Chapter 26: Minami Checkpoint and the Merchant's Doubts
Minami Checkpoint was already in an uproar at first light. The neighing of pack horses, the groaning of overloaded cart axles, and the rough shouts of caravan guards all mixed together. The air was thick with the odors of livestock, dust, sweat, and cheap, oily food. Carts piled high with goods choked the narrow streets, while porters and merchants hurried between them.
Shūji led Itachi and Anko through the chaotic crowd. Following the address on the mission scroll, they found their client, the cloth merchant Hiroyama Makoto, in the back courtyard of an inn with a worn-out sign that read "Matsukaze."
Hiroyama was a typical middle-aged traveling merchant. His slightly plump body was wrapped in a good, if dusty, dark-brown silk shirt. A pair of round glasses sat on his round face, and his eyes were darting back and forth, watching his workers load the cargo. Six men were carefully hoisting bundles of brightly colored, fine-textured cloth onto reinforced carts, their movements showing a deep reverence for the goods.
When he saw Shūji's group approach—his eyes lingering on Anko in her new purple coat and Itachi with his childish features—Hiroyama's professional smile froze. A look of undisguised shock and doubt flashed in his eyes.
Two teenagers and a kid? This is the Konoha escort? That girl looks like nothing but trouble, and the kid... is he even ten? My Sun-weave Silk...
A thousand thoughts raced through his shrewd mind, his worry for his cargo multiplying. However, years of business instincts took over, and he instantly suppressed all emotion. Hiroyama's face quickly arranged itself into a mask of exaggerated enthusiasm. He hurried over, his voice a bit too loud.
"Aah! I have been waiting for you, Shinobi-sama! Such a long journey for you, such a long journey!" He rubbed his hands together, his gaze flicking over their headbands before finally settling on Shūji. "You must be the captain, a man of clear status! How may I address you?"
"Special Jōnin Shūji." Shūji's gaze went past him, landing on the six carts of clearly priceless cloth.
"Captain Shūji! A pleasure, a pleasure!" Hiroyama clasped his hands, his smile still pasted on. He glanced at Anko and Itachi again, testing the waters. "And these two... spirited young shinobi-sama are...?"
"Mitarashi Anko. Uchiha Itachi." Shūji's answer was blade-short, with no extra explanation.
Hearing the word "Uchiha," Hiroyama's eyes lit up for a fraction of a second. His smile seemed to become half-a-degree more genuine, but the doubt about their age and experience, like a dark current under thin ice, had not gone away.
"You three must have traveled far! You must not have eaten breakfast?" he bustled. "There's a ramen stand at the checkpoint, the broth is authentic, and the noodles have a perfect bite!"
"Very well." Shūji nodded. They had traveled, and they needed the energy.
Hiroyama immediately spun around and bellowed at his workers, "Hurry it up! I'm taking our honored guests out, and I want to leave the moment I'm back!"
Anko pouted, unimpressed by the performance. Itachi, however, remained still, his calm gaze sweeping over the workers and the cargo. He spoke quietly to Shūji. "Senpai, I will stay here and watch the goods."
Shūji nodded and left the noisy courtyard with Anko and Hiroyama.
The so-called "authentic broth" shop was just a simple stall on the side of the road, crowded with merchants and porters. The air was thick with the smell of tonkotsu and cheap soy sauce. Hiroyama familiarly ordered three bowls of their signature ramen.
The noodles arrived. The broth was cloudy, with a few paper-thin slices of chashu and some sad-looking bamboo shoots. Shūji picked up his chopsticks and, after a brief pause to blow on them, dug in.
Anko, seeing her captain eat, also picked up her chopsticks, but frowned at the greasy soup before picking at the noodles. Hiroyama, however, was clearly distracted, just pushing the noodles around in his bowl.
"Captain Shūji," Hiroyama finally said, putting his chopsticks down. He leaned in, his face a mask of commercial worry. "You saw the cargo. This is the finest Sun-weave Silk from the Land of Fire. It'll sell for a fortune overseas! To be honest with you, I've bet my entire livelihood on this one shipment!"
He paused, gauging Shūji's reaction, then lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret from the bottom of his heart. "That's why I scraped together one hundred thousand ryō for the mission fee! I was thinking, this road is long, but it's always been safe... a C-Rank mission, just a few Chūnin. I never expected..." His face bloomed with 'gratitude.' "The Hokage-sama must be a truly benevolent man! To think he'd rate my little trip as B-Rank! And to send a Jōnin-sama like you to lead the team! I... I just don't know how to thank him!"
Shūji swallowed his noodles and drank some of the soup. He set the bowl down and looked at Hiroyama. The merchant's words were pieces of a puzzle, and they were clicking into place.
One hundred thousand ryō.
His entire fortune.
He expected a C-Rank.
C-Rank missions were 30k-100k ryō. B-Ranks were 80k-200k. Hiroyama was paying 100k—the absolute maximum for a C-Rank, but the absolute minimum for a B-Rank. By stressing that he "scraped together" the money, he was implying this was his limit, and also that his original assessment of the risk didn't justify a B-Rank.
His "gratitude" was for the village upgrading the rank.
This meant the client's perception of the threat and the village's intel were mismatched. Hiroyama wasn't worried about the "Kuroshoku-shū" rōnin.
"Hiroyama-san," Shūji's voice cut through the noise, "what were you originally worried about? What made you feel this cargo was worth 100,000 ryō to protect?"
Hiroyama, startled by the direct question, froze. A bitter smile crossed his face. "You see right through me, Captain-sama. Honestly, this road is usually quiet. No major bandits. But... there are always small-time thieves, maybe twenty or thirty men, who use the terrain to hit small caravans. My cargo is just so valuable, I was afraid... I was afraid of a simple, large-scale robbery. My normal guards can't handle a mob."
He hesitated, then leaned in even closer. "And... just before Izuke Port, we have to pass an old forest called Wild Tea Hill. That place... it hasn't been safe these past few months. There's a local gang, the Tea Mountain Gang, a few hundred strong..."
"The Tea Mountain Gang..." Shūji repeated. A few hundred bandits. That was a disaster for a normal merchant. That was the "High-C-Rank" threat. As for the Kuroshoku-shū? The merchant hadn't even mentioned them.
The intel was misaligned. This was no accident.
"Understood." Shūji didn't press. He finished his soup, set the bowl down, and glanced at Anko. "If you're done, we're heading back. Time to move out."
Anko, who had lost interest in the greasy ramen long ago, immediately dropped her chopsticks. Hiroyama scrambled to his feet, his smile back in place. "Yes, yes, right away! With you here, Captain, I can finally breathe easy!"
When they returned, the six carts were covered in heavy tarps. Itachi stood nearby and gave Shūji a nod. All clear.
"Move out!" Hiroyama yelled.
The axles groaned. The horses snorted. The heavy caravan pulled out of the courtyard and onto the main road, heading southwest on the long path to Izuke Port.