Akimichi Ryouma, the man who had stepped forward to greet them, had frozen mid-step—his body unnaturally rigid, as if shackled by invisible chains.
Minato's sharp blue eyes darted to Hiruzen, a flicker of tension flashing between them. They had both noticed.
Then, in almost perfect synchronization, realization dawned on their faces.
Neither of them had to look at Renjiro. They already knew.
It was his Sharingan.
'That fast?' Minato thought, his mind racing. 'All it took was a glance?'
Renjiro stood beside him, his face a mask of calm indifference, but his eyes—now a vivid crimson—swirled with slow, hypnotic patterns. The three-tomoe Sharingan pulsed ever so slightly.
Even without looking, Minato could feel the weight of Renjiro's chakra pressing subtly against the air—an invisible, silent predator lurking just beneath the surface.
Hiruzen's eyes narrowed. His years of experience told him that something was deeply wrong.
"How many?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.
Minato's head tilted slightly, his senses flaring outward as he examined their surroundings.
"There's a formation set up," Minato murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "The only way we can determine their numbers is through activating our chakra fields."
Hiruzen scoffed under his breath, his expression darkening.
"Clever bastards," he muttered, the words just loud enough for Renjiro and Minato to hear.
Renjiro, despite keeping his attention on the entranced Ryouma, caught the subtle frustration in the Hokage's voice.
Hiruzen wasn't angry that they were being watched.
He was angry because the enemy had forced them into a corner without even making a move.
Activating a chakra field would immediately alert the infiltrators that their deception had been discovered. But doing nothing meant walking blindly into whatever trap was waiting for them inside the base.
Renjiro hesitated, then took a breath.
"Should I—"
"No," Hiruzen cut him off immediately. "That will also alert them. Just make him act normal."
Without hesitation, Renjiro's Sharingan subtly spun, reinforcing the illusion wrapped around the imposter before them.
Ryouma's rigid body loosened slightly, and his stiff expression melted into something more natural. Then, just as if nothing had happened, he straightened and cleared his throat.
"Hokage-sama," Ryouma said, bowing respectfully. "It is an honor to welcome you to the border outpost."
Hiruzen studied him for a brief moment before giving a slight nod. "Thank you, Ryouma. I trust all preparations for our stay have been made?"
"Yes, Hokage-sama," Ryouma answered without hesitation. His voice was smooth, too smooth, betraying none of the panic that should have been there. His every word and movement were dictated by Renjiro's silent command.
Minato watched the exchange, carefully examining Renjiro's handiwork.
'Convenient,' Minato thought, an uneasy admiration flickering in his mind. 'It's effortless. He's controlling him like it's second nature.'
In truth, he wasn't sure how he and Hiruzen would have reacted if Renjiro hadn't caught on so quickly. The initial moment of hesitation, the ripple of suspicion—those brief fractions of a second could have cost them the element of surprise.
But Renjiro?
There was no hesitation. The moment his Sharingan locked onto the target, the imposter was already his puppet.
Minato secretly thanked the heavens that Renjiro was on their side.
Still, something nagged at Renjiro's mind.
'It doesn't make sense,' he thought, watching the imposter's controlled movements.
Did their enemies really think the deception would last?
The moment they had arrived, they had already realized something was wrong. To Renjiro, it didn't matter when their enemies found out they had been exposed.
Whether it was now or later—the fight was inevitable.
Hiruzen's expression remained unreadable. "Has the clearance for our passage arrived?"
Ryouma bowed slightly. "Not yet, Hokage-sama."
Hiruzen let out a thoughtful hum before exhaling through his nose. "Then it seems we'll be spending the night here."
Renjiro's frown deepened.
He didn't like this. He didn't like any of it.
Staying inside an enemy-controlled base overnight? It was a risk that screamed obvious trap—and they were walking straight into it.
Yet, as much as he wanted to object, he remained silent.
Minato, sensing his unease, patted his shoulder lightly. "Follow the Hokage's lead," he whispered. "We'll move when the time is right."
Renjiro exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Fine."
The outpost loomed ahead, larger and more fortified than Renjiro had expected. Unlike the traditional military encampments he was used to, this one had a deceptive air of normalcy. At first glance, it was just another border station—a functional, well-maintained facility with nothing to suggest that something was amiss.
But Renjiro wasn't fooled.
Stone walls, at least ten meters high, encased the entire compound. Wooden barricades reinforced the outer perimeter, their jagged edges lined with sealing tags so subtly placed that an untrained eye might mistake them for simple reinforcement seals. Torches burned along the walls, their dim orange glow flickering against the encroaching darkness of the night. The smell of charred wood and damp earth filled the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of weapons recently sharpened.
The moon hung low, a pale specter in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the outpost. As Renjiro, Minato, and Hiruzen moved through the narrow corridors, Renjiro's keen gaze absorbed every tiny detail.
Every footstep. Every glance. Every unnatural pause.
The tension in the compound was palpable.
The shinobi they passed—whether disguised or not—moved with a carefulness that felt too rehearsed. They walked just a little too stiffly, their postures too rigid, their movements too precise.
It was subtle, but it was there.
Their eyes darted toward the Hokage's group too often, and their hands lingered a little too close to their weapons.
Even the way they breathed was wrong.
Some of them held their breath for too long when the trio passed, exhaling in careful, measured puffs, as if afraid to give something away. Others forced themselves to breathe normally, but the effort was so conscious, so deliberate, that Renjiro could feel the anxiety bleeding through the cracks of their performance.
'They know,' Renjiro realized.
They weren't watching Hiruzen, Minato, or himself out of curiosity.
They were waiting.
Waiting for something.
Waiting for a signal.
Renjiro's jaw tensed. The realization sat uncomfortably in his mind, like a splinter he couldn't quite remove.
Hiruzen, however, had not given the signal to attack. Until he did, they had to act as if nothing was wrong.
That meant pretending they hadn't noticed the deception.
It was an unnerving dance—a silent performance where both sides pretended not to know what the other was thinking.
The difference?
The enemy didn't know when the facade would break.
Eventually, after several tense minutes of walking, Ryouma led them to their assigned quarters—a modest-looking room near the center of the compound.
At first glance, it was ordinary.
Traditional tatami flooring stretched across the space, its woven texture slightly worn from use. A simple wooden table sat at the center, accompanied by a few small storage chests tucked neatly into the corners. Three futons had already been laid out, complete with folded blankets and pillows.
A single lantern flickered softly near the far wall, its warm glow casting elongated, dancing shadows that stretched across the wooden panels. The paper walls were thin, but not fragile—designed for both sound control and durability.
A subtle breeze drifted in from a small, half-open window, carrying with it the distant scent of the forest beyond the outpost.
At first, the room looked completely normal.
But Renjiro felt something was wrong.
Off.
'Something's not right,' he thought, his gaze flicking over every inch of the room in rapid succession. His eyes settled on the tatami floorboards, then shifted to the wooden beams supporting the ceiling.
A slight crease formed between his brows.
The spacing of the beams was uneven.
No, not uneven—misaligned.
As if someone had tampered with them.
'Hidden compartments?' he mused, his thoughts racing. 'Or is the entire room itself a setup?'
Despite his suspicions, Renjiro said nothing.
Not yet.
"These will be your quarters for the night," Ryouma announced, stepping aside. "If you need anything, inform one of the stationed guards."
His voice was smooth. Too smooth.
Renjiro didn't say anything.
Hiruzen, standing beside Renjiro, gave a slow nod. "Thank you, Ryouma. We appreciate the hospitality."
Renjiro narrowed his eyes slightly.
The moment those words left the Hokage's lips, Ryouma's shoulders visibly relaxed.
He bowed once more, then turned to leave.
And that was when it happened.
A faint hum—so subtle it was almost imperceptible.
Then—
A sharp glow.
Bright orange markings flared to life beneath their feet, spiraling outward from the floor in an intricate, shifting pattern.
The symbols burned brighter and brighter, their ethereal light reflecting off the wooden walls.
Renjiro's Sharingan spun instinctively.
A seal.
A barrier.
SNAP.
The air crackled as an invisible force surged around them, forming a translucent orange dome that cut them off from the outside.
For a split second, there was only silence.
Then—
Renjiro's eyes widened.
Minato tensed.
Hiruzen let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Hmph," the Hokage muttered, rolling his shoulders. His calm expression didn't waver. "I suppose that means the waiting game is over."
The barrier shimmered ominously as a dozen shadows stirred beyond its glowing surface.
=====
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