Timeline: Late Part I (Four hours after the forest encounter)
Location: Konohagakure Hospital, Restricted Isolation Ward 4
The water coming out of the faucet was scalding hot. Steam billowed up, fogging the mirror above the steel sink.
Shizune scrubbed her hands until the skin was raw and pink. She used the stiff-bristled brush to scour her fingernails, the smell of industrial-grade antiseptic burning her nose. It was the third time she had washed them in twenty minutes.
On the metal tray beside the sink lay two objects: a standard silver ryo coin and a single, withered black flower petal.
"You're going to scrub the dermis right off, Shizune."
Shizune stopped. She didn't turn off the water immediately. She took a breath, centered herself, and twisted the handle. The room fell into the heavy silence of the isolation ward.
Tsunade stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. The Hokage's green haori was draped over her shoulders, and her expression was a mixture of irritation and concern.
"I had to be sure," Shizune said, drying her hands with a sterile towel. "His chakra... it felt invasive. Like oil."
"We scanned you twice," Tsunade said, walking into the room. She picked up the silver coin with a gloved hand. "No curse marks. No poisons. No dormant genjutsu triggers in your chakra network."
"He said he placed a 'Loaded Flora' clause on the Arnica patch," Shizune reported, her voice clipping into professional mode. "He claimed that if I attacked, the crop would die. I made a tactical decision to prioritize the hospital's supply chain over the engagement of an S-rank hostile."
"And you healed him," Tsunade stated. It wasn't a question.
"I healed a rib fracture. Minor restorative jutsu. It was the price of the transaction." Shizune turned to face her mentor. "Did I make the wrong call, Lady Tsunade?"
Tsunade looked at the coin, flipping it over her knuckles much like Sōma had done in the tea house, though with less fluid grace.
"You brought back the antitoxin base for the next six months," Tsunade said gruffly. "And you came back alive. Strategically, it's a win. The Village relies on resources, and you secured them."
Tsunade tossed the coin back onto the tray with a clang.
"But psychologically? You lost."
Shizune flinched. "I didn't let him intimi—"
"He dictated the terms," Tsunade interrupted, her golden eyes sharp. "He forced you to choose between your duty as a medic (saving lives via the herbs) and your duty as a ninja (eliminating the threat). He knew you'd pick the herbs. He banked on your responsibility."
Tsunade pointed at the black petal.
"And that?"
"He left it on the branch," Shizune said quietly. "After I healed him. It was a single flower from the patch. He triggered the necrosis clause on just one petal to prove he wasn't bluffing."
"Arrogant bastard," Tsunade muttered. She picked up the petal. It crumbled into dust between her fingers. "He could have destroyed the whole harvest just to spite you. Instead, he left a receipt."
Tsunade walked to the window, looking out over the village. The sun was setting, casting long orange shadows over the Hokage faces.
"Kurobane Sōma," Tsunade said the name like it was a bad taste. "I read the file Intel put together from the Tea House incident in Grass. He's a former Kiri-nin. No ideology. No known political allegiances. He fights like... like he's bored."
"He called it a critique," Shizune added. "He critiqued the patrol he ambushed. He critiqued my incision angle on the herbs. He treats conflict like a performance."
"That makes him dangerous," Tsunade said. "Ideologues are predictable. They want something—peace, war, power. You can bargain with them. But a man who treats war as a game? He has no leverage points."
Tsunade turned back to the tray. She stared at the silver coin.
"This coin. Why did he give it to you?"
"He said it was payment. For services rendered."
"No," Tsunade narrowed her eyes. She placed her hand over the coin, focusing her chakra into her palm. "A man like that doesn't pay debts. He makes investments."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as Tsunade pushed a pulse of chakra into the silver, the coin hummed. It was a low, dissonant vibration, barely audible.
Hummmm.
Shizune took a step back. "Is it a trap?"
"It's a resonator," Tsunade realized, pulling her hand away. The humming stopped. "It reacts to chakra pressure. Specifically, high-density control."
She looked at Shizune.
"He knows you're my apprentice. He knows you have fine control. This coin... it's a tuning fork. If you carry it, and you mold chakra past a certain threshold, it vibrates."
"To what end?" Shizune asked, horrified.
"To remind you," Tsunade said grimly. "Every time you push yourself, every time you perform a complex jutsu, this thing will buzz in your pocket. It's a psychological anchor. He wants you to think of him whenever you're strong."
Shizune felt a flash of anger. It was invasive. It was a violation of her focus.
"I'll destroy it," Shizune said, reaching for the coin. "I'll melt it down."
"No," Tsunade stopped her hand.
Shizune looked up, surprised. "Lady Tsunade?"
Tsunade picked up the coin and pressed it into Shizune's palm. Her grip was tight, bordering on painful.
"If you destroy it, you tell him you're afraid of his influence. You tell him he got under your skin."
Tsunade's face hardened into the mask of the Legendary Sannin.
"Keep it. Put it in your pouch. And every time it vibrates, you use that annoyance. You use that anger. You make your chakra sharper. If he wants to monitor your growth, fine. Let him feel the terrifying weight of what you become."
Shizune looked down at the silver disc. It felt heavy. Cold.
"He called it a 'marker'," Shizune whispered.
"Then mark him back," Tsunade ordered. "I'm classifying Kurobane Sōma as a Tokubetsu A-Rank threat for now. Not quite S-Rank because he hasn't caused mass casualties, but his potential for disruption is too high to ignore."
Tsunade walked to the door.
"Get some sleep, Shizune. Tomorrow, I'm increasing your training regimen. If Sōma wants a show, we'll make sure he regrets buying a ticket."
Shizune stood alone in the isolation ward. She curled her fingers around the coin.
She molded a small amount of chakra, channeling it into her fist.
Hum.
The coin vibrated against her skin. A tiny, mocking applause.
Shizune didn't throw it away. She slipped it into her weapons pouch, right next to her poison needles.
"Understood, Lady Tsunade," she murmured to the empty room.
Timeline: Simultaneous
Location: A Roadside Shrine, 15 miles East
The rain had stopped, leaving the night air crisp and clear.
Kurobane Sōma sat on the steps of a dilapidated shrine, illuminated by a small fire he had built using fallen branches. He was shirtless, inspecting the bruising on his side.
The purple discoloration was already fading to a sickly yellow. The pain was dull, manageable.
"Clean work," he critiqued, running a finger over the healed rib. "She accelerated the osteoblast production without triggering calcium spurs. Very disciplined."
He picked up his black marker pen and opened the leather notebook resting on his knee.
He flipped past the entry for the Iron Fang Brothers (crossed out) and the Konoha Patrol (marked with a question mark). He found a fresh page.
He wrote the name in elegant, sharp kanji:
Subject: Shizune.
Affiliation: Konoha / Tsunade Senju.
Potential: High.
Current State: Restrained by protocol.
He tapped the pen against his chin.
Notes: She operates on a logic of minimization. Minimize risk, minimize damage, minimize waste. She needs to learn that sometimes, to save the patient, you have to traumatize the body.
He drew a small circle next to her name.
"The coin should be annoying her right about now," Sōma mused, a faint smile touching his lips. "She'll try to destroy it first. Then her mentor will tell her to keep it. Tsunade is too proud to back down from a challenge."
He closed the book with a snap.
From the darkness of the forest behind him, a rustle of leaves signaled an arrival. It wasn't an animal. The chakra signature was suppressed, swampy, and familiar.
"You are difficult to track," a raspy voice said.
Sōma didn't turn. He pulled his mesh shirt back on, wincing slightly.
"And you are loud, Zetsu. For a spy."
The pitcher-plant creature emerged from the ground near the fire.
"Pain has heard rumors," Zetsu said, the white half speaking with a cheerful lilt. "A missing-nin who turns terrain into traps! A man who defeated a Kiri Hunter squad without drawing a weapon!"
"Exaggerations," Sōma dismissed, reaching for his cloak. "I used the terrain. And I bored them to death."
"We are looking for members," the black half of Zetsu growled. "The organization requires... specific talents."
"I'm not a joiner," Sōma said, standing up. He kicked dirt over the fire, extinguishing the light. "Ideologies are scripts written by dead men. I prefer to improvise."
"We don't need your belief," Black Zetsu said. "We need your results. And we pay well."
Sōma paused.
"Payment is irrelevant. Access is what matters." Sōma looked at the silhouette of Zetsu in the moonlight. "Does this organization of yours... do they fight strong people?"
"We fight the Tailed Beasts," White Zetsu giggled. "The strongest chakra in the world!"
Sōma's eyes glinted in the dark.
"Tailed Beasts. Raw, unrefined power. Chaos incarnate."
He considered it. A stage that large would have infinite variables. Infinite potential for disaster.
"I'm listening," Sōma said. "But I have a condition."
"Oh?"
"I don't wear the ring," Sōma said, walking past Zetsu onto the road. "Not until I decide the play is worth finishing."
"Pain will not like that," Black Zetsu warned.
"Then Pain can try to put it on me," Sōma replied. "It might make for a good opening scene."
He walked into the night, the notebook in his pocket heavy with the promise of future entries. The casting call was over. It was time to meet the director.