The deck of the Yamato Maru was not built for comfort. It was a slab of riveted steel designed to smash through ice, and right now, it was leaching the warmth out of the soles of my sandals.
Thrum-thrum-thrum.
The deep bass of the engine vibrated constantly through the plating, a mechanical heartbeat that made my teeth ache.
The morning air was heavy, gray, and tasted of salt spray and diesel. There was no wind yet—just a stagnant, biting chill that warned us we were leaving the temperate comfort of the Fire Country behind.
I sat cross-legged near the stern, a scroll spread out on my lap. I was running a diagnostic on my sealing tags, applying a thin coat of wax to the paper edges to waterproof them against the sea air.
The hot wax smelled of pine resin and chemicals, a sharp, stinging scent that momentarily cut through the pervasive diesel fumes.
"H-h-holy crap," Naruto stammered, his teeth chattering like castanets. "W-why is it so c-c-cold?"
He was jumping up and down in place, hugging his own shoulders. He was wearing his standard orange tracksuit. No cloak. No thermal undershirt. Just polyester and optimism.
The wind whipped the loose fabric of his jacket—flap-flap-flap—snapping it against his skin like a wet towel.
"Because we're heading North, idiot," Sasuke muttered from the railing.
Sasuke looked bored. He was leaning over the side, watching the dark water churn against the hull. He was wearing a high-collared cloak that looked warm, though he'd die before admitting he needed it.
Splaaash.
A spray of icy foam arched over the rail, misting his hair, but he didn't even blink to wipe it away.
"Quit whining," Anko-sensei said. She was sitting on a crate of lighting equipment, eating a stick of dango that was somehow steaming in the cold air. She wore her mesh shirt and trench coat, seemingly immune to hypothermia through sheer spite. "The cold builds character. Or kills the weak. Either way, less paperwork for me."
She bit into the dumpling with a sticky squelch, the smell of burnt sugar and soy sauce drifting heavily in the damp air.
"Don't get too comfortable," a lazy voice drifted over.
Kakashi was leaning against the railing, his back to the ocean. His single visible eye was glued to the pages of Icha Icha Paradise. The orange book was the only bright color on the entire gray deck.
Scritch.
He turned a page, the dry paper sounding unnaturally loud against the wet, heavy atmosphere.
"You two need to treat this seriously," Kakashi said, turning a page without looking up. "This is officially an A-Rank mission."
Naruto froze mid-shiver. He blinked, an icicle of snot hanging from his nose.
"A-Rank?!" Naruto shouted, forgetting the cold. "What?! Whattaya mean A-Rank?!"
Sasuke scoffed, not turning around.
"Hn. Don't be stupid," the Uchiha muttered. "We're babysitting a drunk actress and a camera crew. How is that A-Rank? It's barely C-Rank. The biggest threat is her liver failure."
Kakashi finally looked up. He snapped the book shut with a soft thud.
"Because in the civilian world, 'Fame' converts directly to 'Ryo', Sasuke," Kakashi corrected, his tone shifting from bored to teacher-mode. "High-profile targets like Koyuki aren't just people. They're assets. Walking vaults of potential revenue. That attracts a different class of predator."
Kakashi pushed off the railing, walking toward us. The mist swirled around his ankles.
"Kidnappers looking for ransom," Kakashi listed, counting on his gloved fingers. "Political dissidents looking for leverage. Stalkers who think they own her. And if we're unlucky... we might have to engage the Paparazzi."
Naruto blinked. He looked totally lost.
"The... Papa-what-zi?" Naruto scratched his head. "What the heck is that? A ninja clan? Are they from the Sound Village? Do they use sound genjutsu?"
I didn't look up from my scroll, carefully applying the last dab of wax.
"No, Naruto. They aren't ninja."
"Oh," Naruto relaxed, slumping his shoulders. "So they're weak?"
"They are persistent hunters," I said, my voice flat. "They operate in packs. They track targets for weeks without eating or sleeping. They have an intelligence network that rivals ANBU root."
I pushed my polarized glasses up the bridge of my nose. The lenses caught the cold, grey light of the morning.
"But they have no jutsu," I finished. "They only use ninja tools: Cameras."
Naruto's jaw dropped.
"WHAAAT?!" he shrieked. "You mean... they just take pictures?!"
"Visual data theft," I clarified, finally looking at him. "They capture your image, contextualize it to look compromising, and sell it to destroy your reputation. It attacks your social standing rather than your physical body. It's Genjutsu without the chakra cost."
Naruto looked horrified. He covered his face with his hands.
"That's... that's evil!" he whispered. "They steal your soul with a flash?! Kakashi-sensei, do we have permission to engage?!"
Kakashi's eye crinkled into his signature closed-eye smile.
"Non-lethal force only, Naruto," Kakashi chirped cheerfully. "Unless they try to get a shot of me without my mask. Then... use your best judgment."
"Right!" Naruto punched his palm. "I'll smash their lenses! nobody steals our souls!"
I rolled up my scroll.
If only it were just photographers, I thought grimly, looking at the grey horizon where the Land of Snow waited. Kakashi knows it's A-Rank because of the coup. He's preparing them for soldiers by warning them about cameras.
Suddenly, a sound shattered the morning calm.
CRASH.
It came from the upper deck cabins. It sounded like expensive porcelain meeting a steel bulkhead.
The impact vibrated through the floorboards—du-thump—shaking the little pot of liquid wax in my lap.
"NO!" a female voice screamed. It was ragged, hoarse, and furious. "TURN THIS BOAT AROUND!"
We all looked up.
The door to the VIP cabin flew open.
Yukie stumbled out onto the balcony overlooking the deck. She was wearing a silk robe that was far too thin for the weather. Her hair was a bird's nest. She looked like she had woken up in hell.
Even from the lower deck, the wind carried the distinct, sour reek of stale vomit and expensive perfume.
She gripped the railing, staring out at the endless expanse of grey water.
"Where is the land?!" she shrieked. "Where is the bar?! SANDAYŪ!"
She spotted us on the lower deck. She locked eyes with Naruto.
The realization hit her face like a slap. She remembered the chase. She remembered the autograph. She remembered signing the paper out of spite.
"YOU!" she screamed at Naruto.
She grabbed a vase from a small table on the balcony—probably meant for decoration—and hurled it.
It arc'd through the air.
Bonk.
It bounced off Naruto's forehead protector with a dull clank before shattering on the deck.
Tinkle-hiss.
The shards didn't stop moving; they skittered across the steel plates as the ship listed, sliding toward the scuppers like jagged ice.
"Ow!" Naruto rubbed his head. "Hey! I'm guarding you!"
"I hate you!" Yukie howled, shivering violently in the wind. "I hate the snow! I hate ninja! I hate this boat!"
She slammed the cabin door shut, retreating back into the warmth.
Kakashi reopened his book.
"Asset secure," Kakashi noted dryly. "Good job, team."
Anko chuckled, finishing her dango. "She's got spirit. I give her two days before she tries to swim back."
"I'll watch the railing," I sighed, standing up. "Someone has to make sure our paycheck doesn't drown herself."