The good ol' days [D-rank mission]

Spoiler:

Knock knock

Yako slammed the ornate brass handle against the door. The wood was thin and despite his gentle touch, a loud and violent sounding thud was sent into the house. Intentional design, possibly. The old geezer living there might not hear so well anymore. During the long, uncomfortable wait that followed, Yako rubbed his sweaty hands together and looked around the suburb where he found himself. He had been assigned to accompany the retired shinobi living here on a day out, a task that made him more nervous than he cared to admit. Word had it that the man was chatty and somewhat demented. Not quite the people's person, Yako wasn't quite sure if he was up to dealing with that. On the other hand, a shinobi doesn't shirk his duty, especially if the task is this trivial, so he figured he had to man up and get it done. Finally, he heard a faint shuffling behind the thin door, after which it swung open and revealed a frail, old man in the doorway.

"Can I help you, son?"

The man had supposedly been informed about the visit, but from the questioning look in his eyes, Yako figured he had not quite connected the dots.

"Good morning sir. My name is Yako. I was sent to accompany you for a day"

As the words came out of his mouth, he realized how unkind they actually sounded. "Sent to accompany you". The way we treat our elderly...
Fortunately, fate sent him a chance to do his introduction over. The old man looked confused and tilted the side of his head towards Yako.

"YAKO, SIR! I GET TO ACCOMPANY YOU THIS AFTERNOON. DID THE OFFICE NOT MENTION MY VISIT?"

"Yes, the genin boy. Come in."

The man beckoned as he turned and shuffled back into the house. Yako waited for an additional instruction, but after a moment figured it wouldn't come and that this was his cue to enter. He followed the man inside and closed the door behind him. The old man moved with a peculiar, slow grace, his blue kimono gently waving back and forth with every step. Yako found it difficult to figure out if he was actually physically weak or just impossibly calm. Perhaps he was both. As he finally reached the middle of what appeared to be a small living room, the old man stopped and gently brushed his thin, white and impressively long mustache.

"Ah, yes. My name is Jimambu, bytheway."

He gestured at one of the pillows in the corner.

"Have a seat. Would you like some tea?"