dirt.

The time they looked for a cat, it was hiding on a rooftop. Naruto couldn't climb up, Sasuke didn't want to, so Ringo climbed.

It wasn't bravery. Taijutsu Mastery simply made climbing effortless.

When the cat came down, it scratched his shoulder. The wound wasn't deep, but it hurt. The cat was orange and fat. Its owner was an old woman, and when she hugged the cat and cried, Ringo stood to one side, not knowing where to put his hands.

The old woman's living room smelled of mothballs mixed with the mildew of old newspapers. A group photograph hung on the wall. The people in it did not look much like the old woman, probably because it had been taken when they were young. The corners of the photo had curled up and were held down with transparent tape.

The time they picked up trash, he found an empty liquor bottle by the river. Its mouth was cracked, and he didn't know who had thrown it away. The river water was clear enough to see the stones beneath, covered with green, slippery moss.

He nearly slipped, but steadied himself. The bottle did not fall.

On the other side of the river, someone was fishing. He sat there all morning without catching a single fish. His rod was bamboo, and the line was cotton thread, not nylon. Looking at the man, Ringo felt that he wasn't fishing for fish. He was fishing for time.

This was a ninja's everyday life.

Until Naruto made enough of a fuss to reach the Third Hokage.

The Hokage's office. The Third smoked, but the smell wasn't strong. It was the scent of someone who had smoked for many years but kept himself in check. There were three cigarette butts in the ashtray, two long and one short. The short one had been stubbed out before it was finished.

"I want a C-rank mission!! This isn't what ninjas are supposed to do!!"

The Third smiled. It wasn't a perfunctory smile, but the kind that said, "It's finally here."

"All right. There is an escort mission, C-rank. Escort Mr. Tazuna back to the Land of Waves."

When Tazuna appeared, the first thing Ringo noticed was his hands.

They had calluses, but not a ninja's calluses. They were a worker's calluses. His knuckles were thick, his palms broad, and there was a hardened patch between the index and middle fingers of his right hand from gripping tools for years. It was yellow, white around the edges, and didn't hurt when pressed because the skin was already dead.

"What, you're sending these little brats? Is this really all right?"

Naruto shouted, "Who are you calling little brats?!!"

Sasuke snorted.

Ringo said nothing.

Tazuna smelled of alcohol, not like a drunkard, but like someone who had had a drink at noon. It was the same smell as the caretaker uncle from the orphanage. When Ringo caught that scent, the orphanage corridor flashed through his mind—damp, with half the plaster peeled from the walls. Then it was gone.

The morning they set out, the weather was good. Not suspiciously good, just an ordinary sunny day. The sun was neither too strong nor too weak, and the wind blew from the village, carrying the scent of roasted sweet potatoes.

When they passed through Konoha's gates, the threshold felt lighter than expected. It wasn't when he stepped over it, but when he set foot on it that the direction of the wind changed. It was no longer Konoha's wind, but the wind outside. There was less scent of roasted sweet potatoes and more of earth and trees.

Naruto walked at the front, constantly asking, "How much farther?" He asked seven times.

Sasuke walked in the middle. He did not speak, but his head kept turning toward the water. It was nothing special. Just habit.

Kakashi walked at the rear, reading Make-Out Paradise. He wasn't slacking off; he simply didn't need his eyes for perception.

As Ringo walked, he observed the wind. Today's wind was very even. He couldn't explain what was wrong, only that there were no sudden shifts, no abrupt strengthening or weakening. Someone was controlling it.

Tazuna talked about the poverty of the Land of Waves. He had a lot to say, but it was the same few lines over and over. Ringo listened without sympathy. "Poor places don't have ninja, which is why they need to hire them." That was logic, not emotion.

They walked for about two hours. The road changed from dirt to gravel, then from gravel to mud. There were ditches on both sides of the muddy road, filled with dead leaves soaked swollen and black. A dead frog lay by one ditch, belly-up, its legs stiff. No one knew how long it had been dead. Flies circled it—not many, three.

Then Ringo saw the puddles.

There were two puddles in the middle of the road. They were small, about the size of washbasins.

The weather was sunny. It hadn't rained. It hadn't rained yesterday, either.

Where had the puddles come from?

Ringo stopped.

It wasn't that he had seen them. The wind had told him. When the wind passed over the puddles, its direction changed. Not naturally; something had blocked it.

He glanced at Kakashi. Kakashi had raised his eyes from Make-Out Paradise.

In that second, the mist came.

It did not creep in slowly. It became thick all at once. The mist obscured everyone's faces.

A blade flew out of the mist.

It was huge. Wider than a person. Holes lined its blade, and it howled through the air—not the sound of wind, but metal cutting through the air.

It was headed for Tazuna.

"Cover Tazuna!"

Kakashi had not shouted it. Ringo had. Because in the second he stopped, the system appeared.

"Detected S-rank rogue ninja, Momochi Zabuza, Demon of the Hidden Mist. Danger level: extremely high. Recommended strategy: cover the mission target and await jonin support."

S-rank.

It was the first time Ringo had seen a system notification with a red border. It wasn't pickup mode, but warning mode. Red meant "your strength might not be enough."

A man stood in the mist. He was very tall and shirtless, with that blade resting on his shoulder. The blade was called the Executioner's Blade. Ringo did not know its name, but he could see the rust and dark red stains on it. Not rust. Blood. Blood that had dried long ago.

"The Copy Ninja, Kakashi Hatake."

The voice carried from within the mist with the echo of water. It was not an echo. The mist wrapped around the sound, making it heavier as it emerged.

Kakashi stood in front of them. Not merely standing—shielding them. His shoulders were not relaxed. They were protective.

"Fall back. This opponent isn't someone you can face yet."

Ringo did not fall back. Naruto did not fall back. Sasuke did not fall back.

The three of them stood in front of Tazuna. Not in a triangle, but in a line.

"If we can't face him, we can still provide cover."

Kakashi looked back once. Not in surprise, but in confirmation. Then he turned back toward the mist.

The mist grew thicker and thicker. Looking at Kakashi's back, Ringo realized for the first time, Being late was fake. Getting lost was fake. Make-Out Paradise was fake. Only the person standing in front of us was real.

Naruto stopped talking. It wasn't that he had been frightened; this man was not an "enemy." He was "death." Naruto's instincts were faster than his mind.

Sasuke's hand was trembling. Not from fear, but excitement. He had waited too long for this moment, yet now that it had truly come, his body was more honest than his mind.

Ringo's palms were not sweating. Strange. He was calmer than when synthesizing. It wasn't that he wasn't nervous. The tension of waiting for someone and the tension of gambling on a card were different. One scalded the hands. The other was quiet.

Footsteps came from the mist. Not footsteps, but water dripping onto stone. Drop by drop, closer.

Zabuza pulled the Executioner's Blade from the ground. The sound of metal leaving the earth was harsh.

Wind Cutter was like tearing paper. This was like tearing sheet metal.

Kakashi's fingers touched the edge of his forehead protector. Not to show his students, but to show his enemy.

The Sharingan.

Red.

Three tomoe.

The mist swallowed everything.