"It has been a pleasure to host you, Kaguya-hime. You are always welcome back!"
The staff at the Azure Serenity Pavilion bowed as they bid me farewell.
In the end, no one could turn down a well-paying customer — even if that customer was a potentially dangerous criminal. Especially in this world, where such criminals might have the power to conquer small nations.
As long as you were polite and paid in full, most people didn't care if you were a rogue shinobi. Sure, they might try to hide it, but not too much — mostly to keep the more troublesome consequences away.
The Akatsuki hid behind their robes and hats, and people like me simply avoided wearing an old, scratched forehead protector.
I didn't go out of my way to look like a criminal, so everyone was willing to treat me as though I wasn't one, despite the signs.
I nodded to the staff before making my way toward my next target. I couldn't linger forever — I had plans, even if the lack of progress frustrated me.
Why couldn't it be easy to infiltrate a secret organization that had lurked in the shadows since the dawn of this age?
Why couldn't they just be more open, inviting anyone remotely useful into their strange, secret cause?
So, off I went to build more fame, to forge a reputation, and hopefully get in touch with someone who mattered.
Easier said than done.
-----
"More nobles and their petty problems," I muttered as I neared the location of another job — just a short walk from the pavilion, or at least short for me.
I even went all out and used a bit of genjutsu to make myself appear more mysterious — all part of building my brand.
"Halt! This is private property!" a guard shouted as I suddenly appeared before them. One moment I was walking down the street, the next, I was standing right at their gate. It was no doubt a shocking and confusing sight.
People were used to shinobi appearing out of nowhere — teleportation and speed techniques were common — but what I did looked different. More ethereal. Otherworldly. It still managed to shock and unnerve people.
I could see the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. They didn't know what they were dealing with, and that frightened them most of all.
I didn't look like a shinobi. I wore a fine robe, was blindfolded, and appeared completely blind. I moved like a ghost and looked as untouchable as a fairy.
I didn't bother answering them and simply continued walking — again moving far faster than they expected, a subtle blend of genjutsu and taijutsu.
"Hey! Stop!" the first guard shouted, while his companion — a young lad, barely a man — stepped back and cried out, "Ghost!"
The older guard spun on him, barking, "Idiot! There's no such thing as ghosts!"
But his voice shook, and the hand gripping his spear was slick with sweat.
Still, he moved, trying to intercept me as I stepped through the gate. But even as he extended his spear to block my way, I passed right through it — making the younger man drop his own weapon in terror.
"No! Can't you see? She's a ghost! She moved right through that — that's not normal!" he stammered.
"Fool! Ghosts aren't real; they're just stories!" the older man snapped. But his voice wavered, and he didn't move to stop me, letting himself be distracted by his companion.
Whether on purpose or not, I couldn't say — but it allowed me to move past them and into the mansion, disappearing from sight as eerily as I had appeared.
The sound of their argument faded behind me as I crossed the inner courtyard. Lanterns burned low, their light flickering against polished wood and painted screens.
The garden beyond was immaculate — stones arranged in careful patterns, flowers recently tended. The entire place screamed wealth and refinement, though only on the surface.
It was an illusion, just like my own blindness. The guards looked impressive, but they lacked any real training or discipline. They didn't care enough to investigate properly.
Even the mansion itself was hollow. My Byakugan revealed only three chakra signatures inside — two faint, moving rhythmically (servants or guards on routine patrols), and one stronger, deep within the main hall.
That would be my target.
I moved without sound, the hem of my robe gliding across the floorboards. The mansion was large but quiet — the kind of quiet born not of peace, but of emptiness.
On the surface, nothing seemed wrong, but just beneath that, the rot showed through.
An illusion more convincing than any genjutsu, yet easier to see through.
As I advanced through the hallways, I passed glittering corridors filled with art and ornaments. But behind locked doors, my Byakugan showed the truth: empty rooms stripped bare of value. A house in decline.
"I admit, you are nothing like what I expected," my target greeted me as I entered the room.
He was an older man, noble by birth — but unlike the lazy sons of other lords, he was ambitious. His ambition showed not in wealth or power, but in the dark lines under his eyes, the roughness of his hands, and the early grey in his hair. A man who had driven himself to ruin.
"When the war didn't end as I expected, and my investments went bad, I knew my family wouldn't be pleased," he began. "But when I heard they sent someone after me, I was shocked."
"Sure, I lost them money, but hadn't I earned them even more before? I already suffered enough losses. Surely they could help me now, after all I did for them. But no — they want me punished for shaming them."
He spoke bitterly, still trying to justify himself.
"I expected some old, scarred assassin," he continued, "but you… you're nothing like that at all. Young. Beautiful. You could pass as a noble yourself. Maybe that's why they sent you — one fallen noble to deal with another?"
"You should have expected this," I finally said, unable to keep silent as he tried to excuse his crimes.
"You sold out your own nation. You supported its enemies. You sold intel and weapons. You're lucky to still be breathing — but death is the price of treachery. What else did you expect?"
He flinched as if struck. For a moment, he tried to find words — some plea that might buy him more time, more mercy. He was ruined and desperate to cling to life. I could see it in his eyes.
He had expected a hardened killer, not someone like me — and that threw him off completely.
"Ahhh," I sighed, raising a hand and pointing a single finger at him.
PCHK.
The bone bullet left with a sound like a twig snapping. It punched through his throat in a neat, clean line. He choked once, eyes bulging with something between disbelief and regret, then slumped forward, blood feathering across the tatami.
It was finished before his body hit the floor.
His death was as pathetic as his life — a man who caused suffering for countless others in pursuit of profit.
Honestly, the mission didn't pay all that well compared to the risk, but I couldn't turn it down once I learned what kind of man he was.
He was a different breed of scum — not a torturer or killer, but one who caused death all the same, just from a desk.
I quickly gathered whatever money he had left, most of it hidden in a wall safe that my Byakugan easily revealed.
"Not bad. This makes it worth it," I muttered as I sealed the cash away before leaving. I made sure to be seen on my way out — the man's family wanted it known that the problem had been handled, to reassure their allies of their loyalty.
Business.
-----
When I stepped into the underground bar that served as the black market, the noisy room quickly fell silent. In our line of work, awareness was everything, so it didn't take long for them to notice me.
Once they did, the noise died completely. Their eyes were greedy, but also fearful — and respectful.
Honestly, it was all because I took the most troublesome jobs. Not the hardest ones, but the dangerous kind — noble contracts. Killing nobles was always bad news.
Nobles hated noble-killers, so they placed bounties on our heads. Only a few of us could handle the pressure; most went into hiding, and few survived.
Another disgusting game of the powerful — using assassins to handle rivals, then hunting those same assassins to erase the evidence.
It was a vile system, but one of the fastest ways to make a name.
Sure, I could hunt down stronger targets, but Jōnin-level shinobi moved too often to make it worthwhile. Nobles were easy — their guards even easier.
And few things spread a reputation faster than walking into a mansion, killing everyone in moments, and leaving without a single drop of blood on your clothes.
"Ahh, Kaguya-hime — as breathtaking as always. Here to take a new job, or hand in another bounty?" the broker greeted with a broad smile.
"Another mission, and payment for the last," I said, producing the mission scroll.
His grin widened the moment he saw the blood-red seal. He accepted it reverently, bowing slightly before breaking it open. The faint scent of iron and ink drifted from the parchment — the mark of another death.
"Ahh… the Akimura patriarch," he murmured. His oily tone carried both admiration and unease. "He was a loud one. Caused quite a stir with the financiers up north. You've made several families very happy, Kaguya-hime."
I crossed my arms, expression unreadable beneath the silk blindfold. "Happy isn't the word I'd use. Content, perhaps — until one of them inevitably decides to test my luck again."
The broker chuckled nervously, setting the scroll aside. "Ah, such is the cycle, isn't it? The rich eat each other, and those of us in between serve the meal."
He snapped his fingers, and one of his clerks — a quiet woman with ink-stained fingers — brought out a heavy pouch. The weight was satisfying, solid.
"Payment in full, with a little extra for expediency. I was told to ensure your loyalty."
"Loyalty," I repeated, letting the word hang in the air like the echo of a drawn blade. "That's an expensive thing to buy."
He licked his lips. "Yes, well — it seems to be the season for it. Word's spreading fast about you, Kaguya-hime. The rumors are everywhere, and the stories people tell… you'd be shocked."
"People should talk less," I said, sealing away my payment.
"Ah, but talk sells," he countered, tapping his temple. "And sometimes, it draws the right attention."
That caught my interest — only slightly, but enough to make me turn my head toward him.
"Meaning?"
"Custom jobs."
(End of chapter)
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