The metallic scent of blood still hung in the air, thick and heavy, but the evidence had already been dealt with. No one would find a trace.
He crouched, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of a discarded mask. A small smear of red still clung to the edge, half-dried. Lifting it slightly, he turned it over, examining the faint kanji etched inside.
Unmarked gear. Standard shinobi tools. Efficient execution. No insignias, no identification.
But there were only a handful of people in Konoha who would send a kill team after someone like him.
And he didn't have enemies.
Danzo.
It had to be him.
A small possibility lingered in the back of his mind—Fugaku. The Uchiha clan head might not have appreciated his growing closeness with Mikoto. But would he resort to an assassination over something so trivial? No. Fugaku was too rigid, too proud. He handled threats differently.
This? This had Danzo written all over it.
Souta dusted off his hands, rising to his feet as he glanced at Pakura. She still leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression calm but watchful.
"You handled yourself well," he said.
Pakura arched a brow. "I should hope so."
Souta stepped closer. Before she could react, his palm landed lightly on her head, ruffling her soft, hair.
"You did good." His voice was low, teasing, but there was an unmistakable warmth beneath it. "I'm lucky to have you watching my back."
Pakura stiffened instantly, her sharp eyes widening slightly.
"What are you—"
Before she could protest, he gave her one last pat and pulled his hand away.
She turned her face to the side, arms tightening around herself. "...Tch. Don't treat me like a kid."
"No promises."
She shot him a glare, but there was no real bite behind it.
Souta chuckled. "Then stop acting cute when you're embarrassed."
Pakura's lips parted in an immediate retort—then she froze, realization dawning too late.
Heat crept up her neck.
It was stupid. So stupid. She had just killed people minutes ago, blood still cooling on the floor, and here she was, feeling off-balance because of a stupid head pat.
Souta caught the slight redness dusting her cheeks and grinned.
"Right, right," he mused, already walking toward the kitchen. "Let's get some tea. You earned it."
Pakura scowled at his back—but not really. As he disappeared into the kitchen, she touched the top of her head where his hand had been, feeling the lingering warmth.
"...Whatever," she muttered under her breath, following after him.
The tea was hot, the steam curling into the air, but Souta barely tasted it.
His mind was elsewhere.
Danzo had finally made his move.
It wasn't surprising. He had felt the weight of unseen gazes for a while now, the subtle shifts in the village's undercurrents. Danzo was predictable in that sense—he always struck first when something unknown entered his carefully controlled world. Souta was an anomaly. Someone with influence, connections, but no clan ties. No official allegiances.
To Danzo, that was reason enough for elimination.
Pakura, sitting across from him, studied his expression.
"You're thinking something dangerous, aren't you?"
She sighed, leaning back slightly. "We should leave Konoha."
Souta exhaled, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. His gaze lifted to meet hers.
"That's not happening."