The Mizukage Is Strong But Overly Cautious

As the early morning light broke through the mist-shrouded landscape, the Hidden Mist Village—Kirigakure—awoke to a new day, its towering walls casting long shadows over the dense waters below.

Mizuki Ryosuke, having fled through the night with relentless urgency, finally caught sight of the formidable gates of Kirigakure in the distance. Yet, he did not rush in. Instead, he crouched low among the reeds, his breathing steady as he observed the surroundings.

Returning under his own name was out of the question. The ever-vigilant Hunter-nin of the Anbu Black Ops, known for their merciless efficiency, would detect him immediately. If that happened, the Fourth Mizukage, Yagura Karatachi, would be alerted, potentially compromising the clandestine operations of Iwagakure's forces lurking outside the village. The mission would be ruined before it even began.

To enter Kirigakure, he had to infiltrate.

But infiltration was no simple feat. If a shinobi village as brutal as Kirigakure had such glaring weaknesses, it would have been reduced to rubble long ago.

The village gates—though appearing ordinary—were under constant surveillance. Be it Shinobi or commoners, every entrant underwent stringent checks. Stationed at the entrance were Chūnin examiners, tasked with identifying threats. For added security, Jōnin from Anbu employed chakra-infused sensory techniques to unmask any impostors using Transformation Jutsu. The only surefire way past the gate was with a verified mission scroll bearing the Mizukage's official seal or a recognized identification token.

And should suspicions arise, the suspect would be swiftly detained and "invited" to Anbu headquarters—a place from which few ever returned.

Even bypassing the gate wouldn't ensure success. Hidden in the village were silent observers—Anbu scouts masked as civilians. Their presence, unseen yet omnipresent, was a near-insurmountable obstacle for any infiltrator unfamiliar with Kirigakure's shifting patrol routes.

The only alternative was brute force. But killing a sentry would send alarm bells ringing across the village. Mizuki Ryosuke knew that path led to certain death.

Which left him with one option—deception.

Fortunately, he had prepared for this scenario well in advance. Now, all he needed was an opportunity.

Lying in wait along the village's main access route, Mizuki Ryosuke's patience was rewarded.

There it is.

A wooden ox cart laden with cargo trundled toward the gates.

Kirigakure, home to thousands, required constant imports to sustain its people. The supply routes were indispensable, manned not by shinobi but by ordinary laborers.

The driver, a fisherman from Misty Lake, guided his cart leisurely, humming a tune as he traveled.

Mizuki Ryosuke struck in an instant.

A sharp pressure point jab at the nape—silent, precise. The driver slumped forward, unconscious before he could react. Moments later, the ox cart resumed its course, its driver's song continuing uninterrupted.

At the gate, the usual guards stood watch: two Anbu Jōnin—clad in dark armor and signature Kirigakure masks—flanked by several Chūnin teams patrolling the area.

"Halt. Inspection."

A Genin approached the cart, motioning for the driver to step down.

Obliging swiftly, the fisherman—Mizuki Ryosuke in disguise—descended with a practiced, deferential smile.

"Lord Ninja, I'm a fisherman from Misty Lake. These are my morning's fresh catch," he said, producing an identification token.

One of the Anbu Jōnin approached, placing a gloved hand on the fisherman's shoulder. A chakra-sensing technique. Any attempt at Transformation Jutsu would be dispelled on contact.

But nothing happened.

The fisherman's body remained unchanged, his simple, earnest demeanor unshaken.

"Check the cargo. If all is clear, let him pass," the Jōnin ordered.

The Genin peeled back the tarp covering the cart, revealing crates of fresh fish. Atop the stack, a massive, crystal-clear ice block glistened under the morning sun.

The Genin frowned.

"What's this?"

"Ice, Lord Ninja," the fisherman explained hastily. "To keep the fish fresh."

The young shinobi remained wary, stepping forward for closer inspection.

Then—just as sunlight refracted through the ice—his pupils dilated for a fraction of a second. A dazed flicker crossed his face, but it passed so quickly that even the Jōnin supervising the search didn't notice.

"Alright. You're clear. Move along."

Though briefly puzzled, the Genin stepped back, scratching his head as if he'd forgotten something.

With a quick bow, the fisherman climbed back onto his cart and rolled into the village.

Deep within Kirigakure's alleys, Mizuki Ryosuke stirred.

The real fisherman lay slumped beside him, still unconscious.

Every expression, every mannerism the man displayed at the gate had been under Mizuki Ryosuke's control. A genjutsu—subtle, efficient, and undetectable unless countered by a skilled Sharingan user.

As for Mizuki Ryosuke himself?

He had concealed his true body within the block of ice. Demonic Ice Mirror Technique—one of the most sophisticated kekkei genkai of the Yuki Clan. The light refraction properties of the ice had rendered him invisible to the naked eye. Even direct visual inspection by an Anbu wouldn't reveal him unless they shattered the ice completely.

And when the Genin had hesitated? A perfectly timed genjutsu had nudged him away from further inquiry.

Stepping away from the cart, Mizuki Ryosuke performed a brief Transformation Jutsu, shifting seamlessly into the appearance of the fisherman.

Now, infiltrating the Mizuki Clan's compound would be effortless. Their security patterns were familiar territory.

Navigating the streets unnoticed, he swiftly reached his destination.

Once inside his childhood home, he climbed through the window of his former bedroom—only to freeze in stunned disbelief.

His breath hitched. His eyes widened.

And before he could stop it, two thin streams of blood trickled from his nostrils.

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