Adaptation
In order to track down one of the most expensive targets in my vicinity and pay off the capital once and for all, I followed the cliché and went to a rundown motel, the Black Boar Inn, to eavesdrop on people who might know something. The air reeked of cheap ale and cheaper ambition. I sat rigid in a corner of the inn, waterfall village’s headband stuffed into my pocket. Didn’t need anyone knowing who I was and where I was from. Across the room, a gang of mercenaries laughed too loudly, their eyes darting to my direction as I thumbed the rim of my untouched drink—They were sizing me up, trying to decide if robbing me would be a good bargain. Let them try.
But beneath the bravado, my mind churned. Were they gonna talk about anyone on my list? Or would I have to initiate? The underworld’s rules were a cipher. In waterfall, orders were clear: Protect the village. Obey the elders. Die with honor. Here, honor was nothing more than a punchline by the looks of it, and trusting the wrong people would mean signing my death warrant.
A boy slid into the seat across from, barely 15, with a grin like a rusted blade.
“You’re hunting Yashiro. Sand-nin, right? I know where he’ll be tonight.”
Threads prickled beneath my skin. He was damn straightforward about his guess, and worse, he got it right even though I haven’t talked to anyone just yet. Trap? Against my better judgement, desperation gnawed at me. 800,000 ryo glinted in my vision, a lifeline out of this squalor. I’d have enough to build more network and buy myself top class equipment.
“10% cut. You lead me there.” Let him think he’s in control. Never show doubt. That was my rookie mantra.
“No problem, man. I’ll meet you at the dock by midnight, and point him to you. How bout you gimme the cash upfront? 5% now, the other 5% after you see him.”
I counted whatever the amount I had in my purse. 70,000, and not a penny more. “No. Not after I see the man.”
“You drive a hard bargain, dude. So be it.” The boy left. I felt temporarily relieved—if I handed him the money, who knew if he’d just take it and bail? Good job, not bad for a newbie.
Midnight. The docks stank of rotting fish and brine. The teenager skipped ahead, whistling, and gestured to a cloaked figure hunched over a crate as I checked for possible signs of ambush.
“There he is! Pay up, yeah?” I threw him the 5% percent, preparing to kill the man, but my lashed-out threads only found straw spilling from the decoy’s cloak.
The boy’s laugh sliced through the silence while raged bubbled up in me. “Thanks for the advance, soldier!” I didn’t survive Hashirama just to get tricked by brats who still smelled like milk!
The warehouse door slammed. My heart lurched as explosive tags flared to life. Idiot. Arrogant, reckless IDIOT—I cursed at myself more than at the boy.
However, I had more pressing matters at hand as I unleashed a water jutsu, shielding myself in a cocoon. The blast rattled my bones, heat searing my cheeks. When the smoke cleared, the cheating bastard was gone. I was lucky to only suffer a few scratches since I took the time to practice beforehand.
I was a captain and a leader, but now outsmarted by a brat who probably never made it to chunin, let alone jounin. No, if I keep thinking in those terms, won’t be long till I get tricked again. How did I allow this to happen in the first place? I knew honor was luxury, but somehow, deep down, I still stuck to some kind of code that I found hard to abolish over the years, treating it like common sense, while those street urchins never learnt it. It was my armor to fit into that little society, but now only a useless burden to carry. From this day, I should unlearn everything they taught me at the village besides the battle skills and their final treachery. They would serve no purpose but slow me down. Chivalry is for the fools. This much Sato taught me. No one wanted anything to do with me anyway, so why look out for anyone else’s benefits and justice? Fuck them. Next time, I’d cheat them before they cheat me.
For days, I stalked the slums, threads scouring the trashcans of gambling dens and brothels for food and clues when I ran out of money. Sometimes, the trash can be a real tell, who you met, where you passed, especially if one only torn the scrolls without taking care to burn the remaining pieces. I learnt who knew things around here, how much they’d cost and who else they traded with. When people stalked me, I lured them out of town and beat them up for information and cash. Of course, I would’ve had to nitpick the scraps of truth from tons of exaggerations and falsifications, but the boy’s life—his name, Alba, and what he dealt, were slowly getting pieced together. Pride burned like acid—A waterfall shinobi, reduced to chasing a thief and dealing with underdogs. But I learnt to ignore that sting of the ego. I should be more afraid of my ignorance towards this world.
Alba’s gang, the Shadow Puppets, flitted through the underworld like rats. I cornered one—Kai, 14, trembling in an alley—and pressed a thread to his throat.
“Eastside slums! Red lantern house—Ren’s there! Please don’t kill me!”
Despite all my efforts to extinguish my attachments to worldly goodness, I hesitated. The boy’s fear mirrored my very own when I too was cornerd—raw, primal, human. Are we not all selfish to the end? A child, a man, no difference. When I was a kid, I also tricked Ren into giving me all his candies only to get scolded by my parents for having a bad tooth. I felt bad since then, for the cheat, for the consequences… that was how we all learnt.
But that was then. This is now. “Lead me there. If I get him without shenanigans, you can go. If not, you can die in his place.” The only thing to do here was to repay back in kind for whatever the world threw at me. I detached a few threads, forming a noose around his neck, the tip of which pierced his skin at the collarbones.
“Alright, ok, I’m sorry I lied… He’s at the Crimson Lotus brothel!” Heh, what did you know. Cheating bastards were all the same in this place. His fear was sincere, so I let him lead me this time.
The Crimson Lotus brothel was a gaudy death trap. Oil soaked the silk curtains; floorboards groaned with false promises. Alba waited on the rooftop, smirking, even as he saw the shape his friend was in.
“Should’ve stayed in your village, old man. The underworld eats heroes for breakfast.” At 32, that comment was more of a compliment than anything else, since being able to live to this age said many things. However, his tone still irritated me to no end.
“You owe me 800,000 ryo.”
“Or what? You’ll lecture me to death?” The gang lunged. My threads moved before my mind, snaring wrists, piercing hearts. Alba’s bravado cracked as I killed half his men and maimed the rest, thread snaking into his eardrum.
“I’ll pay! Triple—triple, I swear!”
I sneered inwardly: promise all you want, I’m not the man that eats words for breakfast. So I severed his right hand, the one that catched my ryo pouch that night, with a swift cut of the kunai.
“Fail me again, and I’ll collect the rest. Slowly.”
Weak. You should’ve killed him. I scolded myself as I slithered into the night, regretting not having made the culprit pay all the amount I was owed—I only got 400,000, half the bounty, and not barely worth the time wasted.
However, it wasn’t a complete loss. Alba’s gang would spread my name in whispers as they pay me the rest before they disband for lack of hands. Fear would breed compliance. Profit.
I’m not their hero. I’m their lesson.