Darkness.
All he saw was the encompassing darkness.
Before... before he shut his eyes...
Blood.
All he saw was droplets of crimson in the air, and a spatter on his chest.
Pain.
All he felt was pain in his chest, in his heart.
Failed.
He had failed the mission. ANBU didn't fail. They always, always succeeded. Failure was not an option for ANBU, and certainly not for Dog.
Darkness.
All he saw was the encompassing darkness.
Until...
.
.
.
Howls roused him awake. Dog opened his eyes and saw a ceiling.
Strange. Wasn't he outside in the snow?
He felt the grooves of the tatami floor as his hand moved by his side. The warmth of the blanket draped over his figure was comfortable, as though he was cloaked in sheepskin. Dog groggily lifted himself up, but he gave a sharp cry of pain before thudding back on the floor. Shit, he thought, feeling the familiar clench in his chest. He was fatally wounded. I should've bled to death, so why haven't I?
He could hear the unrelenting wind clawing at the walls. Am I still in the Land of Iron? Slowly, Dog lifted his head to look out a nearby window. There was nothing but white. I guess I am. You can't find blizzards like that anywhere, except maybe for the Land of Snow.
Only when he felt the cool air against his mouth did the ANBU-nin realize something—he wasn't wearing his mask. Of course, whoever had put him here had taken his shirt off to examine his wound. Dog then felt the constricting bandages wrapped around his chest. Whoever put him here also bothered to save his life.
But who would? If Dog hadn't bled to death, then he would've been court-martialed for intruding a neutral country.
He growled. This wasn't supposed to happen. He just had to dispatch a rōnin—Yūshoku Asahi, he was—and that would be it. The details weren't divulged; Dog just knew that he had to kill him. It was a simple A-rank, and one he was starting to regret choosing.
He searched his mind for anything, for memories. Images of snow and blood appeared, juxtaposed into a fight to the death. Dog and Yūshoku Asahi. He had thrown kunai after kunai at him, but the rōnin was strong, so Dog opted to use Chidori to end it. But as soon as he began the hand seals, Yūshoku had slashed him so fast that Dog stopped in his tracks.
Shit.
He had failed to kill Yūshoku Asahi. He had failed the mission.
He was going to be executed.
So why am I still alive?
Footsteps thudded outside the room. Dog pretended to be asleep, ready to reveal the Sharingan if needed.
The sliding doors opened and a woman entered. She knelt beside him, her long, black hair framing her pale face, and he watched as she peeled away the blanket (damn, was it cold) to reveal his bandaged chest.
The woman unwrapped his blood-stained bandages; it took all of Dog's self-restraint to not flinch at the cold fingers ghosting over his skin. She had one hand supporting him up and the other expertly wrapping clean bandages over his wound. Dog caught sight of the scar that ran from his torso to his left shoulder. It was still fresh and the stench was horrible.
He had questions, but he wouldn't recklessly ask. So when the woman finished, Dog caught her wrists and flipped her under him in quick succession.
He ignored the lightning bolt of pain that coursed through his veins.
Shit.
"Who are you?" he asked, ignoring his aching wound.
Below him, the woman answered monotonously.
"I'm the one who found you bleeding in the snow."
"Where am I?"
"We're in my house, which is at least a kilometer away from the Three Wolves."
So we're in the outskirts of the Land of Iron. Dog didn't understand. Why aren't I in a court or a prison cell?
The woman must've sensed his suspicion. "I know who you are," she began, catching Dog's attention. "You're the White Fang's son, the Copy Ninja. Plenty of people want your head, but not the Land of Iron. In fact, if you told them that you wanted Yūshoku Asahi dead, I'm sure they'd give you a warning."
"You wore an ANBU mask when I found you," she said when he was about to ask, "and Yūshoku is the only dangerous rōnin that can be found within these areas. From that, I surmised that you were on a mission to assassinate him."
She's smart. Dog narrowed his eyes. Too smart. "Since you won't turn me in, mind telling me where Yūshoku Asahi is?"
The woman remained impassive. "You need food."
Dog growled, tightening his grip on her wrists. "Don't ignore my question. Tell me where Yūshoku Asahi is."
"I have soup if you want."
"I won't ask again." He brought his face closer to hers, glaring straight into her icy orbs. "Tell me."
The air hung in silence. When the woman spoke, it was in a gentle tone.
"Your Sharingan truly is remarkable up close. It's a shame that even with it, you still cannot see beyond." The black, intricate iris of Dog's eye twitched. "You should know where Yūshoku is from what I have told you."
The ANBU-nin stiffened. What does she mean? Has she been hinting his location all along?
"I'm the one who found you bleeding in the snow."
"We're in my house, which is at least a kilometer away from the Three Wolves."
"I know who you are. You're the White Fang's son, the Copy Ninja. A lot of people want your head, but not the Land of Iron. In fact, if you told them that you wanted Yūshoku Asahi dead, I'm sure they'd give you a warning."
"You wore an ANBU mask when I found you, and Yūshoku is the only dangerous rōnin that can be found within these areas. From that, I surmised that you were on a mission to assassinate him."
Dog sat up in realisation.
We're in my house, which is at least a kilometer away from the Three Wolves. Yūshoku is the only dangerous rōnin that can be found within these areas.
"He's your husband."
Silence.
I was right.
"There's a reason why she doesn't have a photo in the Bingo Book."
Wait, she—?!
Suddenly, the woman bent her leg from underneath him and kicked Dog in the stomach. The ANBU-nin recoiled as pain swelled in his torso, sending him into agony.
"I'll fetch you some soup," said the woman, standing up and opening the sliding doors.
"—Wait!" Dog spluttered. Fuck, it hurts. "You're actually Yūshoku Asahi, aren't you?!"
She didn't even blink. Instead, she stepped outside the room.
"Get some rest, shinobi."
.
.
.
Fucking blizzard.
Fucking cold.
He could hear nothing in the wind, not even his own ragged breaths.
The snow below him crunched with every step he took. Dog felt like his limbs could fall off.
"It's all for ANBU... for the sake of Konoha..."
.
.
.
He knew he had to get out of there.
At the state he was in, he wouldn't be able to escape. The storm outside was also a problem. He could only plan his escape route at the very least.
With a grunt, Dog lifted himself up from the floor and crawled over to the sliding doors. Huffing, he nudged them open, just enough so he could peer outside.
The house was surprisingly spacious. It looked more like a family house than a shack in the middle of the Land of Iron. Barely any furniture occupied Yūshoku Asahi's home.
Damn. It was near impossible to sneak out in open spaces, especially when Dog didn't know the enemy territory. He hated taking risks, but he had to.
Something caught his eye. Dog saw a sheathed katana resting in its rack at the far end of the wall. Yūshoku Asahi's katana. Suddenly, the plan to escape was replaced with a plan to assassinate the rōnin right here, right now.
Silently, Dog slipped out of the room with the agility of a cat.
He only took two steps before her foot found his stomach.
.
.
.
"Are you Yūshoku Asahi?"
He had found him. The rōnin was wearing a sakura-patterned cloak with the hood up. Upon Dog's words, the rōnin's hand gripped the hilt of his katana. "So what if I am?" came the reply, barely audible. "Are you here to kill me?"
Dog threw a kunai at him, yet Yūshoku dodged it. Metal pierced bark. "I see. So you are here to kill me..."
"The Hokage wants you dead. It's my duty to fulfill his wish."
"And it is mine to retreat. I do not fight enemies who are half-defeated."
Dog palmed three kunai in his hand. "You don't have to fight."
.
.
.
Yūshoku Asahi came back with a tray of food. The pungent smell of soup instantly filled the room, warming the air by a bit. She knelt before a chabudai at the side of the room and placed the tray on it. "Here, eat. Unless you want me to feed you."
Dog didn't move from his spot and instead watched the woman in case she had a knife hidden underneath her kimono sleeve.
"Eat."
"I refuse to."
His stomach said otherwise.
"I haven't poisoned it. If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it days ago."
Days? Just how long have I been here? "Then why? Why haven't you killed me?"
"Because I plan to fight you."
Dog widened his eyes.
"You weren't at your best back then," she said in retort to his confusion. "You were sleep-deprived and suffering from frostbite."
Indeed, Dog wasn't used to the cold. Years of living in Konoha's summery climate proved that. "So? Don't tell me you wanted a fair fight."
For the first time, emotion flickered on the woman's face. "I may be a rogue, but my bushidō is more important."
I do not fight enemies who are half-defeated.
"Bushidō? That's your excuse?"
"I don't see the problem. After all, I'm giving you another chance to finish your mission."
You gave me mercy, Dog growled in his head. Mercy isn't permitted for people like us. We're killers.
His mother, beaten by missing-nin—mercy is a weakness.
His father, vilified for his failure—mercy gets you killed.
Obito, half-dead underneath that boulder, offering his Sharingan—mercy is something I don't deserve—
He felt a warm sensation on his lips. Dog looked up, startled.
"Eat."
Yūshoku tipped the spoonful of soup into his mouth. It traveled to his stomach like a beacon of warmth, lingering like a flame in a lantern before dwindling away.
He wanted more.
"Do you want to feed yourself?" Yūshoku asked, even as she lifted another spoonful of the magic liquid.
Dog wanted to say yes, but his mouth was busy receiving soup.
Maybe mercy... is what I need...
.
.
.
Yūshoku Asahi was indeed formidable. Even samurai weren't to be underestimated. Dog had more than enough chakra to perform jutsu, but he didn't think he needed the extra effort.
"Is throwing kunai your only skill?"
The ANBU-nin couldn't tell if it was a question or a taunt. "Is deflecting them yours?"
"I told you, I don't want to fight."
"You don't have a say in the matter."
.
.
.
Conversations never lasted that long between them. Like her, Dog would rather keep to himself. But the blizzard outside continued its frosty onslaught, so hearing something else than its wailing was more than welcome.
Yūshoku had been extremely hospitable, something Dog initially hated. But then he realized—what he thought was mercy, was actually kindness. That led him to ponder about the female rōnin's bushidō until he decided to ask.
"Bushidō is the way of the samurai," Yūshoku said, pouring jasmine tea in Dog's teacup before following suit on hers. Hot liquid poured into her cup, the spout of the teapot slightly clinking against the rim. "Rectitude, Courage, Benevolence, Politeness, Honesty, Honor, Loyalty and Character. Those are the Eight Virtues of the Samurai. Each one is essential to the samurai's soul."
Dog took a sip of his tea. "So the warrior must also have a heart. Strange. How do you alternate between killer and humanitarian?"
"Rectitude," she replied, watching the steam waft away. "To quote, 'Rectitude is one's power to decide upon a course of conduct in accordance with reason, without wavering; to die when to die is right, to strike when to strike is right.'"
"So you just know?"
"Yes. I have an advantage, though."
"And what would that be?"
"Women's intuition."
Dog looked at her in disbelief before letting out a small laugh. Yūshoku looked at him in suppressed annoyance. "I'm sorry," he said, his reflection on his tea staring back at him, "I didn't expect you to make a joke."
She raised a brow. "That was a joke?"
.
.
.
The rōnin was fast. Dog threw kunai after kunai after kunai, but even with chakra-enhanced ones (explosive tags were too loud for covert missions), the rōnin had somehow stayed alive.
He had sensed Yūshoku Asahi's chakra before. It was like the calm before the storm, except that there was no storm to forecast. The man really had no intention of fighting him, yet here he was putting up a resistance. Dog didn't like fighting one-sided battles.
"Don't make this complicated," Dog called out. "You either fight me or you don't."
"I should say the same to you."
He reached for another kunai but found his holsters empty.
.
.
.
It'd been days ever since his awakening and Dog had long since accepted the situation he was in. It'd been days and the blizzard was still going strong.
"I have to ask you, out of curiosity," Yūshoku began as she started unwrapping his bandages, "why does the Hokage want me dead?"
"I don't know. The mission brief didn't mention why I had to kill you." Dog saw his scar—a giant, crimson ravine in the expanse of his skin.
Yūshoku uncapped a container before dipping two fingers in it. "I wonder... I remember traveling to the Land of Birds and stumbling across a band of Konoha ANBU. They were on a political mission regarding the heir of a daimyo lord. Assassination, I think it was." She scooped a bit of salve and rubbed it at the tip of his scar. Dog winced. "I compromised the mission."
"Your bushidō again?"
"'The difference between good and bad and between right and wrong are givens.' I thought it was appalling that they would take the life of a child." A diminutive frown appeared on her face. "Just because he was the spawn of a corrupt politician didn't mean he was also corrupt."
Dog watched as she scraped away the bits of crusted blood around his scar before applying salve. It was a relieving pain, like that of removing a thorn from a finger. Besides, Dog had sustained worser injuries. "I have to ask you, out of curiosity," he began, just as Yūshoku unraveled a new roll of gauze, "how did you manage to slash me that quick?"
"Iaidō," was the female rōnin's answer. "It is a technique we samurai use to prevent shinobi from performing hand seals. We draw our sword from the scabbard, strike the opponent, remove the blood from the blade, and then replace the sword in the scabbard. Even so, that technique is useless to an unskilled user."
"Then you must be above the average samurai."
"The average samurai is male."
"Who says that women cannot transcend men in skill? For one thing," Dog chuckled, "you know how to properly heal an injury."
For a fraction of a second, Yūshoku's face softened.
.
.
.
With a clunk, Yūshoku Asahi sheathed his katana. "This storm is getting worse. I can barely even see you."
"Good," Dog shouted over the blizzard's cries, "because I'm ending this."
He had no choice. If the storm was getting worse, than he'd better end the mission quickly. Dog assumed a stance as he performed the hand seals for one of his powerful jutsu, the Chidori. But he only reached up to Ox when a blade sliced through his skin and drew blood.
Dog's cheek met the stinging snow, offsetting the searing pain in his chest.
"No! Don't die—"
And then he blacked out.
.
.
.
The nights were the coldest. Dog tightly wrapped himself in his blanket and constantly exhaled warm breaths into his cupped hands. After all, numbness was something he only reserved for his heart. Beside him was a lantern that produced a calm, orange glow. Dog watched the flame dance.
Yūshoku would return to change his bandages. She said he was recovering well and the ANBU-nin found relief in that.
He never thought he'd say this, but he felt comfortable around Yūshoku. The woman had a grace about her that mimicked the snow falling from the sky. Yes, she was aloof. But Dog liked to think that it was because she was always alone.
Except that Yūshoku had been a mother. But when Dog prodded, the rōnin sharply left the room without another word.
He later learned that it had something to do with her fear of blizzards.
The doors slid open. Yūshoku walked in with a roll of gauze in her hand and a cup of tea in the other. Dressed in a white, flowery kimono, she looked like a porcelain doll.
"Comfortable?" she asked, placing the tea on the chabudai.
"Very. I'm surprised I haven't frozen to death in this climate."
Yūshoku approached him. "All right. Remove the blanket."
"But it's warm."
"Don't be a child."
She had to work on her social skills.
Dog grudgingly discarded the blanket and sat up. Yūshoku began unwrapping the old bandages from his chest, weaving her arm up and down and around his arm. This had been somewhat of a routine for—days? Dog hadn't been keeping count. "How long have I stayed here?"
"Nearly a month."
"Huh. I wonder if ANBU is missing me back in Konoha."
"Do you have friends there?"
Friends. Dog pondered. He had a team. Genma, Raidō and Tenzō. But friends? "I'm not sure. I'm not good at making friends."
"It must get lonely."
It was awful. Even amongst his comrades, Dog truly felt like a lone wolf. Missions were his only friends. It was sad to say that they alleviated the emptiness, the numbness, in his heart. They distracted him from his past failures. They distracted him from Sakumo, from Minato, from Obito, from Rin. When he was out on a mission, he stopped being the failure of a son, of a teammate, of a friend.
He stopped being Kakashi, and started being Dog.
"What is your real name?"
He faced her, startled. Yūshoku regarded him with curiosity veiled by a film of insouciance. "ANBU have code names, right?" she asked. "You told me to refer to you as Dog. That is not your real name."
"Well, yes. But don't you already know?"
The rōnin stared hard into his eyes. Usually, Dog would be unnerved by her blank gaze. But this time her gaze was soft and... sad.
"No," she whispered. "I've been isolated for so long that everything escapes me. Even my memories. I want to know your name because I've stopped seeing you as a stranger. I've started seeing you... as a friend."
He didn't know if it was the blanket or Yūshoku who slowly warmed his numb heart. It must be hard for her, Dog thought, to say that after being alone for so long. "You know... I don't show my face to anyone. Not even my friends. But when I feel comfortable with a person seeing it, it means I care for them." He gave her an amused smile. "Hatake Kakashi. That's my name."
Yūshoku experimented with his name. "Kakashi," she said, nodding.
"I suppose I should call you Asahi now," Dog—Kakashi—joked.
But Yūshoku ignored him and ran her fingers along his stitched up scar. "Your wound will be fully healed by tomorrow. We will continue our duel at the crack of dawn. If you lose, I turn you in. If you win, I let you go."
Kakashi blinked at the sudden statement, then understood.
We're friends... only for tonight.
"... Then I don't think I need the bandages."
She was always my opponent.
.
.
.
Darkness.
All he saw was the encompassing darkness.
Before... before he shut his eyes...
Blood.
All he saw was droplets of crimson in the air, and a spatter on his chest.
Pain.
All he felt was pain in his chest, in his heart.
Failed.
He had failed the mission. ANBU didn't fail. They always, always succeeded. Failure was not an option for ANBU, and certainly not for Dog.
Darkness.
All he saw was the encompassing darkness.
Until...
.
.
.
Today was the day.
Kakashi picked up his ANBU mask. The porcelain was smooth and glossy when he had first received it years ago. Now it was rough, with cracks spidering at the edge. The red paint was wearing away like crusted blood. Over the years, his mask had become an extension of him. With it on, he was not Kakashi. He was Dog. Ruthless. Cold. A killer.
He decided he wouldn't wear it today.
Kakashi glanced at the rack by the wall. There was no katana there. Yūshoku had already left.
The ANBU-nin patted the holsters on his hip. They were as full as Genma's mug in a bar. He pulled his mask over his mouth—strange, the material felt weird after days of disuse.
The blizzard stopped last night, as though the universe knew their duel was today. Kakashi froze when he stepped outside and saw her standing in the carpet of pink, amidst the dancing sakura petals.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? The Land of Iron, though known for its formidable shinobi, highly shuns its crop of sakura trees." Yūshoku outstretched her raven-bladed katana and assumed a stance. She wasn't facing him; no, she was taunting him. Throw a kunai at my back, I dare you.
There was a whistle in the air. Yūshoku ducked rearwards, the kunai whizzing past her nose—
—there was no kunai.
He had tricked her. Kakashi, who'd caught the kunai before it reached her, delivered a kick to her back.
"It highly shuns you."
Yūshoku fell to the ground. Kakashi aimed a punch—she dodged by rolling to the side. With a twist of her foot and a bend of her knee, the rōnin spun from the ground, causing the petals on the ground to swirl around her in a furious helix. Preventing Kakashi from predicting her next move. She came onto him strong, and Kakashi barely blocked her strike. From there, he parried her insistent katana in quick succession. Blade met blade, their rings echoing in the clearing of pink and white.
"You can use jutsu, you know. You're fighting for your life, Dog, so don't pity me." She dragged her blade to his wrist, knocking his kunai away. Kakashi winced at the trickle of red on his palm. "The first to bleed. Are you really the famous Copy Ninja of the Leaf Village?"
He dodged another advance, pedaling back like a frog in reverse. More kunai, more of his advances.
"You weren't against it before, in the blizzard." Metal clang, metal deflected. "What happened, Dog? That yearning to kill me—what happened to it? Wasn't it your mission? Wouldn't you do anything to complete it?!" Yūshoku growled, slashing at him—at thin air. "Don't pity me, Dog!"
Kakashi turned on his heel, the motion rewarding him with a sakura smokescreen.
It must've been frustrating. An enemy that can't be caught will not be cut. That was what it looked like. She thought he was bound by emotions from last night. Emotions stoked by the mercy she'd given him.
She's not wrong, Kakashi thought, as Yūshoku slashed and slashed with featherlight steps. And she wants it so much to be wrong.
He removed his mask. He saw her stop, saw the look of realisation on her face. Her mask had broke, revealing emotions that were never to see the light of another's eyes.
She said, "I had my back to you."
The petals turned hazy.
He said, "Then you had your head to me. That was all the eye contact I needed."
"Your mask," Yūshoku whispered. "I thought you wore it... I thought it was safe." With every breath, he seemed closer. "For how long? The first time I laid eyes on your Sharingan? Don't tell me that these past few days were fabrications."
Her breath shook. "A silent assassination of the mind. Was that your plan all along? To—To mock my mercy and—and make fun of me even more by pitying me! If you had guts, Copy-nin, you would finish what you started. I fell for your trap. I have the right to die by your hands."
"Asahi—"
"I have lost. This is the greatest shame for me as a rōnin." She angled her katana in that certain way and—"Goodbye, shinobi."
And the blade met flesh. Like Sakumo had.
Only that didn't happen, because the genjustu dispelled. The petals shattered and the katana faded from her grip. Kakashi was in front of her all along, his Sharingan a dying flame.
Kakashi was hugging her, holding her tight, and the katana fell from her grip.
No one said anything.
But Kakashi felt a wet patch on his shirt, and arms looping around his back, and wondered if he'd broken her.
Then Yūshoku looked up and their breaths mingled. It was warm. He felt his heart stir, resurrected by an emotion he couldn't place. But he didn't feel so numb anymore. Looking at her, he thought she felt the same.
Kakashi rested his forehead on hers.
He said, "You fought well, Asahi."
And she said, "You too. Kakashi."
.
.
.
And this had been the reported A-Rank that Dog of ANBU failed, when he returned to Konoha with a missing mask and a promise to uphold.