The alley smelled like old fish and wet wood, a dirty spot no one hung around in. Souta leaned against a crate, hands in his pockets, watching the lantern light flicker on the merchant's face. Hideo was skinny and twitchy, always after easy money. That's why Souta picked him.
"You're late," Hideo said, looking over his shoulder.
"Had to check no one followed," Souta said, keeping his voice quiet. He pulled a small pouch from his cloak, coins jingling a little. "This enough to start?"
Hideo glanced at the pouch, then at Souta. "Depends what you want. I don't deal with shinobi stuff—it's trouble."
"Not shinobi," Souta said, tossing it to him. "Business. Uchiha stores—tell your friends their prices are high, their stuff's no good. Say it's better to shop somewhere else."
Hideo caught the pouch and frowned. "Why? What's your deal?"
Souta shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You get paid, they lose customers. Works out—except for them."
Hideo opened the pouch, checked it, then tied it up. "People like Uchiha goods. Won't be easy to change that."
"Just talk," Souta said, stepping closer. "Say their stock's old or they're dodging taxes. People will buy it—they always do."
Hideo scratched his chin. "What if they ask why I'm saying this?"
"They won't know it's you," Souta said. "Too many people talking by then. Keep it quiet who paid you. You can do that, right?"
Hideo nodded, pocketing the coins. "Okay. But if this goes wrong, I don't know you."
"Don't know you either," Souta said, turning with a wave. "Start tomorrow—market's full then."
He left the alley, a small grin on his face as he hit the street. It was a little step, but little steps added up. Guys like Hideo would take the money and run with it, and soon the Uchiha would notice. Less trade, more pressure—just how he wanted it.
Back home, the lamp was still on when he walked in. Pakura sat at the table, sharpening a kunai with slow strokes. She didn't look up, but the scraping stopped.
"You're out late," she said.
"Had something to do," Souta said, dropping his cloak on a chair. He grabbed a cup of water from the counter and took a sip, leaning against the wall.
She set the kunai down and looked at him. "What was it?"
"Just business," he said. "Nothing big."
Pakura's eyes narrowed. "You're up to something. I can tell."
He put the cup down. "Talked to a merchant. Told him to spread some stuff about the Uchiha. That's it."
Her jaw tightened. "That's it? You're messing with their money. They won't take that easy."
"They need a push," he said. "They're too comfortable."
She stood and stepped closer. "A push? You hit their cash, and they'll come after you. You think they won't figure it out?"
"They won't," he said. "Too many people in the way. They'll be too busy to look at me."
She shook her head. "You're going too far. You're not as safe as you think."
He stepped closer too, grinning a little. "You're always worried about me. When you gonna let me cross that line with you?"
Pakura blinked, then frowned. "What line?"
"You know," he said, leaning in, voice dropping. "Me and you. Closer than this. When's that happening?"
She shoved him back, not hard, but firm. "After marriage. That's when."
He laughed, stepping back with his hands up. "Alright, fair. But after that, I'm doing a lot—kissing you whenever, holding you all night, all that."
She rolled her eyes, turning back to the table. "Keep dreaming."
"Will do," he said, still grinning. "Got plenty of plans for us."
She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "What if this Uchiha thing goes wrong?"
"It won't," he said. "I've got it handled."
"You always say that," she said, sitting back down. "One day you'll slip."
"Maybe," he said, heading for the bed. "But not today."
He dropped onto the bed, hands behind his head, staring up. Pakura's sharpening started again, the steady scrape cutting through the quiet. His mind drifted, restless. Something felt off—like a pull he couldn't place. Maybe it was nothing, but his gut rarely lied. He sat up, glancing at the window, then grabbed his cloak. "Going out," he said.
Pakura looked up. "Now? Where?"
"Just a walk," he said, heading for the door. "Need air."
She frowned but didn't stop him. He stepped into the night, the cool breeze hitting his face. The riverside—their old spot—kept nagging at him. He'd check it, just in case.
Across the village, Mikoto stood in her bathroom, the dim light casting soft shadows. She faced the mirror, brushing her hair, her robe loose. Adjusting it, she froze—a faint mark just above her navel, barely there, like an old love bite. She ran her fingers over it, skin cool under her touch. Her mind jumped to Souta—his grin, that night weeks ago when they'd crossed a line.
She shook her head, tying her robe tight, but her pulse raced. She had to see him—today. Itachi was asleep, the house was quiet. She didn't know where Souta lived, but the river spot—she'd find him there. The clan was under Danzo's watch now, shadows everywhere. She'd have to move smart.
As a jōnin, she knew how to slip through. She pulled on dark clothes, tied her hair back, and checked the window. A Root ninja stood two houses down, pretending to blend in. She waited, timing his glance away, then dropped out—silent, quick, landing soft. She took the alleys, senses sharp, dodging another watcher near the compound's edge. No Sharingan—too bright to risk. She cut through a back path, steady, and slipped out of the Uchiha district clean.
The river wasn't far. She stayed low, moving through the trees, the water's rush growing louder. She reached the bank—empty, just the current and the night. She knelt by a rock, waiting, fingers brushing that mark again.
Souta didn't take long. The walk was short, that gut feeling pushing him. As he hit the riverside, he saw her—Mikoto, near the rock, half in shadow. His grin slid up. He'd called it.
She turned at his steps, eyes on him. Before he could open his mouth, she stepped up, grabbed his face, and kissed him—quick, fierce, like she'd been starving for it. She pulled back, breathless. "I missed you," she said, voice quiet.