Hayashi studied the so-called girl in front of him. She reeked of unwashed cloth, her garments were threadbare, and the ends of her once-golden hair had dulled to a dirty gray. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she kept squinting as if the light hurt her eyes. Despite her squat, furtive movements, her gaze stayed fixed on the woman who had defended her.
For a moment Hayashi wondered, absurdly, if this could be Minato's missing sister. If that were true, Minato would probably kill him on sight. He held his face still and searched for any resemblance to the Fourth Hokage. Aside from the hair color, there was none.
Still, Hayashi could not help but respect the child's nerve. To dare steal under the noses of ninjas took a kind of desperate bravery. It was reckless, to be sure; if she had picked the wrong mark, she could have been killed and nobody would be held accountable. Commoners' lives were rarely worth anything to the pawns of war.
Looking at her hollow cheeks and thin frame, Hayashi's assessment was simple: she was starving. Malnutrition had likely made her look younger than she was. In these times, people endured all manners of cruelty—crushing tax demands, landlords who beat tenants, and passing shinobi who might toss a kunai at anyone who annoyed them. For many commoners, survival meant doing whatever it took.
Orochimaru's pale eyes turned toward the innkeeper who had brought the girl to their room. "You are not planning to send her...?" he asked softly.
"She's from that place," the woman said. "You know how cruel it is there. I could not leave her to die. If she has a chance to survive, this is the best place."
Hayashi and the others exchanged puzzled looks. The woman and Orochimaru spoke in roundabout ways, and Hayashi felt himself losing the thread. He frowned and clicked his tongue. They both clearly shared a past, but whatever it was, it did not concern him now.
"Go away," Orochimaru said to the child, his tone sharp.
"Wait." Mikoto stepped forward before anyone else could. She set some spare clothes and a few coins into the girl's filthy hands.
The child hesitated, holding back. "Take them," Mikoto said quietly. "You used your wits to get those things. Don't refuse what you earned."
Hayashi noticed his own wallet in his pocket and felt a small, guilty tug. Even so, his logic matched Mikoto's. The girl thought it over, then scooped up the hand-me-downs and dove out the window without a backward glance.
For them it was a minor interruption, an uncomfortable skirmish that would soon vanish. They were unlikely to cross paths with the child again.
The next morning, after one night's rest, Orochimaru and his group resumed their journey. Hayashi estimated from their pace that it would take about two days to reach the destination Orochimaru had in mind. He did not plan to waste the travel time.
Hayashi had already mastered Fire Release and Lightning Release fairly well, but Wind Release gave him trouble. His chakra attributes for that nature were not developed enough to take the first solid step. He lacked the resources to upgrade his ninja stats, but having Orochimaru with them was a boon. The man reminded Hayashi of a living library, all-purpose and unsettling.
"Where are you with it?" Orochimaru asked as they rode.
Hayashi produced a crushed leaf from his palm, showing the neat cut halfway through it. "Only getting the feel for it. I am far from even the first step."
"You do not have to use a leaf," Orochimaru said. "Leaves have poor chakra conductivity."
He produced instead a crumpled sheet of white paper. With a small motion, Orochimaru extended chakra that hardened into a razor-thin current of wind. The paper split cleanly down the middle. When Orochimaru shook his hand the torn pieces disintegrated to dust.
Hayashi felt impressed despite himself. "Paper conducts chakra better?"
"Yes. Paper is denser in fibers than most leaves. Try it." Orochimaru's voice was dry, but not unkind.
Hayashi glanced at Nawaki, who was still asleep in the carriage. Nawaki's bag was slumped open; Hayashi noticed an adult magazine peeking out. Orochimaru's expression flicked to something almost amused. "Does Nawaki not carry useless things?" he asked.
Hayashi reached into the bag and pulled out the magazine before Nawaki could wake. It felt wrong to destroy someone else's reading, but when he remembered the edge of the wind chakra he could produce with paper, he had little hesitation. Under Mikoto's cold stare, he set the magazine aside and followed Orochimaru's instructions.
To his surprise, the cut made on the paper was larger and cleaner than the one he'd managed with a leaf. The difference was not merely size; the wind chakra flowed with a steadier edge. Hayashi practiced for hours between rests, shaping his chakra thinner, letting it snap, and then re-forming it. The exercise was mechanical at first, then slowly intuitive.
By nightfall his wrist burned with fatigue, but he could feel slow improvement. It was small, but it mattered.
The road itself was quiet. For two days they moved with the rhythm of the carriage wheels and the occasional exchange of small talk. Hayashi and Mikoto spoke occasionally about trivial things; when bored he would temper his chakra or practice his Wind Release drills. The long, dull hours made the sudden bustle at their destination feel all the stranger.
They arrived to find a fortified encampment larger than Hayashi had expected. High walls, watch posts, and guards made it clear this place was no mere roadside village. Orochimaru dismounted and handled the entry formalities with a few curt words.
Hayashi peered out through the carriage curtain at the stockpiled crates and tents beyond the gates. It looked like a logistics hub more than a village—supplies, wagons, and rows of men moving like ants. The arrangement reminded him of Konoha's supply yards. Whatever the purpose, it was clear that this place had been prepared to support armies.
A thought crossed his mind. If the Land of Fire needed to move supplies quickly once hostilities flared, establishing a forward staging ground like this would make sense. Concentrating resources now would save time and lives later. Hayashi did not like the idea of war, but lessons like these lived in the calculations of survival.
He straightened, feeling the small, inconspicuous weight of a shinobi who had learned to survive by being careful and sometimes ruthless. The child who had stolen from Nawaki would survive by the same rules, if she lasted. For now, Hayashi kept his hands visible, hischakra quiet, and his attention tethered to the road ahead.
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Milestone
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