Mochizuki Hui knew that completing this mission would require cunning, not brute force.
While the defenses around the target were formidable, Hui had his own advantage: the enemy's sensory ninja couldn’t detect him. That was his greatest asset in this mission.
After three more days of careful observation and preparation, Hui was ready to act.
On this particular day, the minister followed his usual schedule, returning to his residence in the late afternoon from the daimyo's palace.
Before his return, the ninja guards had meticulously swept through his quarters, ensuring there were no threats or suspicious changes. After eating a dinner that had been carefully inspected for poison, the minister indulged his frustrations on one of the palace’s handmaids—one of the few forms of entertainment he was still allowed in his restricted state.
Afterward, drained and angry, he dismissed the maid and eventually drifted off to sleep, oblivious to the danger lurking below.
Outside his bedroom, more than a dozen guards patrolled diligently. Hidden in the shadows, seven shinobi stood ready, with the sensory ninja scanning the premises at regular intervals.
Every hour, the entire estate was swept, and occasionally, additional random checks were conducted. It was a fortress, nearly impenetrable.
And yet, Mochizuki Hui had already infiltrated.
He had entered the estate well before the minister’s return, taking advantage of the times when the guards and shinobi were not yet on high alert.
Hui had hidden himself in a tunnel he had meticulously dug over the past few days— a small and narrow tunnel, barely large enough for his seven-year-old body to crawl through.
No adult could have fit, and even Hui had to squeeze through with effort, moving slowly.
The tunnel led directly beneath the minister's chambers, emerging in the fish pond that adorned the garden just outside. The water-filled tunnel was Hui’s secret weapon.
For an ordinary person, staying in the tunnel for too long would have meant death by drowning. But Hui’s body, far beyond that of a normal human, allowed him to hold his breath far longer than most.
Once the minister was asleep, Hui made his move.
In the dead of night, the floor of the minister’s room shifted slightly, with barely a whisper of sound. A thin crack appeared, and a panel of the wooden floor was gently lifted. The minister’s snores masked the faint noise.
Hui emerged, his body slick with water but silent as a shadow.
He was naked, not for any perverse reason, but because wet clothes would have made noise and slowed his movements.
His bare skin, covered in only a few drops of water, allowed him to move with precision.
Once inside the room, Hui immediately got to work. He retrieved a set of kunai and wire from his tunnel and began setting a trap—painstakingly designed for this very moment. Each movement was deliberate, slow, and calculated.
Finally, the trap was set.
A delicate wire, nearly invisible, was rigged near the door. The moment someone pushed the door open, the wire would trigger, sending a deadly flurry of kunai towards the bed, where the unsuspecting minister slept.
Hui had carefully studied the minister’s routine. Every morning, someone from the household came to wake the minister, as he couldn’t rise on his own.
When they opened the door to rouse him, they would unknowingly trigger the trap, and the kunai would do the rest.
Satisfied with his work, Hui quietly retreated, lowering himself back into the tunnel and replacing the floor panel. By morning, the tunnel would likely be discovered, but it wouldn’t matter.
Once submerged in the pond again, Hui moved carefully along the bottom until he reached the edge, where he slipped into another, much shorter tunnel leading to the roots of a nearby tree.
From there, he exited the estate unnoticed.
None of the guards, neither the shinobi nor the soldiers, suspected a thing. Their focus was solely on protecting the minister’s room. And even though they had anticipated an assassination attempt, after so many uneventful days of guarding, their vigilance had waned.
As long as the sensory ninja didn’t detect any chakra signatures and the minister’s snores continued, they believed all was well.
Thus, Hui’s infiltration went perfectly.
Now, all that remained was to wait for morning.
When dawn broke, Hui, still in his disguise as a filthy street urchin, sat in a corner of the bustling marketplace. From where he was, he had a clear view of the minister’s estate.
Then, just as he expected, a panicked servant burst through the gates of the estate and rushed off towards the daimyo’s palace.
A short while later, the daimyo himself, flanked by a dozen guards, arrived in haste.
The assassination had been a success.
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