Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

Shirakawa Village, nestled along the trade route, lay quietly in the deepening night. Neat wooden fences encircled the settlement, and its heavy gate stood wide open.

A handful of villagers lounged on stone stools near the entrance, chatting idly. At first, they hardly noticed them—but once their eyes fell upon the Konoha headbands and shinobi garb, their casual expressions shifted.

The man in front quickly rose and bowed deeply.

”Ninja-sama, you grace our village. How may we be of service?”

Roshi’s gaze swept across the group calmly. From within his Chunin flak jacket, he produced a scroll and unrolled it with deliberate slowness.

”Konoha shinobi,” he announced, with the weight of authority, ”dispatched under the order of the Daimyo of the Land of Rivers.”

The villagers stiffened instantly. Eyes flickered between one another, and the leader stepped aside without another word.

Itachi, standing silently at Roshi’s side, noticed the change. Roshi’s manner here was utterly different from the relaxed tone he had shown back in Koizumi Town’s restaurant. Here, every word, every gesture radiated control. Matching his senpai’s composure, Itachi remained quiet, sharp eyes observing everything.

”Where is the village chief?” Roshi asked.

”He… he’s at home,” one villager stammered, hastily pointing the way.

The two shinobi entered the village. Though night had only just fallen, Shirakawa was already lit with scattered lamps. The warm glow from paper windows outlined tidy homes, giving the place an air of carefully preserved comfort.

At the village center, one building stood out: a grand inn in Japanese feudal style. Yet it looked eerily empty, a stark contrast to the lively lights flickering from the other homes.

As they walked, Itachi felt hidden eyes peering from behind doors and windows. Outwardly calm and not showing any expression, he kept his senses sharp. Roshi, however was unbothered, heading straight for the chief’s home.

An old man was there at the doorway, framed by the glow of a lantern. His back was slightly stooped, hair white with age, but he stepped forward quickly and bowed, ushering them inside with practiced respect.

The house was plain but tidy. Once all were seated, the old man spoke in a careful tone, his calloused hands unconsciously twisting together.

”I am Shirakawa Kisuke, chief of the village. May I ask what matter brings you two here?”

Roshi leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing with the faintest trace of a humorless smile.

”I imagine you already have some suspicion. Bandits have been troubling the trade route nearby. Surely you’re not unfamiliar with them.”

”I… I…” Kisuke’s forehead glistened with sweat under the oil lamp. ”Officials have indeed inquired before, but I truly…”

”Oh?” Roshi’s fingertip tapped the table, producing a crisp, deliberate sound that cut the air.

”Then I’ll rephrase. Are all the registered villagers of Shirakawa present within the village?”

”I—” Kisuke began.

”Senpai.” Itachi’s clear, youthful voice interjected smoothly, shattering the silence. ”When we entered, I noticed several houses with windows unlit—as if no one lived there.”

For the briefest instant, the old man’s shoulders tensed. He quickly forced a reply.

”Some families… left to make a living outside.”

Roshi’s eyes drifted across the room, noting the sturdy, finely made furniture—plain, but not poor. His tone remained even.

”From what I see, Shirakawa lives comfortably. In such stability, it seems unlikely many young people would abandon home to wander.”

”Yes… yes,” Kisuke dabbed his brow with a sleeve, words tumbling over each other. ”But the trade road brings merchants and travelers. Young folk see the outside world… and their hearts grow restless.”

”Those bandits must have become a problem for the village.” Roshi said, his gaze sliding toward the empty inn visible through the window. ”Such a fine inn, yet abandoned.”

The chief lowered his eyes, his voice heavy.

”Indeed. That is why I pray day and night for you honorable shinobi to rid the road of this scourge.”

Then, as if a shadow lifted, Roshi’s pressure eased. His tone softened to something almost cordial.

”Then let us work together, Chief. Do you have any clues you can share? Our aims are aligned. Even the smallest detail might prove valuable.”

Kisuke’s hands tightened, his voice colored with helplessness.

”I’m just an old man, I truly know nothing… nothing that could aid you.”

Roshi’s face betrayed nothing. He ran through a few routine questions about population and recent outsiders, then rose to leave. ”We’ll lodge at the inn tonight. If you learn anything, inform us immediately.”

In the tatami room above the inn, the oil-lamp glow kept flickering due to a light breeze. Itachi checked the doors and windows, confirmed the night was quiet, then turned to Roshi. ”Senpai, did you learn anything from the village chief?”

Roshi had returned to his gentler manner, seating himself on the mat with a faint, almost amused smile. ”What do you think, Itachi?”

The eight-year-old genin considered for a moment before answering confidently. ”You think the bandits are connected to this village, and that the village elders know more than they admit—possibly that they’re even complicit. That’s why you switched to the strict tone at the gate.”

”It’s a fair read,” Roshi said, intrigued. ”But if you suspected that, why not act casual to gather information quietly? Why start stern?”

Itachi’s brow furrowed—this had been his same question. Roshi explained, ”Opening with a difficult posture is groundwork. Being too friendly can invite probing questions and let them cover tracks. By acting strict, we force a reaction. The villagers’ heightened attention when we arrived—far beyond what merchants get—tells us something. A village with a fine inn and steady trade shouldn’t stiffen at unfamiliar shinobi unless there are other reasons to worry.”

He paused, letting the point land. ”If I’d been gentle, a practiced chief would have deflected us cleanly. His reaction made clear the village can’t fully separate itself from the youths who left—and the bandits’ appearances.”

Itachi nodded. Those subtleties of social pressure and inference weren’t taught at the academy.

”So what next, senpai?” he asked.

Roshi tilted his head and returned the question. ”If you were in command, what would you do?”

After thinking, Itachi replied: ”I would use genjutsu on the chief to extract more precise information—where the bandits might hide. Once we have a location, we can eliminate them.”

”A sound tactical option,” Roshi acknowledged, then steered the discussion forward. ”But suppose we use genjutsu—what outcomes should we prepare for?” He raised a finger. ”One: the chief truly doesn’t know the core details, and the genjutsu gives little. Two: the bandits are concealed inside the village. Three: they’re in the hills outside the village.”

”The last two are messy,” Roshi continued, sitting straighter. ”Without hard evidence and with no overt hostility, these ’bandits’ could appear to be ordinary neighbors—farmers at work from dawn till dusk. The mission brief said the Land of Rivers’ pursuers couldn’t even identify them by appearance. That means if we uncover a location, what we find may be people who, to everyone here, look like family.”

He fixed Itachi with a look that weighed the moral calculus. ”If we strike without irrefutable proof, we risk sparking the villagers’ wrath. People naturally shield those they know. They may obstruct, question, defend—anything could happen.”

Silence settled, broken only by the faint pop of the lamp wick. Itachi’s face tightened into thought, the problem now clearly bigger than any simple takedown. This was about human loyalties, law, and how to act when facts are muddy.