Reiji's voice was almost mocking, bitter and sharp like shards of glass.
"I am not a political pawn, Ise. And I have not forgotten the betrayal."
Ise lowered his head.
There was no defense.
Where Ise was not a fool, he was simply too trusting, believing that wounds could heal with just an apology.
In Ise's heart, he still held onto the belief that the relationship with Konoha—no matter how fragile—could still be mended.
But that hope crumbled, like a sand wall swept away by waves, when Ise saw the cold glint in Reiji's eyes—eyes that harbored resentment, not compromise.
Ise's face tensed, the false smile that had briefly appeared now evaporated.
Ise's breath slowed.
Where Ise spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, as if he feared his words would cut deeper.
"I'm sorry, Sir... I didn't think it would go this far…"
No response.
Only silence.
Reiji turned his face away, not to avoid, but to hide something that even Ise did not deserve to see—anger that ran too deep, too long buried.
Reiji's gaze pierced through the window glass—toward the distant harbor, where the shadows of Konoha's white sails slowly emerged on the horizon, like ghosts of the past reluctant to fade away.
The sound of waves broke in the distance, calm on the surface, but Reiji knew what was coming was not peaceful—rather, it was poison in a golden chalice.
...
...
...
The sea breeze blew fiercely on the shores of Spiral Island.
The air felt salty, humid, and biting against the skin.
Waves crashed against the old dock pillars, which were beginning to rot from age and sea salt.
The sky above was a pale gray, casting a cold light that made the shadows of the ships and their masts appear dull and weary.
The atmosphere was somber, as if welcoming the arrival of sinners.
A simple wooden ship was docked.
Its mooring lines were quietly secured by the crew, with little noise or movement.
No sailor's shouts, no merchants bargaining.
The usually lively Uzushio Village dock was now silent as a graveyard.
Three figures stepped down from the ship.
Their steps were steady, each carrying an invisible but heavy burden.
On their foreheads were metal protectors bearing the symbol of the Leaf Village.
They were three living legends: Tsunade, Jiraiya, and Orochimaru. The candidates for Sannin from Konoha.
The ship's crew remained on deck.
They were silent, only gazing into the distance, as if they knew that the land the three ninjas were about to tread was not friendly.
"Hm?" Jiraiya murmured, squinting his eyes at the empty streets. "So quiet. Not even a cat passing by…"
Jiraiya's tone sounded light, as usual, but there was a faint crease on his forehead.
Jiraiya's eyes sharply scanned the surrounding buildings—fishing warehouses, wooden watchtowers, and small houses lined down the hillside.
All were tightly shut.
No sound.
No life.
Orochimaru narrowed his eyes.
Those golden eyes, reminiscent of another creature, reflected the image of the empty dock.
"They no longer trust us," Orochimaru whispered, his voice low, almost like the whisper of the wind.
Tsunade did not respond.
Where Tsunade simply stared straight ahead.
Her face was rigid, like a marble statue, but the light in Tsunade's eyes burned bright.
Where Tsunade was not surprised by this emptiness.
Because Tsunade had prepared herself to be welcomed by silence.
But still... seeing it firsthand made the pain cut deeper than Tsunade had anticipated.
The sea wind rustled the ends of Tsunade's cloak.
The tips of Tsunade's blonde hair danced wildly around her stern face.
Where Tsunade took a deep breath, then spoke softly yet with pressure, "Let's go."
Then Tsunade stepped forward, her shinobi shoes making a soft but clear sound as they struck the wooden dock.
________________________
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