[Mad Tiger] Chapter 25

Dis is definitely suspicious!

Seriously, what are the odds that the clean-shaven Asuma, son of the former Hokage, just happens to show up here on his own? Yeah, no way I’m buying that he just strolled by and thought, “Hey, why not become a Guardian Ninja for the Daimyo?” Especially since Minoruhi mentioned that this “monkey in a sack” was “recommended” to him.

Great. The enemies of the state never sleep, and now I can’t either. Time to inspect the barracks. By the way, their team name, shugonin, cracks me up. If you listen closely, it kind of sounds like “shoo-ers” in slang—like their whole job is to scare people off.

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Calling it a "barracks" is being pretty generous, though. These guys live in way better conditions than any army I’ve seen. It’s more like a two-story dorm. Upstairs, there are twelve tiny bedrooms, kind of like monk cells, and downstairs is just an open space where they eat, meditate, train, or sometimes gamble. That is, when Seito-san isn’t watching. He’s their boss: a grumpy guy with intense eyebrows that almost rival Rock Lee’s (still haven’t seen him, by the way). His voice? Oh, it’s the kind that makes you want to snap to attention just hearing it. He drills them like crazy, probably because half of them are kids like Daishiki.

Not to knock them—they fight and train like pros—but I’ve gathered that clan shinobi often get recruited as shugonin at around thirteen or fifteen years old. Their “contracts” last about ten years, or so I’ve heard from conversations around the barracks. Take Taburo-san, the guy Asuma is replacing—he’s served the Daimyo for twelve years and is only 25.

Right now, half the barracks is under 18, including Daishiki. I thought he was older at first, but turns out he’s barely a year and a half older than Sano. Big shocker for me was finding out my human sensei, Kobo-san, is only 19! They might be top-tier shinobi, but in regular day-to-day stuff, some of them are still total kids. That’s why it’s so weird to have someone as “old” as Asuma show up. The guy’s easily in his mid-twenties—practically ancient by shinobi standards. He’s already a fully formed adult with his own convictions. You can’t exactly mold him into some loyal soldier for the Daimyo. See? Look at me, putting Mom’s psychology books to good use!

And swapping him for Taburo-san, who’s just a couple of years younger? Something doesn’t add up.

A little recon in the barracks shed some light on the situation. Turns out Taburo came down with some serious illness, and the next chunin exams—where the Daimyo traditionally picks shinobi for the shugonin—aren’t for another six months. So, Asuma’s kind of a placeholder: a strong ninja, ex-Hokage’s kid, jonin-level, yadda yadda. He’s on a six-month contract, but if things go well, it could get extended.

But my feline instincts are tingling—something’s fishy about this. And what kind of illness did Taburo even get in the two months I was away? He seemed perfectly fine before—his chakra, his scent, everything. If someone’s sick, their smell changes. Ton-Ton taught me that. Pigs, man, they’re like walking medical scanners. And once I noticed it with Naruto, it totally clicked—when he was sick, his scent was off. When he got better, his smell went back to normal. Ton-Ton says even different illnesses have distinct scents, which makes sense if you think about it. Bacteria probably release different compounds that mix with someone’s natural aroma. I mean, I could even tell the neighbor’s cat back in Konoha had stomach issues. There was this faint acetone note to his scent.

Anyway, the point is, Asuma’s whole situation screams trouble. Better keep an eye on him. Makes me wish I could pull off shadow clones. Guess I’ll have to rely on my allies.

I watched Asuma charmingly crack jokes with the younger shinobi, clearly working his way into their good graces, before heading over to Kobo-san’s “cell.” Out of politeness, I scratched at the door. No answer. Fine, I let myself in. Sliding doors are way more convenient than those Western-style ones. They even have that groove at the bottom, probably so you can kneel and slide it open all dramatic-like for guests. For me, it’s a simple matter of hooking it with my claws and pulling it open.

Kobo was there, snoozing on a thin futon. Honestly, I’ve never actually seen his face. With his mask and ninja getup, I always assumed he was an old guy. Weird to think he’s practically my age—if you count both my human and cat years.

Hmm. Opportunity knocks. He’s out cold. I know they say curiosity killed the cat, but… I mean, come on. How could I not want to know what this Uchiha looks like?

I nudged his face with my nose, sniffing around, and gave his cheek a quick lick. You know, just cat stuff. Kobo muttered something in his sleep—someone’s name, maybe? I kept licking him, playing innocent, while carefully using a claw to tug at his mask. Success! Heh-heh.

Turns out he’s got a young face—kind of ordinary, really. Wide-ish nose, average lips, no dramatic scars, birthmarks, or anything you’d need to hide. Decent-looking guy, not some heartthrob or anything, just… normal.

Suddenly, as if sensing my stare, he opened his eyes—those familiar red Sharingan eyes.

“Oh, uh, hi there,” I said, putting on my most innocent look. What? I didn’t do anything!

“Your mask fell off,” I added quickly, purring as a precautionary measure.

Kobo gave me a suspicious look but pulled his mask back on.

“Tora-chan, is something wrong?” my human sensei asked seriously.

I nodded, locking eyes with him to show I meant business. Time for some caveman-level communication.

“Danger. Bad person,” I meowed, keeping it short and to the point. Better safe than sorry.

Kobo furrowed his brow, thinking hard.

“An enemy?” he asked.

I nodded again.

“Need to watch. Keep close to the bad person,” I said, repeating myself a few different ways, just in case.

Dragging Sano into this mess wasn’t an option. The last thing I want is to get a regular kid mixed up in shinobi politics, especially when the Sarutobi clan’s involved. They’re one of the most powerful clans in Konoha, thanks to Hiruzen’s long reign. Sano’s no Uchiha, and if Asuma catches wind that he was snitched on, who knows what could happen?

But Kobo-san? Watching people is literally his job. So yeah, he can keep an eye on this suspicious “replacement” shugonin for me.

“Keep an eye on the enemy?” Kobo-san finally caught on. “Are you going to show me who?”

Man of action. Respect.

I slipped out of his room and decided to check on something else. Taburo’s room was three doors down, and odds were that the young Sarutobi would be moved in there. Scratching at the door, I waited for Kobo to open it for me. Hmm… The scent hadn’t faded yet. I have a freakishly good memory for smells. Sometimes, I can’t remember a face because I saw it from some awkward angle, but a scent? Instant recall. Sure, the palace is a swirl of smells—people mixing, clashing, all that—but the more individual scents I catch, the easier it gets to untangle the mess later. Like spotting your friends in a crowd. A sea of strangers, and then—bam—there’s Misha and Sanya!

And wouldn’t you know it? The scent in the room didn’t belong to a sick person. Taburo’s smell was the same as when I left for Konoha.

“Lies! Deception! A setup!” I paced in a tight circle, my tail swishing.

Kobo-san furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

“Taburo wasn’t sick!” I made another attempt to clear things up. “They forced him out. Bad shinobi. Traitor!”

“Something’s not adding up here,” the Uchiha muttered, thinking aloud. “Was Taburo’s departure intentional?”

I nodded enthusiastically. That’s my guy! Let me give you a kiss! You’ve earned it—heck, I’ll even let you scratch behind my ears!

“Ahem. I was told this was my room,” came a familiar smug voice.

Kobo-san swiftly scooped me up and turned to face the newcomer.

“Sorry. Are you the new guy? Tora-san ran in here, and I was worried he might…uh…mark the place. He likes to pull little stunts now and then.”

“Hmph,” A**uma snorted. “Then you should’ve given him a good smack. Why do you even keep that cat around?”

I couldn’t take it anymore and yowled:

“It’s him! The enemy! Let me go, and I’ll teach him what ‘good smack’ means! He’ll leave here crying, I swear!”

Kobo-san calmly placed a hand on my head, stroking it soothingly.

“Easy, Tora-san, easy,” he murmured, then addressed the Sarutobi with a steely tone. “I hope that was a joke. Tora is untouchable around here. He’s a favorite. Speak like that again, and you’ll have a tough time living here.”

“You’re kidding, right?” A**uma scoffed. “What could a simple cat even do?”

Simple cat? Excuse me? Did I just hear someone call me—Tora, the personal cat of the daimyo—a simple cat? Do you even know who you’re talking about? I’m the Mad Tiger of the Red Hot-Blooded Habanero!

“Suit yourself,” Kobo-san said with an air of indifference, walking out of the room with me still in his arms.

“Oh, Tora-san!” a chorus of voices greeted me as we made it downstairs to the group of shinobi. “Haven’t seen you in ages!”

Naturally, I had to make the rounds, saying hello and, of course, re-marking my territory. Can’t let anyone forget who the boss is. Even Daishiki, who seemed a bit mopey—probably still salty about losing to me in that foot race—got a little affection. He perked up immediately and began scratching my back.

“Look at that! Daishiki earned the honor of petting Tora-san!” Nauma teased, and the group burst into laughter, congratulating him. Poor Daishiki turned bright red. It is a big deal—only Seito-san, Kobo-san, Kitane, and Tou are usually allowed that privilege.

“Jealous, Nauma?” Daishiki shot back as I climbed onto his lap.

“The new guy said he doesn’t like our cat,” Kobo-san remarked, and the chatter instantly died.

“Soap him up and toss him out!” I declared, breaking the silence with the kind of dramatic flair that would’ve made a Kabuki actor proud.

The look on everyone’s face? Priceless. Poor Asuma. He had no idea he’d just been thrown to the wolves—or rather, the daimyo’s favorite feline.