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[NUT] Chapter : 18
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 10:39:02 +0000 UTCThough there were lamps illuminating the streets, their outfits looked even more conspicuous under the artificial light.
After several hours of wandering the small town, Itachi and Juzo had covered most of its winding streets. Yet, despite his keen insight, Itachi still couldn’t pinpoint where the rogue ninja might be hiding.
The town was a melting pot of travelers, mercenaries, and drifters, making it nearly impossible to predict anyone’s behavior through psychological profiling alone.
Still, the night hadn’t been entirely fruitless.
Itachi had noticed several figures observing the town with similar intent—individuals cloaked in transformation jutsu or wearing masks, keeping to the shadows. Though none of them drew attention, Itachi could tell that many were likely wanted criminals.
'If Kakuzu were here,' he thought, 'he’d be thrilled.'
With his obsession for bounties and coin, Kakuzu would’ve seen this as a gold mine.
Back in their room, Juzo asked quietly, “See anything useful?”
Itachi shook his head.
Disappointed, Juzo removed his hat and hung it up with a sigh, then dropped to the floor with a soft grunt.
Itachi watched him and couldn’t help but feel a touch of exasperation.
Juzo wasn’t dumb—far from it. He just didn’t like to overwork his brain. Unlike those musclebound fools who charged headfirst into problems, Juzo simply preferred not to think too hard unless necessary.
“Rest for now,” Itachi murmured. “We might see something interesting tonight.”
“I hope so,” Juzo replied, pouring himself a drink from a jar he retrieved via Sealing Scroll.
He took a sip and visibly relaxed. Whatever gloom had settled on him earlier quickly evaporated.
Itachi sat across from him without ceremony, poured a cup of his own, and began to drink as well.
“You really can’t hold your liquor. Don’t drink too much—you’ll only slow us down,” Juzo warned, wincing as Itachi filled his glass to the brim. He quickly downed his own drink, then snatched the jar away and sealed it again.
Itachi just stared at him, visibly betrayed.
“I didn’t expect you of all people to be like this, Juzo…”
Juzo ignored the glare, examining his empty cup and thinking how nice it would’ve been to have some snacks to go with the sake. It was moments like this that showed even a hardened rogue could appreciate the little comforts.
In a strange way, traveling with Itachi was teaching him unexpected lessons.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Just as the cups emptied, a knock echoed through the quiet room.
Itachi’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes slightly unfocused, while Juzo remained calm.
“Who is it?” Juzo asked casually, not bothering to move.
A long silence passed before a voice finally answered:
“Your benefactor.”
Both men blinked.
Itachi’s gaze suddenly sharpened, as if the haze of alcohol had evaporated in an instant.
And then, completely deadpan, he shouted:
“Call me daddy, and Daddy will open the door for you.”
Juzo turned and stared at him, utterly baffled. He’d been curious to see what profound insight Itachi might offer, now that he was focused again.
He wasn’t expecting that.
So... Juzo thought, Itachi’s alcohol tolerance really is as bad as I thought.
The bounty hunter outside was equally stunned. He’d been planning to team up with others to take down the rogue ninja rumored to be in the area—strength in numbers and all that. He figured these two suspiciously dressed men might be fellow bounty hunters, or rivals.
But now?
What kind of lunatic says something like that with a straight face?
Was he seriously expected to respond to that?
Calling someone “daddy” might sound like a joke, but the tone Itachi used made it feel like a trap.
Embarrassed, confused, and deeply annoyed at himself for coming up with the idea in the first place, the man turned on his heel and left in frustration.
“What does ‘daddy’ even mean?” Juzo asked, still puzzled.
Itachi sighed, looking unimpressed. “It means… read more books in your free time.”
As boredom began to set in again for Juzo and sleep tugged at Itachi’s eyelids, a sudden burst of powerful chakra erupted nearby.
Instantly alert, both men sprang to their feet, grabbed their hats, and leapt out the window in unison.
Why the window? Neither of them could really say.
They landed on the rooftop with practiced grace, peering toward the epicenter of the chakra disturbance.
What they saw surprised them—more people had arrived than expected.
The chakra presence was intense, flaring like a kettle of oil over flame. Bounty hunters and rogue shinobi surged toward the scene.
Seated on a rooftop with a clear view of the chaos below, the two watched as a fierce battle broke out.
Itachi couldn’t help but feel a little regret.
'If only I had some popcorn right now…'
Juzo leaned close, eyes narrowed.
“So? When do we move?”
One of the combatants had just shattered the ground with brute force. It was Yamamoto Yoshi—their target.
“So much for subtlety,” Juzo muttered. “The guy we’re after popped up right away.”
Itachi didn’t answer at first, just watching the action.
Then he turned and asked calmly, “Can you really cut through that many people and get out clean?”
Juzo scoffed. “They’re nothing but small fry. Let’s go with Plan A—create a diversion, pit them against each other, then wipe the floor.”
Itachi blinked slowly.
Great, he thought. I’m not the only one tipsy tonight. Juzo is getting cocky too.
Itachi glanced at Juzo, who was rambling drunkenly beside him, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He, too, felt the itch to act—to leap into the fray—but he restrained himself.
Tempted, yes. But he made no move.
Even dulled by alcohol, his instincts remained sharp and composed.
“Wait a bit longer,” he murmured. “At least until Yamamoto falls.”
He extended his sensory range outward, choosing to play the long game.
Juzo fell silent at Itachi’s words, his gaze drifting back to the battlefield below, boredom creeping across his features.
A born warrior, Juzo thrived on chaos—and with the alcohol fueling his bloodlust, the urge to fight burned hot within him.
But now, forced to wait, he was clearly growing restless.
The crowd below was swelling with onlookers, and the ninja locked in combat with Yamamoto began to feel a growing sense of unease.
His plan had been simple: assassinate Yoshi swiftly and slip away unnoticed, earning both merit and reputation.
But Yoshi had proven far too alert. The assassination attempt had failed.
Forced into a drawn-out duel, the ninja had gambled everything on a quick, decisive victory—but Yoshi was stronger than expected, and even going all out only put them on equal footing.
A fast finish was no longer an option. And now, with more people gathering, even if he managed to kill Yoshi, he wouldn’t escape unscathed.
The mission had lost its purpose.
With that grim realization, he decided to retreat, hoping to disappear into the crowd and bide his time. Perhaps he could exploit the chaos later.
Yamamoto Yoshi, for his part, seemed unaware of his opponent’s thoughts. Sweat dripped down his face as he launched another heavy punch.
The enemy narrowly evaded again, darting away.
A fresh crater opened in the wall behind them—one of many.
His opponent tumbled across the ground in a surprisingly fluid motion and sprang to his feet with flair. The movement was sharp, confident—almost elegant.
He had grown.
Even as he dodged, he began weaving hand signs, executing flashy jutsu with an ease that made observers' scalps tingle.
He was no longer the panicked fighter who once rolled desperately to escape. Clearly, human potential knew no bounds.
Yamamoto’s punch had missed again, and without hesitation, he spun into a whip-like kick.
This time, it connected—or so it seemed.
His eyes widened. Had he actually hit the slippery bastard?
But a puff of smoke exploded from the figure. It wasn’t the ninja at all—it was a substitution jutsu, a piece of wood in his place.
Seconds passed. The enemy didn’t reappear.
Only then did it dawn on Yamamoto: his opponent had escaped.
Surrounded by an ever-thickening crowd, Yamamoto stood still as fat beads of sweat dripped onto the earth.
“…Oh no. I’m losing control again,” he muttered, clutching his bald head with a look of quiet despair.
At 1.87 meters tall, Yoshi cut an imposing figure, but even he couldn’t ignore the creeping sense of doom in his gut.
Deep down, he knew. His time might be up.
His life flashed through his mind—perhaps this was always how it was meant to end.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
Born a commoner with a humble, honest spirit, he’d shown a rare aptitude for chakra.
By sheer luck and timing, he’d benefitted from the era’s reforms. The establishment of the Ninja Academy had given children like him—nobodies—a shot at becoming shinobi.
And so his path began.
But the good days didn’t last. While he was still a Chunin, the Third Great Ninja War broke out.
Too weak to stand out, he somehow survived.
Then fate turned cruel. Misfortune struck again and again, leaving him with nothing—family gone, hunted by former comrades.
He changed his face, changed his life. Just when things were looking up, fate played one last, cruel joke.
His thoughts were cut short by the stillness around him. No one stepped forward. That struck him as odd.
“Not going to fight? If no one’s stepping up… I’ll just walk away,” he said warily.
The crowd hesitated.
They were weighing their options. Yamamoto’s strength was no joke. Taking him down wouldn’t be easy—and even if they succeeded, the aftermath might not be worth it. A desperate man can do a lot of damage before he dies.
Then a calm, cold voice echoed through the clearing.
“Yamamoto Yoshi. You’re coming with me.”
A grey-haired man appeared, wearing the mask and armor of Konoha’s Anbu.
Recognition swept through the crowd like a ripple.
“Konoha’s Anbu…” someone whispered.
Those who knew enough to fear that name began to quietly back away.
Most had come hoping to get lucky—hoping no one from the Hidden Leaf would show up. But now, with the Anbu standing before them, those fragile hopes crumbled.
Bounty hunters were a solitary breed, fearless in many ways—but not suicidal.
Self-preservation was hard-wired into them. Strength brought freedom and luxury. Who wanted to die, especially now?
It wasn’t worth it.
They knew full well: cross Konoha, and if your identity is exposed, your days are numbered. You don’t just die—you’re hunted, relentlessly.
“Tch. Look at them scatter the moment that guy shows up…” Juzo muttered in frustration, watching the retreat.
Itachi remained calm, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be so sure,” he said quietly. “Some may have just left to change disguises. Thirty million ryo is a lot of money… and that kind of reward can buy a lots of sweets.”
