A Chance Encounter at the Ninja Tool Shop

By the time Uchiha Rin turned into the commercial street, dusk had already spread over Konoha's rooftops. Sweet aromas drifted from the dango shops lining the road. Returning ninja passed one another in twos and threes, while children's laughter as they chased and played rode the wind, striking him before scattering away. He clenched the coins in his pocket without slowing and headed straight for the ninja tool shop at the corner of an alley.

The shop was small, with a faded navy cloth curtain hanging over its entrance. Its edges were frayed, and the ninja tool pattern printed on it had long since blurred beyond recognition. When the curtain lifted, it stirred up a gust carrying the scents of rust, leather, and tung oil. The middle-aged man behind the counter was sharpening a kunai with his head lowered. The fine scraping of file against metal paused as he glanced up, his gaze lingering for half a second on Uchiha Rin's faded jacket before returning to his work. "What do you want?"

Uchiha Rin did not answer. His gaze swept across the shelves. Rows of kunai and shuriken were arranged neatly, explosive tags sealed in oil-paper packets, and ninja tool pouches of varying sizes hung nearby. Every item had its price marked in charcoal. He rubbed the coins in his pocket with his fingertips, calculating rapidly. A kunai cost thirty ryo, a shuriken ten each. Three kunai and five shuriken came to one hundred and forty ryo. The remaining money could buy a roll of the cheapest bandages, which should barely be enough to get him through this exercise.

"Three kunai and five shuriken." He placed the counted coins on the counter with great care, but the clink of metal against metal sounded especially clear in the quiet shop.

The owner gave a grunt, set down his file, and turned to fetch the goods. Uchiha Rin remained where he was, his gaze unconsciously drifting to a corner of the shop—three or four dust-covered wooden crates were piled there, their lids half-open. Inside were old forehead protectors stuffed in disorder, arm guards with broken straps, and several rusted short swords. They looked like unsold old stock that had been sitting around for years.

Just then, an extremely faint pale-blue glimmer flashed from a gap between the crates.

It was not the cold gleam of reflected metal, but a soft luster, as though it had been tempered in moonlight. Uchiha Rin's brow twitched almost imperceptibly as he raised a hand toward the corner. "Sir, what's in there?"

The owner glanced back and snorted dismissively. "A pile of junk. It's been there three or four years. Stuff ninja passing through left behind to settle their debts. Nobody wants it."

"Can I take a look?"

"Go ahead. It isn't worth anything." The owner waved him off and continued wrapping the ninja tools in paper.

Uchiha Rin walked over and crouched down. Dust lay thick on the crates, and a light sweep of his hand sent fine motes floating into the air. He pushed aside the old wrist guards on top, and his fingertips touched something cool and iron-gray. It was a short sword. Its sheath was a plain dark iron color, with no clan crest or decoration. Even the sheath clasp had been worn black. It looked no different from an ordinary short sword forged at some roadside blacksmith's shop.

But the instant he gripped the hilt, an exceedingly faint warmth crept gently up through the meridians in his palm.

It was not the warmth of metal heated by sunlight. It was alive, carrying a subtle pulse, like the slow breathing of some living creature that faintly matched the rhythm of his heartbeat. Uchiha Rin's fingers paused, and he instinctively sent a thread of his chakra into it.

Bzz—

The vibration was so faint that only he could hear it. The fragments of chakra that had long lain deep within his meridians, cold and restless, suddenly trembled lightly and, for once, settled down.

He slowly drew the blade. It was roughly a foot long, thin yet resilient, its edge honed to extreme sharpness. A nearly transparent pale-blue chill gleamed over its entire surface. Along the spine were dense patterns too fine to see clearly, winding down the blade like flowing water—or perhaps some kind of sealing array. He focused on them, and the patterns seemed to slowly flow with his chakra, giving off a faint light.

"Where did this sword come from?" he asked softly, never taking his eyes from the blade.

Having wrapped the ninja tools, the owner walked over and gave it a glance. "Oh, that... I think an elite ninja from Cloud Village left it here the year the Third Shinobi World War ended. The guy came crashing in covered in blood, with a kunai stuck in his shoulder. He hid here for a night, using this sword to pay for treatment and medicine. He left before dawn and never came back. It didn't even have any decoration, so I figured it was just an ordinary short sword. I tossed it here, and no one ever wanted it."

Uchiha Rin held the sword without speaking. The pulse in his palm grew clearer and clearer, as if the blade were responding to his chakra—or as if something were calling to him. He knew perfectly well that this was no ordinary short sword.

"How much?" he asked, looking up.

The owner sized him up, then looked at the dusty sword and casually named a price. "Five hundred ryo. If you want it, take it. It's just gathering dust here anyway."

Five hundred ryo.

Uchiha Rin's fingers suddenly tightened.

That was all his savings—half a month's wages from running errands, along with the relief allowance he had saved before. It had originally been meant to cover his food for the next month, as well as the cost of basic ninja tools. If he spent it on this sword, he would not only be unable to buy rice, he would not even have enough left for shuriken and kunai. Tomorrow's exercise would have to be faced empty-handed.

He lowered his eyes. The pale-blue gleam of the blade reflected in them. The warmth in his palm continued, burrowing through his arm and into his meridians. Even the cold chakra that occasionally stirred restlessly within him had become much calmer.

Children raised in the slums understood best that some chances only came once. Miss them, and they would never come again.

Uchiha Rin took a deep breath and pulled every coin from his pocket, stacking them neatly on the counter. No more, no less—exactly five hundred ryo.

"I'll take it."

The owner froze for a moment, apparently not expecting this child in worn-out clothes to actually produce five hundred ryo for a broken sword. He looked down at the pile of coins, then at Uchiha Rin's calm face. In the end, he took the money and casually stuffed the three wrapped kunai and five shuriken into his hands as well.

"Fine, consider them a bonus. That sword was useless sitting here anyway."

Uchiha Rin did not refuse. He nodded, tucked the ninja tools into his clothes, and fastened the short sword at his waist. The sheath rested against his thigh, and even through the fabric, that warm pulse remained clear, like a silent companion.

By the time he walked out of the ninja tool shop, night had fully fallen. Lanterns along the street lit up one after another, spreading warm yellow light across the stone road. The evening wind carried the touch of autumn as it blew past, stirring the loose strands of hair over his forehead.

He lowered his head to look at the short sword at his waist. The sheath was hidden in the twilight, and only the pale-blue light that would appear when the blade was drawn seeped through the wooden sheath as the faintest glimmer.

Uchiha Rin raised a hand and lightly touched the sheath with his fingertips.

He did not know where this sword had come from, what secret the patterns on its blade concealed, or where it would take him. He only knew that, at the moment he had gripped the sword, the small knot of unease in his heart about tomorrow's exercise had faded considerably.

The wind still blew at the mouth of the alley. He turned and headed toward the slums, his figure soon blending into the night. The short sword at his waist swayed gently with each step, its warm pulse beating once, then again, in time with his heart.