The sound of a walking cane was something Takuma hoped never became a permanent part of his life. He looked at the cane in his hand and sighed. He was fit enough to fight, but his leg was still weak—Takuma could no longer feel any difference and hadn’t once leaned on the cane, but Dr. Oichi had ordered him to carry it in case he needed it.

The past month had been the most difficult for Takuma. As a shinobi, he was very particular about his body. Not being able to move in the way he wanted was more restricting than anything else Takuma had ever experienced.

The experience also made Takuma realize how much he had changed from his former self.

In his previous life, he wasn’t physically active other than commuting and whatever sports his friends played in the evenings. He didn’t ever join a gym in college, nor did he seriously pursue a sport in school. But these days, he felt restless if he didn’t do enough training every day—and it wasn’t just because of remaining at his peak physical condition—he enjoyed the feeling of slowly improving his physical capabilities. It had become a part of his life.

He never took charge of group projects or tried to have a ‘leadership’ position in the school or college; he never even joined a club or community. He didn’t feel comfortable being in charge, juggling people’s opinions, or being a moderator who could keep the group focused towards achieving a common goal. But after working in the Narcotics Taskforce, he didn’t think of leading as something bothersome—he enjoyed the feeling when a team worked in unity. And the Narcotics Taskforce was his baby, he was personally invested that it would produce the best results possible.

He was a better man than before. Someone his parents would be proud of—alas, they would never witness this improvement.

Takuma stopped in front of a building and looked at the plainly designed building, which had the highest levels of security in the Hidden Leaf. He was going to war, which meant he wouldn’t be in the village for who knows how long.

It was time to invest in some new jutsu.

———

.

It was late in the evening, and Takuma was at home. He had a little more than a week before he had left the village, and he needed to take care of stuff at home before leaving. He had to pack all of his stuff and store it in a storage unit. Because he was leaving for at least several months, he decided not to keep renting his apartment while he was away. The landlord didn’t make any fuss about it—his value as a tenant had dropped like a brick after the assassination attempt. His security deposit too had evaporated.

There was a lot of work to do in very little time. He was glad that he didn’t have to go to work.

The bell rang as Takuma was packing up his furniture, wondering if he should sell the bigger stuff. He walked to the door and looked through the spyhole to see Ai standing in front of the apartment.

“Now, this is a pleasant surprise,” Takuma smiled as he opened the door.

Ai was about to say something but stopped as her eyes went to the kunai in Takuma’s hand.

She sighed.

Takuma shrugged and invited her inside.

“Packing already, huh,” Ai said upon seeing the cardboard boxes.

“My house used to be barren when I was in the academy. I don’t know when I bought so many things,” said Takuma. Only after he started to think about packing did he realize how much stuff he owned. “So, what do you want to drink—hot or cold?”

“Just water will do,” said Ai. “I’m not staying. I just came to drop your things.”

“My stuff?” Takuma said as he walked out of the kitchen, only to stop when he saw his clothes on the day of the assassination attempt. “… I thought the hospital got rid of them.” Ai had returned his wallet with his essential identification cards, but he thought the other stuff was disposed of.

“The hospital staff asked me to return it to you. They forgot they had it stored somewhere,” said Ai.

“Thank you,” Takuma picked up the transparent package with his belongings. It was heavy because of the chainmail undershirt.

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“What are you going to do with them?” Ai asked.

“I… don’t know,” he said.

When Ai left, Takuma stopped packing and sat before the package. After staring at it for a while, he opened the package and took the clothes in his hands. They were in tatters, and the blood had turned into dried stains. The chainmail undershirt was damaged as well.

“I had that one for a while, too,” Takuma murmured.

He put them aside and reached for his weapons pouch. Because he was going to war, he had replaced his entire gear with the highest quality one he could afford. But his old weapons pouches were with him for a very long time, and because he knew how to sew and work with leather, he had customized them to his preferences. The new ones didn’t have those modifications yet.

Takuma emptied a pouch and turned it inside out to look at his old stitching—they were the work of a novice—he could do it so much better now. The thought brought a smile to his face. Takuma reached for the next pouch only to pause as he stared at it in his hands.

The pouch wasn’t his…

Then it struck him.

“This is No#4’s!” he gasped and immediately started to look through. There were some ground spikes, a couple remaining shuriken, and a small dagger. Takuma pushed everything aside and observed the pouch and everything in it for a clue—and he found a couple of things that attracted his attention.

First was the small dagger. The dagger was pitch-black from the tip to butt except for the sharpened edges. It wasn’t a standard issue shinobi dagger; it had a unique design. He checked but couldn’t find a blacksmith’s touchmark. The second point of interest was the pouch itself. The flap on the pouch had a snap button on it, but the stitching used to fix the button was needlessly complex. There was a star pattern around the button, which was clearly the maker’s mark.

“I need to turn this in.”

But as Takuma finished the sentence, his thoughts changed. It had been more than a month since the Police Force had lost the assassins’ bodies, and they hadn’t made any progress since then. The anger and irritation from the lack of progress had ruined his mood every time he thought about it—which was every day.

Takuma stared down at the pouch and the dagger.

He knew what he was going to do tomorrow.

———

.

The first thing the next day, Takuma entered a dinky little shop far away from the main street. The location was terrible for a business, but Takuma was a regular customer.

“Boss!” Takuma yelled the moment he entered.

“Yeah, wait up!”

Takuma rested his cane against the counter and waited for a couple of minutes before a man dripping with sweat came out from the backroom. He had dark tan skin and short hair with gray streaks on the side.

“Oh, Takuma! Another order so soon?” said the man as he wiped his forehead with a towel.

The “Boss” was a weaponsmith Takuma used for his weapons needs because of the lower prices than any other shop in the city. One would think that because of the price advantage, the shop would be near the main street, but the reason behind the low prices was that the Boss didn’t have a weaponsmith license and didn’t pay sales tax to the government, which brought the prices down. Takuma was introduced to the Boss and his shop during his early days in the Ring, and he had been a repeat customer ever since. He had even placed an order recently to replace all the gear he thought had been disposed of.

“Not today, Boss. I was wondering if you could help me with something else today,” Takuma put down the dagger and weapons pouch on the counter. “Can you tell me who made these?”

The Boss put on his glasses and picked up the dagger. He studied the dagger from top to bottom for a while. He even tested the knife by throwing it on a random wooden board on his walls, which scared the crap out of Takuma.

“It’s expertly made. Masterful craftsmanship. Whoever made these have decades of experience.”

“Really? I didn’t notice anything special,” said Takuma.

The Boss chuckled. “That’s the point, isn’t it? A weapon that feels nothing but right in the hand so the shinobi can focus on the enemy ahead.” He placed the dagger down. “I can’t tell right now, but if you give me some time, I might be able to tell you. If this was made in the Hidden Leaf, I might be able to find out, but if it’s from outside the village, don’t expect I will be able to get anything.”

Takuma was fine with that; as long as he got anything, that would be a new lead he could follow. The Boss took the weapons pouch as well.

“Just… be careful, okay?” said Takuma. “Those belong to one of the assassins.”

“Oh my,” Boss looked at Takuma in surprise before laughing. “Don’t worry, boy. I will be careful.”

Takuma nodded.

———

.

Takuma visited the Boss again a couple of days later.

“Couldn’t find who makes these, boy.”

Takuma sighed. He knew it was a long shot. “Thank you for looking,” he said.

“But I did find something,” Boss put the dagger on the table. The hilt was removed from the blade, revealing the tang. “See this?” he pointed at the tang. Stamped into the metal was the shape of a tree, roots and all. “This is the smith’s touchmark. If you find the smith who uses this touchmark, you might be able to find who bought this dagger.”

“This is good… this is really good, Boss,” Takuma smiled.

“Really? I mean, a lot of smiths use some version of leaf and tree as their touchmark in the Hidden Leaf. You might not be able to find the one who uses this one.”

“That’s the thing. ‘Some version of leaf and tree as their touchmark in the Hidden Leaf,’ which there’s a great possibility that whoever made it is in the Hidden Leaf. That cuts down the search radius drastically,” said Takuma.

Boss smiled. “The Police Force has ruined you, boy. I won’t go out looking for this, but if I come across this touchmark, I will tell you.”

“That’s more than what I can ask you, Boss,” Takuma nodded.

He felt great. This was a lead. A promising one at that. If he could find the weaponsmith, that could lead him to who ordered the hit.

But there was a problem. Takuma frowned. He had less than a week before he had to leave for the war and a lot of stuff to take care of; he simply didn’t have the time to investigate.

He needed help.

Takuma sighed. It was time to turn to the ‘proper authorities’.