Sengoku walked the cold, sandy streets of the commercial district, his eyes sweeping over the hanging wooden signs. As he moved, he ran through his mental script—how he would open the negotiation, how he would present his merchandise, and how he would counter lowball offers.
He bypassed the grocers, the shinobi weapon smiths, the apothecaries, and the food stalls. Those merchants dealt in necessities and lethal utility. He needed a shop that catered to aesthetics and disposable income.
His steps finally slowed outside a modest storefront. The painted characters on the wooden signboard had faded under the harsh desert sun, reading: Sand's Artistry. The window display was small but arranged with deliberate care. It featured layered colored sand in glass bottles, rustic clay pottery, and dried desert plant specimens. It was exactly what he was looking for: a souvenir shop catering to ordinary villagers and the occasional visiting merchant.
He didn't walk in right away. Instead, Sengoku slipped into the shadow of an awning across the street, quietly observing the shop's foot traffic. The interior was mostly empty. A single middle-aged woman wrapped in a thick coat was inspecting a clay pot. Behind the counter stood the shopkeeper—a shrewd-looking man who leaned against the back wall with his arms crossed, projecting a palpable sense of boredom.
Sengoku waited patiently. Only when the woman finally purchased the pot and left, leaving the shop entirely empty, did he exhale a breath of cold air and cross the street.
He pushed the door open, triggering a sharp, clear chime from the brass bell hanging overhead.
The shopkeeper glanced up. Seeing a seven-year-old boy in a faded academy training uniform, a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. Still, the man pasted on a practiced, customer-service smile. "Looking to buy something, kid? A gift for your parents? Or maybe a classmate?"
Sengoku ignored the polite chatter and walked straight to the wooden counter.
"Do you purchase crafts wholesale?" he asked, his voice calm and perfectly clear.
The shopkeeper blinked, his fake smile faltering. He looked Sengoku up and down again, clearly thinking this was a child's prank. "Purchase? Look, kid, we're a small business. I only buy from established artisans. I don't really have a market for... children's school projects."
The dismissive, patronizing tone was exactly what Sengoku had expected. He didn't waste breath arguing. Reaching into his pocket, Sengoku pulled out the single sandstone scorpion and set it gently onto the glass display case.
The carving was barely the size of a thumbnail. It retained the dull, grayish-yellow hue of cheap sandstone, yet the execution was staggeringly lifelike. The segmented armor of the carapace was perfectly defined. Its eight legs were splayed in a dynamic, natural stance, capturing the exact tension of a scorpion preparing to scuttle across the dunes. The tail arched upward, ending in a wickedly sharp, poised stinger. Even the microscopic serrations along the inside of its pincers had been rendered with flawless symmetry.
It sat motionless on the glass, yet gave the eerie illusion that it might strike at any second.
The shopkeeper's dismissive gaze drifted down to the counter. The moment his eyes locked onto the small stone, his apathy vanished. He froze, his eyes widening in shock before he instinctively leaned closer until his nose was mere inches from the glass.
"This..." he breathed, his face twisting in disbelief.
Unable to help himself, he reached out and pinched the tiny scorpion between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it to the light. He turned it over and over, his expression growing more astonished with every passing second.
There was no paint, no lacquer—just raw stone brought to life through utterly terrifying knife work. Every single cut was definitive, possessing no hesitation, no chipped edges, and no microscopic slip-ups. It demanded a level of hand stability and spatial control that bordered on the monstrous. There was simply no way a seven-year-old child could have created this.
"This... you made this?" the shopkeeper stammered, his voice laced with heavy skepticism. He looked back down at Sengoku, his eyes burning with an intense, unprecedented scrutiny.
"Yes," Sengoku replied simply, offering no further explanation.