The search around the Fire Temple yielded nothing.
No tracks. No scent. No trace of Sora—or Kazuma.
After combing through the ruins for hours, Roshi was the first to stop. Neither he nor Asuma were skilled trackers, and continuing to scour the grounds blindly was a waste of energy they didn't have to spare.
"Let's end it here," Roshi finally said. His tone was calm, but fatigue weighed heavily in his voice. "Asuma, return to the village immediately and report the situation. The Nine-Tails' chakra's appearance must be documented without delay."
Asuma frowned. "I've already cut ties with Konoha. For me to report—"
Roshi turned his gaze on him, expression unreadable but sharp enough to silence further protest.
"You and Chiriku-san were both on-site," Roshi continued evenly. "Chiriku-san has no direct ties to the village and needs to oversee the temple's recovery. That leaves only you."
He crossed his arms. "If I remember correctly, Asuma-senpai, you never officially resigned from Konoha's ranks. You merely informed the Third Hokage of your departure. According to the Political Affairs Department, your record still lists you as being on indefinite leave."
"I've already been pulled off my own leave for this assignment," he added dryly. "So please—show some responsibility as a senpai."
His words weren't loud, but they carried the weight of sleepless nights and endless missions. From fighting his way out of the Daimyo's Palace, to intercepting Kazuma's remnants, to racing here without rest—he hadn't closed his eyes once. Not even when he was an envoy to the Hidden Sand Village had it been this exhausting.
Asuma looked at him, taking in the bloodstains still drying on Roshi's uniform, the tired steadiness in his gaze. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
In the end, he just nodded. "…I understand."
He turned and walked away, his silhouette fading quickly down the road toward Konoha.
Roshi watched him go for a moment, then turned toward the Fire Capital.
By the time he returned, the city had regained a fragile sense of order. The Daimyo's swift appearance earlier that morning, along with Hokuto's constant patrols, had soothed the populace. Though whispers still ran through the streets, panic had been suppressed.
After a private council meeting with his retainers, the Daimyo summoned Roshi once more.
"Roshi," the Daimyo greeted, gesturing for him to sit. "Has the matter at the Fire Temple been resolved?"
"The disturbance has been contained," Roshi replied. He didn't mention the Nine-Tails' chakra—or Sora's disappearance. That information was better kept within Konoha.
The Daimyo nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good. This upheaval has made many things clear to me."
He folded his hands behind his back, gazing out the window at the restored calm of the capital.
"As for the Guardian Shinobi, I've decided that the Daimyo's Palace no longer requires such numbers. Too many men, of mixed discipline, invite trouble rather than prevent it."
He sighed softly. "The Fire Temple has suffered enough. Chiriku should focus on rebuilding and consoling his monks. His service has been invaluable, but the burden of protection should no longer fall upon him. I will send my thanks formally."
He paused, as though hesitating. "As for Asuma… he remained here only due to certain disagreements with the Third Hokage. Now that things have settled—"
"I've already instructed Asuma to return to the village to deliver the report," Roshi interjected.
The Daimyo smiled, visibly relieved. "Excellent. Please convey my gratitude for his assistance during this period."
He then clapped his hands lightly. "There's nothing pressing for now, and you must be exhausted. Stay and rest, Roshi. Let us share a simple meal before you retire."
The banquet that followed was modest yet refined. The Daimyo avoided political talk, instead engaging in light conversation about travel, books, and cuisine. Roshi ate just enough to quiet his hunger, his thoughts still lingering on the Fire Temple.
Afterward, a quiet chamber was arranged for him. Though he slept lightly—as all shinobi did outside their village—his rest was deep enough to ease the fatigue clouding his mind.
By evening, a Konoha squad arrived at the palace gates. From the leading Jonin, Roshi learned that Asuma had been detained in the village and hadn't returned with them.
Before Roshi's departure, the Daimyo personally handed him a sealed envelope.
"This is my reply to the confidential scroll you brought last time," he said. "Please see that it reaches the Hokage."
Roshi accepted the letter with a bow. "Understood."
And with that, he departed once more, the setting sun glinting off the gold seal of the Daimyo's mark in his hand.
By the time Roshi returned to the village, it was already deep into the night.
But there was no time to rest—duty came first.
He still had to report to the Hokage's office.
As he stepped into the Hokage Building, the faint scent of ink and tobacco hit him. Fatigue finally began to sink into his bones.
I need to file my retirement papers before I hit thirty, he thought dryly.
This cursed line of work—eleven years old when he started, now four years in, and it hadn't stopped once.
The life of a shinobi was lucrative, yes. But the pay came at the cost of youth, sanity, and sleep.
If he made it to thirty, he'd have enough money to live quietly, maybe even die peacefully—ideally, not in the middle of another mission report.
"Hokage-sama. Lady Tsunade."
Inside, the Third Hokage wasn't alone. Tsunade sat nearby, her brow furrowed as she flipped through a pile of documents, the lamplight glinting off her golden hair.
"Ah, Roshi. You're back."
Hiruzen set aside his pipe. "You've worked hard again. Asuma already gave a preliminary report, but I'd like to hear the details from you."
Roshi nodded and began his recount—from the Fire Capital's unrest to Kazuma's rebellion, and the incident at the Fire Temple. He laid it all out clearly and efficiently, with no unnecessary words.
The Hokage listened quietly, puffing on his pipe. Nothing in Roshi's report seemed to surprise him—not even the Daimyo's decision to retain only two Guardian Shinobi.
To Konoha, the Daimyo's personal politics were background noise. So long as he didn't endanger the Land of Fire's stability, the Village wouldn't interfere.
As for the Nine-Tails' chakra, Roshi mentioned it only in passing, sticking strictly to what Asuma and Chiriku had told him. No speculation.
Hiruzen sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"Kazuma was a respected shinobi in the Land of Fire. Though he never joined Konoha, he often cooperated with us. I didn't think he'd go this far."
Before he could say more, Tsunade's pen hit the desk with a sharp clack. She stretched with a low groan, bones audibly popping.
"Alright, old man, enough paperwork and politics for one night," she said, standing and brushing her hair back. "We've heard everything that matters. The rest can wait until morning."
Without warning, she grabbed Roshi by the collar and hauled him toward the door.
"Come on, brat! Why're you still standing there like a statue? Waiting for overtime pay?"
Sarutobi opened his mouth, as if to protest, but glanced at the untouched mountain of documents before him. He sighed, relit his pipe, and muttered, "Ah… youth."
Roshi, by now, barely reacted to being dragged out of offices by his superior. "Lady Tsunade, can I request reimbursement for my damaged sandals?"
"Hmm?" Tsunade blinked innocently. "Oh, my mistake—I thought I was carrying something else."
She dropped him unceremoniously. "Anyway, you're coming to drink with me."
"…Your memory's getting worse, you know. Must be age—"
Her gaze darkened. "Must be what?"
He coughed lightly. "Overwork. You should take better care of your health."
They ended up at a small, unassuming tavern tucked behind the main street. Tsunade ordered like she owned the place—grilled chicken skewers and sake—while Roshi settled for stir-fried pork and cabbage, stewed radish, and rice.
The food wasn't anything fancy. The kind of simple, hearty fare you could only find in the Village. After years of eating on the road, it was comfort itself.
The first bite of chicken, the first sip of sake—Tsunade exhaled contentedly, shoulders relaxing.
"Ah—finally alive again." She leaned back, swirling her drink. "Every day, it's nothing but reports, petitions, funding approvals. I swear, I miss the old days when I could just smash things and gamble."
Roshi ate quietly. Warm food, quiet company—it was better than any feast at the Daimyo's palace.
"Where's Shizune?" he asked between bites.
"She worked overtime again, so I sent her home." Tsunade rested her chin on her hand, playing idly with her sake cup. "It's boring drinking alone."
"Please, don't tell me you're planning to corrupt minors again."
"Shut up and eat."
"According to Village regulations, adult instigators are primarily—"
"Shut up or I'll throw this cup at your head."
After a few more cups of sake, Tsunade's cheeks were tinged pink. Her voice softened—still strong, but warmer.
"The old man's always praised you," she said. "Now I see why. Even Asuma listens to you."
"He's already put his headband back on. The old man's sending him to the border for a rotation—says it'll help him think things through."
Roshi said nothing, quietly finishing his radish stew.
Tsunade studied him for a moment, her gaze unusually gentle.
"This mission… you did well, Roshi."
He looked up, brow raised. "Are you feeling unwell?"
The sake glass cracked in her tightening grip. "I'm this close to making you unwell."
The waiter froze mid-step, unsure what to do.
"Uh… Lady Tsunade—"
"He's paying," she said, pointing at Roshi without missing a beat.
"…Of course." The waiter fled before either of them could object.
Tsunade let out a small sigh, returning to her drink. "Anyway. Get some rest for a few days. You've earned it."
She paused, her tone shifting back to business. "Once you've recovered, set a time. I want to meet with Fugaku."
Her golden eyes glinted faintly under the lamplight.
"Use the western suburbs house. It'll be quieter there."
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