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[NNSS] Chapter : 33
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 20:42:35 +0000 UTCJubei was a wanderer. He’d never had a fixed abode before, and even now—despite holding the title of Chief Guard of Deai Port—he still shifted his residence daily. Not even his own men from the Chayama Gang could find him unless he chose to appear.
“Just a little longer… the final stretch.”
The Konoha shinobi would be leaving soon. They were only here for an escort mission.
And yet, unease gnawed at him.
The Wasabi Family had reached out to those Konoha ninja, and one of them had even paid a return visit. A bad sign. But this wasn’t the right moment to act.
Jubei felt a stab of regret. Hejies Yuuma had long wanted him to eliminate Wasabi Jirocho, but back then Jirocho had been far too obedient. Dissatisfied though he might have been, he’d stayed quiet and caused no trouble.
Now? Striking at the Konoha shinobi was too risky.
But doing nothing wasn’t an option either.
So—Jubei made up his mind.
The next morning, Roshi rose early and wandered the streets as usual. By the time the mist burned away and the port glittered gold under the morning sun, he returned to the inn.
Tanzai had been waiting nervously, and the instant he saw Roshi his face lit up like a man sighting a savior. “Captain Roshi! Great news! The port has approved it—my goods can be loaded today! I’ll trouble you few to escort…”
Given permission, the cloth merchant wasted no time. Workers were quickly arranged, his eagerness plain—he wanted out of Deai Port as soon as possible.
The docks were their usual chaos: shouting laborers, creaking cargo, and the smell of salt and fish in the air. Tanzai’s men carefully carried the heavy, cloth-wrapped bolts from the warehouse to the cargo ship waiting at the berth.
The thuggish guards lingered nearby, watching. But the three shinobi could tell—their eyes weren’t on the goods. They were on them.
Roshi strode calmly toward Tanzai, who was bent in hushed conversation with a port official. Anko fell in step half a pace behind him, casual in posture but alert in intent. Together, their figures slipped into the narrow passage between stacked cargo and bustling dockworkers. Immediately, the distant guards’ attention sharpened.
Now.
Perched idly on a cargo box, Itachi lifted his head. Sunlight glinted off his eyes—two crimson tomoe spinning in silent command. Like ripples spreading through a still pond, the gaze unsettled several guards, their pupils briefly unfocused.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
When clarity returned, Roshi was already at Tanzai’s side, pointing toward the ship while Anko stood with arms folded. Two figures, nothing unusual. A guard blinked, confused. Where was the boy? He turned—and there was the black-haired genin, forehead protector gleaming, still seated on the cargo box, calmly watching the laborers. The guard exhaled slowly, convinced he’d imagined things.
Shielded by Itachi’s illusion and Anko’s presence, Roshi left behind a clone and quietly slipped away toward the Wasabi estate, masking his movements. The fact that Tanzai had been permitted to depart early told him all he needed—the enemy was already on edge. He had to accelerate his own plans.
The Wasabi residence remained tranquil.
In the garden, Tsunade lounged against the veranda, a plain white sake cup in hand. She stared at the dappled light and shadows drifting across the gravel, the faint fragrance of alcohol mingling with the morning breeze, her posture steeped in lazy decadence.
Wasabi Jirocho sat nearby, dutifully keeping her company.
“Jirocho, someone’s here for you,” Tsunade murmured without moving her gaze.
The head of the Wasabi Family stiffened, then excused himself and walked briskly down the corridor. At the courtyard gate, as expected, Roshi stood waiting.
Without exchanging words outside, Jirocho led him back into the reception room.
“I’ll be direct, Wasabi-san,” Roshi began. “You’ve realized the true purpose behind the Chayama Gang, haven’t you?”
Jirocho didn’t answer outright. Instead, he replied evenly, “My family began as fishermen and peddlers of Deai Port, who joined together to defend against wandering shinobi raids. The Wasabi Family has always cared only for matters within the port. Beyond that… it is thanks to Konoha’s protection that Deai Port has long been spared much suffering at the hands of ninja. Today’s chaos is nothing more than opportunists chasing profit. And Deai Port despises their greed.”
So—the Wasabi Family was the port’s local faction. Then, by contrast…
“The Hejies Family doesn’t seem to share that view,” Roshi said quietly.
“Those Hejies are outsiders; they only care about money.” The middle-aged man’s lids drooped. “They’re relatives of the Daimyō’s former wife—they're not like us.”
“You have proof the Chayama Gang hasn’t been wiped out, yes?”
“Of course.” Jirochō’s eyes flashed, sharp as a blade. “Everything’s prepared.”
Roshi tapped the table once, deliberate. “Would you be willing to present this to the people of Deai Port? Will the Wasabi Family report these events to the Daimyō?”
Jirochō’s brow tightened. Report to the Daimyō? What would that accomplish? Much of this chaos had the Daimyō’s silent tolerance. This young ninja, however earnest, didn’t seem to grasp the convoluted politics of adults.
Roshi’s smile was calm. “The Daimyō of the Land of Tea has never accepted brigands as the official guards of Deai Port, nor approved a bandit leader as Town Guard responsible for public safety.”
“They’ll refuse to accept the evidence,” Jirochō muttered, planning out the possible blowback. “They might even scold us for being petty—and use it as an excuse to move against the Wasabi Family.”
“Exactly.” Roshi’s tone remained steady. “And if not for Konoha…”
The reception room fell silent. Sunlight striped Roshi’s face through the lattice as he met Jirochō’s uncertain gaze and spoke each line with measured clarity:
“You simply need to state in your report to the Daimyō: Under the escort of the ninja squad dispatched from Konohagakure, it’s been confirmed the Chayama Gang—previously entrenched in Nochapo—was never truly eradicated. The Hejies Family, whether through a hunger for recognition or because they were misled by Jubei, recruited these bandits as Deai Port guards. This led to the collapse of port order and widespread grievance from merchants and travelers. We request the Daimyō launch a full investigation, restore order, and placate the populace.”
Confusion, doubt, even a faint hint of condescension melted from Jirochō’s face as if thin ice had been thrown into boiling water. Surprise and sober realization replaced it; his breath sharpened, his back straightened. He shook his head in admiration. “Roshi-kun… you don’t seem like a mere ninja.”
“To craft such a strategy at your age is remarkable.”
Roshi’s words made the point obvious: the Daimyō would avoid direct confrontation with Konoha. For the Land of Tea, a homegrown ninja village might be desirable if it succeeded—but it was not worth a direct clash with a Great Nation.
Why draw that conclusion? Roshi laid out the logic. First, the Black Snake Group needs the Chayama Gang to launder and accumulate wealth. If a nation were truly backing them outright, such clumsy, small-time methods wouldn’t be necessary. Second, the Chayama Gang’s attempts to legitimize themselves—with ceremonies and public-facing trappings—suggested the Land of Tea wanted plausible deniability and room to maneuver.
In short, the Land of Tea could offer limited assistance while keeping plausible ignorance. That meant the fastest way to flush out the hidden Black Snake Group was to remove the Chayama Gang—their fundraising arm—and force the higher players to act. Direct action against the core would be far riskier; exposing their tool first was far smarter.
“So,” Roshi asked again, quietly, “will the Wasabi Family take the lead?”
Jirochō’s face hardened into resolve. “This is what my family exists for. Tell me what to do.”
