Easy Kill

The next morning, Kizashi and Mebuki prepared for their trip. They packed lightly, just enough for three days away.

Kizashi was in high spirits, humming as he checked their supplies. Mebuki kept looking at the flyer with doubts. She felt something wasn't right, but she kept those thoughts to herself. She didn't want to spoil their rare chance for a getaway.

"Take your time and safe journeys!" Sakura waved to them by the door.

"We're not far from the village," Mebuki reminded. "That means we'll write to check up on you."

"You do that!" Sakura said with a bigger smile.

"Also," her mother added, "I asked Masaki to come check up on you every hour till we get back."

Now Sakura felt smothered; her hopes of being alone in the house with no parents felt lacking because of the surprise babysitter.

She tried to argue that her friends could watch her, and often do because of the Flying raijin paper, but Mebuki was not confident in letting kids her daughter's age take responsibility for her well-being.

Ironic to believe since these same "kids" saved Sakura on numerous occasions.

After waving her goodbye, the two couples made their way to the village gates. There, they called for a horse-drawn carriage, and soon the sturdy vehicle pulled up. The driver helped them load their luggage.

"Where're ya two headed off?" he asked.

"The Four Seasons Hotel," Kizashi answered pridefully.

"Ya mean that luxurious one in Garden Park Village?" the driver asked in surprise.

"That's the one!"

Whoever these two couples were, the driver felt he had to be extra courteous. Whether it was because he thought they were wealthy or not, he was going to try to get that tip.

The ride was smooth, the horses steady, but Mebuki's unease grew as they moved away from the village. The landscape changed from familiar fields to open land, then to a stretch of quiet village with a few scattered houses and shops.

She looked out the window, feeling a strange sense of foreboding.

"I hope we're not wasting our time," she relayed.

Kizashi chuckled, a good-natured sound. "Relax. It's a promotion from a fancy hotel. They do things like this all the time."

Mebuki sighed, leaning back. "I hope so. But I can't shake this feeling."

They soon arrived at the village with different emotions. The hotel stood at the center, a large building with bright banners and a welcoming sign.

As they approached, the receptionist stepped out from behind the counter and politely smiled, "Good morning. How can I help you two?"

"We received your flyer," Kizashi confidently answered. "We're here for the all-expenses-paid vacation."

The woman looked down at her clipboard, then back up with a smile.

"Congratulations," she said. "You're the first to arrive for our promotion. We were beginning to think no one would come."

Mebuki blinked in surprise. "Really? Just us?"

The receptionist nodded. "Yes. It's part of our new marketing campaign. We're offering a few guests a free stay to gather reviews and feedback. That flyer was recently given out."

Mebuki's stomach tightened because she was wrong. She looked at Kizashi, who only grinned.

"Well, that's great," he said. "We'd like the best room you have."

The receptionist agreed and called for two staff members. They arrived swiftly and helped bring their luggage up to the highest floor.

Their room was spacious, decorated with modern furnishings covered in plastic sheets. The furniture looked new, pristine even with the plastic covers.

Kizashi flopped onto the bed, stretching out comfortably.

"This is incredible," he said, full of satisfaction. "I've never seen a room this nice."

Mebuki looked around as her eyes lingered on the coverings. "But what's with all the plastic on the furniture?"

"Don't tell me you're still worried about something," he teased, getting up.

"No, it's just…" Her voice trailed off as she looked elsewhere. "I guess I'm just thinking about Sakura, is all."

When she turned back, her husband had already moved to the balcony to take in the scene. Mebuki followed. When she stepped onto the balcony, her eyes widened.

From this height, the village stretched out before her. The view was breathtaking—rows of buildings, green fields, and a distant mountain range. Now her doubts were quickly melting.

"Look at this," Kizashi said, turning to her. "We deserved this after all the hard work we do."

"You're retired…" she laughed.

"Yeah, but waking up every morning with a sore back does its number."

She smiled softly, leaning on his shoulder. As they stood there, he reached out, pulling her close. Without a word, they kissed. It felt good to forget worries and just be together.

"I hope our daughter's enjoying herself, too," Mebuki smiled.

"I'm sure she's doing just fine."

Later, because of the room's ambience and privacy, Kizashi hinted at seductive pleasures with his wife. She agreed but first desired to shower.

Inside the bathroom, she was surprised at how large it was—the space almost seemed excessive. She turned the shower on, and steam filled the room quickly. Then she stepped into the warm water, letting it wash over her. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat, the quiet, and the moment of peace.

It was rare for her to feel this relaxed.

Meanwhile, outside, Kizashi settled into a chair in the living room. Feeling a lever on the side, he determined this chair could be adjusted. So he reclined it back. As he settled his head and was about to relax, he noticed someone behind his chair: a white-cloaked figure was standing there, looking down at him.

It was John.

Kizashi's heart thumped hard in his chest as he leapt out of the chair. His mind was racing—who was this man, and how did he sneak up on the likes of a former shinobi?

John was calm, staring at the man. Kizashi knew something was off because no staff member would be wearing a cloak like that inside the hotel.

His voice caught in his throat: "Meb—"

Before he could finish, John lunged forward and clamped a hand over Kizashi's mouth. Kizashi's eyes widened even more, and he struggled, trying to push the hand away. But John was too quick, and his grip was extremely firm.

Kizashi's heart pounded as fear shot through him. John didn't even say a word. Just as Kizashi tried to maneuver around by flipping, a sharp object suddenly stabbed deep in his side.

Pain shot through him, and he froze, silence replacing his struggles. His breathing grew shallow, his vision blurred at the edges, and his body relaxed as the pain gradually ceased. Then his eyes fluttered shut.

John gently eased Kizashi back into the chair like nothing had happened.

In the bathroom, Mebuki could have sworn she heard a noise. She was unaware of the horror outside, so trouble didn't register in her thoughts. She was lying back in the bath, letting the hot water soothe her muscles. The room was filled with steam and the sound of water running.

"This is great," she said, enjoying the pampering.

She'd been feeling tense all morning, but now, for the first time, she allowed herself to relax. As such, she closed her eyes and let her mind drift. Perhaps her husband would enter if he was that eager.

But for now, as she floated in the hot water, not a single thing needed to be thought about.

It's not long until John hears a faint knock through the front door. Kizashi, now dead, didn't move.

'Transformation jutsu…'

John, now disguised as Kizashi, opened the door. It was the manager. With a polite smile, he asked, "Is there anything I can do for you, esteemed guest?"

"Go and delete them." John said in a flat voice.

The manager suddenly became still for a moment. Then a strange sensation enveloped him as if he had just entered a trance-like state. His eyes blinked, then, without hesitation, he turned around and moved away from the door in a robotic manner.

It wasn't long until his figure disappeared, allowing John to slowly close the door.

How was this all possible? How could John have pulled off such an easy kill without alerting a single soul?

The answer was simple. From the moment the flyer had gone out, John had known Kizashi would want to go. It was obvious. The promise of a free vacation was too tempting.

So, John moved quickly. He arrived at the hotel before them, casting a genjutsu on the staff—receptionists, cleaners, anyone who might be involved.

The genjutsu was subtle, triggered only by specific words spoken by Kizashi or Mebuki. Once activated, the staff would be oblivious to this supposed free vacation and instead treat the couple as if there really was one.

And John didn't stop there.

The furniture in the room was also layered with plastic, making it look pristine and untouched. This was a safeguard—a way to make sure that, if any bodies or evidence appeared later, they'd be easily cleaned up.

No bodies needed to be hidden here; only the illusion had to be maintained.

John's role was to ensure that Kizashi and Mebuki arrived, triggered the genjutsu, and then moved on. The staff, under the illusion, would act as if nothing was out of place even after their disappearance.

The final step was the deletion of all records. The hotel's management would erase all traces of the Harunos' visit—no receipts, no surveillance footage, no logs. That's why John said the trigger word as Kizashi, "Go and delete them."

If questions arose later, it would be almost impossible to connect the dots.

John still had only one thing left to deal with: Mebuki.

After a minute, Mebuki finally stepped from the tub with a thick terry cloth towel wrapped around her. When she opened the door, the room was quiet.

She scanned the living room and smiled. In the upholstered armchair near the window, sat Kizashi. Only his hair was visible above the chair's back. As such, she gave him a private, knowing smile and began to move closer.

She wanted to surprise him. A playful greeting.

The distance to the chair was short, but she drew it out, savouring the anticipation. When she was directly behind him, she paused. Then, with a quick, fluid motion, she unwrapped the towel from her body, lifted her legs, and swung them over the back of the chair.

Her bare skin brushed against the plastic as her arms reached forward to embrace him and nuzzle his neck.

Then she saw it.

A dark stain on the back of his shirt. Not a spill. It was too dark and thick. Her gaze dropped, following the line of his arm. Blood.

She gasped as her mind struggled to comprehend the sight. This wasn't right. This wasn't a game. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

The scene before her, stark and horrifying, began to register. A cold, suffocating dread coiled in her stomach as she was quickly stifled by her hand. She stumbled back and stumbled to the floor while her heart pounded against her chest.

Her eyes then darted from the blood-soaked plastic to Kizashi's still form. He wasn't moving. Not even a slight shift.

The truth refused to be acknowledged due to shock. This was too much for her, so her body rebelled. She doubled over, her eyes fixed on the horrific tableau.

Then she heard it. A voice. Low and ominous in her ears: "I was going to slay you clothed."

Mebuki spun around and saw a figure emerging from the shadows near the entrance to the hall. A man. His face was unseeable due to his hood, but he had in his hand a longsword.

Before her mind could fully process what she was seeing, a sharp, searing pain erupted in her chest. Her breath hitched and her eyes widened as she slowly stared down. The object that struck her was a blade, and it was protruding from her breast. Right through her.

Her vision blurred, the world spun, and she felt the quick withdrawal of the weapon.

John looked at the blade, and then, with a casual motion, he swiped it clean on the plastic furniture. Slaying these characters wasn't often done. But each time him or Arthur did, they all felt that same sense of detachment.

Mebuki's body slowly swayed. Before she could fall, John reached out and took hold of her arm. There was no gentleness in his grip as he lifted her like a lifeless doll about to bleed all over the floor.