Since Orochimaru had said it was safe before leaving and even suggested they take a stroll, Hayashi figured there was nothing to worry about.
Although the great nations were quietly building up troops along their borders, no one had dared to ignite full-scale war just yet. For now, things were tense but calm.
The inner regions of the Land of Fire still looked peaceful on the surface, untouched by the looming storm of conflict. Well, perhaps not entirely untouched—the taxes had increased quite a bit. After all, war always drained the weak and fed the strong. Those at the top of the chain were the only ones who profited.
Hayashi led Mikoto out of the slightly run-down inn and down the town's only main street. Behind them followed Nawaki, tagging along like an impatient little brother.
If this were some 'Chinese Novel', Hayashi thought with mild amusement, he'd be the arrogant young master showing off his power, Mikoto would be the woman clinging to his arm, and Nawaki his noisy sidekick. But no "hero" appeared to pick a fight or demand justice. The town was simply lifeless—thin, pale villagers shuffled by with empty eyes.
At the far end of the street stood an old shrine, half-collapsed and overgrown with weeds.
"Guess no one can afford to maintain places like this anymore," Nawaki muttered, shaking his head. "But I heard from Grandma that in the Land of Demons, the shrines are still popular. She said the priestesses there use all sorts of strange sealing techniques."
His eyes sparkled with boyish curiosity.
Hayashi smirked. "If we ever visit the Land of Demons, we'll check if the priestesses are beautiful. If they are, we'll bring one back to Konoha."
Both he and Nawaki chuckled wickedly.
Mikoto smiled too—but her smile was cold enough to make the air drop a few degrees.
By the time they returned from their short walk, night had already fallen. The town had no streetlights, only faint oil lamps glowing behind old wooden windows. Electricity hadn't yet reached such remote places.
Back at the inn, Mikoto borrowed the kitchen to make dinner since the innkeeper didn't serve meals. Hayashi bought some ingredients from the townspeople with what little money they had left.
Thanks to Mikoto, the food turned out delicious. She'd been cooking since childhood and had more skill than most women her age. In fact, Hayashi sometimes joked she could rival Kushina in the kitchen—though he wasn't one to talk. His own attempts at cooking were borderline poisonous.
Nawaki liked to tease him about it, saying, "Hayashi, you're totally being supported by Mikoto!"
During dinner, Mikoto quietly picked bits of meat from her bowl and placed them into Hayashi's. The gesture was simple but gentle, like that of a caring little sister. If only Nawaki weren't sitting beside them, the moment might've been perfect.
Orochimaru, their ever-elusive sensei, had said he was leaving to gather supplies earlier that day—and never came back. Hayashi had half a mind to believe the man had found something else to occupy his time, maybe another experiment.
After dinner, Hayashi took a long sip of the tea Mikoto brewed. The warmth and quiet reminded him of home, of their simple days in the village after training.
But peace didn't last long.
"Ah! There's a snake! Help!"
A high-pitched scream came from the second floor—their room.
Hayashi froze, then frowned. Orochimaru yelling about a snake? That's not possible.
Nawaki had already jumped to his feet. "A thief!" he shouted, dashing upstairs.
Hayashi followed, Mikoto close behind. When they burst into the room, they found a small figure clutching Nawaki's travel bag.
The intruder was a scrawny child, maybe six or seven years old, wearing tattered clothes. A summoned white snake had already coiled around him—one of Hayashi's defensive measures, apparently doing its job.
The boy struggled, terrified, but refused to release the bag. The snake tightened its grip until Hayashi called out, "Dabai, let him go."
The creature slithered back, releasing the trembling child.
The moment he was free, the boy glared at them and bolted toward the window. Nawaki lunged to catch him—but the kid twisted and bit his hand.
"Ow! You little brat!" Nawaki yelped.
Hayashi sighed and grabbed the boy by the ankle before he could escape. He dangled him upside down, shaking him like a sack. A wallet fell to the floor—Hayashi's wallet. Then a few pieces of clothing dropped out too.
"How much did you steal, you little bandit?" Hayashi muttered.
When he finally stopped shaking, the boy flopped onto the floor, groaning in pain.
"It hurts…" the kid whimpered, holding his head.
"Quit pretending," Hayashi said, unimpressed.
That was when Orochimaru finally appeared, stepping through the doorway with his usual eerie calm. "What's going on here?"
"Just a petty thief," Hayashi answered.
The innkeeper hurried over, worry on her face. She bowed deeply to Orochimaru. "Please forgive her, ninja-sama. She's just a child."
"Your relative?" Orochimaru asked, curiosity glinting in his yellow eyes.
The woman shook her head. "No, she's a war orphan. I let her stay here sometimes and gave her food when I could."
"Oh? How kind of you," Orochimaru said with a strange smile. "Not what I'd expect in times like these."
"An orphan has it hard enough," the woman replied softly. "Especially a little girl."
Hayashi blinked. "Girl?"
He turned his gaze back to the supposed boy. Her hair was cut short, her face dirty, clothes ragged—but under all that grime, she was indeed a girl.
Hayashi sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You've got to be kidding me…"
He couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused that he'd been outsmarted, even briefly, by a hungry little thief.
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