Chapter 7


Shining brightly in the midmorning sky, the sun cast long shadows from the rooftops of buildings lining the east side of Main Street. Crowds gathered along the dirt-packed road, cheering the stately progress of arriving dignitaries. Now and then, children tossed flowers into the paths of sharply dressed soldiers marching fore and aft of large palanquins. Hefted by robust, smartly liveried servants, the most richly appointed conveyances carried the banners of three of the Five Great Nations: the Lands of Wind, Lightning, and Water. As indicative of their powerful status, these countries led the procession. Only the Land of Earth, secretive and distrustful of the Land of Fire, had declined the Fifth Hokage's invitation.

Following the Three were retinues from neighboring lands, most of whom made do with fewer retainers and smaller litters, decorated only slightly less opulently. A few, most notably King Shazia from the Land of Grass, chose to arrive on horseback. Multi-colored confetti sprinkled down over the visitors like gentle rain as the parade snaked its way through the village. Standing on the south-facing balcony of her Tower, garbed in the formal white robes of office, the Hokage watched the Land of Wind's burgundy-and-gold banners come into view.

Prince Kisho's retinue had been among the first to arrive; as staunch allies to Leaf, they'd been invited to head the procession. Seated on miniature thrones atop a palanquin swathed in wine-colored silks and golden tassels, the Prince and his Princess made a striking pair. Dark-haired and dark-complected, the Prince wore black trousers and a black silk tunic, decorated with golden thread at the cuffs. Around his neck, a heavy gold chain held a pendant with a large garnet at its center. Called the Bloodstone, it was worn only by the country's heir. Tsunade felt tension leave her shoulders.

We did good work there...

Shifting her gaze to the tiny, wheat-blond beauty beside him, the Hokage took the measure of the Land of Wind's future Queen. Dressed in shimmering white that flowed from her left shoulder like a silken waterfall, Princess Shiori appeared elegant and feminine—a purposeful contrast to the strong, commanding presence of her husband.

Canny, that.

Briefly, Tsunade wondered if the choice of costume had been Shiori's or that of an advisor. She watched as the Princess's dark eyes swept the balcony, lingering momentarily on herself and the lone man standing beside her. Tsunade thought the woman's chin lifted slightly, but could not hear the soft comment she made to her husband. At her words, Prince Kisho glanced toward the dais, eyes grazing Tsunade's forehead.

There is steel in that one, the Hokage mused, observing the Princess more closely. And he values it.

Unwilling to be caught staring, Tsunade let her eyes drift to the somber, green-eyed man floating on a pile of moving sand just off the palanquin's left flank. As if he could sense her gaze—and knowing him, he probably could--Lord Gaara, the current Kazekage and ally of Leaf Village, offered her a slight smile. She returned it with a wink and cheeky grin. As expected, it made the eighteen-year-old flush as red as his hair, but she refused to feel guilty. He was always so grave and serious! She couldn't help but tease him now and then. Besides, doing so made her feel closer to the younger generation, and less like the “grandma” Naruto insisted on calling her. Frown lines marred the skin between her brows. With effort, she shook off momentary annoyance, focusing instead on the leader of the Sand ninja.

Dressed in his customary black-trimmed burgundy, the Kazekage carried a giant clay gourd on his back. The Hokage knew its function was to contain the sand upon which he rode and could command at will.

Show off, she thought in mild amusement.

Using chakra to force the sand to carry his weight through the streets of the village had to be tiring. But it certainly was impressive. As if echoing her thoughts, the bearded man to her left spoke.

“Impressive.”

Clad in emerald robes, with a brown tabard emblazoned with crimson flames, the King of the Land of Fire stood, unattended, at her side. His retinue stood several paces behind him along the edge of the balcony; a gesture of implicit trust. Tsunade thought the leader of the Twelve Guardians looked unhappy about it.

In acknowledgment of the gesture, Tsunade had waived Ibiki Morino and her councilors to the rear as well. Choosing to greet the august arrivals in such a manner underscored the respect and goodwill that existed between the Hidden Leaf Village and the Land of Fire's civilian monarchy.

Seen in a more cynical light, it could also be taken as a subtle warning.

The Hokage nodded. “Yes. Shinobi from Sand have always been formidable. Fortunately for us, with Lord Gaara's ascension to Kazekage, they've become dependable allies.”

“Indeed,” the King agreed. “We have high hopes that relations between our two nations will remain cordial when Prince Kisho ascends the throne.”

She heard the warning in his tone. Tilting her chin slightly--for they were almost of a height—Tsunade replied carefully, “I have every confidence that such will be the case.”

“We are glad to hear it. Disturbing rumors had reached Our ears,” he offered mildly, “that some in King Takamori's court had plotted to place the younger son on the throne.”

Maintaining a neutral expression, the Hokage nodded. “We had heard such rumors as well. Fortunately, they appear to have been misplaced.”

“Indeed.” The bland expression on the King's face belied the shrewd glance he directed toward the Hokage. “The tragic death of Prince Mujito may have ultimately averted civil unrest in the country.”

Unblinking, Tsunade held his gaze. “I would have to agree with Your Majesty,” she answered cautiously, mind spinning furiously all the while. “Such a sad business.”

He knows about our involvement in the Prince's assassination. I wonder if he suspects the method used...?

Before she could formulate a delicate inquiry, the King observed, “The loss of a son must surely grieve Our fellow sovereign. We must render all due respect to the Land of the Wind for their recent loss. I am certain you agree and will have seen to this.”

His tone brooked no refusal, not that she would have offered any. It was no more than she had intended, after all. Tsunade bowed.

“As you say, your Majesty.”

“Excellent. Ah, look, they come. Let us greet them.”

“Sire.”



Near the rear of the procession, mingled with the minstrels, jugglers, and various other entertainers a parade invariably attracts, a small, boxlike palanquin drew curious stares from the villagers. Suspended between two poles and hefted by two of the bull-like Akimichi clan, the enclosed litter merely hinted at the face and form of its elaborately coiffed and garbed passenger. Delicately sheer netting, embroidered with long-stemmed crimson roses, draped the conveyance on either side; a calling card to the more worldly observer. The whispered speculation of the crowd grew louder.

Finally, a wealthy and well-traveled merchant was brought forward to identify the occupant. The shrewd-eyed gentleman looked the palanquin over carefully, pursed his lips as if in thought, then turned to Yuichigo, who was walking near the front of the conveyance.

“You travel with the Crimson Rose?” he asked. The people standing closest to him shifted in excitement, awaiting the answer.

Smiling inwardly, Yuichigo offered a brief, but polite nod. Soriya had insisted she would be known by those deep red roses, no matter that it had been years since Shinku Bara had last visited the Leaf Village. Secretly, he'd been afraid no one would recognize her. Had had to admit—finally, and with significant embarrassment after a few verbal jabs from Takeo--that he'd never even heard of the Crimson Rose before this mission. Instead of being offended, Soriya had laughed and told him not to worry.

I promise you: in the right circles—rich, important circles--I'm fairly well known. As an entertainer, she'd added frostily when Takeo had snarkily interjected an “I bet” into the conversation.

Glancing over at the older jonin who paced him on the other side of the litter, Yuichigo wondered how Takeo was weathering the awestruck stares of the villagers. At the merchant's enlightening revelation that the traveler was a highly sought-after entertainer, the crowd had focused its attention on their group with renewed interest. The more boldly curious had even begun to follow them down the street. Despite this--much to Yuichigo's great annoyance--Takeo failed to exhibit any overt signs of concern. Instead, the ponytailed shinobi appeared slightly bored, as if the proceedings were entirely beneath his notice, although the way his eyes continually swept the crowd and rooftops belied this.

Yuichigo shook himself mentally.

Just concentrate on the task at hand, Nakamura.

They were almost to the Green Leaf Inn.

Stifling the urge to shrug restlessly, the brunette tried to pinpoint the reason for his sudden unease. The tailored black tunic he wore had a high collar and was snug around his throat, but it didn't pull across the chest or back. The matching trousers were comfortable and cut for ease of movement, for which Yuichigo was thankful. No, the dress uniform could not be blamed for the uncomfortable itch he felt between his shoulder blades.

Perhaps it was the result of having so many eyes boring into him? As an ANBU operative, he was used to blending into the shadows, not standing in the spotlight. Although he knew an entertainer of Soriya's caliber had to have escort protection, privately he'd thought the position of bodyguard mostly for show. Mercy on the poor fool who tried to manhandle the fiery redhead into doing anything she didn't want to do!

He'd thought the real task he and Takeo would face would be acting as Soriya's liaisons to the leaders at the summit, while coming up with plausibly polite excuses to blow off the people in which they had no interest. He hadn't realized just how popular she'd be with the regular townsfolk. Kings and dignitaries aside, a beautiful entertainer always had a mystique that would draw a crowd. Plus, unlike the visiting rulers, she wasn't surrounded by soldiers bristling with weapons.

No, she only had he and Takeo to deter the unwise.

With a grimace, he recalled the unsettling feelings she'd been having. They still had no idea who could be behind them. For all he knew, the perpetrator could be aware of Soriya's cover and was perhaps watching them right now. In this swarm of people, many of them foreigners, it would be easy to hide. Could he and Takeo really protect her if something went wrong in a crowd like this? The words of his grandfather suddenly came back to him.

Offense is always easier than defense, the old man had said to an eight-year-old Yuichigo. Do you know why?

Thinking carefully, he'd answered, Because the attacker already knows what he's going to do?

His grandfather had been pleased.

Exactly. Attack requires only the will and ability to act, nothing more. Defense, on the other hand, requires superb vision and reflexes, as well as the ability to anticipate, assess, and react to the threat. These are difficult skills, even for experienced fighters. It is one of the reasons why the Sharingan of the Uchiha clan is so highly prized.

To become a ninja, you must excel at offense, of course. But to become a truly exceptional shinobi, master the principles of defense.

Wryly, he acknowledged his grandfather's wisdom. As an ANBU operative, Yuichigo had spent much of his career figuring out ways to get around a target's protection. For the first time, he truly appreciated the difficulties bodyguards faced when guarding important personages.

I'd hate to be one of the Twelve Guardians. Talk about stress. Give me a plain ol' assassination any day.

Up ahead, the parade turned the corner on the final approach to the Hokage's Tower. Ibiki-sensei had decreed Soriya should wait until the gathering in the atrium that evening to make her formal appearance; they would drop out of the procession at the end of the block. Catching Takeo's eye, Yuichigo flicked a glance toward the entrance of the Green Leaf Inn. The jonin nodded, barking a command at the men carrying the litter.

Drifting to the east side of the street, they carefully set the palanquin down in front of the inn's wide porch. Catering to the more affluent traveler, the Green Leaf had the benefit of being close to both the Hokage's residence and Kikyo Castle. It was also spacious. At three stories high, it was one of the more magnificent structures in town. Each floor sported its own wrap-around balcony where onlookers could observe the passersby with ease, should they so desire. At the moment, the upper terraces on the west side were empty; Yuichigo knew most of the guests would be gathered on the northernmost balconies in order to glean an unimpeded, if distant, view of the welcoming ceremonies.

Sweeping a last searching glance over the gawkers who had not gravitated after the jugglers, clowns, and other performers who made up the tail end of the parade, Yuichigo moved to the side of the draped palanquin. Drawing back the gauzy curtain, he leaned down to open the small half-door of the conveyance.

“We've arrived, my Lady,” he murmured respectfully, holding out a hand to the woman waiting patiently within.

Serene smile plastered to her face, Soriya delicately offered him the fingers of her left hand. With studied grace, she rose from the litter, slowly unfolding her five-foot, seven-inch frame. Ten-inch platform sandals elevated the kunoichi well above the height of the palanquin and the heads of her bodyguards, allowing the curious an unobstructed view. Under the pretense of finding her balance unassisted, Soriya let them look.

Hiding amusement as the gathered crowd suck in a collective breath, Yuichigo stood back and watched them. Not that he blamed them one bit. With her heart-shaped face, and smoky gray eyes dramatically highlighted with green shadow, Soriya was an arresting sight. An emerald green kimono patterned with tiny golden leaves served to set off alabaster skin and the deep wine red of her hair. Three jeweled sticks lent sparkle to the crimson tresses. Although most of the lengthy mane was pulled up into a soft chignon for traveling, several strands had been allowed to escape, emphasizing the woman's long, slender neck.

Awestruck by her beauty, one by one the onlookers fell silent. An enthusiastic child, too young to understand the demands of decorum, cried out, “Ooh! She's beautiful, Da!”

When the lovely entertainer turned her gaze in the startled parent's direction and smiled, the flustered man could only stammer out his agreement, cheeks flaming. Hiding a grin, Yuichigo moved to the kunoichi's left side, offering her his hand once more. She took his fingers lightly, allowing the shinobi to lead her to the wide porch steps, relying on his presence to steady her as she mounted them. Walking in the platform sandals was tricky and required a great deal of concentration, even for someone with the coordination and balance of a ninja.

Still, Yuichigo was surprised when Soriya's fingers suddenly spasmed around his own. She lurched forward, foot hovering in the air just above the top step. If not for the pressure of her hand, he'd've thought it no more than a slight misstep before she gained her footing on the porch. When he looked at the kunoichi's face, however, he could see it was unusually pale, the pupils large and dark in her gray eyes.

“My Lady?” he murmured in a concerned undertone. Discreetly, he scanned the area for danger. Catching Takeo's eye, he directed a meaningful glance toward the crowd. Before he could raise a hand to signal the ponytailed jonin, Soriya's voice sounded forcefully in his mind.

No! Don't react. I'm all right. Let's just go in.

Forcing her fingers to relax their death grip, she tugged him lightly toward the mahogany-framed screen doors. They opened soundlessly in front of them.

Aborting the half-formed gesture of his free hand, Yuichigo gave Takeo a slight shake of the head before surrendering to the kunoichi's gentle pull. As she glided gracefully past the servant kneeling by the entrance to the foyer, he turned his attention to the approaching innkeeper.

A rail-thin, balding man with a friendly smile, Ikaku Hatsuda had been a fixture at the inn for nearly forty years. Having inherited the grand old building from his father fifteen years ago, he strove to maintain high standards of service and comfort for his guests. He and his staff—family members, all--could be relied upon for discretion as well. Trusted by the village leadership, Hatsuda was often asked to host small “unofficial” gatherings in one of the inn's two conference rooms.

Stopping a respectful distance from the beautiful kunoichi, the innkeeper bowed deeply in welcome. A subtle signal as he rose caused the screens to slide closed at their backs, quelling the noise from the street. Behind him, in the center of the large foyer, water burbled in an elaborate stone fountain, arcing upward from the mouths of twin fish poised on fanlike tails.

Instantly, Yuichigo felt the tension in his back and shoulders ease. Soriya, too, seemed to have recovered from her momentary distress. Careful not to overbalance in the platform sandals, she returned the innkeeper's formal bow.

“Hatsuda-san, how nice to see you again! It's been too long since I've enjoyed the fine hospitality of your inn.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Milady, I assure you. Since we learned of your coming, my youngest granddaughter has talked of nothing else. She still remembers the kindness you showed her on your last visit.” The smile he offered deepened the creases of his face so that his eyes were barely visible.

“Little Chie?” Soriya smiled. “How is she? If memory serves, she must be ten or eleven by now.” A dark red brow lifted questioningly, and the older man nodded, pleased at her recollection.

“She is very well, thank you, and eleven years this spring. Old enough to serve as my Lady's maid, if you will consent to have her.”

“Of course! You must send her to me straight away. I can always use help with this mane of mine.” She indicated the elaborately pinned tresses coiled at the crown of her head.

The innkeeper waved a deprecating hand. “Listen to me, nattering at you as though you hadn't just completed a long journey! You'll be wanting to visit the hot spring, I'm sure. My niece, Haruhi, will show you to your suite. Be certain to let her know if there is anything else you require.”

He motioned to a demure figure just beyond the fountain. Wearing a traditional kimono of cornflower blue with dark blue piping edging the throat, cuffs and obi, a young woman stepped forward. Her dark hair was unbound and shoulder-length; the ends swung forward to obscure round cheeks as she stood, head-down, waiting quietly. She appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years old, and had the air of the painfully shy about her.

“T-this way, my lady,” she bowed, voice barely above a whisper. Large brown eyes drifted up toward the kunoichi's face, then hurriedly sought the safety of the floor's teak planks.

Hiding a smile, Soriya nodded solemnly, “Thank you.”

Hearing no traces of derision or amusement in the smooth tones, the girl turned toward the hallway beyond the grand foyer. Without looking back, Soriya held out a hand to Yuichigo, who took it instantly. Using the shinobi's steady stride as a guide, she followed the younger woman to her rooms at the back of the inn.



“Everything checks out okay,” Yuichigo stated as he crossed the threshold from the sitting room into Soriya's bedroom, sliding the paneled door shut behind himself.

The suite Ibiki-sensei had arranged was located on the inn's main floor and consisted of a sumptuously appointed bedroom, done in shades of cream, gold, and chocolate brown, with a large sitting room decorated in lighter shades of the same colors. A smaller room adjoined the sitting room and had been prepared in spartan fashion with two single beds, a wash stand, and closet. Across the hall, a doorway led to a private toilet and a narrow, covered porch that spanned the inner courtyard's eastern wall. Yuichigo knew from previous study of the layout that the walkway led to one of the inn's greatest treasures: a hot spring sequestered on the grounds at the rear of the building. He ran a hand through spiky hair.

“You okay? What happened out there? For a moment there, I thought you were going to fall.”

Soriya paused in the act of arranging various bottles of scented lotions on the surface of the mahogany dressing table. She'd already—with Chie and Haruhi's help—exchanged the awkward platform sandals and formal kimono for more comfortable slippers and a bathrobe of ocean blue silk. Unbound hair tumbled down her back, brushing the tops of her thighs. A frown creased her smooth brow.

“I felt it again. A fierce hatred, coming from someone in the crowd. I wasn't truly expecting it here, and it startled me. Sorry to make you worry,” she offered him an apologetic shrug, “but I thought it best to act normal. Pretend I hadn't noticed anything. Maybe our stalker will become overconfident and get careless. Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

Yuichigo shook his head. “No, although I'm sure Takeo is taking a good look around.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don't like this. How would anyone stalking Soriya Kanzin know to look for you here? I'm wondering if this mission is already compromised.”

“The Hokage made it known to the leaders attending the summit that the Crimson Rose would be part of the entertainment,” Soriya reminded him. “Rumors of my anticipated presence here were bound to leak out, though that in itself shouldn't have led to me personally.”

“No, it shouldn't. Outside of a handful of us jonin, the Hokage, and probably a couple of the elder councilors, no one should know that Soriya Kanzin is the Crimson Rose.” He chuckled. “I have to admit, I wondered how that could be, especially with your hair and all, but none of the villagers seemed to recognize you when we disembarked at the inn. I barely recognized you myself when we met outside the gates this morning.”

“People see what they expect to see,” the redhead murmured softly. “Besides, Shinku Bara is distinctly different from Soriya Kanzin of Leaf Village. Her walk, gestures, and speech patterns are much more cultured and refined. Her makeup is elaborate and exquisite, not to mention the fact that she wears a king's ransom in jewelry and silks.” She waved the be-ringed fingers of her left hand to illustrate her point. “On top of all that, she never loses her temper and is far more elegant and charming than I am,” she confessed wryly. “In fact, I'm wondering...” she paused to consider her words. “Maybe we're thinking about this from the wrong end. I assumed that whoever's stalking me was after Soriya Kanzin. But maybe that's a false assumption.”

“You think the stalker heard the Crimson Rose would be here for the summit, came looking, and found you instead?”

She shrugged. “It's possible. I've been in town more than usual lately. Maybe whoever it is spotted me entirely by accident. It would explain that feeling of shock I felt the first time. It could have been a shock of recognition.” Casually, she turned away from the younger shinobi, sidling around the corner post of the massive king-sized bed. Stopping in front of a pile of plush pillows scattered artfully over the floor's woven tatami mats, her eyes narrowed. In a hard voice, she ordered, “Come on up; I know you're there.”

Instantly, Yuichigo was beside her in a flash, kunai drawn. Irritably waving him back, she waited while one of the mats shifted, revealing a secret bolt-hole. Silently, Takeo pulled himself up into the room. With a smirk, he teased the kunoichi, “Just checking to see if you're on your toes.”

Before Soriya could offer a retort, Yuichigo demanded, “How long have you been down there?” With a frown, he returned the weapon to the hidden sheath at his wrist.

Takeo shrugged. “Long enough.” He looked at Soriya. “Interesting theory you've got. If you're right, it implicates a visiting dignitary, or one of their advisors. We should have Ibiki-sensei and ANBU take another look at them.”

“I'm sure they've been doing that, but you might have them focus more closely on dignitaries from the Lands of Grass, Tea, and Wind who might have had occasion to meet with the Crimson Rose. Those were the countries where she primarily operated, though that doesn't preclude visitors from other lands with whom she may have had contact. Ibiki-sensei will know what to look for.”

“Understood. I'll pass it along when I meet with him. I just wanted to let you know that I didn't spot anyone unusual in the crowd. I even went so far as to check out the welcoming ceremonies at the Hokage's residence.”

“Did you see the Grass delegation?” Soriya asked, suddenly intent.

“As a matter of fact, I did. King Higashi arrived on horseback, attended by his son, nephew, and ten shinobi guards. Omatsu Toshida and Chozoro rode double at the rear of the party. They must have met the King at the gates early this morning and gotten the horse. We know they didn't bring it with them.”

“Chozoro hates riding,” the kunoichi explained with a small shrug. “He broke his hip in a fall from a horse when he was young and he avoids it whenever he can.”

Takeo nodded. “Yeah, he looked pretty uncomfortable up there. At least Toshida had the sense to choose a mare and not some hormone-raging stallion.”

“Security?”

“Well, the Hokage has ANBU operatives dispersed all along the parade route, both in the crowd and on the rooftops. I spotted Genma and Kakashi; they're flanking Toshida on both sides of the street. Everything seems to be proceeding smoothly.”

“Do you think King Higashi knows of the attack?”

Takeo made a waffling motion with his hand. “Hard to know for sure, but I would guess not. From the reports I've read, Toshida doesn't strike me as the kind of man to go running to his King over a bungled assassination attempt. Kakashi thinks he'll rely on us for protection while he tries to discover who plots against him. I'm inclined to agree.”

“That sounds about right,” Soriya nodded slowly. Under her breath, she murmured, “Just like old times.”

When Takeo looked at her strangely, she advised, “You'd better go check in with Ibiki-sensei. Chie will be here soon to take me to the hot springs. You shouldn't be seen entering and leaving from this exit.”

“Of course not.” He rolled his eyes, offended.

Worrying her lower lip, she watched him descend into the bolt-hole. Once his head was below floor level, he paused, balanced on the rungs of the hidden ladder. Reaching for the displaced tatami mat, he began sliding it back into position. Before it settled into place, Soriya blurted, “Takeo, do you think he saw us?”

The jonin raised an eyebrow. “Toshida, you mean?” When she didn't answer he shrugged. “I don't know. I thought the old man might have been looking back at us once or twice along the route, but we were pretty distant. He could have been staring at that colorful group of troubadours, for all I know. What a bunch of peacocks!”

Soriya smiled. “True. Still, Chozoro is pretty sharp. Don't let his 'old man' act fool you. He probably picked us out of the crowd, even at a distance. It's possible we'll be receiving a visit later this afternoon.”

“That soon?” Yuichigo asked in surprise. “Toshida must remember you fondly.”

Takeo snorted.

“Oh, not from him,” the kunoichi demurred, shaking her head. “I meant from Chozoro.”

A shocked silence followed. She made them wait a few uncomfortable moments, then doubled over with laughter, breaking the tension.

“If you could see the looks on your faces! Aha ha ha...” She pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. “Sorry, I couldn't resist.”

Sourly, Takeo grimaced. “Not funny. So. What can we expect from this visit then?”

Struggling to compose her features, she drew a deep breath. “Honestly, I'm not certain he'll come. If he does, it's probably just to check things out, discover my intentions toward his master, that sort of thing. He's the protective type, is Chozoro. And he has a loooong memory. I like him,” she declared, then shrugged. “That being said, be on your toes around him.” The dry amusement in her voice made the two jonin instantly suspicious.

“Why is that?” Yuichigo asked.

A slight tap on the door halted the conversation. Quickly, Takeo pulled the tatami mat into position over his head. With no sign of hurry, Soriya gathered the lotions and scents she'd selected, placing them into a small wicker basket.

“Because,” she replied breezily, moving toward the door with the basket looped over a forearm, “the last time Chozoro and I met for tea, he tried to kill me.”

With that pronouncement, she swept past a slack-jawed Yuichigo and slid open the paper screen. A young girl stood outside, arms folded into the sleeves of a bright yellow kimono.

“Excuse me, milady,” Chie's dark head bobbed politely, wide grin nearly splitting her face, “Haruhi and I have prepared everything for your bath. If you're ready, I can take you now.”

“Thank you, Chie,” Soriya smiled graciously. “Please, lead the way.”

Without a backward glance, she stepped over the threshold, waiting while the child closed the screen with a gentle touch. Yuichigo stood silently until the sounds of footsteps faded from the next room. Then he let out an expletive.

“What the hell is she thinking? Dropping a bombshell on us out of the blue like that! Why didn't she tell us earlier?”

The tatami mat rose slightly. “I told you: she's always been a pain in the ass. Get used to it. It's not like knowing earlier would've changed anything we do here.”

The spiky-haired ninja sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right.”

“I'm off. I should be back in an hour or so. Start readying the sitting room for guests. She'll probably want her tea things.”

“Got it.” Turning away from the now-silent bedroom corner, Yuichigo stepped toward the large mahogany chest in the front of the room. Opening the latch, he raised the lid and lifted out the black-lacquered box containing the kunoichi's personal tea instruments. She'd made it clear that he and Takeo were not to handle the items directly; such a thing was considered a grave breach of etiquette in tea ceremony. Instead, he closed the lid of the larger chest, setting the box down on top of it.

He and Takeo had helped Soriya practice various forms of both the formal and informal tea ceremonies at Ibiki-sensei's insistence. Not that she'd needed the practice, really; the kunoichi was a past master at it. He'd half-suspected Morino had ordered the training as yet another way to facilitate their bonding as a team. And in fact, he'd been surprised to find he enjoyed their occasional afternoon sessions. So much so, that when they'd moved on to other types of training, he'd missed them. He suspected Takeo had as well, though the often surly ninja would never admit it.

Despite the redhead's cautionary warning, Yuichigo found himself looking forward to the afternoon's events with a kind of eager anticipation.

Old man act, indeed.

The shinobi snorted. Having seen her at work, he'd put odds on Soriya against almost anyone, except the Hokage. And Ibiki Morino, maybe. How much of a threat could one old man be?

That Soriya liked him said much. That she'd survived an assassination attempt at his hands said more.

Just who the hell are you, Chozoro of the Grass?