"And this is everything? I'm not going to find out about you holding out on me again, am I?"

"Yes, yes! That's everything, this weeks take from the street, and the down payment for the gaijin!" The second speaker collapsed and began moaning as the pain that burned through his body intensified. The Armani suit wearing yakuza had never felt pain like this before. The kunai still buried in his knee wasn't the least of the pain, but it was neither the worst of it either. His arms could barely move, his back was on fire, and both legs were useless.

And all of this from a woman! A girl actually, one that couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen at most. The worst part was that she hadn't even used *anything* on him. Just her thumbs and fingers. Oh, and her heel on his, formerly, good knee. The whole situation was so bizarre, so unbelievable, if he hadn't been laying on the ground a pile of fractured bones and crushed nerves the yakuza wouldn't have believed it himself.

There were two duffel bags filled with thousand yen bills; 45,000,000 worth of them in fact. All together there was a lot of weight in money. Both bags were also currently being slung casually over the dark dressed girl's shoulders. Despite the agony that was blazing in his veins, the Armani dressed criminal boggled at how easily the ninja girl moved all that bulk.

The kunoichi turned her back on the yakuza, was about to take a step away when she stopped and turned around.

"Chotto... (wait) You said half this money was for the gaijin right?" The question was totally baffling to the gangsters pain fogged mind. This being the case he answered, honestly.

"Ye... s... ow..." The pony-tailed girl canted her head to the side for a moment.

"Wasn't exactly worth it was he?" Armani man blinked.

"No, no he wasn't." As the ninja girl turned away from him the yakuza had a sudden terrible realization. "Wait! What I am I going to tell my oyabun! The clan will kill us all for this!"

Ibuki turned back to face the man. Her eyes were as caring as a shark's. "Tell them the truth, a teenage ninja girl assaulted your men, defeated them all, and tortured you until you told where the money was kept. That should go over well."

Then, in a mandatory cloud of smoke, she was gone. The man in the nowbloodstained Armani suit lay back down, unable to find the energy to move, and too agonized to fall unconscious. He had to hand it to the little bitch; she had just as efficiently killed him and the men remaining alive as if she had slit their throats herself.

Two hours and several heavy miles later Ibuki dropped her loads and collapsed face down on the floor of her clan's dojo. Lugging all this cash around had been more of a workout than dealing with those punk yakuza. Sweating, tired, sore, and happy the kunoichi rolled to her back and slowly sat up. Her facemask had been stuffed into her belt long ago; once she had made it to the hills concealing her identity had become a useless triviality. Now her round, sweet features were visible, as was the broad grin that adorned them.

In the cool of the early morning, on hardwood floors stained by sweat and impacts, and surrounded by ideograms like "Giri" (Duty), "Gi" (Righteousness), and the most popular character, "Nin" (Stealth and Endurance). Ibuki looked up at the tall tiled roof, re-living countlesshours in this room, innumerable kata (forms), methods of combat, and centering the mind. This place, this room, this dojo, was more her home than any other lace in the world. Her earliest memories were of this ceiling, these smooth, polished pillars of strong wood, and the paneled floor under her bare feet.

Tonight, this night, those yakuza, that gaijin, they were all proof, validation for her training and sacrifice. More than the money, more than the knowledge that she had done a service to her community, more than anything else THAT was why she was smiling. But under the smile, in the corners of her mind was still the doubt that plagued every warrior, and haunted her even now.

Was she ready? Was she truly ready to accept the mantle of a true shinobi, and become an active member of her clan? Would she lose her nerve, miss the target; fail in her mission, and because of her failing, would some of her clan, her family, die?

At that moment, in the depths of her self-reflection, Ibuki became aware that someone was in the room. More to the point the standing directly behind her, not two feet away. The kunoichi hung her head, her happy smile fading into the expectant look of a child ready to receive punishment. The raven-haired girl slowly looked over her shoulder; she was not surprised by who she saw.

Still sore from her journey's burden, the sixteen-year-old ninja girl turned around all the way, settled into seiza, and bowed, deeply and respectfully. Standing behind her, looking powerful with his steel gray hair drawn into a warrior's topknot, and dressed in a night black gi, that had the kanji for "blade" embossed over the heart, and a pair of traditional tabi (the two toed boot worn by most of Japan with the old wooden sandals, ninja version are slightly more reinforced to facilitate swift, silent movement.) stood her sensei, the legendary shinobi/clan master of the village.

"Geki-sensei, um...." For the first time in years Ibuki was at a loss for words. A hundred excuses flitted through her mind. A hundred excuses were also cast off because Geki-sensei was too good for such nonsense.

"Save it chibi (little) ninja. I know about everything." The old shinobi's voice was stern but level. Ibuki sighed, still bowing. Of course he knew, Geki-sensei was, well, the sensei, it was his job to know things. All things, even things the young woman would rather he didn't know. Actually it seemed lately those last things were what interested Geki-sensei the most...

"Now the question is, what do we do about it?" The sensei said, his voice still painfully level. Ibuki winced; this was where she'd end up standing in hicho no kamae (flying bird stance, kind of like crane but more relaxed, still only on one leg) for several hours and then volunteer to help her school janitor clean the school. Geki-sensei believed heavily in useful punishment. The older shinobi turned and Ibuki felt his gaze burning into the back of her ebony haired head. His next statement took her somewhat off guard.

"We celebrate!"

Actually Ibuki was so stunned she didn't even move. She just stayed kneeling looking up at the now grinning shinobi in total confusion, until she was tackled from the side by a bundle of heavy gi, energy, and laughter named Sarai.

"Ibuki-chan yata! Omedeto! (Congratulations)" The goggle adorned brown haired young woman said squeezing the baffled kunoichi in a warm, if slightly painful bear hug. To add to Ibuki's confusion the rest of the clan appeared (somewhat literally) around her, grinning, bowing, presenting her with new throwing knives, (and in one case Chinese pop idol Athena Asamiya's newest CD), and acting like she had just graduated.

Which as it turned out wasn't a bad allegory.

"So you knew all along!" Demanded Ibuki in disbelief. An hour after the young woman had originally returned the training hall was once again deserted except for Ibuki and the semi-retired ninja-shidoshi. The gray haired but still powerful man nodded somberly.

"Of course I knew, I wouldn't be much of a sensei if I didn't keep tabs on what was going on in my best student's life would I? I was also testing to see if you would allow such things to happen within your sphere of influence or take charge of your own destiny. You performed well." The pony tailed girl blinked. She should be outraged, said the schoolgirl part of her personality, she should be enraged that this old man was watching over shoulder every minute. The kunoichi half however, took over with the resigned knowledge that Geki-sensei was doing this out of affection and duty. Becoming upset would be like getting mad at the tide for going out.

A sudden, wild surge of hope raced through Ibuki's lithe body. Leaning forward eagerly the girl's deep black eyes widened and she smiled as sweetly as possible. Most others would have been given cavities by the sweetness of her expression.

"So am I a full fledged kunoichi then?" Ibuki half demanded, half begged. The old shinobi looked at amusedly.

"Of course not, we will let you know when that test comes. Besides one overweight fool, and a small pack of foolish yakuza do not make for a true test of a Kami-yama (Spirit Mountain) dojo shinobi!" Geki said easily. Ibuki's face fell, but only back into a neutral waiting expression. For better or worse that was pretty much the answer she had been expecting. What the older ninja said next DID however surprise her. "However, if you answer the next question to my satisfaction I WILL let you take a vacation to Tokyo for, oh say, the rest of the school year?"

Ibuki boggled. There were two semesters left! Mako-chan was somewhere down there! And finally, another thought raced unbidden through her racing mind. As the capital of Japan Kyoto housed some truly magnificent museums and libraries; neither of these were normally something Ibuki held much interest in. However, after a conversation she had overheard between Geki-sensei and a shinobi named Hayabusa something, Ibuki had gathered another goal in her life.

That goal was a ninja-ken (ken = sword). THE ninja-ken. More specifically the sword wielded by Hattori Hanzo, the first ninja to unify the nine ryu of the Iga Mountains. Hattori-sama had also attached the ninja clans to Tokugawa Ieyasu, the man who became the first true shogun of Japan.

Hattori-sama's sword had reportedly been lost in a battle with the Fu-Maru pirates off the coast of Edo, the original name for the city now called Tokyo. Rumors persisted of the swords existence, and its preservation of form. Both Geki-sensei and Hayabusa had talked of the blade in near reverent tones, primarily for its symbolic value. For, while not the holy grail of ninjutsu, the sword of Hattori Hanzo was certainly the tradition's Excalibur.

Already, at the mere chance of being able to quest for this sword, and finally be able to prove to Geki-sensei, and just as importantly to herself, that she was through with training and ready to take her place as a true kunoichi, that hope sent a thrill through the young girl.

"Your performance tonight was exemplary, however you failed in two areas. Can you tell me what they were?" Geki-sensei said, crossing his arms and looking at the young woman coolly. Ibuki thought for a moment. One glaring oversight hit her first.

"Well I totally forgot about the driver of the truck for one." She said sheepishly. The old ninja nodded.

"Indeed you did." Geki-sensei said calmly. "Had I not disposed of him there would have been, complications. The other however was just as, if not more of an error than that however."

Ibuki thought for a moment then smiled in an evil but cute manner.

"Oh, you probably mean the two guys with guns on the roof. Yeah I knew about them, caught the light reflections off the scopes out of the corner of my eye."

The kunoichi's statement was so plain, so matter-of-fact that even Geki's composure was momentarily splintered. "You knew about them?" He asked. Ibuki nodded.

"Oh yeah, that's why I kept leading people under the skylight. I was waiting for them to try and take their shot at me. See the way I was positioned they would either hit their own men or the fat gaijin. Then I could have taken care of them with some kunai, and they would have helped me! Kind of like re-directing an attacker's energy. Ne Genki-sensei?"

For the first time in years Geki stared at his pupil in shock. Such a calculating, emotionless use of an enemy force against itself, it was... it was... brilliant. The old shinobi shook himself out of his stupor, and righted himself fixing the round-faced girl with a piercing gaze.

"Young kunoichi, I am surprised at you." Ibuki's face fell into depression internally while her outward face remained calm. Geki's eyes glinted like candlelight off polished steel. With a voice filled with all the inflection of a flat white room the sensei spoke.

"That being the case, I gladly send you to the Tokyo high school of your choice, and allow you to keep all the money from tonight's mission. That will be your tuition and spending money. I and Nagata-san will prepare an academic profile that is suitable for your enrollment at any school in the morning."

The old ninja's eyes finally softened.

"In the meantime Ibuki-chan, go get some sleep. You have done well this night; the world is no poorer for those you have ended. It is in fact, a good deal richer. Remember that."

Ibuki smiled at the old man, feeling the warmth of his concern and caring for her. The clan may not be all she wanted to live for, but they had always been there, always supported her. Her long hair splayed on the ground the young kunoichi bowed to her sensei, the got up and turned to leave.

"Ibuki, one more question." Geki said quietly. The teen age ninja turned to face him, the exhaustion of the night finally settling down on her. "Where did you learn that elbow strike you finished the gaijin off with, it's not a technique from our ryu is it?"

The black haired girl smiled wide and tired. "Oh no sensei, it's a Shiranui ryu technique!"

The old shinobi smiled back and nodded to the young woman. As she left Geki looked up to the ceiling for a moment. Part of him was sad to see the girl that had become his daughter grown up so soon, so fast. A larger part was simply proud of her skill and talent. An even bigger part was glad he hadn't put with a pack of hyper-active kunoichi from every ryu he could find on the island (and spent more money on sake in month than he spent on food for half a year), for nothing.

"He keeps saying the same thing. A teenage ninja girl ambushed them, killed or crippled all his men, the tortured him until he gave up the money." The voice was even, calm, and contained all the warmth of an Antarctic ice flow.

The speaker was a small compact man who moved with the practiced ease ofsomeone who made a habit of sudden, brutal violence. He was also wearing sunglasses, just after midnight, which spoke of mental issue few people would want to bring to his attention. Under a bad gray and white suit, and a cheap, mis-sized shirt things of interest lay hidden. One was a long, finely made tanto, the universal knife of close range evisceration of Japan for the past several hundred years. Another was a dramatic collection of brilliant artistic tattoos, in addition to the green and blue dragon that coiled around the length of his spine; over fifty random designs added to the tapestry that was his body. An equal number of angry scars criss-crossed his arms and torso.

Loyal, quiet, not stupid, but not smart either, and very, very unambitious. The man practically epitomized the height of organized crime muscle.

The person he was speaking to on the other hand was the opposite side of the same dirty coin. He was thin, tall, impeccably dressed, cultured, thin, very intelligent, and very, very ambitious. He was also studying the wounds made on the corpses of the low rent enforcers that had terrorized an entire city district.

The man was the equivalent of a captain or major in military terms. And while he knew there were powerful than he, this was only tolerated because all his attempts to either make them retire or abdicate in favor of new blood had ended badly. One of the incident's costing him a pinky, forced to cut it off because of his disrespect to an Oyabun. He on the other hand was only tolerated because of his ruthless efficiency and practicality, survivability through ruthlessness as it were.

The man turned his fashionably trimmed head to face the thickly strong muscle man behind him.

"He was right, see these wounds, this fracture here, and this burn here. They speak of merciless skill, high class work to be sure." The other man, who wore a crew cut similar to that of a soldier, nodded.

"I thought the same thing. We are dealing with a team of professionals. I'm thinking another clan or a Chinese Triad." The response was still flat, emotionless.

The tall man sighed and shook his head. "No I do not think so. You had better see about removing all of these men, living or dead, from memory."

The short man bobbed his head, then paused. "If you do not believe it was the Chinese or another clan, who then? The Russians would not try something like this."

His answer was a snorting laugh. "No, those cowards wouldn't. No, Ibelieve what the useless collection of skin says."

The short haired man stopped, now confused. "But I thought you just told me that I was to kill all of these men. If they are telling the truth why kill them?"

A sigh. "Because, I would rather cut off a hand than sacrifice my own arm, than losing everything. For you see there are rumors, ones based on fact as it turns out, of an entire village of ninja who strike as they please, when they choose. Then they vanish, ghosts in the darkness." Before the slow man could ask another predictable question the thin man answered. "I would have them killed so they do not bring others into this. If the shinobi want us out of this area, then we shall leave. We will not go to war over this."

The shorter man's eyes grew huge. "But... but why? Were are yakuza, not even the police dare stand against us!"

A cold gaze that spoke in tones far louder than the well dressed man's voice answered him. "One, young, WOMAN, did all this. And you would war with an entire clan?"

The thug looked around at the damage before him. The previously glorious battle now turned into a prospective suicide. The criminal bowed to his boss. "I will carry out your orders."

As the high class thug turned away the leader of the district's organized crime ran a hand through his hair. This was not good. Tokyo would not be happy. And despite his current activities involving the high schools of that city the gangster was certain that Yang-sama would show this event great interest, and his chances of surviving that interest were slim.