The sun slanted west.
A quiet dusk settled over the Hidden Leaf. Shoppers trickled through the market, weaving between aisles to pick up ingredients for dinner.
"Meat… meat…"
After a full day of training, Might Guy crouched in a secluded corner of the supermarket doing deep squats, a big reusable bag dangling from his hand.
He trained and watched the clock at the same time.
Ten minutes to go.
Wednesdays at five-thirty in the afternoon, meat went on sale at twenty percent off.
As a taijutsu shinobi who needed constant nutrition but lacked deep pockets, Guy could recite every store's sale schedule in the village. Without frugality, he would never have built a body like this.
Konome ate a lot.
He would have to buy more than usual.
Guy gripped the empty bag, ready to spring the instant the discount began. As for why he brought his own, the store charged for bags. Save where you can.
First he would pay back Kakashi. That debt was smaller.
Tap tap tap.
Crisp heels clicked past him, rose perfume pricking his nose.
"Aa… aa-choo!"
Allergic to pollen, Guy sneezed and turned. A voluptuous blonde stood beside him, a shopping bag ready in her hand, watching the same clock.
"Maito-jōnin, fancy meeting you here."
He glanced back at her.
"Ah… you are…?"
Guy's terminal face-blindness failed him. He could not place the beautiful woman, so he asked plainly.
"I am Sawada Fuka, intake officer at the Hokage Tower. I processed the adoption paperwork for you and Konome."
"Oh. Ms. Sawada."
At the word adoption, Guy's memory finally clicked.
"How have you and Konome been settling in? There may be a follow-up home visit by shinobi soon."
"A h-home visit?"
Guy's thick brows snapped together. Hadn't the Third already tasked him with observing Konome? Why would someone else come check on them? Would he need to split his mission pay again?
Thinking of money slipping through his fingers, his face drooped like a bitter melon.
Sawada's smile cooled, her foxlike eyes narrowing with a glint.
"What makes you so nervous, Maito-jōnin? You are an adult man who adopted a girl. Periodic review is standard. You have not done anything improper, have you?"
"Absolutely not."
Guy forgot all about squats and shot upright. Compared to a single session of training, a lifetime of clean reputation mattered more.
"Good. I would hate to see your face behind bars."
Sawada laughed into her hand, eyes curved like crescents. Clearly that little jab had been payback for him not recognizing her.
Ding.
The store clock chimed.
Sale time.
A ripple moved through the crowd. Many shoppers produced their own plastic sacks and stared toward the staff unroping the discount counter.
"Ms. Sawada Fuka, I will be on my way. Until next time."
"See you, Maito-jōnin."
Guy charged off with his bag. His sturdy frame parted the gathering throng with ease.
Behind him, Sawada's smile faded. A chill slid through the long, narrow eyes that made her look almost vulpine.
…
"Ms. Sawada, bought so much again?"
"Can one person finish all that?"
"The market's running a discount. Better to stock up while it is cheap."
"Really? I should go too."
Sawada Fuka returned from the market with a bulging sack, paused at the entry to chat with a few neighborhood aunties.
"I will head over now. You should get inside. All that looks heavy."
"All right."
Sawada nodded with a bright smile, then turned her key and stepped into her apartment.
"Hurry or it will be gone," the aunties' voices faded down the hall.
Click.
The door shut. The lock slid home.
Outside sounds vanished behind the well-sealed door.
Sawada scanned the room.
The tidy living room showed no signs of intrusion. She glanced down at several stray strands of hair she had left by the threshold. They lay exactly where she had placed them.
She remained undiscovered.
As she finished her sweep, a low, muffled sound drifted from the back room.
"Uu…"
"Uu…"
The wavering, throaty moan rose and fell in the empty apartment, the kind of sound that prickled the skin.
Sawada did not flinch.
She shrugged off her suit jacket and loosened the top button of her blouse. The black undergarment beneath pressed against her chest, leaving a pale triangle at her collarbone.
Carrying the fresh meat she had just bought, she sauntered toward the inner room.
Tap tap tap.
Heels clicked on the floorboards. The noise from within spiked as if provoked, edged with a harshness that bordered on a beast's snarl.
She opened the bag and lifted out a slab of raw meat with her bare hand.
Then she turned the handle and eased the door open.
The room beyond was lightless. Only the spill from the hall laid a thin strip of illumination across the floor.
The smell hit first.
Damp, stale, metallic. Sweat, mold, and the stink of waste mixed into a heavy, stagnant miasma.
Sawada wrinkled her nose, one hand covering her mouth while the other found the switch.
Click.
The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered twice, then steadied to a dull yellow.
The scene resolved.
There were no windows. Three white walls were closed and stained. Racks along them bore restraints and implements. In the center, under the bulb, an elderly man sat bound to an iron chair, head hanging. Iron pins fixed his limbs; chains cinched his arms and legs.
"Mmnn…"
Clink. Clatter.
The chains rasped as he jerked at the sound of the door. He lifted his head. Age-worn features were smeared dark. A gag filled his mouth. Most chilling of all, his eyes were gone.
"Quiet. It is still me."
Sawada dropped the meat onto the grimy floor.
Chitter chitter.
Rats poured from the corners, red-eyed and ravenous, swarming the food until it was a heaving, dark mass.
Watching the old man sag back in defeat, she reached up and took a pair of iron tongs from the rack.
She had used this very tool on him before.
She gripped the gag at the corner of his mouth and yanked.
"Mphh…!"
Something clattered on the floor. The old man spat bloody saliva that splashed across her white blouse.
Sawada looked down, face turning cold.
"Old fool."
She swung, striking him across the face with a steel lash.
"Argh…!"
The blow left a vivid welt. At her gesture, the rats abandoned the meat and clustered around the chair.
The room filled with the sounds of whip strikes, ragged questions, scraping chains, and hoarse cries.
"Trash from Kumogakure…" the old man rasped between coughs. "If I were twenty years younger…"
"Three years in this room and you still dream."
Sawada stared at the withered body strapped to the chair and spoke in a calm, almost conversational tone.
"You stood at Konoha's gate for more than twenty years. Do not tell me you never learned how to pass through the village's sensory barrier. Give me the method and you may yet live."
He gave a sand-dry laugh, voice edged with scorn.
"Three years, and you still dream as well."
"Then it cannot be helped."
Her eyes hardened. The steel whispered through the air.
Crack.
Another strike. Another question.
The rats pressed close at her command.
And in that sealed, yellow-lit room, the cycle of blows, interrogation, and strangled screams went on and on.
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