It took six grueling days.
Six long days of endless walking, scorching heat, aching muscles, and Shiranui Genma's relentless curiosity.
So when the towering sandstone walls of Sunagakure finally appeared on the horizon, I nearly dropped to my knees and kissed the desert beneath my feet.
The dry wind of the Land of Wind whipped across the dunes, carrying countless grains of sand that stung every inch of exposed skin.
Compared to spending days wandering through endless wilderness, however...
A little sand in my face felt almost welcoming.
I also finally understood why everyone in Sunagakure wrapped themselves from head to toe.
If I hadn't been wearing my mask, I would have swallowed half the desert the moment I opened my mouth.
Genma, meanwhile, was living proof.
"Ptui!"
He spat another mouthful of sand onto the ground.
"Ptui! Seriously..."
Another mouthful.
"Ptui!"
I silently looked away.
At least I wasn't the only one suffering.
Standing at the entrance to the village were three people waiting for us.
The first was my editor.
She had obviously arrived several days before us. Her clothes had been replaced with garments suited for the desert, blending perfectly with the local fashion.
The moment she saw me, relief flooded her face.
It was the expression of someone who had finally confirmed that an extremely fragile and expensive package had survived delivery.
As if I hadn't simply traveled for six days...
But had somehow returned alive from a battlefield.
Standing several steps behind her were the two local ninja assigned to assist with security during the event.
One man.
One woman.
Without wasting any time, my editor hurried over and immediately grabbed my shoulders.
She turned me left.
Then right.
Checked my arms.
Looked at my face.
Made sure I still possessed all four limbs.
Only after confirming I remained physically intact did she finally let out a long sigh.
"Thank goodness."
Then, as always, the professional side of her immediately took over.
No unnecessary conversation.
No wasted movement.
She led everyone directly toward the inn.
Rooms were assigned efficiently.
One for me.
One for Genma.
One for Raidō.
After placing the keys into our hands, she pointed firmly toward my room.
"You."
Then toward the bed.
"Sleep."
"The book signing starts tomorrow."
"You are forbidden from thinking about work today."
I didn't even have enough strength left to answer.
The moment my head touched the pillow...
Darkness claimed me.
I slept through the entire afternoon.
Then through the entire night.
When I finally opened my eyes the next morning, I felt almost human again.
Unfortunately...
After checking the mirror...
My eyes looked like two swollen walnuts.
Wonderful.
My editor arrived early that morning with the two Sunagakure ninja.
She remained as efficient as ever.
Straight to introductions.
"These two were hired by the event organizers."
"They'll be responsible for security during the signing."
She gestured toward the woman first.
"This is Ayame, a jonin."
Then toward the man beside her.
"And this is Matsuri, a chunin."
Ayame looked slightly older than I was.
Her dark hair was neatly cut short and tucked behind her ears. She stood with flawless posture, every movement disciplined enough to reveal years of training.
She stepped forward first.
Our hands met briefly.
Her handshake was neither weak nor overly forceful.
Professional.
Controlled.
Yet...
There was unmistakable excitement hidden in her eyes.
She pressed her lips together several times before finally managing to speak.
"Teacher Bluebird..."
Her voice came out half a beat faster than normal.
"I'm one of your readers."
"I've read every novel you've published."
Only after finishing did she seem to realize she'd become a little too excited.
She coughed lightly.
Released my hand.
Then immediately returned to perfect professional posture.
"It is an honor to protect today's event."
"I'll make sure everything proceeds safely."
I smiled behind my mask.
"Thank you."
The book signing venue completely exceeded my expectations.
It had been arranged inside a large semi-open hall near the center of Sunagakure.
Massive banners displaying the covers of my novels hung across the sandy-colored walls.
Near the entrance stood an enormous display featuring the protagonist of my most popular series.
Shun Ashford.
He stood sideways with a kunai in hand while one of his most famous lines had been printed beside him in shimmering gold letters.
The desert wind rushed through the stone pillars, making every banner snap loudly in the breeze.
That alone would have been impressive.
Then I saw the line.
It began at my signing table.
Curved around several support pillars.
Continued through the main entrance.
Passed into the square outside.
And still...
Continued beyond my line of sight.
I simply stared.
The sunlight in Sunagakure was far harsher than Konoha's.
Yet no one left.
No one complained.
Young girls wearing desert scarves stood on tiptoe trying to see inside.
Members of the Puppet Brigade quietly waited with sealed puppet scrolls strapped across their backs.
Several jonin who had obviously just returned from missions still wore dusty forehead protectors while carefully holding dog-eared copies of my novels against their chests.
Young.
Old.
Civilian.
Shinobi.
The line contained every kind of reader imaginable.
Their conversations blended with the desert wind until excited cheers occasionally burst through the crowd.
For a moment...
I completely forgot how exhausted I had been yesterday.
I quietly sat behind the signing table.
Removed my hat.
Kept my mask firmly in place.
Took one slow breath.
Then signed the very first book.
The signing officially began.
Ayame immediately entered work mode.
Every movement was efficient.
She accepted books from readers.
Opened each one to the title page.
Placed it before me.
After I signed, she carefully returned it with both hands.
The rhythm between us became so smooth it almost felt rehearsed.
Matsuri remained beside my right shoulder.
Unlike Ayame, he barely spoke.
His eyes continuously swept across the growing crowd, carefully observing every person approaching the table.
Professional.
Alert.
Calm.
Meanwhile...
Across the hall...
Genma leaned lazily against one of the stone pillars with his arms folded.
The familiar senbon still rested in the corner of his mouth.
His gaze moved from me...
To the endless line...
Then back again.
One eyebrow slowly rose.
"I honestly thought..."
He spoke slowly.
"...when Writer Miss said she'd sold 'a few books'..."
The senbon shifted.
"...she was being modest."
Raidō stood beside him.
As usual, his expression barely changed.
"She was."
Genma looked toward the queue again.
"Look."
He pointed subtly.
"That one carrying a puppet."
"Puppet Brigade."
"That jonin over there."
"The edges of his book have turned white."
He smiled.
"That isn't someone who read it once."
Raidō silently followed his gaze.
Several moments passed.
Then he spoke.
"Kakashi has waited in lines like this."
Genma immediately brightened.
"Oh?"
"I should probably buy a copy too."
Raidō glanced toward the giant display beside the entrance.
The title beneath Shun Ashford's image read:
Konoha Affairs: The Cold-Faced Ninja's Runaway Sweetheart
Raidō said nothing.
Genma looked toward me again.
"I'm beginning to understand why the publisher assigned two jonin."
"If something happened to Writer Miss on the road..."
He looked toward the enormous crowd.
"...every reader here could probably throw one shuriken."
He laughed.
"Whoever attacked her would end up looking like a pincushion."
The signing lasted from morning until sunset.
Hour after hour...
Book after book...
Signature after signature.
The only break I received came when my editor forcibly pushed a glass of water into my hands.
"Drink."
Then immediately placed another stack of books before me.
By late afternoon...
My right hand had completely stopped feeling like my own.
The final signatures became increasingly crooked.
Toward the end, even I couldn't recognize my own handwriting anymore.
Still...
Not a single reader complained.
Many had waited beneath the blazing desert sun for hours.
Yet every single person accepted their signed book with expressions filled with joy.
Some bowed.
Some thanked me repeatedly.
One young girl even hugged the book against her chest as though she had just received the greatest treasure in the world.
Watching them...
The exhaustion somehow felt worthwhile.
Finally...
The last reader left.
The hall gradually became quiet.
The moment the doors closed...
I completely collapsed.
Face first.
Straight onto the table.
My mask shifted sideways.
"...My hand..."
I let out a miserable groan.
"...is broken..."
My editor merely looked at me.
"You still have tomorrow."
"..."
Why did she choose violence?
Before I could continue mourning my hand...
Ayame quietly stepped forward.
She carefully placed one book on top of the remaining pile.
Its title page had already been opened.
Then she respectfully held out a pen.
I looked up.
She had once again returned to perfect professional posture.
Only...
Her ears had turned completely red.
"Teacher Bluebird..."
She spoke carefully.
"Would you... sign one for me?"
I couldn't refuse.
Using my nearly lifeless hand...
I slowly signed her book.
Then, after thinking for a moment...
I drew a tiny chibi version of Shun Ashford beside the signature.
At least...
That had been my intention.
Unfortunately...
After an entire day's worth of signing...
It looked less like the heroic protagonist of my novel...
And more like a potato with hair.
I looked at it.
Then looked at Ayame.
"...Please use your imagination."
For the first time all day...
She laughed.
A genuine laugh.
She accepted the book with both hands and bowed deeply.
"Thank you very much."
As she walked away to help clean the venue...
Her footsteps were noticeably lighter than before.
Genma finally pushed himself away from the pillar.
Stretching lazily, he wandered over to my table.
He looked down at my completely lifeless state.
Then at the signed book in his own hand.
The amusement in his voice was impossible to hide.
"Writer Miss..."
He slipped the senbon back between his teeth.
"There probably won't be this many people tomorrow."
I didn't even lift my head.
"...I hope you're right."
He chuckled.
"I wasn't."
"..."
I suddenly wanted to return to walking across the desert.
Raidō approached quietly.
Without saying much...
He placed a glass of water beside my hand.
The movement was light.
Steady.
"You've worked hard."
That was all.
Then he returned to his original position without another word.
I stared at the water.
Then at my swollen hand.
Then at the endless stacks of books waiting for tomorrow.
Somewhere deep inside...
I could already hear the sound of my writing hand crying.
And outside the hall, unnoticed by everyone inside, another line of readers had already begun forming for tomorrow's signing.