Hiro woke up feeling surprisingly good. For the first time in what felt like forever, he’d eaten a proper meal, and now he had enough food to last at least a week. Plus, he had a bargaining chip with Aoki. Sure, the scroll was blank, but its fine craftsmanship hinted at value. Hiro figured he could probably get at least three ryō for it—maybe more if Aoki was feeling generous, though that was unlikely.

  Only Kitsune was nowhere to be found. As usual, the fox had scrounged up his meal and slipped away unnoticed.

  “That opportunist,” Hiro grumbled, shaking his head as he pulled on his clothes.

  Today is going to be even better than yesterday, he promised himself as he made his way to the village. It was an oath he made every morning—though more often than not, life had other plans. Still, the thought gave him a small flicker of hope as he started toward the village.

  The dull ache in his right side reminded him of the shuriken wound as he adjusted the bandage. It was healing well, but the sting lingered with every movement. Just a few more days, he thought. I’ll be as good as new.

  Takiyamura was buzzing with life. The streets on each town level were lined with market stalls. Vendors called out their wares, their voices rising above the hum of the crowd. They offered everything from fresh produce to intricate crafts. The air carried the scent of freshly caught fish, game, and vegetables on creaking carts. Children darted, laughing, through the crowds while adults haggled over prices with sharp voices. Off the side, the Hero Waterfall spiled into the river that ran through the valley below.

  “Have you heard? There was a break-in at the Kageyama estate last night,” an old woman named Hana said with raised eyebrows, her voice low but clear as Hiro passed by the teahouse. She was one of the village elders. She took a slow sip from her cup.

  “Nothing important was stolen, though,” her friend replied with a smirk. “Or so they say.”

  “Konnichiwa, o-futari tomo,” Hiro greeted the two women with a cheerful nod, a spring in his step as he moved on. Takiyamura was like that—news traveled faster than the wind.

  He felt a surge of pride despite the way they stared. They always stared. He had grown used to it by now. It was his eyes. A bright, unnatural green that didn’t match the warm browns of the villagers around him.

  “The heavens made them so green,” his father used to say. “The gods themselves would have eyes like yours.” He held on to those words, even now. The stares didn’t bother him. He was proud of his eyes. Proud to wear what made him different.

  “Your mother and I named you Hiro (弘) for a reason, son,” he remembered his father saying. “It means ‘vast’ or ‘great.’ So, you would always push beyond your limits.”

  His mother and father had passed away in an accident when Hiro was just five years old. What exactly had happened was a mystery—nobody at the orphanage ever told him. All he knew was that it involved a fire. Not that it mattered anymore. Even now, ten years later, he still wished things had been different. That the fire had never happened. He wished for them to be next to him every day—and every night.

  A small boy of ten, missing his left arm, approached Hiro from the side.

  “Hiro-san,” he said. “Do you have anything for me today?”

  “Today’s your lucky day, Satoshi!” Hiro replied, tossing a quarter ryō his way. Satoshi caught it with his good hand, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  “Woahh! Arigatou, tomodachi!” he shouted, already half-turned to run. “I have to go tell Haruo and Fumiko! They’ll never believe this!”

  He darted off into the busy street, his small figure vanishing into the crowd. Hiro watched him go, feeling a rare warmth in his chest.

  Haruo and Fumiko were Hiro’s friends—good kids, just like Satoshi. The three of them had become something of a family, looking out for each other when no one else would.

  Hiro clutched the scroll tightly to his chest, his destination clear—Aoki’s shop on Kawaishi Dōri. Selling stolen goods wasn’t easy. Aoki was an old, suspicious, and silly fellow, but Hiro appreciated his sharp eye for value. Sure, he underpaid like all the others, but not as badly. That was the game. Hiro got a safe place to sell his stuff, and Aoki didn’t ask too many questions. For an orphan skirting the edges of legality, that was as close to fair as anyone got.

  The shop was tucked away in a quieter corner of the village, its entrance marked by a faded sign and a cluttered window display: chipped porcelain, tarnished coins, and tools whose purposes Hiro could only guess at.

  Hiro approached cautiously, his fingers tightening around the scroll. Aoki wasn’t easily fooled, and Hiro knew where the real challenge lay—convincing him the scroll was worth something, without saying too much about where it had come from.

  “Good morning, you old geezer. Still alive, huh?” Hiro called out as he stepped inside, tossing an apple casually into the air—the last item he’d “borrowed” from the market.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Good morning, yancha. Could ask you the same thing,” Aoki replied, not bothering to glance up from the newspaper in his hands.

  Aoki’s gray hair and matching beard revealed his age, but he was still sharp as a tack. He wore his glasses so low on his nose that it made him look perpetually amused—or like he already knew what you were up to. His smirk, as usual, was firmly in place.

  “The Kageyama had a break-in last night,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Hiro before sinking back into his paper. “Who would be dumb enough to steal from them, baka?”

  “Saa ne,” Hiro replied nonchalantly. “But nothing of value was stolen, janai?”

  “Humph, that’s what they’re saying,” Aoki replied, setting the paper down with a sigh. “But Kageyama Tatsuya’s still pissed. Word is a few guards have already lost their heads over it—literally.”

  Hiro paused, the apple halfway to his mouth. He looked down, his stomach twisting. He’d heard the rumors about Tatsuya’s cruelty, but this? He hadn’t expected people to pay for his heist with their lives. It wasn’t the guards’ fault he was too good at his craft.

  Aoki leaned back in his chair, the smirk returning. “Well, look at the bright side. Some lucky villagers might get new jobs out of this. What a solution to fight the raging unemployment rate, ee, Hiro?” He chuckled.

  Hiro forced himself to a weak smile.

  “Anyway, tell me,” Aoki said. “What do you have for me today? Or are you just here because you missed your oji-chan?”

  Hiro smiled but mellowed at the term. As much as Aoki drove him crazy, the old man felt like the closest thing he had to family, apart from his friends.

  “I do, in fact, have a great find for you today, Aoki.” Hiro switched to his sales pitch. “That old fool Shigeru from the market offered me ten whole ryō for this beautiful piece. But since you are my dear oji-chan, Aoki, I’ll let you have it for eight.”

  With that, he took out the scroll from his pocket, the dark red band tied neatly around it and offered it to Aoki.

  “Hmm, the parchment is old—at least a hundred years—but well preserved,” Aoki whispered to himself. He took it gently and inspected it from all sides. “The ribbon is made out of pure silk. Now that’s a rare find.”

  “Silk?” A thrill ran through Hiro. He had never seen silk up close before. Pork ribs for dinner, here I come!

  But then Aoki frowned. “The seal is broken, though. What’s inside, Hiro?”

  “It was like that when I found it,” Hiro lied instinctively. “But it’s empty. It’ll make a nice gift for some rich lady to write love letters on.”

  “Empty indeed,” Aoki nodded, unrolling the scroll and peering inside. Then, adjusting his glasses, he looked up and hurriedly rolled it back together, tying the ribbon around it again. “I’m not buying it. Here, take it back.”

  “What? Why not?” Hiro protested. “Come on, oji-chan. This is high-quality—”

  “I don’t have the money right now,” Aoki interrupted, tossing the scroll back to him. “Come back in a couple of days. Now pack it away and get lost. I’m busy.”

  Fuming, Hiro tucked the scroll away and turned to leave. What kind of game is the old geezer playing? Is he trying to drive the price down?

  As he reached the doorway, Hiro collided with a towering figure. He looked up and froze. The man was a full-fledged samurai, clad in a traditional cuirass engraved with the Takiyamura waterfall crest. A katana and wakizashi hung at his side, and a menpō mask covered the lower half of his face. His piercing gaze bore into Hiro, a scar running from his left eye to his mouth, making his stare all the more intimidating.

  “Baka!” the samurai growled. “Watch where you’re going if you want to see tomorrow.”

  The man grabbed Hiro by the collar, lifting him off the ground. “What’s your name, boy? And what’s with those eyes?”

  Aoki cut in before Hiro could stammer a response. “That’s just Hoshi. He sometimes comes into the village to beg,” he said lazily. “I’ve told you to stop loitering here, Hoshi. Now get out and stop bothering my customers.”

  “Humph,” the samurai snorted and shoved Hiro toward the door. “Get lost, kid.”

  Hiro stumbled outside, clutching his side in pain as he hit the ground. The wound still isn’t fully healed, he thought. A second samurai stationed in front of the shop glanced at him curiously but said nothing. Hiro forced himself upright and hurried off, swallowing the pain.

  Inside, the tall samurai turned his attention to Aoki and removed the menpō mask, slumping into a chair near the entrance. He scratched at his bushy black beard, his tone casual. “Aoki-san, how’ve you been?”

  Aoki shot him a sharp look. “Since when do you care about how I’m doing, Masao?”

  “For heaven’s sake, I’m just checking in on my old sensei’s health,” Masao replied with a smirk, raising his hands in mock defense. “But I came here for more than pleasantries. I need your help.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Aoki said dryly. “Marrying Tatsuya’s cousin and becoming head of security really worked out for you, didn’t it? From a regular officer to the head of police. Quite a climb, hee?”

  Masao’s face reddened. “I adapted with the times, old man. Unlike yourself.”

  “And forgot everything I taught you about ninjutsu, it seems,” Aoki interrupted sharply.

  “Pfft. There’s no room for ‘the way of the ninja’ today. The last Shinobi War is long over. We have peace. And during peaceful times, people need certain qualities to thrive—you still don’t get it, do you?”

  Aoki turned away, his jaw tightening. “Anything is better than working for that bastard Tatsuya. I respected his father. Him? Never. And I respect you even less for following him, Masao-kun.”

  Masao sighed. “Yare yare, let’s not argue, sensei, ee? I came to you with some questions, Aoki.”

  Aoki didn’t reply.

  “Like I said, it concerns the break-in from yesterday,” Masao continued. “The thief took only minor items, like food and such—probably a beggar or some poor fool. Nothing that the Kageyamas would usually even notice. But he also took a valuable scroll. Now, Kageyama Tatsuya is a reasonable man; he believes this might’ve been an oversight and is willing to overlook it—as long as the scroll is returned.”

  “And this concerns me how?” Aoki asked, folding his arms.

  “You do know everything and everyone in the village, Aoki-san,” Masao said. “Did you see or hear anything suspicious?”

  Aoki smirked. “A drunk offered me an early copy of A Guide to Konoha’s Best Bars.”

  Masao’s face darkened. “This isn’t a joke. We wouldn’t want valuable village property to get into the wrong hands, now would we? So, a piece of advice—don’t test me.”

  “I've got nothing to tell you,” Aoki said coolly. “Try your luck at the market.”

  Masao rose from his chair. “You could have told me this from the start, Aoki-san, and not wasted my time. I need to go now but do let me know if you hear anything. One of our guards wounded the thief with a shuriken—in the right flank...”

  Masao stopped, frowning.

  “What is it?” Aoki asked cautiously.

  Masao’s eyes widened. “That boy—Hoshi! He was holding his side when he fell!”

  “Hoshi? That boy’s a fool. And his leg is lame. Forget it, Masao—”

  But Masao was already gone.

  GLOSSARY

  -san (さん) – Mr./Ms. (honorific)

  Arigatou (ありがとう) – Thank you

  Baka (バカ) – Fool / Idiot

  Hiro (弘) – Vast / Great

  Janai (じゃない) – Isn’t it? / Right?

  Kageyama – "Shadow mountain"

  Katana (刀) – Long sword

  Kawaishi Dōri (川石通り) – Riverstone Street

  Kitsune (狐) – Fox

  Konnichiwa (こんにちは) – Hello / Good afternoon

  Menpō (面頬) – Face armor

  Ninjutsu (忍術) – Art of the ninja / Ninja techniques

  O-futari tomo (お二人とも) – You two / both of you

  Oji-chan (おじちゃん) – Uncle / Old man (affectionate)

  Ryō (両) – Traditional Japanese unit of currency

  Saa ne (さあね) – Who knows / I guess so

  Sensei (先生) – Teacher / Master

  Shinobi (忍び) – Another term for ninja

  Shuriken (手裏剣) – Throwing star / ninja weapon

  Takiyamura – The Waterfall and Mountain village

  Tomodachi (友達) – Friend

  Wakizashi (脇差) – Short sword

  Yancha (やんちゃ) – Brat / Mischievous kid

  Yare yare (やれやれ) – Good grief / Oh boy