The Land of Rivers, to use an analogy from Shuji’s previous life, was something like a demilitarized zone in the shinobi world.
It had an imposing daimyō, a functioning bureaucracy, and even a force of sword-bearing samurai.
What it did not have was a hidden village of its own.
In a world where chakra and shinobi power dictated the balance between nations, that was little different from walking naked through a pack of wolves.
Whenever a problem grew beyond what its samurai could handle with their swords, the country had no choice but to send commissions to Konohagakure, Sunagakure, or even Amegakure—paying foreign shinobi to provide the force it lacked.
That peculiar political environment had given rise to strange yet thriving border towns like Koizumi Town.
There were no towering walls around the town and no heavily guarded checkpoints.
Only a dirt road wound through it from one end to the other.
Spices from the Land of Wind and mountain delicacies from the Land of Fire converged here, leaving the air perpetually filled with the mingled aromas of goods from foreign lands.
At that moment, Uchiha Itachi sat upright inside an unremarkable little restaurant.
A steaming bowl of fragrant beef stew rested before him, yet a faint trace of confusion lingered in his eyes.
Their journey had gone exactly as expected.
They had reached the border without incident, completed the handover with the local officials, received a briefing on the bandits, and then paid the customary visit to the local merchants’ association.
“They’re nothing more than a ragtag bunch of petty bandits,” the head of the merchants’ association had said.
He was a plump, well-groomed middle-aged man with an amiable smile, idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard as though the matter barely concerned him.
“They’ve robbed a few caravans, so I suppose they’ve caused a little inconvenience to trade.” What followed was a long string of pleasantries and empty well-wishes.
Beneath all the polite words, his only real request was simple: he hoped the shinobi from Konoha would deal with the problem as soon as possible.
Faced with such an almost perfunctory attitude, Shuji-senpai hadn’t shown the slightest reaction.
He had dutifully recorded everything the man told them—even though none of it differed from what was already written in the mission scroll—before casually changing the subject.
“With goods from three countries passing through Koizumi Town, I imagine you can find just about anything here?” “Of course, of course!” the man replied with a broad smile.
“I’ve heard the beef from the Land of Rivers has a distinctive flavor?” Shuji asked as casually as if he were discussing the weather.
The man’s eyes immediately lit up.
“You have excellent taste, Lord Shinobi!
If you want something truly local, you absolutely must try Zaemon’s beef stew.
It’s one of our town’s specialties!” At that point, Shuji-senpai seemed to lose all interest in continuing the conversation.
He politely excused himself.
And now, the two of them were sitting inside that very restaurant—Zaemon’s.
Itachi looked down into the ceramic bowl before him.
Amber-colored broth rippled gently around large chunks of beef that had been stewed to perfection.
The meat was so tender that the slightest touch of his chopsticks caused the fibers to separate.
The reddish-brown pieces of beef glistened beneath the rich sauce, topped with bright green scallions.
Steam curled upward carrying the deep fragrance of star anise, cinnamon, and other spices, all intertwined with the savory aroma of the beef itself.
The smell alone was enough to awaken the appetite.
“Senpai…” Itachi finally couldn’t hold back any longer.
Lowering his voice, he asked, “Aren’t we going to complete the mission?” “Of course we’re going to do the mission.” Shuji answered absentmindedly while steadily lifting a trembling piece of beef with his chopsticks and placing it into his mouth.
The moment the impossibly tender, succulent meat melted across his tongue, its rich flavor burst through his mouth along with a subtle hint of spice.
His eyes narrowed in pure satisfaction.
All the tension that had followed him since arriving in this world seemed to quietly melt away with that single delicious bite.
He savored it slowly, catching the faint sweetness hidden beneath the meat juices—a lingering flavor that came from the unique pasture grasses of the Land of Rivers, almost like the beef’s own signature.
Itachi gave in at last and picked up his chopsticks.
“Itadakimasu,” he murmured.
Seeing that, the corner of Shuji’s mouth lifted.
He raised a hand toward the busy figure behind the counter.
“Boss, another serving, please.” His gaze settled on the lean proprietor, who was carefully wiping down a ceramic jar, and genuine appreciation entered his eyes.
“Your control of the heat is remarkable.
The sauce is perfectly balanced—not strong enough to overpower the meat, but rich enough to bring out the beef’s natural flavor.” The owner, Zaemon, immediately brightened at the praise, his sun-browned face glowing with pride.
He wiped his hands on a faded apron that had clearly been washed countless times, and the wrinkles around his eyes relaxed into a pleased smile.
“You really know your food!
We use only the best beef, delivered fresh from the ranch every morning.
It has to simmer for hours to develop this flavor.
Getting every little detail right takes no less effort than mastering a complicated ninjutsu.” His eyes flicked toward the Konoha symbol on the boys’ forehead protectors.
The comparison had clearly been chosen for his shinobi customers.
“Would you like to try our grilled beef as well?
I’ve still got two excellent cuts left today,” Zaemon offered enthusiastically.
“I’d be happy to.” Shuji accepted without hesitation.
A small charcoal brazier was soon brought to their table.
Zaemon personally tended the grill, laying thin slices of meat across the wire mesh.
“This is short rib—nice and well-marbled.
And this is haneshita, a tender cut from the chuck.
Would you like me to grill them for you?” “Please do.
Thank you.” Shuji smiled and nodded.
His eyes remained on the sizzling slices as beads of fat dripped onto the charcoal.
Then, in the same casual tone one might use for idle conversation, he asked, “I’ve heard things around Koizumi Town have been a little unsettled lately, with bandits appearing on the roads.
Has that caused any trouble with your beef deliveries?” “The bandits, huh…” Zaemon expertly flipped the slices on the grill.
Fat dripped onto the glowing coals with a cheerful hiss, sending up wisps of deliciously smoky fragrance.
“Yes, I’ve heard about them.
But from what people say, the ones getting hit are mostly newcomers—foreign caravans that don’t know the local roads very well.” “The ranches that supply my restaurant have been doing business around here for decades.
They know the routes, and they know plenty of people.
They haven’t really been affected, so you don’t need to worry about the quality of my beef.” He continued, “Besides, caravans have become much more cautious lately.
Most won’t set out until they’ve gathered enough people, and they avoid stopping along the road unless they have to.” Itachi’s hand paused almost imperceptibly around his chopsticks.
The head of the merchants’ association had never mentioned one crucial detail: the bandits were selective about which caravans they attacked.
“Here you are.
Enjoy.” Zaemon divided the perfectly grilled beef between their plates.
By the time Shuji leisurely finished the lavish meal and the two stepped outside, the setting sun had painted the rooftops of Koizumi Town in warm shades of orange and red.
The streets had begun to thin as evening approached.
In the distance came the faint shouts of caravan workers unloading cargo into warehouses.
A gentle breeze carried the fresh scent of grass and trees from the edge of the forest, mixing with the comforting traces of cooked food still lingering around the market.
Shuji drew in a deep breath, taking in the unmistakable atmosphere of the border town.
The food had certainly been delicious.
It had also been expensive.
The bill came to 750 ryō—a hefty sum.
By the monetary standards in his memories, that was roughly equivalent to several days of hard work for an ordinary person.
Still, considering that the mission would pay thirty thousand ryō, he could accept splurging on one extravagant meal.
“Senpai, should we investigate the caravans that were attacked next?” Itachi asked, quickly catching up as Shuji headed toward the edge of town.
“No need.” Shuji didn’t slow his pace.
His eyes were fixed on Shirakawa Village in the distance, where lights were gradually appearing beneath the deepening twilight.
“After everything we saw today, I’ve learned two things.” “First, those bandits deliberately avoid caravans with strong local connections.
That’s why the merchants’ association only pretended to cooperate with us.
The attacks don’t truly threaten their own interests, so naturally, the information they gave us was half-hearted.” “Second, the bandits had already successfully escaped into the Land of Rain.
Yet despite knowing they were wanted, they willingly took the enormous risk of returning to the border of the Land of Rivers and committing more robberies.” Shuji’s gaze shifted beyond the town.
In the distance, the scattered lights of the villages looked like fallen stars beneath the gathering darkness.
“Behavior that strange points to only two possibilities.” His eyes sharpened as they pierced through the dusk and settled on the familiar outline of the distant village.
“Either they fled in such a hurry the first time that they left behind something extremely valuable—something important enough that they had no choice but to come back for it…” He paused.
“Or the answer is much simpler.” Shuji’s gaze remained fixed on Shirakawa Village.
“They came back because they’re locals.” His voice was quiet, but certain.
“It’s not that they don’t understand the danger.” “It’s that…
their home is here.”