Two days later, at the rmaid Wharf.
The sea surged and foad as waves crashed against the hull, but the colossal vessel, Hope, stood unmoving, like a mountain rooted in the sea.
"Step up, step up, one at a ti! No cutting in line!"
A dark-skinned, broad-shouldered young sailor in uniform clipped a corner off each ticket and waved passengers forward in orderly rows.
"Orochimaru-sama, sothing feels off."
At the rear of the crowd, a handso boy with white hair and green eyes, red markings around his eyelids, frowned toward the sailor. His sharp instincts scread that sothing was wrong, though he couldn't pinpoint what.
"Sharp perception is a shinobi's most important weapon," Orochimaru murmured, his hoarse, serpentine voice laced with a chilling amusent. His pale face stretched into a smile that never reached his golden snake-like eyes, the killing intent beneath unmistakable.
Those accursed Mist shinobi… relentless as specters.
His palm rolled the dark, wrinkled sphere he carried, a strange relic from the Taketori clan.
What exactly was this thing?
Neither fire nor lightning could destroy it. It resisted sealing jutsu, and even reverse summoning to Ryūchi Cave had failed.
All to protect this object, he was forced to leave the Land of Water by ship instead of his usual ans.
Which explained why the Mist ANBU clung to him like ticks.
If they were so eager to die, he would oblige. His experints were short on fresh material anyway.
"Co, Kimimaro."
His voice rasped like scales grinding against stone, deep and magnetic yet soaked in venom.
Kimimaro nodded without hesitation.
To him, Orochimaru was life itself. Even if the man commanded him to leap into an endless abyss, he would do so without doubt.
anwhile, in the second-floor pilothouse.
Two shinobi observed the crowd through the glass one standing, one seated.
"Captain, they've stopped. Could they have noticed sothing?"
"Prepare for combat."
"There are so many civilians outside. If the Daimyō asks questions…"
"The Fourth's legacy takes priority. With Orochimaru here, the burden won't fall on us."
Kurisu Shun sat motionless, his brown eyes fixed on the figures below, cold and chanical like a tool without emotion.
After months of pursuit, he had finally confird that Orochimaru would board the Hope. He had already replaced every crew mber with his n, leaving only a few to sail the ship. Once it reached open sea, they would trap the serpent in a jar.
As for the civilians
Fate had dealt them misfortune.
One Kage-level shinobi and a surviving Taketori heir were worth hundreds of lives.
Only one person in this world truly held his concern.
At the thought of his sister waiting back in the village, a rare flicker of warmth softened Kurisu Shun's stern, expressionless face.
"Captain, they're checking tickets now."
"Good. It seems luck favors the civilians today."
His gaze followed Orochimaru and Kimimaro as they passed inspection and boarded. The tempest of chakra within him eased.
Among the crowd, two cloaked figures also hesitated.
"Zabuza-sama, are we not boarding?"
The soft, feminine voice ca from a girl with pale skin, black hair, and delicate features Haku. She looked up at the man beside her, whose heavy presence radiated unease.
"The atmosphere… sothing's off. Feels wrong."
Momochi Zabuza's eyes swept the surroundings.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the crewn's stares prickled his senses. He felt watched. Yet his danger instincts told him they weren't targeting him.
Strange.
Haku lowered her head, silent.
Ever since that night in the mist, Zabuza had been different jumpy, restless, as though haunted.
She had once brought him a cup of cold water while he napped.
But when the glass tapped the table with the faintest thud, he jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his face etched with terror.
It was the sa expression he wore now.
"Forget it," he muttered.
Though he found nothing amiss, the instincts honed from years of bloodshed roared at him with deafening alarm.
Ever since he had glimpsed that ghostly blind woman in the forest, his nights had been cursed.
Her twisted visage drifted through his dreams, her cane tapping endlessly.
Like now.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound echoed from behind him, each beat hamring his back like a drum.
He shook his head violently.
The Demon of the Mist, afraid of ghosts? Absurd.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The tapping quickened, closer.
Zabuza's body jolted. He spun around.
Behind him
A pale figure in a white cloak, cane in hand, drifted away into the crowd. The sa silhouette that haunted his nightmares.
Zabuza's breath caught.
"Zabuza-sama, let's go back," Haku urged, tugging his hand.
But his palm was slick with sweat. No matter how she pulled, he would not budge.
"No. We must leave Peichuan Port today."
His voice was steady, resolute. He shoved past the line, dragging Haku with him, and boarded the cursed ship.
As for Kono
She ran.
Without hesitation, without sha, she fled as if pursued by death itself.
Through her Byakugan's vision, the Hope was no ship of salvation. It was a vessel bound for hell.
Two Kage-level monsters, their chakra blazing like suns.
Three elite Jōnin, not counting Zabuza.
Each of them had reserves three to four tis greater than her own, even after devouring the Sanbi's flesh.
Eight Jōnin, nurous tokubetsu Jōnin, and a flood of chūnin hidden in the crowd.
The ones she had killed before Crow, Bloodhound they were rely foot soldiers among this horde.
This was no Hope.
It was a ticket to hell.
Kono ripped her ticket to shreds and fled the port at a brisk pace.
If those titans clashed, even the shockwaves could expose her. A flash of her Tailed Beast cloak, Byakugan, and Shikotsumyaku together
That would be catastrophic.
If she died outright, it would be rcy.
If not, the truth of her existence would spark war. Kumogakure, Konoha, Kirigakure any of them might launch a skirmish, and this thriving harbor would beco a battlefield.
Yuuta, the dockhand, scratched his head when she returned, puzzled.
"Uh… why are you back?"
"…I need to speak to your boss. Book another ticket."
Kono's face darkened as she ground the words through her teeth.
Gulp.
Yuuta swallowed hard. In his mind, five words burned like fire.
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