The mist rolled thin over the riverbank. Five Shimura shinobi stepped from the trees in practiced unison, their tanto in hand.
"Cloud Phantom," the leader spat. "Step aside. We're hunting your strays."
Zassō scratched his chin with the hilt of his katana, fog curling lazily from his lips. His half-lidded eyes blinked slow.
"Mm. Naw," he said, voice dragging like smoke. "Ain't no strays here. Just weeds."
They didn't waste time with talk. The Shimura split, three rushing headlong, two circling to flank. Standard suppression pattern.
Zassō exhaled. The fog around his shoulders thickened, sank low, spreading tendrils across the grass. He didn't even draw at first, just shuffled a step, lazy as a drunk.
The first blade stabbed through his chest.
It dispersed into smoke.
"Fog Clone," the leader hissed. He spun, too slow. Zassō was already behind him, katana half-drawn, a flash of steel hidden in the mist. The iaijutsu stroke traced across armor shallow, deliberate. Spores puffed from the cut like dust from rotten wood.
The man staggered, eyes twitching as Dreamcap spores reached his lungs. His perception warped, the fog seemed to bend, every shadow doubling.
The second Shimura lunged from the flank. His tanto howled, chakra whistling through the edge, Wind Release: Gale Fang. The slash shredded mist in a clean line, carving through what should've been Zassō's ribs.
Zassō shifted, sloppy-looking, like he tripped on his own feet, then Smoke Step carried him a pace left, the tanto carving only mist. His katana flicked out, shallow again, but this time a spray of Gravecap powder dusted the man's face. He gagged, coughing blood into his mask.
"Two," Zassō murmured. "Three more for the garden."
The third shinobi closed from behind, blade hissing down. Zassō caught it with the back of his sword, sparks and steel shrieking. His grin didn't break. With his free hand, he crushed a dried mushroom between his fingers.
Fleetstep.
His body blurred forward in a surge of speed. The counter cut opened the man's shoulder before he realized the parry had ended.
The other two regrouped, circling tighter now. Smart, Shimura always adjusted. Their chakra sharpened the air, suppressing the fog.
"Not bad," Zassō drawled, smoke curling from his lips. "But y'all too stiff. Too… uptight." He tapped his head like knocking on wood. "Need to loosen up."
They struck together. Two blades flashing, one high, one low.
Zassō didn't dodge. He let the fog swallow him whole. Their steel cut air, then hit nothing.
When the mist thinned, he was already behind them, katana sheathed. He exhaled a long cloud.
Both Shimura froze. Thin red lines bloomed across their armor. The spores worked quick, paralyzing limbs.
The five Shimura collapsed in the mist.
Zassō looked down at them, serious only for a moment. He placed his palm against the damp grass, listening to the fog curl around the bodies.
"Rest easy, fellas," he whispered softly, as he slit their throat. "the nature will take you in."
Then he stood, exhaled another lazy plume of smoke, and walked back toward Smokebush Hollow.
Back in the garden (Herbarium of the hollow)
Ko lingered with the water bucket, caught between leaving and staying.
"Yo!"
The voice stretched lazy, half-smile, half-yawn. Smoke drifted first, curling down the path, and then came the man himself. Long-limbed, robes dragging at the hems, braids swinging like old roots. Katana slung across his side. Pipe between his fingers.
Zassō.
"Man, y'all hidin' out here like mushrooms in a log," he said, exhaling a puff that drifted toward Ko's face. "I been lookin' for you, lil' bro. Thought maybe the Hollow ate you up."
Ko set the bucket down, fighting the urge to wave the smoke away. "Morning, Zassō."
Mira didn't look up. She pinched a wilted weed between two fingers and signed with one hand. ::Loud.::
Ko signed back. ::Yes.::
Zassō caught it, grinning. "Aw, c'mon, I ain't loud. I'm just… vibrant." He stretched his arms wide, nearly knocking over one of Mira's baskets. Dew tilted his head and gave the man a long, patient look.
The false-voice hummed in the fog. "Zassō. You are stepping where the Fevercaps grow."
Zassō froze mid-step, peered down. A patch of pale-yellow mushrooms trembled under his sandal. "Oh. Shit. My bad." He crouched low, eyes wide with exaggerated reverence. "Forgive me, lil' caps. Uncle Zassō got heavy feet today."
Mira's shoulders shook, though she hid it by turning away.
Ko rubbed his forehead. "What do you need, Zassō?"
"What I always need." Zassō tapped his pipe against his palm. "Company. Conversation. And maybe, if the Kami are kind, a little cup of that Bittercap brew. My throat's drier than my humor today."
"You just want to freeload again," Ko muttered.
Zassō threw an arm around his shoulders before Ko could dodge. Ko thoughts 'The man smelled of smoke, damp moss and iron- blood?'. "Freeload? Nah, nah. I bring blessings, young warrior. Balance. Energy. Look-"
He bent, plucked a random mushroom from Mira's pile, held it up like a treasure.
"Behold! The sacred Snackshroom."
Mira snapped her gaze toward him, eyes sharp. She signed with both hands, fast. ::Not edible. Not-.::
Dew's false-voice followed"That is a Sleepcap. Eat it, and you will not wake for three days."
Zassō blinked. Then, slowly, he tucked the mushroom behind his ear like a flower. "Guess I'll save it for a rainy day." he murmured.
"eyy man," he said, wagging his pipe at Ko. "You been too tight lately. Sittin' here in the mist, gettin' all solemn with Dew and Mira. Man, you gotta let that weight go. Can't hold the sword steady with a storm in your chest."
Ko looked down at the ground. The man's tone was lazy, playful, but there was weight under it.
"Come on," Zassō said, already drifting toward the garden's edge. "Walk with me, Ko. The Hollow's hummin' this morning, and I swear the mist got a story to tell. You don't wanna miss it" he turned back "see ya Dew and Mira."
Dew closed his eyes again, hand pressed to the soil. Mira returned to trimming her mushrooms, though her eyes flicked once toward Ko.
Ko hesitated. Then he sighed and followed Zassō.
"You know," he went on, "back when I was… uh…" He paused, eyes narrowing like he was trying to recall a memory. "Back when I was another man, I used to sit on a balcony, light up somethin' good, and watch the cars go by. A Steel cart with engine, man. Whole world hummin' like a hive. You ever seen that?"
Ko glanced at him sideways. "No."
Zassō laughed, shaking his head. "Course not. Wrong life. Wrong time. But it lingers, you feel me? Like… fog after rain. Don't really connect to what I mean but the point is, it doesn't matter."
Ko said nothing. His silence made Zassō grin wider.
"You think I'm crazy, huh?"
"I think you're dangerous."
That stopped him. Just for a second. Then Zassō's grin softened, turned thoughtful. He nodded, slow. "Yeah. Dangerous. But only 'cause weeds gotta be. You step on us, we grow back sharper."
They crested the ridge. Below, the Hollow spread out clay homes, timber frames, smoke drifting from low fires. A handful of Rootless children ran circles in the mist, chasing each other with wooden sticks for swords. Their laughter rose like birdsong.
Ko watched the children for a moment. Something in his chest loosened, but he didn't say it.
Zassō lit his pipe again, drew deep, exhaled a cloud that wrapped his head like a halo.
"You're still tight, man," he said, peering at Ko.
"Mm-hmm. Thought so. Tell you what. Today we drink some Bittercap, burn some moss, let the fog take the weight off."
Ko finally let out a breath, half laugh, half sigh. "You talk too much."
Zassō grinned, teeth flashing white through smoke. "And yet, somehow, you still walk with me. Must mean somethin'."
They walked down the to path to somewhere, the moss soft under their steps, fog curling thick around their ankles.
Ko glanced sideways, words finally breaking the silence.
"Your smoke style," he said, steady. "Did you base that on the Iburi clan?"
Zassō cocked his head, pipe pausing at his lips. For a moment, his eyes actually sharpened, cutting through the lazy grin.
"Iburi, huh." He exhaled slow, letting the smoke drift upward in twisting figures. "Nah. That's not me. Their thing is blood-deep, turnin' body to mist, bones to vapor. Real spooky. Mine?" He tapped his chest. "Mine's just weeds and willpower.
Ko frowned. "Still looks the same. Fog that turns to body. Body that turns to fog."
Zassō chuckled, wagging a finger. "That's the trick, though. Mine ain't bloodline. Mine's sleight of hand. I learned to move like mist, so the world thinks I am mist. Big difference."
He stepped ahead, and his outline blurred in the haze, shoulders bending like he was half-smoke, half-man. Then he reappeared two paces to the side, grinning through the fog.
"See? Ain't no Iburi. Just a ronin too stubborn to die."
Ko studied him, suspicion flickering behind his calm expression. "Then where did you learn it?"
Zassō puffed on his pipe, gaze lifting toward the sky. His answer came slow, like he was speaking half to himself.
"Truth is, I don't remember it all straight."
Zassō continue" I just listened. To the flow. To the weeds, the spores, the fog itself. Nature got more styles than anything. You just gotta pay attention."
"Hmm, why did I even ask." Ko murmured to himself.
They walked on, Ko silent, Zassō humming some tuneless melody between drags of his pipe.
The mist parted just enough for the two men to see the Hollow clearly. clay homes, timber frames, smoke drifting from low fires-
Ko slowed. His eyes narrowed.
"…Wait."
Zassō scratched his chin, looking around.
"Didn't we just pass this place already?"
Ko gave him a flat stare, face unreadable, only his brow twitching.
Zassō blinked. "mhm, I must be high."
.
.
" ._. " Ko.