Naruto: Stormbreaker

Chapter 125: Chapter 125

I reached the first place on my list, a narrow shopfront tucked between a teahouse and a tailor. The wooden sign above the door was painted in faded gold, the kind of paint that had once promised luxury but now looked as though it had been kissed by too many rainy seasons. Two paper lanterns flanked the entrance. A faint trace of perfume drifted from the open doorway, mixing with the sweeter, heavier scent of smoke.

Inside, the space was dim but inviting. Silk curtains in deep reds and purples hung along the walls, filtering what little daylight crept in through the narrow windows. The polished floor gleamed, not a single speck of dust in sight. In one corner, a low table held a lacquered tray with an ornate pipe stand. The air was warm and carried the soft hum of a stringed instrument being played somewhere out of view.

She was the only one there, seated in a cushioned chair upholstered with embroidered silk. She lounged as though the entire room existed only to frame her presence. A crimson kimono patterned with gold clung to her form with an elegance that was both refined and suggestive. Her hair was arranged in a careful twist pinned with jade ornaments, one loose strand curling down the side of her neck like it had been placed there on purpose. She smoked from a long, slim pipe, exhaling slow ribbons of fragrant smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling.

Her gaze slid over to me, calm and knowing, the kind of look that measured more than just my height and build.

”Hmm,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth. ”You are a bit young to be running errands for the Hokage, aren’t you?”

I stepped forward and handed her the sealed envelope without a word. The Hokage’s seal should shut down unnecessary conversation faster than anything I could come up with.

She took it with a small, amused smile. Her fingertips, brushed with faint red dye, tapped lightly against the paper as she stamped my receiving slip.

I turned to leave but, despite the rush, a thought crossed my mind.

”Do you know Master Tetsuya?” I asked.

A flash of surprise crossed her face before her lips curved into a devious smile. ”Do you know the old man?”

I nodded. ”He is one of my teachers, and he once told me he frequents this area. Could you please tell him I said hello? Also, he once told me the dancers in this district are not that good, and I’d like you to explain what he meant by it. When I asked him before, he refused to tell me.”

Her hands tightened around the pipe, almost bending it in half. ”I will explain it to you when you become a jonin. Did he say that recently?” she asked, her voice carrying a sharp edge beneath its smooth tone.

”He did,” I replied. ”Can I ask what he usually buys from you?”

She raised an eyebrow. ”Why would you ask that?”

”Because he also told me that he always underpays whenever he visits this place,” I said.

The pipe actually snapped in her grip this time. Her voice trembled, though it was clear the shaking had nothing to do with fear. ”That old man...”

She was beginning to tremble with rage, and I decided it would be a terrible idea to hang around long enough to see what came next. I offered a polite, ”Thank you,” before flickering out of the shop.

I knew without a doubt I was going to suffer for this later. Master Tetsuya would make me pay, but in my defense, he had brought it upon himself. Talking to a kid about the red district? He deserved it.

I chuckled to myself as I headed for the second place on my map, still impressed with the way Sena had drawn it. The route was perfectly optimized, cutting down my travel time to the second. This time I was headed to a familiar noodle shop.

The moment I appeared in the doorway, the shop owner shouted in a cheerful tone, ”Well, dear customer, what kind of noodles will it be...”

Then he saw me.

The joy drained from his face, replaced by something close to horror. He recoiled a little, his voice suddenly shaking. ”What do you want from me, demon? Are you here to haggle with me for three hours and drive away all my customers just to save a handful of coins?”

I cleared my throat, trying to appear professional. ”Delivery.” I held out the sealed letter.

He eyed it suspiciously, not convinced that I had not come to make his day a living nightmare. Still, I handed him the receiving slip. Just before he could stamp it, a devilish smile spread across his face. The kind of smile that made a cold bead of sweat run down my back.

”I will stamp your paper on one condition,” he said with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how much this would hurt me. ”You stop annoying me and just accept the price without haggling. Even if you buy in bulk. Even if you save on water and labor by cooking it yourself. No arguments.”

I stared at him, weighing the limited time I had against the pain of losing this battle. Sweat prickled at my forehead.

One of the customers in the back called out, ”He’s a shinobi, old man, don’t make life harder for h...”

Another regular immediately clamped a hand over the man’s mouth. ”You must be new here,” he whispered loudly. ”You do not know how annoying this kid can be. He is a menace.”

The would-be defender gave me a guilty look and stayed quiet.

I sighed in defeat. ”Fine, old man.”

His laughter boomed through the shop as he stamped the paper. ”Good doing business with the Hokage! My new recipe from the Land of Noodles will be the talk of the town.”

The customers murmured with interest as I flickered out of the shop, holding back a single tear.

At least I will finally start getting paid for actual shinobi missions. Money should be better from now on.

The third place on my route was an old weapon shop on a quieter street. The wooden sign above the door was cracked, and the paint had worn down until only patches remained. Inside, the air smelled of oil and steel. Rows of swords, spears, shuriken, and a few tools I could not even name lined the walls, each bearing the marks of long use and careful maintenance.

The shopkeeper sat behind the counter. His face was deeply lined, and his right hand rested on the worn wood. One finger was missing, and he did not seem to care who noticed.

His eyes locked on me the moment I stepped inside, sweeping from head to toe.

”You a shinobi, boy?” His voice was rough enough to scratch stone.

”Yes,” I answered, stepping forward with the sealed letter.

A low hum rumbled in his throat, his gaze flicking to the envelope before returning to me. ”Finally, a reply from my blacksmith friend in the Land of Iron.”

His hand hovered near the counter as if he might take it, but then he paused and studied me more closely. ”If you are a shinobi, where are your weapons?” His tone carried less curiosity than challenge, like he was testing whether I was worth the time it would take to finish this exchange.

I frowned. ”What?”

”Every proper shinobi carries steel,” he said with a slight lean forward. ”You young ones probably walk around with nothing but your flashy jutsu, thinking that would be enough to save you.” He gave a short, dry snort. ”Most kids who walk in here can’t even hold a blade the right way. You look the same.”

I let out a slow breath, lifted my hand, and allowed chakra to flare. A swirl of sealing smoke formed, and a spare tanto Master Tetsuya had given me slid into my grip. The polished blade caught the dim light, and I tilted it so the edge gleamed before resting it casually on my shoulder with a grin.

His brows rose slightly. ”You must be from a wealthy clan to afford a storage seal of that quality.”

I kept my face flat. ”I made it myself.”

That earned a genuine reaction. His eyes widened, and his voice lost some of its edge. ”Not bad. For someone your age, that is impressive. But a tanto will not help if you do not know how to use it.”

”I get enough practice,” I said, lowering the blade. A small burst of chakra sent it vanishing back into storage. ”Can I give you the letter now, or do you want me to do a sword dance as well?”

His mouth twitched, but he finally took the envelope and stamped my paper. His gaze stayed locked on me until I stepped outside, as if he expected me to sneak one of his weapons into my storage seal. Half the stuff in there looked old enough that Hashirama himself might have swung it at Madara during one of their countless fights.

Back on the street, I exhaled. Three deliveries done. If the rest of the route was anything like these three, I was starting to think missions where you could just hit things were far less stressful.