The master blacksmith didn’t seem offended by Tōma’s earlier display at all. In fact, the warmth and easy kindness on his face made Tōma pause slightly. Still, that was a good thing. A cooperative client was always easier to protect.
"Tetsuya," the old man said with a gentle chuckle, "remember this. Never underestimate a shinobi from Konoha."
"Huh?" Tetsuya tilted his head. "Grandpa, have you met ninja before?"
"I have," the master replied slowly. "When I was about your age, I once met a shinobi who was very young as well..."
His voice trailed off, his expression drifting into distant memories.
"Grandpa!" Tetsuya protested, eyes lighting up. "Don’t stop there!"
The master laughed and came back to himself. He glanced at Tōma before continuing."That shinobi carried a short blade on his back. Silver hair. Quiet, but terrifyingly strong."
Tōma froze for a fraction of a second.
That description...
"I doubted him at first," the master went on, shaking his head. "Just like you did. He proved me wrong very quickly."
"Who was he?" Tetsuya asked eagerly. "Is he still in Konoha?"
"I never learned his real name," the master said softly. "But later, everyone knew him as Konoha’s White Fang."
"Whoa... that sounds amazing!" Tetsuya breathed.
Tōma wasn’t surprised. He’d guessed it already.
"But it’s a pity," the master added with a sigh. "The White Fang lost his life because of certain events."
Tetsuya’s excitement dimmed. "Grandpa... can you tell me more about him?"
The boy’s empathy was painfully sincere. Too sincere.Tōma thought. He’s been protected too well.
The Land of Iron was neutral, after all. Safer than most places tied to shinobi conflicts. At least, comparatively.
The master began recounting fragments of the past. Deeds. Battles. Reputation. Tetsuya listened with wide eyes, gasping at every story.
After finally escaping his grandson’s questions, the master turned to Tōma.
"Young man, we’ll be traveling together for some time. What should I call you?"
"墨影. Inkshadow," Tōma replied calmly, eyes still closed, his voice distant from within Deep Focus State.
"Very well. You may continue calling me ’Master.’ And you can call my grandson Tetsuya."
Tōma nodded.
"Inkshadow," Tetsuya asked again, unable to help himself, "are you as strong as the White Fang?"
"I can’t compare myself to him," Tōma said plainly. "But if you mean the White Fang from the time your grandfather met him... then I’m probably stronger."
"Wow!" Tetsuya gasped.
The master studied Tōma for a moment, then shook his head with a smile. He couldn’t judge the truth of it, but if it meant safety, that was enough.
Then Tōma’s eyes opened.
"Someone’s coming," he said.
Tetsuya looked at his grandfather.
"Hide," the master said at once, his tone sharp.
Tetsuya slipped into a concealed compartment with practiced ease.
A knock sounded on the carriage.
"Who is it?" the master asked, tense at first. His gaze flicked to Tōma, who now looked just like a boy his grandson’s age. That alone steadied his nerves. Somehow, he trusted this young shinobi more than he ever expected.
"Master," a familiar voice called from outside. "Captain sent some fruit for you."
"Leave it by the carriage," the master replied. "Thank him for me."
"Yes, sir."
After a while, the master looked back at Tōma.
"He’s gone," Tōma confirmed.
The master exhaled. Tōma opened the door slightly and brought the basket inside.
"Better not eat these," Tōma said.
"It should be fine," the master replied. "I know that voice."
"I don’t have a foolproof way to test for poison," Tōma answered simply.
Tetsuya emerged, eyes shining. "Inkshadow, how did you know someone was coming?"
"Instinct."
That was all Tōma said before moving aside.
"So... Grandpa?" Tetsuya eyed the fruit. "Can we eat it?"
"We can," the master laughed. "They have no use for a dead old man."
Tōma paused.
...Fair point.
The rest of the journey passed quietly. Tetsuya kept trying to ask questions, but the master gently stopped him each time. He could tell Tōma preferred silence.
Comparing the two boys, the master couldn’t help but think his own grandson was far more innocent.Are all shinobi this... hardened? he wondered.
Tōma extended his senses. Most of the convoy were civilians. Chakra perception wasn’t very useful here, but he could still read movement and sound.
Four chakra signatures circled the convoy in a cross formation. A surface squad. Likely one chūnin leading three genin.
As Tōma watched the samurai guards and their swords, his hand drifted to his own blade.
Swordsmanship...
Flying Thunder God paired with Rasengan was powerful, but expensive. Too expensive for daily use.
If his sword skills improved, he wouldn’t need to rely on high-cost techniques as often.
And swordsmanship wasn’t just about the blade. Chakra control could be woven into it.
I should learn.
And as the "grandson" of a master blacksmith?Plenty of warriors would be more than willing to teach him.