OBD: Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty: Uneasy Wins

The town centre was awash in movement, a sea of colours and sound, the perfect veil for slipping away unnoticed. Tsunade had her hood drawn low, her stride purposeful as she manoeuvred through the marketplace—Shizune right at her heels, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Somewhere behind them, the shadows of Hiruzen’s men ghosted their path. They were careful, discreet, but the ANBU was never subtle enough for Tsunade. She could feel them. Their presence was like a fly hovering behind her ear, annoying.

“They’re getting closer,” Shizune whispered, her eyes darting to catch a glimpse of a familiar masked face among the bustling crowd.

Tsunade clicked her tongue in irritation. “Let them. They’ll learn just how much they’re willing to follow,” she muttered, her eyes catching the shifting movements of the crowd. There was a split second where she shifted gears—changing the rhythm of her pace—a sudden swerve down an alley, her hand gripping Shizune's wrist as they disappeared from the main thoroughfare into a narrow, crowded corridor.

The shouts of merchants peddling wares, the clatter of rickety carts—it all blurred into a cacophony that made tracing anyone difficult. They pushed forward, weaving in and out of bodies until Tsunade found a side street and led them down it, finally out of sight. She breathed out, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

“We lost them,” Shizune said, a note of disbelief in her voice.

“Of course we did,” Tsunade replied, her voice tinged with an edge of annoyance. The sannin paused for a moment, her eyes catching sight of a lottery booth tucked between two merchant stalls on the other end of the alley. On a whim, she dragged Shizune to one purchasing a single ticket, ignoring her aide's exasperated sigh. "You never know," Tsunade muttered, slipping the ticket into her cloak before moving on. 

The marketplace opened up before them again, the stalls continuing to shift to something she knew well. Rows of gambling dens, card tables shaded under tattered awnings, and a deep sense of fortune just waiting to be seized. The itch returned, that gnawing itch that nothing else could quite scratch. Tsunade felt it pull at her, the promise of victory, even if it was fleeting.

“Tsunade-sama,” Shizune said, half-pleading as Tsunade dragged her toward the tables. “Do you really think this is the best time—”

“Shizune, relax,” Tsunade shot back, her smile widening as she strode up to one of the tables, coins in hand. “No need to be so strung up.”

Shizune watched helplessly as Tsunade settled down, her eyes gleaming with a reckless abandon. The game was quick—quicker than it should have been. Tsunade had lost two hands before she could even blink, and the dealer’s smile was widening at her apparent misfortune. It wasn’t long before she’d lost every coin in her possession, and a deep, foreboding silence settled over the table.

“Ma'am, you’re a bit short, aren’t you?” the dealer said, his smile still present, though his eyes were anything but friendly. The other players around the table shifted, sensing the brewing storm.

Tsunade frowned, her fingers drumming on the table. “I’ll get it. Just give me—”

“No more credit,” the dealer interrupted, his voice sharp. “You have to settle your existing debt now, or...”

The threat hung in the air, and Shizune tugged at Tsunade’s sleeve, her eyes wide with worry. “Tsunade-sama, maybe we should—”

Before she could finish, there was a voice from behind them, familiar and laden with that unmistakable edge of amusement. “How much did the Legendary Sucker lose this time,” it said, and Tsunade turned, her eyes widening slightly.

Jiraiya stood there, his grin as wide as ever, though his eyes held a warning. He tossed a small bag of coins onto the table, nodding to the dealer. “That should cover it, shouldn’t it?”

The dealer eyed Jiraiya, then the coins, and gave a curt nod. “For now. But next time...”

“There won’t be a next time,” Jiraiya cut in smoothly, his eyes glancing at Tsunade. “Not today, at least.”

The tension eased, the dealer and the onlookers slowly dispersing, leaving Jiraiya, Tsunade, and Shizune standing by the table. The Toad Sage shook his head, his grin turning into more of a grimace.

“You never learn, do you?” he said, his voice light but his eyes holding something else—something that made Tsunade bristle.

“I don’t need a lecture from you, Pervert,” she replied, turning on her heel as if to leave. “Besides, I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” Jiraiya said, falling into step beside her. “And the next thing you’d know, we’d be scraping you out of another mess. You’re getting predictable, Tsunade.”

She shot him a glare, but there was something softer beneath it, a tiredness she couldn’t quite shake. “What are you even doing here, Jiraiya?”

The Toad Sage’s grin faded. His hand rested on her shoulder, stopping her mid-step. “We need to talk.” His voice, unusually low, was barely audible above the bustling market sounds.

“Sensei is dead.”

Tsunade stood still, the words hitting her like a blow to the chest. For a moment, the world around her seemed to blur—the market, the people. It all faded, leaving just Jiraiya’s face, his eyes filled with something she rarely saw in him—exhaustion.

Tsunade swallowed, the ache in her chest growing. She gave a slow nod, her gaze drifting away from his. “Alright, Jiraiya,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “Let’s talk.”

***

The market hadn't lost its rhythm—even as the sun began to slip behind the rooftops, the energy remained, a steady pulse of bartering voices and shifting feet. Lanterns flickered to life above vendor stalls, casting pools of orange light over the cobblestone pathways. Tsunade kept her head low, seated at a quiet corner table just out of sight, not far from the alley she and Shizune hid in earlier.

Jiraiya leaned against the wall across from her, watching her struggle to fill the silence that followed his words. A tightness crept into her chest, something between anger and disbelief. She scoffed, the sound bitter. “Danzo? That fossil couldn’t…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the look on Jiraiya's face. It wasn’t the usual teasing smirk—there was no humour, no glimmer of a joke behind his eyes.

“We both know he has attempted to kill sensei a few times before,” Jiraiya said softly. “Who is to say he wasn't just lucky this time? Who is to say that Itachi is lying… that Danzo didn't orchestrate the Hokage's murder?”

Tsunade clenched her jaw, her fingers tapping restlessly against the table's edge. She didn’t respond immediately, letting her eyes drift to the far end of the square. The lottery caller’s voice echoed again, calling the last number—something about the cadence of his voice made her look up. People had begun to turn, murmuring, and she caught a glimpse of the board, a flash of familiar digits.

Her heart sank, that uneasy feeling deepening as she reached into her cloak. She found the slip of paper, her gaze narrowing as she checked the numbers.

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, her fingers tightening around the ticket. Jiraiya looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line.

His gaze fell upon the numbers in her hand then flickered to the numbers on the board. A winning ticket.

“You always did say winning’s bad luck,” Shizune said quietly from somewhere behind her. There was no mockery in the aide's tone—just a quiet, simple observation. Even Jiraiya could possibly see it, the shift in her posture, the way her gaze darkened.

Tsunade crushed the ticket in her palm, her shoulders stiffening. “Now you take my words seriously,” she said, her face dark, her eyes scanning the square as if searching for something. “Just… Let’s get out of here."