The common dining area of the Konjakutei Inn had slowly emptied of other guests as the evening wore on, leaving only their table occupied.
A few hours past sunset, the heavy, sweet smell of dashora pudding had faded, replaced by the faint, comforting scent of roasted green tea lingering in the humid air.
On the opposite side of the low wooden table, the adrenaline crash had finally claimed the brats. Naruto and Sylvie sat shoulder-to-shoulder, completely dead to the world. Naruto's head lolled sideways, sagging heavily against Sylvie's shoulder, a thin string of drool threatening to escape the corner of his mouth. Sylvie, despite her usual hyper-vigilance, had succumbed as well; her head tilted the opposite way, resting atop Naruto's spiky blonde hair, her breathing a slow, even rhythm behind her blue gaiter.
Anko watched them for a second, feeling a rare, momentary pang of sympathy beneath the stifling heat of her borrowed dark purple yukata. She turned her attention back to the teenager sitting across from her.
Idate had inhaled three bowls of rice and half the mackerel before he finally slowed down. He sat cross-legged, a toothpick dangling casually from the corner of his mouth, the dark blue and light blue trim of his yukata hanging loose over his lean, athletic frame.
"Alright, track star," Anko said, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. "Let's skip the B-movie monster stories. Why exactly did your master send a civilian to train in the Forest of Death part two? That's not a cardio route; that's a suicide run."
Idate shifted uncomfortably, his dark grey eyes darting away. He reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck, his choppy, dark brown hair shifting against his jawline.
"I'm not exactly a normal civilian," Idate muttered. "You know that, Anko-chan."
"Drop the 'chan'," Anko snapped, her light-brown eyes narrowing. "You ran from the village. You ran from your team during the Chūnin Exams. You ran from Ibiki. So, what are you doing here?"
Idate flinched hard, his shoulders hiking up as if bracing for a physical blow or a mocking laugh. He misread the quiet scrutiny in Anko's eyes as pure disgust. A visible shudder passed through his frame. He dropped his gaze immediately to the table, his breathing hitching for a fraction of a second. His hand dropped to his lap, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of the table rim.
"After... after the fire," Idate started, his voice losing its theatrical bravado, turning ragged and dry. He picked up his cup of green tea, the liquid now lukewarm and bitter, and took a slow, deliberate sip to buy time. "After I ran from Konoha... I ended up in the Land of Tea. I was starving. Worse than today. I tried to rob a guy on the street for enough ryō to buy a meal."
Anko raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And let me guess. You got caught."
"Yeah," Idate admitted, a flush creeping up his neck. He chewed aggressively on the end of the toothpick, the wood splintering between his molars. "But the guy I tried to rob... it was Jirōchō Wasabi. The head of the Wasabi family. Instead of breaking my legs, he fed me. He lectured me, gave me a pocket-knife, and took me in. He gave me a home when my own village cast me out."
Idate reached into the pocket of his yukata and pulled out a small folding knife. He set it gently on the table between them. The metal handle was worn smooth from constant, nervous handling, the brass pins completely oxidized. He stared at it with an unwavering, intense reverence, the cold metal glinting in the dim light of the paper lanterns.
That's Morino discipline. Anko thought, considering the blade.
"Jirōchō-boss is my family now," Idate said, his voice hardening with defensive loyalty. "For ages, the Wasabi and the Wagarashi families have fought for control of Degarashi Port. The territorial skirmishes bled into the streets for decades, catching civilians in the crossfire. Now, they settle the port's ownership every four years with the Todoroki Great Shrine Race."
Anko picked up her teacup, taking a slow sip. "A foot race decides who runs the port?"
"An endurance marathon across a stretch of sea and treacherous terrain," Idate corrected, his breathing unconsciously shortening at the memory of the route. He leaned forward, the intense focus returning to his eyes, the motion revealing thick, pale bands of scar tissue from heavy rope burns around his wrists. "We start at Degarashi Port. We cross the sea to Nagi Island, run the Stone Steps that Tear Hearts Apart up to the Modoroki Shrine to retrieve one of Ryochu's Jewels. Then, we cross the suspension bridge to Ouza Island and make the final sprint to dedicate the jewel at the Todoroki Great Shrine."
Anko set her cup down, her mind instantly and violently categorizing the route as a deathtrap. She mapped the failure points: open water exposed the runner to long-range jutsu; the suspension bridge created a fatal choke point with zero cover; the stone steps would turn their legs to lead, stripping away any burst speed left for dodging.
"And the Wagarashi family plays dirty, I assume."
"They hire mercenaries," Idate spat, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. "Missing-nin. Thugs. Anyone who can sabotage the Wasabi runner. Jirōchō-boss chose me as his runner this year. That's why he sent me to the Land of Forests to train with heavy weights. He said if I could survive the altitude and the terrain here, Nagi Island would feel like a flat track."
Anko glanced at the sleeping genin, the stifling heat of the room suddenly making her borrowed yukata itch against her skin. The sweat pooled at the base of her spine as she ran a brutal, silent inventory of her squad.
Kakashi's chakra system was currently shredded; he couldn't fight on a crossing let alone a swaying bridge without severe vertigo.
Sylvie's chakra reserves were nonexistent. Blind. No early warning. Dead before contact.
Naruto's shoulder hung by a thread; one hard parry and the arm was gone.
They had nothing left.
Anko's jaw locked. Her fingernails dug sharply into her own thigh through the yukata fabric. A spike of helpless, bitter anger flared in her chest at Kakashi's condition, forcing her to grip her ceramic teacup so hard the glaze groaned under the pressure.
"Tch. You're fast, kid. I'll give you that," Anko said slowly, forcing her hand to relax, the tea turning metallic on her tongue. "But speed doesn't stop a kunai to the back of the knee."
"I know," Idate said softly. He glanced down at his hands, the boastful arrogance he had carried as a genin completely stripped away. "I can't fight them off. Not while maintaining race pace. That's why I need help."
His eyes drifted up, his gaze locking directly onto Anko's.
"I need you to escort me," Idate pleaded, the desperation finally breaking through his guarded exterior. "You and your team. Escort me from Degarashi Port to the Todoroki Shrine. Protect me from the Wagarashi's mercenaries so I can just run."
Anko stared at him.
The humid air in the dining room suddenly felt strangely thick.
The cedar walls of the inn seemed to press inward, the distant, droning buzz of cicadas outside amplifying the heavy silence in the room.
A flash of sharp irritation flared in her chest—irritation at his weakness, at the sheer audacity of asking a battered, exhausted squad to step into a mercenary meat-grinder. She wanted to snap at him, to reject the sympathy clawing at her throat.
Instead, her tactical override failed. She swallowed too hard, her molars grinding together as she deliberately shifted away from his haunted eyes. "Why does it have to be you?" Anko asked quietly. "Jirōchō could hire his own shinobi."
"Because I owe him my life," Idate said instantly, though his knuckles flushed bone-white against his knees and a tight, suppressed strain choked the back of his throat. "He gave me hope when I had nothing. I have to win this for the family."
Idate paused. His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek.
He turned away, staring intensely at the woven tatami mat. His mouth opened, then closed again, a flash of deep irritation crossing his face as he fought back the words.
He picked up the small pocket-knife.
The blade trembled faintly in his grip, its edge meticulously maintained and razor-sharp despite the oxidized brass pins. He tested the comforting, heavy weight of the steel in his palm, his thumb tracing the smooth, worn metal handle.
"And... I have to win it for myself," Idate added, his voice dropping to a harsh, raw whisper. "I have to prove I'm not just a coward who runs away when things get hard. If I can win this race, if I can stand up to the Wagarashi and protect the family that protected me..."
He looked at Anko, the guarded hesitation finally cracking to reveal a fierce, absolute determination.
"Then maybe I'll be someone my brother can finally respect."
A thick drop of sweat slid down Anko's spine.
Next to her, Naruto shifted in his sleep, letting out a loud, oblivious snort that echoed against the sudden, crushing silence of the inn.