Upon hearing Shanks's response, the Daimyo exhaled in visible relief. He had been genuinely concerned that Shanks might take offense to the decision—especially given the personal nature of the trophy that had been surrendered. That was precisely why he had offered such a generous compensation from the outset. Now, seeing Shanks accept the terms without resentnt reassured him that their working relationship remained intact.
With the matter resolved, Shanks respectfully took his leave and returned to his room in the mansion.
Days turned into weeks, and before long, two full months had quietly passed.
During this ti, the political climate remained stable. As promised, Kirigakure upheld their word to the Daimyo—they did not make any aggressive moves toward the Land of Hot Water. With no further incidents or threats arising, the situation gradually returned to a state of calm.
Eventually, the Uchiha clan unit stationed in the Land of Hot Water—originally deployed to safeguard the region—received orders from the Hokage to return to Konohagakure. With the danger passed and the treaty holding firm, their continued presence was deed unnecessary. As part of their withdrawal, the Uchiha unit first gathered in the capital city to prepare for departure.
During this ti, Mikoto Uchiha sought out Shanks. The two shared a quiet but aningful reunion.
They walked through the bustling streets of the capital together, talking as they strolled beneath the lantern-lit avenues and past familiar storefronts. Their conversation was easy, reflective—touching on the events of the past few months, mutual acquaintances, and the uncertain future that still lay ahead for both of them.
There was no need for dramatic farewells. When it was finally ti for Mikoto to leave, she simply gave Shanks a soft smile, her eyes filled with warmth and strength.
"Until next ti," she said, before turning and walking away with the other Uchiha shinobi.
Shanks stood silently for a mont, watching her figure disappear into the distance, then turned back toward the quiet streets of the capital—ready to face whatever ca next.
––––
Two and a half years had passed.
In the heart of the Land of Hot Water, within the bustling Steam Village, the evening air buzzed with the chatter of travelers, traders, and locals unwinding after a long day. Inside one of the village's more prominent taverns—dimly lit and hazy with the scent of alcohol and smoke—a group of ten rough-looking individuals occupied three tables pushed together near the center of the room. Their laughter rang loud and unruly, drawing glances from others in the establishnt.
One of the n, already well into his drink, slamd his jug of booze down with a satisfied sigh and barked out a crude joke.
"Boss, how about we pay a visit to the village head, eh? Tell him we need so 'assistance' for our living expenses!" he laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The rest of the group burst into coarse laughter, slapping the table and raising their cups in agreent.
Around them, a few other patrons—likely villagers or travelers—sat in tense silence. Though clearly disturbed by the group's presence, none of them dared to voice a complaint. The reason was obvious. Each of the ten carried a distinct red wolf tattoo on their arms or necks—a mark feared throughout the region.
They were mbers of the infamous Red Wolf rcenary Group. At least, that was what they called themselves. In truth, they operated more like glorified bandits. rcenaries in na only, they were known for taking 'contracts' from corrupt officials or opportunistic villages—raiding neighboring territories for supplies, valuables, and even people under the guise of hired missions. And when there was no contract, they looted for profit anyway. Their cruelty was well-docunted, and many innocent lives had been snuffed out by their hands.
As the Red Wolves continued their revelry, the door of the tavern creaked open, allowing a brief gust of evening breeze to roll through.
Two figures stepped inside—a girl and a boy, both young and strikingly composed. Their presence seed to shift the atmosphere imdiately.
The girl wore a crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks, topped with a fitted black coat. Her fiery red hair was tied neatly, and her expression was calm but alert. Beside her, the boy was dressed in a more ornate fashion—a black shirt and trousers paired with a long black overcoat detailed with gold embroidery. The Uzumaki clan crest, boldly stitched on the backs of both their coats, glinted under the tavern's flickering lantern light.
The rcenaries paused for a mont, eyeing the pair with interest.
Rich brats, so of them thought. Nobles playing at being shinobi. Definitely not locals.
Their fine clothing and composed deanor stood in stark contrast to the dirt-streaked, armor-clad patrons of the Steam Village.
All of the Red Wolf rcenaries stared at the newcors with greedy eyes, their minds quickly filling with sinister thoughts.
Jackpot, one of them thought.
They were dressed like nobility, looked young and out of place, and clearly carried themselves with the confidence of the ignorant. Kidnapping them could fetch a hefty ransom—or, at the very least, strip them of their fancy belongings and make a clean profit.
Just then, the red-haired girl calmly stepped forward toward their tables, a pleasant smile on her face. Her expression was one of innocent curiosity, as if she hadn't just walked into a den of wolves.
She approached the largest man among them, a burly figure with a long scar across his cheek, and said sweetly,
"Hello, uncle. Do you know where I can find the Red Wolf rcenary Group?"
The scarred man let out a booming laugh and leaned back with theatrical pride.
"Girl, you're looking at him! I'm the wise and mighty leader of the Red Wolf rcenary Group, haha!"
The girl clapped her hands lightly, her smile widening with a sparkle in her eyes.
"Wow, that's so good. Then, uncle, could you please kill your subordinates for ?"
She said it with the sa tone one might use to ask for candy, her voice cheerful, gentle—even affectionate.
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