The Land of Waves' rainy season arrived half a month later than forecast.
The day Serina arrived at Naruto Bridge, the Culture and Tourism Bureau had just repainted the stone marker at its entrance. The gleaming gold letters of "Naruto" made the newly mounted sheet-metal notice beside it look especially shabby: "During trial operations at the non-technique ferry crossing, carving on the bridge and molding chakra are prohibited. Violators will have statements taken by the medical team's rotation trainee."
That rotation trainee was her.
The old ferryman was named Dazujirō, supposedly Tazuna's great-nephew. His left leg was an old, standard-issue lightweight Anbu prosthesis that creaked when he walked. He tossed the register into Serina's arms. "Young doctor, don't blame an old man for speaking his mind-Lord Kakashi used to be stationed here. Then Akatsuki remnants stirred up trouble, and after that Konoha's Anbu shone searchlights over the water. Now you show up with a ballpoint pen. What can you stop?"
"Nothing." Serina opened the blank register and obediently sat on a stone block. "I can't stop river pirates or undercurrents. My only job is to keep a clear record of which people crossing the bridge have started speaking without commas."
Dazujirō froze. "What?"
"Nothing." Serina didn't explain.
Only in the past few days had she begun to grasp the warning Lin Ye had left on the back of the drawing: the clearest sign of the rhetorical contamination left behind after Soval's retreat wasn't genjutsu. It was people losing the urge to pause-declarative sentences one after another, no discussion, no requests for help, as though the breath had been stripped from their speech. Three ferries had capsized in the Land of Waves over the past two weeks, and the survivors' statements were as clean as official documents, without a single unnecessary