Chapter 18: Departure
Shuichi Mayumi's application to leave the village was processed with unusual speed. In the few days of waiting, Momiji hadn't remained idle, cooped up in the apartment. Driven by the frustrating plateau in his Ghost Qi development, he'd risked venturing out to hunt, despite the heightened patrols.
The principle was simple: a predator shouldn't hunt near its own den. Shuichi had strictly forbidden any activity in their immediate neighborhood. This made Momiji's already challenging hunts even more difficult and risky. It wasn't just about sustenance; he couldn't risk exposing the existence of demons before they were ready to leave Konoha for good.
Shuichi himself had practiced similar restraint, creating no new demons during this tense period.
Now, finally, the permission was granted. On the very day the papers were approved, his long-closed Chinese restaurant also staged its grand reopening.
Business that night was explosive. The shop was packed, a cacophony of laughter and clattering plates. Diners who had missed the unique flavors for months flooded in. In the kitchen, Shuichi's two apprentices were a bundle of nerves, their hands trembling slightly as they handled the woks. This was the first time Shuichi had fully delegated the restaurant's operations to them.
With the night's busywork handled by others, Shuichi wandered the two floors of the bustling restaurant, greeting familiar faces.
In a corner booth, a masked, silver-haired ninja stared intently at a plate of golden fried rice. The tantalizing aroma seemed to battle with his usual apathy.
Shuichi's attention snagged. He watched, waiting for the moment the mask would lift.
As if feeling the weight of the gaze, Hatake Kakashi turned his head. His single visible eye, perpetually bored, met Shuichi's friendly smile. They were of similar age, yet their lives had diverged into vastly different worlds. That wasn't a reason to be stared at, however.
"Problem?" Kakashi's voice was flat.
"Just curious, Kakashi-san," Shuichi said, his voice just loud enough to carry. "What's hidden under the famous mask?"
Several nearby diners, overhearing, turned to look. Kakashi's dead-fish eye swept the room, landing on a bushy-browed, green-spandex-clad figure at a nearby table who gave him a sparkling thumbs-up.
Guy… is here too.
Is this some kind of dining hell? Kakashi thought, his expression unchanging. He met the collective gaze with practiced indifference.
"Haha, enjoy your meal," Shuichi said with a chuckle, moving on. It wasn't the spectacle he'd hoped for.
There were plenty of other shinobi patrons. He even spotted Uchiha Itachi dining quietly with another boy, their conversation peaceful. He left them undisturbed.
After mingling, confirming his apprentices could handle the tide, Shuichi slipped out of the restaurant unnoticed.
Momiji. Meet me at the Konoha gate.
In a small training grove, Momiji, who had been practicing basic sword forms with an ordinary iron blade, paused. He lowered the sword and looked sourly at the large travel pack and several smaller bags waiting at the foot of a tree.
His young face darkened. Why do other demons get to laze about, while I have to clean up after the Ghost King and now play pack mule? The joys and sorrows of demons were not shared.
Still, there were perks. When he'd expressed an interest in swordsmanship, the Ghost King had 'generously' provided this basic blade.
Sigh.
Resigned, he sheathed the sword, strapped it to his back alongside the stuffed travel pack, and hefted the remaining bags. He then trudged toward the village's main gate.
On the road, he was a conspicuous sight—a slight, red-haired youth dwarfed by his mountainous luggage. Passersby stared. At first, it was uncomfortable, but Momiji grew accustomed. Let the world isolate me. Let them laugh.
"That's a lot to carry. Need a hand?"
Momiji glanced sideways. A vaguely familiar face, marked by the green flak jacket of a Konoha chunin or higher. A stranger offering help? Suspicion flared.
"No, thank you. I can manage." He tightened his grip on the bags.
"Sorry, that was forward of me," the ninja said, scratching his head but keeping pace. "It's just… you remind me of someone."
Momiji shot him a look that was equal parts wary and bewildered. The feeling was akin to a human encountering a tap-dancing pig.
"Pfft." The ninja nearly choked on his own saliva. "Haha, no, not like that! I'm not interested in kids."
The awkwardness hung in the air. The ninja quickly changed tack, his expression sobering. "The person you resemble… was my student. He went missing the other day."
"My condolences," Momiji said flatly, increasing his pace, eager to escape this awkward encounter.
This time, the ninja didn't follow. He stood watching the retreating red-haired figure, then shook his head with a heavy sigh. He'd lost two students. The sole survivor was hospitalized, poisoned. Maybe the grief was getting to him, approaching a stranger who bore a faint resemblance…
But that red hair… it's distinctive. Why don't I remember seeing him before?
Finally, burdened but undeterred, Momiji found Shuichi Mayumi waiting patiently by the massive village gates.
"You're slow, Momiji. With your strength, this should be trivial." To avoid appearing like a complete taskmaster, Shuichi took one of the smaller bags from him.
"Apologies. I was… detained by a strange individual."
"Unfortunate," Shuichi dismissed, his attention elsewhere.
"Little guy, that's a serious load!" A cheerful, boisterous voice cut in. A kunoichi deftly plucked another bag from Momiji's grip and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Don't stand on ceremony! We'll help!"
Momiji turned, tense. Three shinobi had approached silently. The man on the left had long black hair and distinctive, pupil-less white eyes, his hitai-ate pulled low over his forehead. The cheerful woman in the center seemed ordinary. The man on the right wore sunglasses and a high-collared coat, his demeanor closed-off.
A Hyuga. And an Aburame?
"Heh. Momiji, relax," Shuichi said, a pleasant smile on his face. "These three are the Konoha shinobi commissioned to escort us on the first leg of our journey."
Momiji's guard didn't lower. The Ghost King smiling was often a precursor to something unpleasant. In his limited experience, that smile rarely boded well.
Besides, since when did a Demon King need a shinobi escort?
Silently, Momiji offered a moment of mental mourning for the three unsuspecting ninjas.
(End of Chapter)
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