Chương 145

***Tamon POV I sat at home with my leg bouncing out of control, heel tapping the floor again and again. The moment I saw that girl, I felt a sting of doubt. Her face carried traces of Hirotaka, that slick merchant, and his cold wife, Sumire. The same polish in the smile. The same eyes that weigh a room. I told myself I was being paranoid, but when she asked to see the records she went straight to the books that matter. Not the easy ones. The ones that track money and transport.

The ones that, if read with care, can hint at where a very small portion of the village's share has been consistently going missing, small enough to avoid drawing the attention of the rare auditor who only wants to finish quickly and return to the village. I was not sure then, so I took precautions. I spiked their food with a light relaxant and kept my face calm. When I came back to the office later and saw which ledgers were left out on the desk, my suspicions hardened.

Anyone who knows trade would follow that trail. She did not browse at random. She hunted. That boy, Noa, unsettles me. A kid should shuffle and stare at the floor. He does neither. He moves like a grown shinobi. He looks at people like he is measuring distance to a blade. Strong, too. Not strong enough to beat the missing nin, I think, but strong. The quiet one worries me more. I felt nothing from him, as if he was not there at all, and yet the others looked to him like he was the center of the room.

A person like that could ruin everything. The drug might not even slow him if he is as capable as that Noa creature seems to be. I stood to stop my legs from shaking and paced the room, slow and steady. Paranoia keeps me on edge. If the Hokage's people find proof that I skimmed the village's share, I will rot in a cell or worse. I know too well how Konoha deals with problems like these. They are ruthless, always needing to set an example so no one dares to steal from the shinobi.

My movements grew sharper, anger boiling inside me as I remembered why I was here. I had given that village years of my life. I worked in the Hokage's administration, Logistics Division, in the office everyone calls the trade office. I kept trade routes optimized to perfection, reconciled taxes, made sure shipments reached the right people at the right time. I was good at it. Better than most. I was set to lead an External Trade section. That was supposed to be my step up. A real seat. Real authority.

When the decision came, the chair went to a Hyuga with half my experience. Not because he had better numbers. Because he had better blood. I was told to bow, to show humility, to be grateful that I could serve at all. I called it what it was. Unjust. I said it aloud. I filed complaints. I spoke to anyone who would listen. They did not answer with justice. They answered with a transfer slip. No trial. No stain on paper. Just a posting where no one with power looks.

This warehouse on the edge of nowhere became my sentence. They bury men like me under the word duty and pretend it is for the good of the village. That is Konoha. If you are born into a clan, doors open. If you are not, you grind yourself to dust and learn your place. I looked around my little house and felt the path settle in me. I would not let them take anything else. Not my pride. Not my future. If a clan daughter walked into my life, then she walked into the wrong place.

I could strike at her and profit at the same time. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I pulled on my cloak and raised the hood, covering myself well before I stepped into the night. The air smelled of coal smoke and wet earth. I kept to the back lanes, past houses with low lamps and thin walls that let out whispers and the clink of bowls. I headed for the tavern where the drunk spends his pay. He is the kind of man whose voice travels further than his feet.

He was outside with a bottle in his hand, not yet fully gone. He tried to stand straighter when he saw me, then swayed like a boat in a choppy bay.

"Boss," he said, breath sour.

"Please do something about the warehouse. It is too full. We are stacking crates to the rafters. New shipments keep coming for Konoha. We are breaking our backs to make space. If we keep this much in one place, bandits will smell it." He whispered the last part like a secret, which means he will shout it later inside. Reliable in his way. I sighed like a man carrying everyone's problems.

"I have already asked for pickup."

"You always say that," he muttered.

"It has been almost three weeks."

"Do not interrupt," I said, letting annoyance bleed into my voice.

"The village's administration sent a message today. Someone will come in two days to take the supplies. That is settled." His eyes lit. He nodded fast, almost spilling his drink.

"Good. An empty house draws no thieves. Thank you, boss. Never doubted you." He waved the bottle and stumbled inside. I pictured his words sliding across tables, passed with ale and loose laughter, and I felt a small, hard satisfaction. If the missing kunoichi has ears in this place, she will hear that her window is closing and be forced to act. I pulled the hood low again and left the light of the tavern behind. The streets narrowed where the settlement thins out. Lamps grew scarce.

Dogs barked and then went quiet. I walked toward the row of shops that never change their fronts, even when the owners do. There is always a door for business that likes the dark. The bar I wanted sits behind a crooked sign. The windows were fogged with smoke and the sour smell of old beer. Inside, the air was thick, filled with low voices and the clatter of cards on wood. Every man in the room looked up when the door opened, eyes sharp despite the haze.

I kept my head low, slipping along the wall until I reached the back room, staying hidden beneath my hood. Kurobe was seated there on a bench with a table between us. Bald head. Green eyes. Skin toughened by sun. He nodded once, a thin smile that never reached his eyes.

"Tamon," he said.

"You have work for us."

"I do." I sat. No need for small talk.

"The missing kunoichi will make a move soon on the warehouse. There is a genin team from Konoha here. If she fights them and wins, you do nothing. You let her people take what they want and then slip away. I will pay you well for simply watching in this case, especially for so little effort. Kurobe tapped a finger on the table.

"Wise. I do not cross people like her, that is how I am still alive."

"If she fails," I said, my tone flat, "the genin will be hurt and running low on chakra. That is when you strike. Hit them fast, take what you can from the warehouse. It will be enough to pay every man here well, and you will still receive the payment I promised on top of what you take."

"Good offer, but the supplies," he began, and I cut in, "I will line up a buyer to move the stock once the dust settles, clean and quiet, so you will not have to hold anything for too long." He watched me for a while, measuring risk with the care of a man testing a blade's edge.

"You are sure they will not be ready for a second bite."

"They will not be ready," I said.

"If they survive Aoya, they will think the worst has passed and drop their guard. That is when you strike." Kurobe leaned back, considering my words, the corner of his mouth curling slowly.

"Easy coin," he said at last, a glint in his eyes.

"Hard to refuse." We sealed it with a grip. His palm was dry and strong. I left him in the smoke and noise and stepped back into the cool night. The streets felt quieter on the way home. One rumor set loose by a drunk. One plan placed in the hands of men who know where the law grows thin. It should be enough to drag the genin into a fight on my terms. If the clan girl falls, I take back a piece of what the village stole from me.