The carriage wheels ground against parched silt as Degarashi Port finally forced its way into my senses.
The air tasted of tea rot and stagnant saltwater—a heavy, unseasonably hot atmosphere that trapped the lingering mildew of a hurricane I didn't even know we missed.
Even with the storm weeks gone, the scent of water-damaged timber and salt-rot rose from the lower tiers of the city like an exhaled breath.
Massive, angled stone walls rose from the teal ocean in concentric plateaus.
Megalithic blocks stood stacked with an oppressive weight, their dark grey surfaces wearing a permanent, bone-white crust of dried salt.
The sound of rhythmic hammering and distant shouting echoed off the stone—ongoing repair work that hummed through the soles of my sandals.
My throat felt lined with fine grit, and my head swam with a mild, heat-induced dizziness.
A thick layer of salt residue clung to my neck, making every movement of my jaw feel abrasive.
"Whoa!" Naruto yelled. The dark netting of his mesh tank top strained against his sun-kissed shoulders as he lunged, leaving his arms completely bare to the glare. "Look at those walls!"
I moved to look, but as I reached for the window panel, my center of gravity shifted.
Then my hand nearly grazed his—the heat radiating from his skin felt like a localized pressure wave.
I recoiled instantly, a jolt of static racing up my arm.
For a heartbeat, the sound of the wheels disappeared—a total auditory dropout that left me gasping in a vacuum.
Then the noise rushed back, louder and sharper.
I caught the jagged line of the zippers where his baggy orange pants now ended at the knees then pivoted to the opposite window, sticking my head out beneath Anko's boots on the roof.
"Wow..." I adjusted my polarized glasses. The thick black frames felt slick on my damp bridge, but they dulled the blinding glare reflecting off the salt-white stone. "It's... it's massive."
Anko scoffed from above. "A bunch of rocks, kid."
I blinked, watching the way the sunlight caught the jagged grooves of the masonry. "It doesn't feel like just rocks."
Anko flipped off the roof. She landed on the narrow foot-holds next to my door with a cat-like silence, her movements showing no hint of the multi-day climb we'd just endured. "Why the 'wow,' kid?"
She turned her head, her ice-pale eyes locking onto mine.
I avoided the contact, my gaze dropping.
Up close, the sheer exposure of her gear was unavoidable.
The metal rings glinted over her skin-toned undershirt as she landed.
The sheer, breathable base seemed to vanish against her tan, leaving her bare arms looking lean and predatory.
Her burnt-orange mini-skirt shifted as she stood, with the darker leather belt anchoring her frame against the salt-wind.
A hot flush climbed my neck.
Next to her, in my athletic pink shorts and tank top, I felt small.
I traced the dark-pink half-zipper of my black tank top, the skin-toned mesh beneath clinging to my ribs in the humidity.
And then I found myself wishing I hadn't discarded my facial gaiter; the humidity made the exposure of my skin feel raw.
"Uhm... it's just..."
"IT'S INSANE!" Naruto shoved himself into the narrow gap beside me.
His shoulder pinned mine against the frame, the physical pressure restricting my rib expansion.
I had to take shallow, forced inhales as the cabin air vanished, replaced by the radiant heat of his body and the scent of salt-caked mesh.
His chakra didn't just buzz; it created a desync in my own rhythm, a stuttering frequency that made my timing feel half a second slow.
My face burned.
"Hantō, stop here!" Idate shouted.
The carriage lurched to a halt.
THUD.
Only then did I find the control to anchor my heart rate, my fingers clenching into the fabric of my shorts as the pressure of Naruto's shoulder finally vanished.
The dark pink athletic shorts felt light, but the black pouch at my left hip dragged at my waist.
I felt Orochimaru's ring shift inside, the tight black straps digging into my skin with every step.
Idate leapt off, the silver zipper on his khaki belt flashing in the sun.
"I have to go let Jirōchō know I'm back!" He pointed northward toward the docks and the merchant streets, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. "Head that way! You'll see Sumiya Jaya—tell them Jirōchō Wasabi sent you!"
His dark navy sleeveless tunic billowed slightly over his off-white undershirt before he took off, his white calf wraps secured by solid black bands becoming a blur.
He plowed through a group of laborers carrying storm-damaged crates, forcing them aside.
I heard an angry shout and the clatter of dropped wood as he vanished into the crowd.
"What about me?!" Naruto yelled, still dangling out the window.
Anko's eyes tracked Idate's sprint. "Runs just like his brother," she muttered, the purple spikes of her hair damp with sweat. "Ibiki always did have that guarded, intense focus, even when we were trying to break each other's ribs during the exams."
I felt the hair raise on my neck as a cold shiver shook its way up my back.
We disembarked.
The heat transfer through my sandals was immediate, the stone walls acting as a kiln.
As we moved toward the northern sector, a sour lemon tang hit the back of my throat.
It tasted like cowardice and cheap metal.
I adjusted my glasses, scanning the crowds.
Two men trailed at a consistent thirty-foot interval.
One kept long black hair in a high ponytail; the other sported spiky brown hair with greenish gauze wrapped around his head.
I subtly altered my pace, slowing down to "adjust" my Fūma Kunai pouch.
The two men stalled instantly, their rhythm breaking as they pretended to examine a stall of tea sets without actually looking at the goods.
I tracked the glitch in their spacing–but kept my eyes forward, locked my focus on their blurred shapes in my periphery.
I moved to the outside of our group to keep them in my line of sight without alerting Naruto.
I wasn't sure what their intent was–and I was prone to anxiety.
Naruto was prone to quick escalation.
But thankfully–he didn't notice. He was loudly interrogating Kakashi about the local government. "Why a race? Why not a Kage?"
Kakashi adjusted the slanted plate of his protector– the sight of his pale, lean-muscled forearms remi exposed by his short-sleeved navy tee.
The dark navy trousers stopped abruptly at his calves, his bare ankles descending into the dust of the stone street as he surveyed the Wagarashi territory.
I tried to listen, but the heat made his words feel distant, like they were being filtered through water.
Something about the port lacking a "traditional village"... something about no one person really holding the center.
He mentioned two families—the Wagarashi and Wasabi—competing for control. I caught the word subservient and felt a pulse of irritation I couldn't quite place.
Anko groaned, her bare shoulders gleaming with sweat as she looked toward the tea-houses. "Ugh, babysitting... I'd rather be in there. The minimalism, the zen... the sound of a bamboo whisk beating powder into a frothy—"
She caught us all staring.
Anko threw her hands onto her hips and leaned forward, her chainmail vest clinking. "What? A woman can't have hobbies?"
The way she said "zen" made my jaw ache.
My lungs were full of salt and she was talking about powder.
I looked at her bare shoulders, then back at the dusty street, the heat reflecting off the ground and searing into my eyes despite the polarized lenses.
I could still taste that sour lemon chakra from the men behind us, a yellow stain on the air that wouldn't wash away.