SHINOBU is a no-signup, no-login messaging tool. Your code is your identity.
Real-time encrypted chat. Create a Private room for two people, or a Group room for up to 12. Nothing is stored on any server.
Up to 12 shinobi in one room. Each member chooses a display name and gets a unique color. Names and colors are stored in the room metadata — never linked to any real identity. A member panel shows who's online in real time.
Leave a note under a code for someone to find later. Messages auto-expire after 30 days of inactivity.
All messages are end-to-end encrypted. Only people with the room's encryption key can read them — not the server, not anyone else.
Iga Province, late Sengoku period.
The rain had not stopped in three days, and Kaede was grateful for it. She knelt at the edge of the trade road just outside the checkpoint, a basket of dyed rice balanced against her hip like any farmer's wife bringing lunch to the fields.
No one looked twice at a woman feeding birds by a crossroads. That was the whole trick. Nobody ever looks twice at something that looks like nothing.
She let five grains fall from her fingers — arranging them in the mud beneath a flat stone. To anyone else, it was rice spilled by accident. To the next agent who passed, it would read as clearly as if she had shouted it across the valley. By the time any patrol thought to search, the rain would have dissolved every trace.
Her partner, Renji, worked differently. He carried a folded letter that looked like a merchant's tally of debts. But the letter had been written in soybean ink — invisible. Only when held close to a flame would the true message rise out of the blank page like a ghost stepping out of fog.
And once read, Renji would feed the whole page to the fire.
That was the shinobi's real weapon. Not the blade at their hip, but the discipline of making a message disappear on purpose.
Kaede and Renji never knew each other's real names. They didn't need to. The code was the identity. If you knew the code, you belonged. If you didn't, the crossroads was just mud.
Four hundred years later, nobody leaves rice at crossroads anymore. But the problem never went away — how do you say something true to exactly one person, and trust that it's gone when you're finished?
A Live Room is Kaede's rice in the rain. A Left Message is Renji's invisible letter. And the code itself is the same rule that kept two shinobi alive who never even knew each other's real names.
It isn't a costume borrowed from history. It's the oldest privacy technology on record, rebuilt in JavaScript instead of rice and rain.
Choose room type.
Choose room type.
Set a room code for your friend to join.
Set a room code. Up to 12 people can join.
Enter the room code. Pick a display name.
Enter the room code your friend shared.
Set a code for your mailbox.
Enter the mailbox code.