Chapter 32

Sunagakure
Ryoma, Jonin

The Inn he was forced to buy turned out to be a decent investment. A large property where he could fit all his workshopping materials and modify more or less how he wished, a fantastically useful thing to have. It was built as a large L-shape braced up against one of the massive scattered rocks that jutted up from the sands. It was placed in such a way to be shaded during the morning, and warmed during the evening. The building and rocks worked together to keep the gap in the center, the drained onsen, shaded during as much of the day as possible.

The building itself was two stories, with communal and utility rooms on the ground floor and bedrooms on the second floor. The exterior was thick, rounded rock walls capped in a sloped roof with long awnings to block even more of the outrageously hot sun. This kept the interior at an even lower average temperature, which made it pretty cold at night.

He opened the door with a raised finger, letting himself and his assigned minder inside. A second raised finger kept the trapstring taut and prevented the mechanism from triggering as they passed through.

“I will start dinner.”

Ryoma glanced over at the quadruple amputee, her puppetlimbs covered in grocery bags and her features blank. “Alright.” He replied blandly. “Do you want my help or-“

“No.” She shook her head, making her way down the hall and towards the kitchen. “I will be sufficient.”

He knew better than to try to argue, even for the sake of helping her out. Tsubame had an independence streak a mile wide, wanting to do as much as possible on her own. She’d just be in a sour mood if he tried to press the issue about helping her. It made sense, he’d probably be traumatized in a similar way if he lost all his limbs to super-acid salamander saliva.

So instead he shrugged and made his way in the opposite direction. There were eight bedrooms on the second floor, two on the ground floor. The two on the ground floor were the first things he renovated after moving in.

He reached out with another pair of fingers, opening a door and disabling the trap inside with one smooth action. The room beyond was his new workshop, being about as large as his entire old apartment had been, vaguely divided with a trio of supports in the centerline of the room. One side contained rows of shelves, boxes, and spare parts. The other side contained several workstations, tools, clamps, and so on.

He stepped over to the boxy station in the center of the room, latches along his armor coming undone and plates folding out and away from his body. A few seconds of clamps being undone and parts disconnecting, and he was able to step out of his combat exoskeleton. An extended pinky kept it upright while he got out, and a moment later it was sealed into a scroll.

He didn’t need the framed station to get out of it, but the frame was still useful for keeping it upright while he worked on it. His Mk3 Puppetarmor, one of two.

The Wood Dragoon was useful, but he had an entire book full of its problems, and when it came time to upgrade he had two primary paths he could take with it. One was to scale it up, making it even larger to give him more space inside the cockpit and more room to fit more weapons. The other was to scale it down, make it a properly form-fitting puppet.

Naturally, he simply decided to do both. The Mk2 Puppetarmor went large, and the Mk3 went small. Both designs had their benefits and drawbacks, and he found a new problem to address and revise every few months, usually immediately after a mission. He briefly considered sitting down to make another bolter- it wouldn’t take him more than a few minutes with his new assembly line…

He left the workshop, closing the door behind him and moving to the stairs. He shook his veil out and tied it up over his face again as he walked. He unsealed a pair of sandals and slipped them on as he hopped his way up the stairs.

There were a few rooms that he wasn’t doing anything with, the bedrooms. Upon the suggestion of Toyoko, he opened them for low-cost rent. Most people were not interested, simply because the inn was on the outside of the walls and therefore theoretically slightly more vulnerable to enemy attacks.

Two were, however, both of which were ninja that he apparently went to the academy with, but didn’t remember them at all. He had to check their profiles, and sure enough, there was a few years of overlap between his time at the academy and their own attendance. The power of being forgettable was pretty scary.

He knocked on the first door, one hand in the pocket of his slack underlayer. “Yo.” He called out.

Faintly, from within, a voice called back. “One second!” Footsteps followed, the doorknob turned, and then swung inwards to reveal the slightly tired, squinting expression of a black-haired male. “Yeah?”

Sato was pretty much always in a sour mood, a no-corps Genin from the same age bracket as himself with a knack for water-release and a tendency to complain. He was diligent about paying his rent on time though, and that was more than enough.

Ryoma pointed a thumb back at the stairs. “Tsubame is cooking now, so dinner is probably going to be ready soon.”

Sato yawned and shook his head. “Right. Thanks for telling me.” He grumbled, reaching up to rub his face with one hand before letting it slide off. “What time is it?”

“Evening- chakra exhaustion?”

“Something like that, last mission was rough.” Sato growled, shaking his head. “It was- nevermind.” He cut himself off.

Ryoma raised a brow, waiting for him to continue and standing in a slightly awkward silence before shrugging. “That’s it from me.” He walked away, towards the door at the end of the hall. Behind him, the door gently closed as Sato slowly pulled himself back into wakefulness.

The next and only other inhabitant of the Ryoma Inn stayed in the room right next to his- The corner-room was his own, largest overall and big enough for him to fit all his nothing inside. Tsubame insisted on sleeping in what was probably a closet, and nothing he could say would deter her. That would normally be something of an issue, but this Inn was designed for noble guests, so even the closet was big enough to fit a bed and some personal belongings by itself.

The room immediately next to the corner-room was somewhat smaller, that is to say, still pretty huge. He raised his hand to knock, only to be cut short as the doorknob twisted and swung open on his own. Another ninja about his age, a girl wearing a long, concealing white jacket and hood over a form-fitting black bodysuit that came from her ankles and wrists to the bridge of her nose.

Large, round glasses covered her ever-nervous eyes, partially covered by twisting locks of greasy hair. “H-hey!” She greeted, glancing down to the floor and then to the side. “I- I heard you, talking to Sato-san, about… dinner…” She lost steam near the end of the sentence, partially closing the door behind herself and pulling her long jacket tightly around her torso.

Hotaru was a fellow member of the Puppetry Corps, a Chunin as of one or two years ago. Her most notable feature was her timid demeanor and habit of getting sucked into her puppetry work for long periods. These long periods of working meant long periods without bathing, evidenced by the distinct odor of sweat and greasy hair that clung to her on occasions.

Occasions such as right now. He raised a brow. “…Been hard at work?” He asked mildly.

She gave a harsh flinch at that. “N-no, I mean- I ha- yes I have been but- Not as- not…” She stopped herself, then just defaulted to a quiet utterance. “…Yeah.”

He stared down at her for a few seconds longer, before slowly nodding. “Right… Dinner soon, if you want to shower and change before.” It was perhaps the politest way he could tell her that she was pretty rank at the moment.

She flinched again. “Y-yeah… I’ll go- I’ll go… do that.” She pulled back into the room, cracking the door open just enough to slip her lower half into it again. “I need to- go get some clean… bye.”

The door closed quickly after, leaving him standing alone in the hall.

He exhaled in brief, mild amusement, shaking his head and making his way back downstairs, towards the kitchen.

“ETA?” He asked at the doorway, looking into the kitchen where Tsubame was at work, knife rapidly dicing through vegetables with a stoic expression.

“Nineteen minutes. Do not set the table, I will do that.”

He gave the side of her head an unimpressed expression, before rolling his eyes. “Right, I’m going to deliver a scroll to the Kazekage.”

“Please do not leave the building while I’m cooking.”

He waved a hand over his shoulder as he left the kitchen. “I’ll use a sand clone- I’ll be in the workshop.”

—

“We’re back!” His sand clone called out at the doorway, before promptly dissolving. A short distance away, Ryoma stood up from his workshop floor and made his way towards the kitchen.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“We?” Tsubame’s voice called out from the kitchen.

A short woman with dark black hair and a prim white uniform walked through the front door, giving him an unimpressed look as she slid her boots off and linked up with him in the hallway.

“I ran into Toyoko on the way, so I walked back with her.”

“Your clone did- something you did not inform me of.” The short puppeteer squinted up at him as they moved through the kitchen door and towards the dining room. She turned her head and nodded shallowly as they walked through the kitchen. “Hello Jonin Tsubame.”

“Chunin Yuki.” The quadruple amputee returned with a shallow greeting of her own, stacking plates on her arms from the countertop.

Ryoma pushed the door open into the dining room, a long table with many chairs lined up along either side. Originally the table was much shorter and the chairs were nothing more than kneel-pillows, but Ryoma didn’t feel like being a traditionalist when he was trying to eat and had them replaced.