The docks were among the scarce few places in the village the mist didn't completely dominate. The usual thick clouds of fog that decorated the skies were absent here almost all the time, the sun's precious rays fell in unrestrained. Zabuza didn't particularly care for so much of the sun's presence, the mist allowed him to move as he wished, it was and always has been his number one ally in the village. Countless times its visually impenetrable shroud had protected him and that was before he'd gotten strong enough to use it to hunt down his tormentors, debtors and stingy bosses.
Today, yesterday and likely tomorrow, the mist's absence made him feel vulnerable— he wasn't, of course, he didn't need the mist to remain strong, powerful, efficient. He just preferred it, like any sensible shinobi would prefer the cover of the dark to the glow of a summer sun.
At the thought, Zabuza carried his gaze from the dockworkers loading crate after crate and onto the rooftops west of him. He squinted, searching each of the dock buildings for his teammate. To her credit, he gave the building she was watching from three passes before noticing her. She'd blended in with the sun beaten brown tiles of the dockmaster's office. How she'd managed that, whether jutsu or some fancy, expensive cloak, Zabuza wasn't certain but he'd spotted her from his perch atop one of the ship's masts all the same.
He traced her possible line of sight to where his other teammate patrolled, closer to the ground and in full view of everyone Utakata monitored the main cargo staging areas alongside the dock's security teams, though, with the magnitude of goods, tools, people and products being shipped just about every unoccupied space was part of the cargo staging area.
Zabuza narrowed his eyes around the Jinchuriki and then set them back on the Hozuki clan's Princess, a sneer formed on his lip without them even trying. He breathed out and let the vile emotions go, even though he was right in his assessment of them— the Jinchuriki a weak hearted fool and the Princess nothing but a part timer compared to her much younger cousin— there was no place for his anger towards them, not while on a mission, boring as it was.
They'd patrolled and overseen the ins and outs of the ships for over a week now and they'd yet to catch the attention of anything but a couple misunderstood sailors and drunk civilians taking a piss in the wrong place. A part of Zabuza blamed the lack of results on the ANBU shadowing his team, he searched the horizons, clustered and over active docks, the ships and even the entrance and exits to spot even one of them with certainty but their disguises were nothing as obvious as Rina's.
And while he couldn't find them, that didn't mean they weren't present or that the foreign spies his Team 3 was meant to lure out didn't see or know they were present either. What's the point of having a lure if you're not willing to let the fish bite. It was his expert opinion that Team 3 could do without the hovering, watchful eyes of the ANBU, there was no way any criminal spy would return if there were this many eyes watching.
Zabuza let out a sigh as Utakata moved from one pile of crates to another in front of the next ship. The Jinchuriki wore the kind face and worked with the dock security, ensuring nothing was being smuggled or missing from the long manifest of items the Hozuki and Funato clans were shipping out to the islands Kirigakure had won.
Balling his fist, Zabuza rose to his full height and leaped across the ships, landing lightly on a mast as he trailed Utakata's inspection. His gaze flicked to the side, catching Rina's movement in his periphery. He grunted.
Zabuza wasn't particularly impressed by the Hozuki clan princess— at least, not compared to her cousin— but he'd heard of her accomplishments during the war. She sacrificed her life in order to complete her mission and survived, an impressive feat that no doubt endeared her to the Mizukage. There was little choice but to respect if not her strength then her resolve.
A sharp whistle cut through the dock's usual bustle, followed by the unmistakable sound of a struggle—grunting, crates toppling, and hurried footsteps scrambling over wooden planks. A crack of static rang through Zabuza's earpiece, "Some troublemakers down here, Rina, Zabuza, move to subdue. Utakata, stand by." Ao ordered from wherever he was watching from— Zabuza found he enjoyed the hands off approach his reputation as the Demon Mist afforded him, but not as much knowing the opportunities lying ahead.
"Sir!"
He sprinted off, hopping from mast to mast and down onto low ceiling rooftops, his eyes trained on the crowds flocking to and away from the chaos churning. Zabuza wasn't fazed, slightly less bored but certainly not excited for action. During the first few days they'd begun working as a team commotions like these would occur and his blood would pump.
'It's kumo! They've sent an agent and he's a clumsy idiot!' or 'Now's my chance to rise!'. Those thoughts fostered nothing but disappointment each time as it was nothing more interesting than sailor pride, scheduling mishaps and clan tensions. They were reaping a reward like nothing any caste clan could dream of, an entire isle of power, security, wealth, but their greed would never be satisfied, the squabbles and dick measuring contests continued.
Zabuza landed soundlessly on the nearest ship's railing, eyes sweeping over the scene below. A trio of scrappy-looking youths—no older than sixteen, if that—were in the middle of ransacking a cargo hold, shoving sacks of rice and sealed crates of supplies into hastily prepared slings. Their movements were quick, practiced. These weren't desperate beggars; they knew what they were doing and they'd knocked out anyone that could qualify as dock security with bludgeon weapons, some white knuckling a rusty kunai.
But there was something else about them that put a pause to Zabuza's movements. Rina dashed in, a pair of kunai in each hand and a fierce look as she crouched to check the pulse of the sprawled out guards. "You shameless academy dropouts, stop right there!"
One of them, a wiry teen with a scar across his nose, noticed Rina's presence first. He stiffened, nudging the boy beside, "Shit—shinobi!"
The sound of his voice—the peculiar way he hissed shinobi—made everything click in Zabuza's mind. He leaped down just as Rina unleashed a volley of shuriken, cutting off every possible escape route.
The thieves weren't afraid. Well-trained enough to survive the streets, they deflected, dodged, and substituted out of danger, still clutching their stolen goods as they made a desperate break for it. Instead of bolting down the dock, they veered toward a row of smaller fishing boats, hopping across the narrow, unsteady hulls to put distance between themselves and pursuit.
Rina was already on top of one. The moment her fingers brushed against a thief's clothes, he swung at her head with a rusted wrench.
Zabuza ignored them. He shot past their scuffle, zeroing in on the other two as they fled. Only now, sensing how close he was, did they finally ditch their stolen cargo, letting it clatter uselessly onto the docks. A desperate attempt to move faster as they ran into the crowds near the entrance.
Crates flew at him as he closed in. He dodged with minimal effort, weaving through the projectiles as he pursued the familiar ruffians—he'd seen them before, fought and worked with their kind before— he wasn't about to lose them. But one of them had a final trick up his sleeve.
A smoke bomb exploded.
Chaos erupted instantly. Civilians coughed, cursed, shoved past each other, clogging the dock with noise and movement. Damn it. Sights compromised and the crowd far too noisy to listen for the criminals, Zabuza jumped onto higher ground, landing on the roof of a low-rise building near the dock entrance and scanned the shifting mass of bodies with gritted teeth.
It was a low grade smoke bomb—already dispersing from the wind of people fleeing its radius. Within seconds, Zabuza locked onto them.
They had changed clothes. Smart. But not good enough. He compared their gait, their size, the subtle tension in their movements. Just as frustration threatened to creep in, he spotted them. Two figures exiting the smoke opposite of each other, hunched over, heads down.
I've got you now.
He went for the one on the left. Taller. Broader. The ring leader.
Zabuza leaped down, landing right in front of him.
The boy skidded to a stop, gulping. His eyes darted behind him—searching for backup—but Zabuza was already moving.
The uppercut sent him off his feet. Before he could recover, Zabuza slammed his weight down, pinning him to the dirt with a kunai to his throat.
"Who hired you?" he seethed.
The thief sputtered, panicked. "F-Fuck, man. I didn't know this was your—"
A thin line of blood trickled from his neck as Zabuza pressed the blade in deeper.
"I won't ask again," he warned. "Promise."
"Zabuza!"
Rina's voice cut through the noise. She was dragging the third and final dropout by his hair, his beaten form barely keeping up as he crawled after her on all fours.
"What are you doing? Don't—"
That split second of distraction was enough.
The boy beneath Zabuza twisted his weight, wrenching free in a burst of panicked strength. The moment his feet hit the ground, he was running.
"Don't let him escape, Hozuki!" Zabuza snapped. "He's a diversion—the real threat is still—"
An explosion rocked the dock.
Wood, concrete, and seawater erupted into the air. Screams followed. People ducked, fled, stumbled in the chaos—but Zabuza never lost sight of his target.
In one step, he closed the distance. His foot smashed into the boy's back, sending him face-first into the dirt.
The thief gasped, spitting blood as Zabuza hauled him up by the scruff.
"Who hired you!"