The village clung to the treeline like a memory that refused to vanish. Roof boards gaped; smoke leaked thinly from crooked chimneys. There were no young backs left—only elders moving carefully through the snow, as if each step might be the last one granted.
Sogetsu arrived with Terumi Mei on his back just as an old woman, all bones and stubborn breath, waded into the wind with a cane.
"Grandma! Grandma, I'm here!"
He crouched and let Mei hop down. She flew into the old woman's arms, head burrowing into a patched shawl.
"Where did you go?" The old woman's panic drained into relief. "Do you—do you know how you scared me, child? I looked everywhere. I thought—"
"I… saw you were sick," Mei mumbled, guilt tugging her voice small. "I wanted to get firewood. I stepped on a trap. The ninja big brother saved me."
Color fled the old woman's face. "You poor thing—does it still hurt? Let me look."
Mei obediently lifted the hem. The skin was whole where torn flesh had been. "He healed it. See?"
Only then did the old woman breathe properly. She bowed stiffly toward Sogetsu, knees already bending too far.
He caught her gently. "No kneeling. Mei did me a favor first."
The old woman's eyes skittered to the forehead protector that wasn't there. Fear rose like a tide; habit yanked her into apologies.
"If this child said anything rude—please don't—"
"Ninja big brother is nice," Mei whispered, tugging her sleeve. "Not like the bad ones."
"Quiet!" The old woman's look cut the air. "Don't speak of ninja behind their backs. Do you remember how your parents died?"
Mei's chin folded toward her chest. Sogetsu's mouth thinned.
Kirigakure's doctrine had wrung the country hollow. Secrecy had become superiority; superiority had become extraction. Ninja ate first. Civilians swallowed what was left—with shame when even scraps ran out. The same math showed up everywhere in the world, only the paint changed.
"The snow's awful," the old woman said at last, forcing calm. "If you don't mind the draft, ninja sir, our stove—"
Sogetsu shook his head. "My being seen with you is dangerous. You know that already."
Her composure cracked. She dragged Mei down into the snow and pressed both their faces to the ice.
"We saw nothing! Please—please spare the child. Kill me if you must."
Mei blinked through new fear. "Ninja… brother?"
"Hey." Sogetsu eased them up, the scolding strangely tender. "I don't kill a girl I just patched up. Or her grandmother."
He knelt to Mei's height and set a small white-wrapped candy in her palm.
"Promise me you won't go into the forest alone again," he said, voice soft but carrying. "Take care of Grandma. And don't tell anyone you saw me."
Mei turned the candy over like treasure. "Will… will we meet again?"
"We will," he said, ruffling her hair. "Someday."
The wind gusted. When it cleared, he was gone.
"He left," Mei whispered, eyes shining. She tucked the candy to her chest as if heat might seep back through the paper.
"Then we go home," her grandmother said, taking her hand. The steps were small, but they were together.
Half a ridge away, Sogetsu paused. A ripple of wrongness brushed his senses.
A bad feeling? From what?
He reviewed his trail, every choice unspooling—entry route, healing flare, conversation angles, exits, sightlines. No leak glinted.
Paranoia. Or instinct keeping me paid up.
He double-checked anyway: a Psychology Veil threaded into the candy's white paper—an attention-softening imprint that blurred memory around the giver and gentled the eye away from the receiver. Street magic for the mind. Modest, but enough to make casual inquiry slip.
He retraced to an earlier perch, erased the approach marks he wanted erased… and left new tracks where he wanted Kirigakure to see them.
"Good," he murmured, and stepped into the weather. The forest accepted him and kept its counsel.
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