After crossing the border, Shisui Abura consulted his maps to find the fastest route back to the Hidden Waterfall Village.
This ti, he didn't release a single insect; even the basic Kikaichu used for scouting remained sealed within his evolutionary petri dish.
He adjusted his pace to match that of a standard Genin. Even when he stopped to rest, he set simple, amateurish traps—at least on the surface—exactly as a real Genin would.
Without his scout bugs, Shisui's sensory range was restricted, shrinking more than tenfold.
However, even without the insects, his underlying abilities—especially his raw sensory perception—remained at the Jonin level.
Four hours later, rain began to fall over the Land of Grass. Shisui gathered local broad-leafed grass and wove a makeshift conical hat to shield his face.
Just as he reached a major fork in the official highway, he suddenly stopped. His hand moved naturally to rest on his tool pouch, and his eyes scanned the road ahead with wary alertness—the textbook reaction of an average ninja encountering the unexpected.
In truth, he had sensed three shinobi moving rapidly through the forest toward him from several hundred ters away.
The trio wore the tactical vests of the Hidden Grass (Kusagakure). Leading them was a scarred, middle-aged man with a long, jagged mark slashing across the bridge of his nose—an old souvenir from a blade.
Behind him stood a man and a woman, both maintaining combat stances. The three fanned out, effectively blocking the center of the road.
"Halt. Show your protector," the scarred man commanded, verifying Shisui's identity.
Shisui brushed aside his damp bangs, revealing the Hidden Waterfall forehead protector.
"From the Waterfall?" The man narrowed his eyes, sizing him up. "What is a lone ninja doing out here?"
"On a mission," Shisui replied, maintaining the jittery tension expected of a youth. He pulled a mission scroll from his vest.
"We were escorting a dicinal herb rchant back to the Land of Waterfall, but we were ambushed by bandits, and the caravan was scattered. I'm searching for my teammates."
The Grass ninja glanced at the scroll and then looked back at Shisui. The boy's hands were white-knuckled as he gripped his weapon, and his entire deanor radiated unease.
For a seventeen-year-old Genin encountering an elite squad from another village alone at the border, this was exactly how he should look.
Still, the scarred man didn't drop his guard. He gave a sharp nod to the female ninja behind him. She understood imdiately, weaving signs to begin a sensory scan.
It was a rudintary sensory jutsu, capable only of gauging chakra levels and physical health. It was nowhere near sophisticated enough to see through his anatomical disguise.
"Chakra levels are average, health is fine. I don't sense any trace of insects inside him," the woman reported, shaking her head after completing the scan.
"Have you seen anyone suspicious lately?" the leader asked abruptly. "Perhaps soone wearing dark sunglasses? Or have you noticed any strange grey insects on your way?"
"No. I've been rushing to get back for days; I haven't seen anyone else," Shisui answered.
The suspicion in the man's eyes faded, but he stepped forward until he was only three ters away—a lethally short distance.
"The battlefields in the Land of Rain are in desperate need of dicine," he said suddenly. "Since the Waterfall isn't participating in the war, why not hand this mission over to the Grass? Co with us; perhaps we can 'help' you find your caravan and teammates."
Shisui sighed inwardly. He had truly hoped to avoid a confrontation to minimize the risk of exposure. But with the insatiable greed of the Hidden Grass, how could they ever let a seemingly defenseless Genin go?
He lowered his head as if hesitating. Raindrops rolled off the brim of his hat, splashing softly into the mud. Shisui wanted to give them one last chance, but the Grass ninja were losing patience.
"Thank you for your kindness," Shisui said, "but I've decided to return to the Land of Waterfall on my own. I won't trouble you."
"That's not for you to decide," the leader sneered, cutting him off. He made a casual "cut-throat" gesture to his subordinates. "Clean it up."
Before the words had even fully left his mouth, the male ninja behind him lunged. A kunai whistled through the air, aid straight for Shisui's throat.
Shisui sighed again. He really hadn't wanted to do this.
The instant the kunai was about to graze his skin, Shisui's body tilted half an inch at an impossible angle. The blade hissed past his neck and slamd into the tree trunk behind him.
Simultaneously, Shisui's left hand snatched three shuriken from his pouch. Without even looking, he whipped them toward the female ninja. The first shuriken wasn't ant to hit; its purpose was to interrupt her hand signs.
She was forced to break her jutsu and roll aside, but the second shuriken caught up to the first. The two collided in mid-air, instantly ricocheting into a new trajectory. The third shuriken's path perfectly cut off her retreat.
Caught in a lethal pincer, she hesitated for a single second. That was enough. The two colliding shuriken curved through the air with eerie precision—one buried itself in the back of her neck, the other dead center in her forehead.
The sheer, supernatural skill of the display made the remaining two Grass ninja realize instantly that they were facing a master.
Shisui flickered in front of the leader, cutting off his escape. The scarred man drew a kunai to parry, but he was sent reeling back several steps by a lightning-fast whip-kick. Shisui seized the opening and buried a kunai deep into the man's torso.
The leader staggered, clutching his bleeding abdon and coughing up a mouthful of crimson. He looked up, his eyes wide with terror. "Who are you? You... you can't be a Genin from the Waterfall!"
Shisui didn't answer. He flicked a kunai with casual lethality, the blade traveling so fast it was a blur. It pierced the back of the male ninja's neck just as he attempted to flee, killing him instantly.
"Who I am doesn't matter," Shisui said. He flickered forward, seizing the leader by the throat and slamming him against a roadside tree.
He released a tiny insect. Its pheromones drifted into the man's nostrils, and the leader's consciousness began to cloud. His eyes glazed over, his will dissolving into total obedience.
"Look into my eyes," Shisui whispered. "Tell : why are you blockading this road?"
Five minutes later, Shisui had the answers.
The Leaf's wanted poster had reached the surrounding nations a day ago. It included Shisui's portrait, physical traits, and a description of his abilities.
Most of the intel was based on guesswork derived from standard Abura clan techniques.
Only two pieces of information were truly dangerous: the ntion of grey insects capable of erasing all physical evidence, and white insects capable of flight. Beyond that, the Leaf knew nothing of his true potential.
The Hidden Grass had received requests—or rather, orders—from two Great Hidden Villages to assist in the capture.
They had dispatched several squads to set up checkpoints. These three had thought themselves clever by camping out on the most obvious main road; their encounter with Shisui at this fork had been nothing more than a coincidence.
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