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

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After leaving the Wasabi Family estate, Roshi sensed someone tailing him from the shadows.

He didn’t bother shaking them off. Instead, he strolled through the city, pausing at shops, casually chatting with vendors about market prices, then settling down at a street-side teahouse.

A pot of coarse local tea and a few sticky rice cakes soon arrived. The tea was bitter, the cakes chewy—ordinary fare—but the idle chatter drifting through the teahouse confirmed Jirocho’s warning. The Chayama Gang’s disguised guards had built up a month’s worth of simmering resentment, like smoldering charcoal waiting for a single spark.

By the time Roshi returned to Haifi Pavilion, night had already fallen.

Tanzai looked surprised to see him back so soon. After a short exchange, Tanzai retired to his room, leaving Roshi alone.

Moments later, a knock sounded. At the door stood Anko, tapping her forehead with two fingers in a playful salute.

”You’re back early, Captain? Don’t tell me the Wasabi Family bored you.”

Roshi glanced up at Anko.

She smirked. ”Well, I dug up something interesting.”

Roshi smiled faintly. ”Then I’ll trouble Lady Anko to enlighten us.”

”When you visited the Wasabi estate, a shipment came into the docks. I checked it out—ninja tools. Kunai, shuriken, protective gear.”

”Do you know where they were sent?” Roshi’s tone sharpened.

”I already dispatched Itachi. I’d have gone myself, but I stand out too much.” Her smile turned wry. ”Pretty faces don’t blend in at the docks.”

It was then that Itachi entered, bowing politely. ”Captain, Anko-senpai. I confirmed everything. The entire shipment went to Naqi Island. From what I gathered, they’ve been quietly stockpiling ninja tools all month.”

Roshi nodded, then asked, ”And Tanzai-san’s goods?”

”They’re safe. I watched the docks all afternoon. The guards kept sneaking glances our way, but they weren’t interested in the cloth merchant’s cargo.”

”I see.” Roshi then recounted the information Jirocho had given him—carefully omitting Tsunade’s involvement—mentioning only that Jirocho had hired a powerful ally and there was little need to worry about security.

When he finished, the three fell into thoughtful silence.

Anko broke it first, frowning. ”The Chayama Gang’s desperate for money, the Black Snake Group pops in and out of nowhere, and Naqi Island’s secretly buying weapons. These things… they’re like beads scattered on the ground. I just can’t see the thread tying them together.”

”The Black Snake Group connects to Jubei,” Itachi offered.

At that moment, Tanzai returned upstairs, announcing dinner. Roshi glanced at Anko.

She raised her hands dramatically. ”Yeah, yeah, I get it. Come on, kid,” she said, clapping Itachi’s shoulder. ”Let’s help that poor cloth merchant carry dishes before he bursts into tears and ruins dinner for all of us.”

Without a word, Itachi followed her out. The door clicked shut, sealing off the noise of the hall.

Alone now, Roshi rose and pushed open the window. A cool breeze stirred his hair as he gazed into the night.

Kunai and shuriken were called ninja tools for a reason—ordinary people didn’t use them. Even for shinobi, in close combat a sword was more decisive; Anbu standard gear proved that much.

For an ordinary group, especially one outside the village system, to buy weapons like these in bulk was anything but normal.

And the Chayama Gang—openly clawing after money ever since their takeover—looked less like greedy thugs and more like a force funding something larger. Their hunger wasn’t just bandit nature. Their eyes were fixed on Shinobi.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a hotel attendant entered with a tray.

Dinner was typical port fare: a steaming bowl of thick fish stew, creamy broth topped with floating scallions; a plate of small sea fish fried until golden and crisp; and the house specialty—fish paste cakes, springy and white, flecked with red pepper for a kick. For the shinobi, Tanzai even brought out a plate of seasonal fruit.

”Everything alright?” Roshi asked casually as he sat down.

”No issues.” Anko deftly set out the bowls and chopsticks, while Itachi quietly placed the fruit platter in the center.

Roshi’s gaze swept over the fragrant dishes. ”Once the mission is wrapped up, we’ll find another chance to try the local specialties.”

”Then you’re paying, Captain.” Anko’s eyes lit up, her tone shameless.

The chef’s skills were commendable—the fish fresh, the seasoning simple but precise. By the time Roshi finished, he found himself oddly charmed by Deai Port. He decided that once their mission was complete, he would linger a few days to soak in the sights and flavors—assuming, of course, the current mess could be untangled without disaster.

When the dishes were cleared, silence settled over the room. Roshi broke it, his voice carrying clearly.

”I’ve been thinking. The Black Snake Group’s true aim may be to establish a Ninja Village here in the Land of Tea, with the Chayama Gang propping them up.”

”A Ninja Village?!” Anko nearly spat out her drink, eyes wide. ”With just a bunch of strays? What a joke!”

Even Itachi’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his usually calm features.

”It isn’t impossible.” Roshi’s tone was steady, matter-of-fact. ”The Five Great Nations aren’t the only ones with ninja villages. Many smaller countries have their own. As long as they don’t infringe on the great powers’ core interests, no one has the will—or even the resources—to wipe them all out. When war breaks out, the major villages are too busy with their own fronts, leaving gaps in influence. The nobles of smaller nations still have needs, still face threats. Without their own standing force, their safety becomes fragile. That’s why founding a Ninja Village under their direct influence is a logical choice.”

”But… what about Guardian Ninja?” Anko protested. ”Can’t a Daimyo just hire powerful shinobi to serve as personal guards? Isn’t that enough?”

”The principle is different.” Roshi shook his head. ”Guardian Ninja are private soldiers, bound by individual loyalty. They can be swayed, corrupted, or turned against their masters. A Ninja Village,” his voice sharpened on the word, ”is institutional. It holds legal recognition, sustained funding, and clearly defined boundaries. That stability is what makes it valuable.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. ”And frankly, only this explanation fits why the Land of Tea tolerates the Chayama Gang’s behavior here in Deai Port.”

Anko opened her mouth, ready to retort—but no counterargument came. With a frustrated sigh, she ran a hand through her hair.

”So what’s the play, Roshi?” she finally asked. ”First, get this unlucky merchant’s goods on the ship, then rush back to the Village and dump the headache on the Hokage’s desk?”

Roshi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his robe and withdrew a scroll, placing it on the table. The black A-rank mission scroll, marked with Hiruzen’s personal seal, gleamed coldly in the lamplight.

”The Village,” Roshi tapped the scroll with one finger, his gaze meeting both Anko’s and Itachi’s, ”has already given us the authority. And it has a preference.”

The words were unspoken but clear: expel—or annihilate—the Black Snake Group.

From the Land of Tea’s perspective, having its own Ninja Village was appealing. If resources were going to be invested, why not invest in power rooted on their soil, serving their interests first?

But Konoha’s view was very different. In the early days, the smaller villages formed alongside the Five Great Ones had been ignored, either because they were distant or because Konoha lacked the manpower to care. The Land of Fire’s wealth had always provided sufficient missions to sustain the Village.

Now, though, things had changed. Konoha had thousands of registered shinobi, with numbers still growing even in peacetime. The Land of Tea, a stable and lucrative source of missions, would never be ceded—unless there was no other choice.

A cool night breeze drifted through the open window, curling the edges of the mission scroll. Under the lamplight, three shadows stretched long across the wall, silent and unmoving.

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