"Yeah, s'what I was thinking, too," Genma said. He steadied himself and shifted his packs around a little, checking weapons even though he knew the count. It was pathetically reduced, and he mourned the loss of so much steel at that battle site. There were three kunai remaining, four shuriken, a dozen senbon painted with a nerve agent, three powder-bombs, a roll of exploding tags, garrote wire in his belt, and slim blades in the soles of his shoes. His katana weighed heavy against his back. Hayate was the swordsman, though, Genma's real weapons were his poisons and his ninjutsu. He sincerely hoped there'd be no further need to use any of them.

"Are all your clones this... endowed with personality?" His cheeks pulled in something like a smile. "Clones are weird that way, I guess. Depends on how you cast them."