The Transformation Jutsu ground against Anko's skull, a rhythmic pressure pulsing behind her temples.
Maintaining the mass of the Sannin required her to project a weight she didn't naturally possess.
Tsunade's presence existed as a landslide—dense, warm, and centered with a suffocating gravity.
Her own current hissed, moving with the jagged frequency of a viper.
Even through the mask of the jutsu, she registered that internal friction, a jagged edge trying to slice through the smooth skin of the disguise.
She forced her shoulders wider, postural fatigue settling into her traps, and tightened her muscles to hold the resonant timbre of the Sannin's voice.
Sylvie led the way into the Shadow Belt, wet socks squelching through the alley filth.
The air here trapped the rot of timber and the metallic tang of the docks. In the center of a narrow alley, Naruto stood over two shivering men.
Haunted in the lantern light, he looked like a child dragged out of a fever dream.
"Tsunade-baachan!" he yelled, his voice cracking with relief.
Anko-as-Tsunade stepped into the alley.
A heat pulse flared at the base of her neck—a flicker as her irritation spiked—but she smoothed it over with a surge of focus.
The suction of the mud pulled at her boots, a resisting grip that matched the tension in the air.
The boy squinted, his head tilting. "Wait... you feel weird."
"You feel stupid," Anko snapped, her voice a perfect replica of Tsunade's. "Hand over the necklace. Now."
Naruto flinched, his hand flying to the blue crystal. He locked his stance, bare feet sliding in the muck. "No. Not until you hear them out."
Anko stepped forward, her shadow swallowing Senta and Bunzō. Humidity in the alley compressed until every breath felt like a labor. Senta's ponytail dipped into a murky puddle.
"I don't have time for a sob story," Anko-as-Tsunade stated. Her voice dragged on the final syllable—a micro-instability she had to catch and force back into a deep register. Her gaze scanned the rooftops. In ports like this, rumors moved faster than orders. If an informant saw the Hokage being extorted, the news would gut their reputation before dawn. "Give it to them so they can vanish. I'll handle the logistics."
"No!" he shouted, stepping directly between Anko and the thieves. He was barely six feet away, his breathing jagged. "They only did it because they're stuck! Their boss sent Senta's brother's hand back in a tea tin! They're hostages, not thieves!"
"We tried to quit," Bunzō cracked, his voice high and hysterical.
"I said hand it over," Anko-as-Tsunade growled. She leaned into the boy's space. There was a fraction of a second where her focus lagged, her frame sagging before she snapped the mass back into place. "This isn't a negotiation. You're interfering with Leaf protocol."
"Then the protocol is wrong!" His jaw tightened. "I'll pay it. I'll find a way to pay the debt myself."
Anko's fingers tensed, her hand twitching as she reached out to seize his collar. Naruto's eyes flicked to the movement, his boots shifting in the mud as he tightened his grip on the necklace. She stopped herself, her knuckles white as she fought the urge to drop the act. "You'd sign your life away for a couple of liabilities who'd stab you for a bowl of rice? Give me the crystal. That's an order."
He gripped the necklace tighter, eyes burning with a defiance that made Anko's flow hiss.
"Tsunade paid your boss back in full when she and Shizune visited your village a year ago," Anko revealed. Her jaw ached from maintaining the deep voice, and a flicker of blue light sparked near her collarbone as her focus wavered. "The debt doesn't exist."
Senta looked up from the runoff, his jaw slackening. "No... that's impossible. We... we calculated the interest. Twelve percent monthly... the books said..."
His voice trailed off, his eyes glassing over as the timeline of his exile collided with the numbers.
The logic of his orders seemed to shear away, leaving him staring at the ground.
Bunzō's breathing stopped for a full three seconds before he let out a strangled gasp.
Anko waited for the silence to settle into their bones before speaking again. "Your boss kept you in the field because you were disposable labor. He used a paid-up ledger to keep your families under his thumb."
Senta dropped his sword. The steel clattered against the stone with a hollow ring. "Three years," he whispered. "My daughter... she was four when I left."
Bunzō began to sob, his head hitting the stone.
His body shook, sliding sideways into the sludge.
Naruto watched them, his fists unclenching.
He moved, the slurry squelching between his toes as he crowded Senta's space.
The crystal lay in Senta's open palm, half-submerged in brown.
Naruto's hand hovered for a heartbeat, his fingers twitching against the air before he plunged them towards the necklace.
He gripped the facets; the suction of the muck fought his pull for a brief, resisting beat.
Senta's fingers curled toward the theft, but his motor response was too slow, his hand closing on nothing but the wet grit Naruto left behind.
His chest hitched as he clenched the jewelry in his fist, before shoving it deep into the pocket of his pajamas, his gaze fixed on the broken shapes in the dirt.
"Go find your families," Naruto said, his volume dropping into a stillness that felt heavier than the humidity. "The debt is done. Just go."
"Standard procedure would be to arrest them," Anko tested, her eyes narrowing.
"No," Naruto said. He didn't look at her. "They were already being punished."
Sylvie stepped forward. She looked at Senta, her expression unreadable. "Go home," she said softly. "Before the wind changes."
Senta and Bunzō scrambled to their feet.
They didn't walk like thieves; they moved like animals slipping out of a snare, their gait irregular as they navigated the shadows between shanties.
They bowed once toward Naruto and vanished into the darkness.
The sound of their footsteps faded, dissolving into the wet slap of the tide against the distant docks.
The rhythmic drip-drip-drip of a broken gutter reasserted itself, filling the vacuum left by their hysteria.
Naruto watched them go.
His hand remained over the pocket holding the necklace, his knuckles white against the gray cotton.
He looked at the alley, his eyes wide.
"Don't," Anko said. A violent tremor ran through her shoulders, and the resonance of the disguise flickered as her control frayed.
"What?" he asked.
"Copper. It sticks to the back of the throat long after the hands stop shaking." Anko swallowed, her jaw locking as she fought a surge of pressure in her tongue. "Damp stone. Old blood. I've seen them—kids trying to stitch the world with bare fingers. They end up with nothing but red on their palms."
Naruto offered no answer.
He remained motionless, his pupils dilated and fixed on the narrowing shadows where the exiles had vanished.