The early-morning wind hit Ouza Island with a bite that drew a harsh line across Anko's bare arms.
She tugged at Aoi's bindings, feeling the quiver of his muscles beneath the ropes—strength still there, coiled, but dulled.
Kakashi walked beside her, the Thunder God Sword slung over one shoulder, its energy giving off a faint, irregular crackle that prickled against the cold air.
The path down from Ichiban Yasei to the Ouza Island port curled around steep cliffs, slick with fallen leaves and the residue of last night's drizzle. Anko's boots pressed into the root-choked trail, testing each step—slight give, moss-slick slide, the hard catch of a buried stone. The smell of roasted green tea drifted faintly from the distant Market Garden Town, cut through by the sharper tang of salt riding the cold front.
Her thoughts flickered to the brats left behind on Nagi Island—the chaos they were probably stirring.
Her stomach tightened.
Responsibilities.
Jobs.
She let the thought coil and settle, but it didn't leave.
A sharp snap echoed from above—a twig giving under weight.
Anko froze mid-step. Her fingers brushed rough bark as she steadied herself; a flake peeled under her touch. The wind shifted, colder now, sliding across the back of her neck from a new angle. Her head tilted toward the ridge. Shadows moved among low-hanging maples.
Then Mubi appeared.
He came down the slope too fast, boots skidding loose gravel that rattled and bounced off exposed roots. Yellow fabric flashed between branches. The rebreather tore free from his face with a wet rasp, dangling from his grip. Pale skin showed beneath streaks of grime and sweat. Hair stuck to his forehead. His visible eye was wide—too wide.
"Please! Don't make me go back!"
The shout tore across the cliffside. He stumbled, hit hard on his knees. Mud soaked through the fabric immediately, darkening the yellow. His kunai shook in his grip, the tip wavering, breath dragging wetly through his throat. "Nobody knows what I look like! I can't—"
"Kid…" Anko's voice cut clean through the wind. "You do that, nowhere is safe for you."
She crossed her arms. The chainmail shifted, cold rings tightening against her skin as the wind pressed through the gaps. A sharper gust hit, and her shoulders rolled slightly against it.
"I DON'T CARE!"
His voice broke. His hand jerked up—then down. Metal screamed as the kunai bit into his forehead protector, carving across the Rain symbol. The sound scraped along Anko's teeth.
"There is no Hanzo! There is only Pain!"
He ripped the headband free and threw it. It struck the ground between them with a dull clatter, skidding through wet grit.
His breathing hitched. Wet. Uneven. Without the rebreather, mucus and saliva caught in his throat—he swallowed, failed, coughed, shoulders jerking. His fingers tightened around the kunai, then slipped slightly, grip faltering.
The wind surged.
Loose gravel shifted underfoot. Anko's heel slid half an inch before catching. She adjusted, weight dropping lower.
Kakashi moved.
He stepped forward—not fast, but enough—placing himself half a pace between Anko and the boy. The sword shifted with him. A faint vibration traveled down its length into his shoulder; the air around it prickled, lifting a few strands of his hair. His sleeve pulled tight along his forearm as his hand settled more firmly near the hilt. His mask fluttered slightly with each breath, fabric drawing in and out against his face.
Behind them, Aoi shifted against the ropes. A small movement—then stillness again. Watching.
Kakashi's visible eye narrowed slightly. "Pain?" he said. "What does that mean?"
Mubi's gaze snapped to him—but there was no answer in it. Only panic. He shook his head too fast.
"It means you die if you stay!" His voice scraped raw. "It means you disappear! It means—" He choked again, breath breaking, shoulders hitching as he tried to pull air deep and failed.
Anko watched.
Not the words.
The body.
The tremor in his hands wasn't controlled. No rhythm. No reserve. His shoulders stayed high, locked. Breath shallow, erratic. Not a feint. Not a bluff.
Prey that ran too far.
"Kid," she said, sharper now, "life is hard everywhere. It doesn't care what village you're from."
"NO! You don't GET IT!"
He folded forward. His forehead hit the ground. Wet soil smeared across his skin, grit embedding along the edge of his brow. His fingers dug into the mud, nails packing dark.
"I want real food!"
His voice cracked again.
"I want to go to school! I want friends!"
Each word came shorter than the last. His chest hitched. Air went in—but didn't settle.
Anko's gaze flicked once—sideways.
Kakashi didn't move. But the sword's faint hum persisted, a low, constant presence against the wind.
"...Maa," Kakashi said quietly, "we have a duty to protect people."
"And what if he draws Rain to Konoha?" Anko shot back, low, tight. The wind pulled strands of her hair across her face; she didn't brush them away.
"You know as well as I that it's inevitable."
The word settled.
Inevitable.
Anko's weight shifted again. The ground here was softer—less rock, more damp soil. The trail sloped toward the docks. Fewer places to disappear. Fewer angles.
She looked back at Mubi.
Still folded. Still shaking. Breath catching, slipping. No recovery.
Not a plant.
Not an infiltrator.
Too broken at the edges.
But—
Rain.
Unknown structure. Unknown leadership. Unknown reach.
Asset?
Liability.
Her tongue pressed briefly against the back of her teeth.
"What can you do?" she said.
Mubi jerked slightly, like the words took a moment to land. He lifted his head just enough, mud clinging to his skin. "G—genjutsu… clones… I can—" He swallowed hard, coughed again, breath stuttering. "I can work. I'll do anything."
"Anything," Anko repeated, flat.
He nodded. Too fast.
"Then crawl," she said.
He didn't hesitate.
He tried to push himself up—failed. His arm shook, slipped in the mud. He caught himself again, slower this time, rising inch by inch until he managed to stay upright on his knees. Breath still uneven. Hands still unsteady.
Good.
She let a beat pass.
Then—
"Fine."
The word dropped, controlled.
"But there are consequences."
Mubi stilled.
"You're no longer a shinobi," Anko said, voice lowering, tightening. "You are a civilian. One slip—one jutsu in public in Konoha—and we put you straight into T&I."
She leaned forward slightly, chainmail tightening across her torso, cold biting deeper where it pressed close.
"And if they come looking?" she added. "We decide if you go back."
His throat moved. He nodded—slower this time.
"I'll do anything," he said again, quieter. The words dragged.
Kakashi stepped closer. The sword shifted; a faint crackle snapped in the air, sharp as dry leaves breaking.
"Prove it," he said.
Mubi looked up at him.
"And one day," Kakashi added, "maybe a bit of rain will help the leaves grow."
They moved again.
The trail changed underfoot first—soil giving way to packed earth, then the hollow thud of wood as the first dock planks took their weight. The sound carried differently, echoing faintly over the water.
Mist curled off the dark teal surface below, sliding between crates stacked along the pier. Salt thickened in the air, sharper now, biting at the back of the throat. The wind came cleaner off the water, colder.
Mubi rose unsteadily and followed. Mud clung to his knees. His steps lagged half a beat behind theirs. Each breath still caught slightly on the inhale.
Anko didn't look back immediately.
When she did, it was brief.
His hands still trembled—but less than before.
Not gone.
Just buried deeper.
Aoi shifted again in his restraints. The ropes creaked softly.
Kakashi's shoulder rolled once under the weight of the sword.
The gull's cry cut across the harbor, thin and distant.
Anko adjusted her footing on the wood. The planks were slick, but predictable.
Behind her, Mubi kept walking.