"Ao?" Chōjirō blinked at Mei Terumi, puzzled. What was wrong with the Mizukage? Why did Mei react so oddly when she heard Ayato's name? Had the two of them had some kind of history?
Strange. The Mizukage was usually composed and dignified—apart from when the subject was marriage, she'd never shown such cold, furious emotion. Did she and Ayato really have a grudge?
Chōjirō felt uneasy too, watching Mei's rapid change of expression.
The office door banged open.
"Having a meeting? Sorry to barge in." Ayato strolled inside with a faint smile and gave the room a casual nod.
"The Mizukage hasn't agreed to an audience yet—" two Anbu stepped forward to stop him. They'd had no authorization for a civilian to just walk in; Ayato's behavior could spark a diplomatic incident between villages.
Before they could finish, Ayato picked them up like trash and tossed them aside. "Move over, or I'll dock your pay."
Rules? Ayato didn't care for rules. If you had the strength, why obey protocol?
"Ayato Hyūga—this is the Village of the Mist." Mei's smile was cool and composed, but those eyes carried an unmistakable chill. She wanted to tear him apart on the spot.
"I know." Ayato flopped onto the soft sofa and crossed his legs, taking in the office with a mock sigh. "Feels like home."
Everyone in the room froze. What kind of man assumed the Mist Village was his living room?
"You're the famous disaster-ninja—come to see the Mizukage?" Mei forced a smile and rested her chin on her hands, but the tremor in her calm betrayed a barely hidden fury.
Steady. She reminded herself she was the Fifth Mizukage—she had to appear composed, and she could not publicly strike him down. A fight here would become a political mess with Konoha. Not worth it. Not here.
Ayato glanced at Ao's black eyepatch. "One-eyed guy—your eye is Byakugan, right?"
"It is." Ao answered. As a loyal Mist shinobi, he'd been watching Ayato the whole time with his Byakugan—guarding the Mizukage. But the Hyūga lord paid it no heed. Hyūga eyes were a different story, and Ao's gaze had found something monstrous in Ayato's chakra reserves. Ayato really was something else—more chakra than Ao had ever seen, even surpassing a Three-Tails jinchūriki's scale.
Ayato asked casually, "Did you see anything interesting?"
"You're extremely powerful," Ao said bluntly. "Your chakra flow is—if ordinary shinobi are a drop, you're the ocean."
Good. The Byakugan couldn't reveal the Rinne-Sharingan's secret. That was pleasing.
"Anyway, business." Ayato clapped his hands and pale smoke billowed as a great iron blade thudded to the floor.
He spun the long, blood-stained sword on his fingertip and smiled. "Mei, you know this blade, right?"
"The Kubikiri-Hōchō!" Everyone stiffened. The sword Ayato toyed with was one of the Mist's legendary Seven Swords—the Executioner's Blade, long thought lost after a rogue stole it.
"Yes," Mei said, emphasizing "our Mist Village." This was a treasure—the man had actually come to discuss real matters.
Ayato unrolled a black scroll. White smoke spilled forth, and two warm corpses dropped onto the floor: Momochi Zabuza and Mizunotsuki Bai.
Chōjirō gasped. "Zabuza-senpai?!"
He had revered Zabuza despite his rogue status—Zabuza had been one of the Seven Swordsmen. To see him downed—and by Ayato—was staggering. The rumors about Ayato's strength were not mere tall tales.
Ao pressed his Byakugan tighter and asked, "And the other one—who is she?"
"He's a man," Ayato corrected.
Chōjirō blushed at that revelation. So the beautiful figure they'd seen earlier was male—Ao and Chōjirō exchanged surprised looks.
Mei's expression darkened. "The Mizunotsuki clan… they used to wield powerful Ice Release. It's a shame they were wiped out. We have no more Ice Release users in the village; all because of Yagura."
Ayato reached into his pocket and produced a bounty notice. "Zabuza, A-rank rogue, bounty: 2.6 million ryo. That's your wanted poster—the Mist issued it." He looked Mei in the eye. "As for the pretty one"—he held up three fingers—"he's stronger than Zabuza. I want three million ryo for him."
"Five point six million in total. Round it up to six million." Ayato grinned and clasped Mei's hand. "Sold. Pleasure doing business."
Mei snapped her hand away, aghast. "Don't touch me!"
Today her composure was fraying. Ever since Ayato had shown up, her mood had been odd. She swallowed her anger and forced a polite reply. "I will pay the five point six million. We don't need to 'round up'."
Round up? Who rounds up forty thousand ryo? Mei didn't fancy paying three million for Bai, but with Ayato's temper she'd rather pay than have him kick up a fuss while she was trying to hunt for the Three-Tails.
"Hand the sword over—payment will follow," Mei said, reaching for the Kubikiri-Hōchō.
Ayato merely slung the great blade over his shoulder. "What, you want my toy that badly?"
Mei gave a hard blink. "What do you mean?"
Ayato's grin turned mischievous. "If you want the sword, you'll have to pay extra."
Chōjirō swallowed and found the courage to speak. "Mist Village's Seven Swords are priceless."
Of course: the seven blades were unique heirlooms of the Mist. The Executioner's Blade could repair itself by absorbing the iron in blood; unless it was destroyed utterly, it could be repaired infinitely. How could Mei hand over a national treasure for coin?
Ayato shrugged. "Fine—if the sword is priceless, talking money is distasteful. Then how about this: spend a night with me, and the sword is yours."
The room fell silent. Mei's face went ice-cold. Every time she negotiated with Ayato something inevitably made her furious.
"Ao, Chōjirō—please step out. I have private matters," Mei said, forcing a smile that barely masked her rage. The chakra leaking from her made the building tremble.
She'd had enough.
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