The further Kurenai and Yūgao walked into Sora-ku, the quieter Konoha became.
Not empty.
Muted.
The commercial noise of central Konoha gradually dissolved behind them until the village sounded less like a military capital and more like an old neighborhood exhaling into itself. The streets narrowed. Rooflines sagged lower. Power lines tangled overhead like black thread stitched through the sky.
Autumn leaves gathered in corners untouched by brooms.
The abandoned Uchiha district loomed nearby in uneasy silence.
Even now, years later, people still avoided looking directly at it for too long.
The clan compound sat behind its fences and fading crests like a preserved wound. Some windows remained boarded shut. Others simply stared outward with dark interiors and dust-coated glass. Wind moved through the empty walkways with a hollow whispering hiss that carried faint traces of old cedar and stagnant wood.
Kurenai felt it every time she passed through here.
Absence had texture.
And this district was drowning in it.
Yūgao walked quietly beside her, her long purple hair shifting softly with each step. Somewhere overhead, cats moved across rooftops with faint thmp-thmp-thmp sounds almost too light to track.
They were being watched.
Not threateningly.
Just… catalogued.
A black tail vanished over a roofline.
A pair of reflective eyes blinked from beneath a rusted drainage pipe.
Kurenai noticed Yūgao subtly glance upward.
"You can tell when you've entered their territory," Kurenai murmured.
Yūgao nodded once.
"The cats here organize better than most villages."
A few more turns brought them to the edge of an older side district where the architecture shifted again.
Wooden balconies leaned over narrow alleyways.
Paint peeled from old plaster walls.
Laundry fluttered overhead on hanging lines beside drying herbs and strips of fish.
The smell changed too.
Fish oil.
Dust.
Sun-warmed wood.
Catnip.
And beneath everything else…
Cats.
Not the sharp ammonia stink of neglect, but the thick living scent of fur, old tatami, pawprints, and sunbeams absorbed into wooden floors over decades.
Nekobaa's place announced itself before Kurenai actually saw it.
The building sat crookedly between two older structures as though the entire neighborhood had gradually shifted around it over time. Wind chimes clicked softly beneath the eaves. Faded pawprint banners hung near the entrance.
At least seven cats occupied the porch alone.
None moved when Kurenai approached.
They simply watched.
One enormous orange tomcat slowly blinked at her from atop the railing with the judgmental gravity of a retired landlord.
The front door creaked open before either kunoichi knocked.
"Yer late."
The voice sounded ancient and unimpressed.
Nekobaa stood framed in the doorway, wrapped in her orange dress and pale scarf. Her grey hair spilled around the strange dark cat-ear ornaments atop her head. Her eyes remained narrowed to sleepy slits.
Yet somehow Kurenai still got the distinct impression the old woman missed absolutely nothing.
A small calico kitten perched on Nekobaa's shoulder like a decorative epaulette.
"We didn't schedule a meeting," Kurenai said politely.
"Mm. Still late."
Nekobaa turned and shuffled back inside.
The cats parted for her instantly.
Kurenai exchanged a glance with Yūgao before following.
The interior felt warm in that dense, sleepy way only cat-filled buildings could achieve. Sunlight streamed through paper windows in golden slabs that illuminated drifting fur in the air like floating dust motes.
Every surface seemed occupied.
Cats lounged atop cabinets.
Cats slept on stacked bookshelves.
Cats occupied rafters overhead like furry gargoyles.
The room creaked softly with shifting paws and old wood.
Somewhere deeper in the building, ceramic bowls clinked.
The entire place smelled overwhelmingly of tea leaves, old paper, medicinal herbs, and warm fur.
Kurenai nearly stepped on a sleeping black cat sprawled directly in the middle of the walkway.
The cat opened one eye.
Judged her.
Then went back to sleep.
"Sit," Nekobaa ordered.
Floor cushions were arranged around a low table already crowded by two ninnekos wearing tiny kimono jackets.
Hina sat upright with calm dignity, paws folded neatly before her red kimono.
Denka occupied the opposite cushion in blue robes, his tail flicking slowly behind him.
Neither looked remotely impressed by visitors.
Kurenai sat carefully.
Yūgao lowered herself beside her with quiet grace.
Immediately, three kittens climbed into Yūgao's lap as if this had been prearranged by fate itself.
Kurenai blinked.
Yūgao blinked back down at them with equal confusion.
One kitten aggressively headbutted her wrist.
Another immediately curled into a ball atop her thigh.
Denka observed this with visible approval.
"Hm," the ninneko murmured. "Acceptable."
Yūgao looked deeply unprepared for being evaluated by a cat.
Kurenai almost smiled.
Almost.
Nekobaa settled across from them with several audible knee pops.
Crk-crk.
Tea was already waiting.
Of course it was.
Kurenai wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic cup as steam curled upward carrying the grassy bitterness of strong green tea.
Nekobaa sipped first.
Very slowly.
Making them wait on purpose.
Finally:
"So," the old woman rasped. "What's this about?"
Kurenai straightened slightly.
"I came to discuss Tamaki."
One of Nekobaa's eyebrows twitched upward.
"Hm."
"I'd like permission to take her on as a student."
The room grew quieter.
Even the cats seemed to pause.
Denka's tail stopped moving.
Nekobaa lowered her tea cup with deliberate care.
"…No."
Direct.
Immediate.
Kurenai had expected resistance, but the speed of the refusal still caught her slightly off-guard.
"She has aptitude," Kurenai pressed calmly. "Tracking experience. Environmental awareness. And she's already accustomed to cooperative work structures."
"She has responsibilities here."
"She can maintain both."
"No."
Nekobaa's tone didn't sharpen.
If anything, it became sleepier.
Which somehow made it harder to argue with.
"She ain't a soldier."
Kurenai leaned forward slightly.
"I'm not trying to turn her into one."
"Hm."
"You know what's happening in Konoha right now."
The old woman's silence confirmed she absolutely did.
"Sasuke Uchiha defected. Orochimaru's movements are escalating. Mission assignments are becoming more dangerous." Kurenai exhaled slowly. "My team is destabilizing. Hinata's unavailable. Kiba and Shino are stagnating."
At Sasuke's name, something subtle shifted through the room.
Not grief exactly.
But memory.
Several of the older cats flicked their ears.
Nekobaa's expression remained unreadable.
"She'd be under my direct supervision," Kurenai continued. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't believe she could thrive."
Nekobaa stared at her for several long seconds.
Then:
"She's soft."
The statement landed harder than an insult would have.
Kurenai frowned slightly.
"Soft isn't weakness."
"No," Nekobaa agreed. "But shinobi grind soft things down into powder."
The room settled into silence again.
Kurenai felt the weight behind those words.
This wasn't stubbornness for its own sake.
This was fear.
Old fear.
The kind born from watching too many young people vanish into wars and missions and funerals.
Before Kurenai could respond, soft footsteps approached from the hallway.
Tamaki emerged carrying a tray of fresh towels.
She froze immediately upon seeing visitors.
Long brown hair fell nearly to her waist, shifting softly as she stopped short. Hazel eyes widened slightly before recognition settled in.
"Kurenai-san? Yūgao-san?"
Her voice carried quiet warmth beneath immediate nervousness.
A grey cat perched across her shoulders like a scarf.
Another sat atop her head.
Kurenai suddenly understood how Kiba would someday end up catastrophically interested in this girl.
The universe had a sense of humor.
Nekobaa grunted.
"They want to steal ya."
Tamaki nearly dropped the towels.
"…W-what?"
Kurenai softened her voice.
"I'd like you to join Team 8."
Tamaki stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared harder.
The room suddenly felt electrically awkward.
"I…" Tamaki's fingers tightened around the folded towels. "Me?"
"You."
The cat on her shoulder purred loudly.
Tamaki looked toward Nekobaa instinctively.
Nekobaa didn't budge.
"I already refused."
Tamaki's expression dimmed immediately.
And there it was.
Kurenai recognized it at once.
That reflexive shrinking.
That learned habit of yielding before fully speaking.
Hinata did it too.
Not identical.
But adjacent.
Tamaki lowered her gaze toward the floorboards.
"…Right."
Something about that tiny defeated tone irritated Kurenai on a deeply personal level.
Not at Tamaki.
At the shape of the habit itself.
"You haven't even answered yet," Kurenai said gently.
Tamaki opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
The room filled with tiny sounds.
A kettle crackling softly over heat.
A cat grooming itself atop the windowsill.
Fabric shifting.
Then unexpectedly, Yūgao spoke.
"Do you want to go?"
Tamaki looked startled by the directness.
Yūgao met her eyes evenly while absentmindedly allowing one of the kittens to gnaw on her finger.
No pressure.
No manipulation.
Just the question itself.
Do you want to go?
Tamaki swallowed.
Her fingers curled tighter around the towels until the fabric wrinkled.
"…I…"
Nekobaa remained silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Tamaki's throat bobbed once.
Then, very quietly:
"…I do."
The words barely rose above a whisper.
But they existed.
And once spoken, they didn't disappear.
Something shifted in the room.
The cats noticed first.
Several ears perked upward simultaneously.
Tamaki inhaled shakily.
Then did something Kurenai suspected she almost never did.
She looked directly at Nekobaa.
"I love it here," Tamaki said softly. "But I don't want to stay small forever."
Nekobaa's expression did not change.
But her fingers stopped moving against her tea cup.
"I want to help people too."
The old wood of the room creaked softly beneath settling autumn air.
Tamaki's nervousness radiated visibly now, but she kept speaking anyway.
"I-I know I'm not from a big clan. And I know I'm not strong yet." Her voice wavered. "But I don't want everyone else to decide my life before I even try."
Kurenai felt something warm bloom painfully in her chest.
There it is.
That first moment.
That terrifying little spark where someone decides they deserve motion.
Nekobaa closed her eyes.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then the old woman sighed through her nose.
"Hmph."
One of the overhead cats abruptly leapt down onto the table with a heavy thud.
Pawprints.
Tiny muddy pawprints crossed directly over an enormous open book Kurenai hadn't noticed earlier.
An encyclopedia.
No.
A catalogue.
Its pages contained hundreds upon hundreds of inked paw marks beside handwritten notes.
Different shapes.
Different clans.
Different signatures.
Kurenai leaned slightly closer.
"Every ninneko lineage," Denka explained with calm pride. "Recorded for generations."
Nekobaa cracked one eye open.
"One print's missing."
Tamaki blinked.
"…The last one?"
"Hm."
Nekobaa jabbed a finger toward the unfinished final page.
Blank.
Empty.
"The Ghost Paw."
The room quieted again.
Even Kurenai felt the atmosphere shift slightly around the words.
"An old feral thing," Nekobaa rasped. "Smart enough ta avoid humans. Smart enough ta avoid us."
Hina flicked her tail.
"Very rude creature."
Denka nodded solemnly. "Uncooperative."
Nekobaa looked toward Tamaki.
"If ya can bring back its pawprint, you can go."
Tamaki stared.
"That's impossible," she breathed.
"Then stay."
Kurenai frowned slightly.
"That seems intentionally unfair."
"Life's unfair," Nekobaa replied instantly.
Yūgao quietly hid a smile behind her tea.
Tamaki looked between them all with growing panic.
Then slowly…
That panic changed shape.
Kurenai watched it happen in real time.
Fear becoming determination.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Tamaki lowered the towels onto the floor.
"…Where was it last seen?"
Nekobaa's mouth curled upward very slightly.
"Atta girl."
The old woman reached beneath the table and tossed a small cloth pouch toward Tamaki.
She barely caught it.
Inside were several strange dried leaves and tiny fish-shaped charms covered in faded ink symbols.
"Catnip blend," Hina explained calmly.
"Spirit-sensitive," Denka added.
Tamaki stared down at the contents.
As she did, one of the nearby cats suddenly froze.
Its ears turned sharply toward her.
Then another.
And another.
The air itself felt oddly different around Tamaki now.
Subtle.
Kurenai narrowed her eyes.
The cats were reacting to her chakra.
No…
Not reacting.
Listening.
Tamaki inhaled slowly.
And for the briefest moment, Kurenai swore she saw the girl's pupils narrow slightly under the afternoon light.
Not vertically.
Just enough to feel wrong.
A breeze drifted through the paper windows carrying dry leaves and distant autumn smoke.
Somewhere far overhead, cats began moving rapidly across rooftops.
Thmp-thmp-thmp-thmp.
Signals.
Routes.
Communication.
Tamaki looked up instinctively toward sounds no ordinary civilian should have tracked that clearly.
Then her eyes widened slightly.
"…I can hear them."
Nekobaa grinned, revealing surprisingly sharp teeth.
"Well," she rasped. "Looks like the brats finally listenin' back."