Chapter 42: The Three Little Ones

Yahiko, Konan, Nagato—aside from the Akatsuki trio, who else in the world could boast such a combination of hair colors? Shira honestly had no idea when Yahiko had died; it seemed like some distant, ancient event. But, thinking it through, Yahiko fell in that very battle where Nagato, like pulling the rug out from under everyone, summoned away Madara’s oxygen tank—the Demonic Statue of the Outer Path. So, that fight must have taken place after Obito turned to the dark side. Otherwise, Madara, whose life was hanging by a thread, would have kicked the bucket long ago, instead of waking up to hurl curses at Nagato.

Even so, Yahiko didn’t have many years left to live. Shira stared at Yahiko in a daze.

Yahiko, too, was staring blankly at Shira, utterly bewildered by his question, “Why aren’t you dead yet?”

“Do we know each other…?”

“No, no, not at all—I must have mistaken you for someone else. Hahaha, there are just too many handsome men with orange hair in the ninja world.” Shira hurriedly denied any familiarity. Not long ago, when Black Zetsu left, he’d mentioned he was going to keep an eye on Nagato; who knew if he was nearby now? Even if Black Zetsu wasn’t around, there were surely other White Zetsu clones lurking close by.

“I suggest you deal with the folks behind you before we continue this conversation,” Yuba said, waving off the jittery crowd.

“Come on, sit down and talk. The person we’re looking for—his name is mentioned here all the time,” Shira quickly made room and sat down beside Yuba.

“Damn it, what a buzzkill!” The group of drinkers, seeing Yuba’s gesture that the danger had passed, grumbled as they sank back into their drunken stupor, though the atmosphere was much dampened.

Yahiko and his companions took their seats without hesitation.

“Would you like to order anything?” Shira noticed the three only had grimy, greasy wooden cups on their table—he couldn’t tell if they’d dared sample the local swill.

“No, thank you… the food here is really terrible,” Konan shook her head.

So, they’d tried it already.

“It’s getting late—let’s have a meal together,” Shira offered with a warm smile, unwilling to let pass such a golden opportunity to get closer.

“No, no, we brought our own rations,” Yahiko quickly waved him off.

“And things here are expensive…” Konan, now responsible for Akatsuki’s finances, added.

“Don’t worry about the cost. When you’re far from home, nothing is more comforting than a hot, hearty meal,” Shira replied kindly, giving Yuba a meaningful glance.

Yuba, never one to miss a chance to extort, rang his bell with a bright, persistent clatter.

Shangji strode over, her small yellow leather boots clacking sharply on the floor, her attitude surly as ever. She slammed her tray on the table: “What do you want now, old mutt?”

“Meat! All kinds of meat! Don’t worry about the price—bring out the most expensive. And five bottles of ale. This big spender from the Leaf Village is treating his friends!” Yuba grinned broadly.

Shangji’s mind seemed to jolt with electricity. Her amber eyes locked intensely onto Shira, and she leaned in close, sniffing at his skin.

“You’re from the Leaf Village?”

“I’m not, I’m really not—don’t listen to him,” Shira hurriedly raised his hand in protest.

“Oh, please—look at that smooth skin, so fresh it could burst with juice from a single pinch. Besides someone from the Leaf, what other village could nurture someone like this?” Yuba pinched Shira’s arm.

“You’d have to stay out of the sun for decades to keep that pale!”

“There is a faint scent of leaves…” Shangji sniffed again.

Konan glanced at her own fair skin, which looked almost sallow next to Shira’s hand, and, feeling inferior, quickly tucked her arm back under her cloak.

Shangji stared at Shira for a long moment before abruptly turning and heading back to the kitchen.

“Why on earth did you say I’m from the Leaf?” Shira grumbled at Yuba’s presumptuousness. He could only imagine what trouble this might bring.

“Didn’t you say you liked her? Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight!” Yuba shot him a suggestive look.

“Oh, so liking someone just means you want to sleep with them?”

“If you don’t, is it really love?”

“Ugh, you’re filthy!”

“Don’t pretend to be noble! I know exactly what’s going on in that mind of yours.”

“My mind is full of your breakfast!”

...

Shira and Yuba exchanged a volley of colorful insults.

“Ahem… So, are you or aren’t you from the Leaf? Have you ever met our teacher, Jiraiya?” Yahiko interrupted their back-and-forth.

“I swear, I’m not from the Leaf, and I’ve never met Jiraiya. But now that you mention it, I do have some of his masterpieces—free samples, no charge,” Shira said, reaching into Afei’s mouth and pulling out three volumes of “Make-Out Paradise,” which he handed to the trio.

“Is this… a new book from Master Jiraiya?” Yahiko, opening the cover and seeing the author’s portrait—Jiraiya’s wild, unrestrained grin—felt his eyes grow moist.

“Make-Out Paradise… Did Sensei really change his style?…” Nagato fished out an old, yellowed novel from his ninja tool pouch—the very first book Jiraiya ever wrote, “The Tale of Gutsy Ninja.”

“Those were truly memorable days. I’ll be sure to read it carefully when I get back,” Konan said earnestly, tucking the book away inside her cloak.

“Yes! You have to truly immerse yourself in it, to connect with your teacher’s soul through his writing,” Shira inwardly rejoiced; if all went well, he’d have another 300 gold coins by morning.

Soon, Shangji appeared to a chorus of “my goddess of the ox hour,” setting down platter after platter of meat dishes on their table.

This time, instead of filthy wooden plates, the food was served on clean porcelain dishes, though many were chipped. They were probably the plates Shangji’s own family used at home.

“P-please enjoy your meal,” Shangji said with a flushed face, offering Shira a shy little bow.

“Damn, since when does this swill actually get you drunk?”

“Did I just see that? Shangji actually bowed to a customer!”

“Unbelievable, I watched that girl grow up. She could kick my balls with her little legs when she was four!”

“How old is she now? Thirteen? Fourteen? She must have a crush on that pretty boy!”

After setting the table, Shangji responded to the last remark with a swift kick to the guy’s crotch.

“This… this is a hundred thousand ryo?” Konan was startled. The spread was plentiful, sure, but still just ordinary fare—how could it possibly cost that much…?

“I thought it would be two hundred thousand! Little Shangji definitely gave you a discount!” Yuba didn’t pause to answer, tearing into a chicken leg like a starving ghost.

“Here, Nagato, have a chicken leg—meat on the bone makes you run faster,” Shira said, handing another large drumstick to Nagato and filling his cup with ale.

“…Thank you,” Nagato replied. As the least adept at socializing, he couldn’t fathom why this stranger was serving him food.

“Sister Konan, have a sweet tomato—it’s good for your skin,” Shira said, placing two plump, red tomatoes in front of her. Though a bit wilted, fresh fruit was a rare treat in these parts.

“Ah… thank you, thank you!” Konan was flustered by the attention.

“Come on, Yahiko, eat whatever you like. Don’t hold back—get your fill of your favorites while you can…” Shira said, giving Yahiko’s shoulder a heavy pat.

“???” Yahiko was utterly bewildered.