"You can't cut the mist. But sometimes, you can see through it."
The sharp scent of sea salt and oil hung in the air like a curtain. Zabuza Momochi stood silently at the far end of Gato's office, arms crossed, his massive executioner's blade leaned against the wall just beside him. The cramped wooden room reeked of cigars, sweat, and greed. the stench of men who believed wealth made them untouchable.
Gato was laughing. Loudly.
"My operations are spreading nicely, Momochi," Gato said, swirling a small cup of sake with stubby fingers. "The eastern docks, the bridge construction site, even the backchannels with the pirates,, all flowing smooth now. All I need is protection."
Zabuza didn't respond.
Gato gave a sideways glance. "You're not much of a talker, are you?"
Zabuza shifted slightly, enough to let the hilt of his cleaver-like sword catch the lantern light.
"I talk with this."
Gato chuckled nervously and waved his hand. "Right, right. Dead men don't argue. Just make sure nobody interferes until my bridge builder problem is handled. That's all you need to do."
Zabuza grunted once.
His mind wasn't really on the mission, though.
Earlier That Morning
Zabuza stood beside the fog-covered warehouse, giving quiet instruction to his silent companion.
"Stay with the hostages. Gato's men are half-drunk idiots. Someone needs to make sure nothing stupid happens."
Haku, calm as always, simply nodded. "Of course."
Zabuza looked at him for a long moment. There were no objections. There never were. But he caught the flicker of something in Haku's eyes.
Regret? Resentment?
No. Just loyalty. Too much of it.
He turned without another word.
Now, hours later, Zabuza sat again in Gato's office, but something tugged at him. An instinct. An itch just below the surface of reason.
Haku was fine. He always was. But Zabuza had learned never to trust quiet too long. Especially the kind that settled too fast.
He rose.
"I need air," he muttered.
Gato looked up, brow twitching. "You're not leaving, are you? You're still on the clock."
Zabuza shot him a glare. "The mist doesn't need permission to move."
Before the merchant could respond, Zabuza was gone, his footsteps silent despite the weight of the sword across his back.
The docks were bathed in fog. Sea gulls cried overhead. Workers shouted, ropes creaked, but to Zabuza it all sounded distant, muted.
His boots clicked over the wet planks.
Something was off. The mist didn't move right.
He walked to the far end of the pier and stared into the dense white toward the warehouses.
Stillness.
It wasn't normal. It was controlled. There was chakra here. But not his.
He turned slightly, fingers brushing the hilt of his blade.
Haku was no amateur. He could handle Gato's hired trash. But if another shinobi had interfered,
His jaw tightened.
Someone would pay.
And soon.
End of Chapter 15: Mist and Motives