Naruto: Being a Shinobi with no System But...

With his plan set, Roshi first spoke with Tanzai. The merchant, visibly anxious, tried to dissuade him again and again, but Roshi’s steady, unwavering gaze left no room for negotiation. With two Konoha shinobi remaining behind to guard the warehouse, Tanzai finally relented, though unwillingly.

Not long after, Wasabi Jirocho returned, this time personally inviting Roshi to the Wasabi estate.

The Wasabi Family referred not only to the household itself but also to the clan-like organization it led. The estate wasn’t extravagant, but it housed dozens of the family’s core members and their kin. Its perimeter was fortified with guards armed with bows and even firearms—an unusual sight for shinobi-trained eyes. Watchtowers rose before the rear courtyard, manned at every hour.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted. Jirocho commanded genuine respect from his kin, and that same courtesy extended to Roshi as he was led deeper in.

They passed through an ornate sliding door decorated with pine and crane motifs. Beyond it lay a serene garden—raked white sand, stepping stones, and carefully trimmed greenery. Corridors ringed the space, connecting tea rooms and private residences.

Roshi slowed slightly, taking in the refined atmosphere. ”This feels like the inner residence.”

”Indeed,” Jirocho replied, continuing without pause. ”There is someone here Roshi-dono should meet.”

The words triggered Roshi’s inner alarm, and he readied himself.

Before a secluded courtyard screened by slender bamboo, Jirocho halted. Bowing low, he announced:

”Konoha’s Special Jonin, Roshi, has arrived.”

The door slid open with a soft rasp. A young girl peeked out—dark blue casual wear, neat black hair cut short, and a delicate face with calm, intelligent eyes. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen. The moment her gaze fell on Roshi, surprise flickered there—quickly buried beneath polite composure.

Shizune?

Recognition clicked immediately. And if Shizune was here… then the one inside could only be—

His guard eased.

”Please, come in.” Shizune stepped aside, her voice steady, gentle.

Jirocho did not enter. After a final bow, he withdrew to wait quietly under the veranda. Roshi followed Shizune into the courtyard.

The first thing he saw was the figure by the stone table.

Sunlight filtered through bamboo leaves, scattering dappled shadows across the garden. A woman sat lazily on a stool, clad in a loose green robe. Her golden hair, untied, spilled down her shoulders like molten light. Several sake bottles sat before her—some drained, some half-filled. She raised a heavy ceramic cup, tilting it back with a practiced ease, swallowing greedily.

Her profile in the shifting light was breathtaking. Smooth, youthful skin. Sharp brows. The kind of beauty that seemed untouched by age—no older than her early twenties.

Tsunade. As expected.

”Hm?” Tsunade set the cup down, wiping stray liquor from her lips with the back of her hand. Slowly, her head turned. Her amber eyes, dulled with alcohol, wandered toward Roshi, hazy but penetrating all the same.

”Lady Tsunade, you’ve had too much,” Shizune chided softly. ”Roshi-kun is here.”

”Oh—” Tsunade dragged the word out, her voice rough, thick with drink. ”So that brat’s finally here.”

Her gaze sharpened just slightly. ”Old Momoka isn’t dead yet, is she?”

Roshi’s face tightened despite himself. Of all things, he couldn’t take lightly the one elder who had given him genuine care and warmth.

”Grandma is still full of vigor. Honestly, she may be healthier than you right now.”

”Heh… good.” Tsunade accepted the jab without flinching, as if his words slid right past her. Or perhaps, in her haze, she simply didn’t care. She pushed against the stone table and rose unsteadily, the faint tremor in her body betraying just how much she’d had to drink.

Her steps carried her closer, unhurried but heavy, until the scent of sake lingered thick in the air between them. She leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing as if to pierce through him.

Her amber gaze, though blurred, still held the scrutiny of someone weighing far more than appearances.

”I heard you were dying once… Grandma Momoka even sent me a letter, begging me to save you…” Tsunade burped softly, her amber eyes half-lidded. ”But looking at you now… lively, standing tall… seems you’re doing just fine.”

She lazily extended a finger toward Roshi’s chest, but stopped midway, pulling it back with a slurred murmur. ”Since you’re alive… why not just stay in the village? She’s already seventy-eight… she shouldn’t have to keep worrying about you…”

The heady mix of alcohol and faint perfume hung thick in the air. Roshi frowned and instinctively shifted a step back.

”The Village has assigned me a mission,” he replied, steady but curt. ”I intend to see it through.”

”Village, Village…” Tsunade repeated the word like a bitter chant, her lips curling as if she could taste the syllables. ”Even Grandpa… one after another… and in the end, what did it change?”

Before Roshi could respond, she suddenly closed the distance with startling speed—far too sharp for a drunken stumble. A slender, deceptively delicate hand slammed onto his shoulder, crushing down with monstrous force.

”Ugh—!” Roshi gritted his teeth as an overwhelming weight crashed onto him. The bluestone beneath his feet groaned in protest before cracking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing outward.

The haze in Tsunade’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, piercing clarity that cut like a blade. Her gaze locked onto his.

”You… Grandma Momoka used that on you, didn’t she?!”

The pressure was suffocating. Roshi’s only option was to flare his chakra. In an instant, a condensed blaze of blue surged from his pores, rippling with raw vitality.

Boom!

The stone beneath him exploded, shards flying as a violent shockwave swept the courtyard, scattering white sand and whipping bamboo leaves into a frenzy. Roshi forced his spine straight against her crushing strength, the pit beneath him sinking deeper with every heartbeat.

”Hmph.” Tsunade sneered, a flash of complicated emotion crossing her face. Then, just as abruptly, she released him. The weight vanished like mist.

Her posture softened, arms crossing as she leaned back casually against the stone table. As though nothing had happened, she lifted her sake cup again, swirling the liquid.

”So tell me…” she asked coolly, her gaze still sharp despite her languid air. ”What kind of mission could be important enough… for the old man to send you?”

Roshi brushed his shoulder where no dust lingered, his voice calm as if the ground hadn’t nearly swallowed him whole.

”You misunderstand. Grandma Momoka’s attempt was never announced—it was an accident. At most, the Third Hokage has his suspicions, nothing more.”

He paused, then added evenly: ”As for the mission… Jirocho-san has already explained.”

Tsunade’s amber eyes narrowed, her lashes casting thin shadows across her cheeks. The courtyard fell into silence, broken only by the restless rustle of bamboo. Off to the side, Shizune stood tensely, her brow knit, her gaze flicking between master and shinobi with faint worry.

Finishing the last of her cup, Tsunade let it fall onto the table with a muted clink. She didn’t look at Roshi this time. Instead, she waved her hand dismissively, reaching for another bottle.

”Go, then. Do whatever you came here for,” she muttered, her voice already thickening with drink again.

Roshi bowed slightly. ”Yes, Lady Tsunade.”

He turned and followed Shizune toward the gate. Just before stepping out, he stopped. Without looking back, his voice carried clearly across the courtyard:

”Grandma misses you. If you have time… it would be good to return to the Village and see her.”

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