The room was dirty. It was dark, cluttered, and in many other ways posed a hazard to anyone walking through it, but above all it was dirty. And this was a professional, ground-in type of filth that took years of work and a true craftsman to fully achieve; decay and entropy elevated to an art form. A common motif of the artist in question seemed to have been bottles. Every horizontal surface in the room was packed with them, and small herds of them occupied the floor. They crowded one another for space on tables and shelves, perching so precariously that an earthquake or tremor of any kind would no doubt leave the room even more hazardous to traverse than before. There were small blue bottles that could not have held more than a sip of liquid standing next to great green monstrosities that must have taken weeks to empty. There were opaque porcelain pitchers with corks in the lids alongside transparent rectangular flasks with oddly shaped caps. Every color, size, and shape was here represented in a silent testament to the unquenchable thirst of their owner.
One entering the room would be able to take all this in with a glance, but entry wasn't necessary to identify the room's other singular trait. That could be detected out in the street (or possibly throughout several streets). The word stench really didn't do it justice. An entire host of disconcerting smells assaulted the nostrils of anyone nearby: strange herbs that made the head spin, the scents of a body left too long without water, and a sharp tang of alcohol; sharp enough that it brought water to the eyes. One might dodge the clutter, but the smell would follow them throughout the room and linger in their minds for weeks after.
The room's sole occupant didn't seem to notice. His own clothes and skin were so grimy and disheveled that he was almost undetectable to the naked eye; a chameleon in it's natural habitat. The only thing that gave him away were his thunderous snores. Each inhalation threatened a cascade of glass as the table, shelves, and the room itself shook gently. The man was sleeping soundly on a bed far too small for his almost seven foot frame. He may have even been fully dressed; in fact, the long shorts and grey tank top had the look of being the only clothing he owned. One callused hand clutched yet another bottle, while the other was draped across the man's eyes. A thick crown of shaggy gray-streaked brown hair obscured the rest of his features. The arm was almost revealing by comparison.
Between the smell, the clutter, and the snoring, one would be hard-pressed to detect anything out of the ordinary about the apartment. However, even the most distracted individual would probably notice the black clad assailant sliding the window open and slipping through. The man on the bed barely stirred as the attacker drew a kunai and raced towards the bed, heedless to any of the obstacles in his path. In retrospect, that may not have been the wisest move.
With a thundering crash, an errant bottle brought the attack to a bone-jarring halt barely two feet from the window. The would-be assassin was still struggling to his feet (spitting curses and holding his shin) when his partner came in through the same window. Another crash and more swearing resulted as the two of them collided and fell back to the floor. The front door was suddenly kicked in and two more men entered cautiously. Having determined the ineffectiveness of the direct approach, the ninja apparently decided to attempt stealth where brute force had failed. Throughout it all, the man on the bed simply snored away in blissful ignorance.
The figures spread out and began cautiously weaving their way towards the bed. These men were experienced ninja and were experts in stealth, but they had never seen anything quite like this. A suspicious mind might even begin to wonder at the curiously inconvenient placement of certain items. A bottle just here, where anyone's foot would have to come down if they were stepping over the small crate by the table. Two tables barring the way so that anyone who came through would have no choice but to disturb the glassware held thereon. Multiple crashes, curses, and 'shhhh's surrounded the man sleeping, despite every attempt at caution and quiet. Eventually, though, they reached the bed and one of them stabbed downward with his kunai, no doubt hoping to kill the target quickly and leave this inconvenient house.
With a snore, the man in the bed turned over. The kunai tore into the sheets, but missed it's sleeping target. The ninja withdrew his blade and prepared to strike again, but met with similar results. Wherever the blade went, the man was gone. Still snoring, he turned, stretched, curled, and bent his lanky body without ever opening eyes. After a few more unsuccessful stikes, the assassin indicated to his teammates to hold the man so his throat could be appropriately cut. As they reached for him, the man turned once more in his sleep. This time, however, his whole arm swung with the momentum of his body and the bottle in his fist shattered on the head of his attacker. The ninja dropped to the ground.
One of the others quickly drew his own knife, but a large callused hand casually grabbed his arm and he found his own force betraying him. He fell across the bed and his kunai embedded itself into the chest of a teammate. The momentum drove on and he was thrown past his dying comrade to land on a rickety table topped with bottles, which collapsed. The resulting sea of broken glass and splintered wood proved an uncomfortable landing site.
The fourth and final ninja turned and began to run. His progress was halted by yet another bottle and he slipped backwards onto the bed. Strong arms wrapped instinctively around him, holding him almost as though he were a stuffed toy. The sleeper's arm grew tighter, !and the ninja soon found himself struggling for breath. He flailed against the arm, but it was like iron; he could not escape. Within a few moments he succumbed to the blackness nibbling at the edges of his eyes and collapsed. The room was silent again except for the snores of it's undisturbed owner.
"Punks," he muttered to himself without opening his eyes. His breathing became more regular and he pretended to ignore the sound of the one trying to be stealthy as he climbed out of what was left of the table.
Suddenly, thick black threads burst out of the ground and wrapped themselves around the sleeper. His eyes finally opened and flicked over to the entrance. Three new ninjas were entering slowly and deliberately, watching for traps and obstacles. The sleeper rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said with a sigh, "I'm up. Now what do you want, Shinimaru?" The figure in the lead was wearing a ghoulish demon mask that hid his expression, but his body language said that he wasn't amused. The threads, responding to Shinimaru's unspoken command, lifted the man off the bed and forced him to kneel down.
"Where is Kakuzu sensei?" Shinimaru said, towering above him. The man laughed.
"He's dead remember?" he said, "Some fifteen-year-old kid-" Shinimaru backhanded him across the face. The blow sent him sprawling, but failed to remove the grin from his face. He kept speaking.
"Look, just cause you don't know the answer-"
"Silence!" Shinimaru shouted, "You will speak of him with respect, Kurau! Take us to the body!" The man on the ground-- Kurau-- never stopped smiling, but shook his head.
"Not gonna happen," he said. Shinimaru grabbed Kurau by the collar and hoisted him into the air, apparently with little effort. Shinimaru grabbed his mask and ripped it off. Kurau knew what lay beneath it, but still felt a little nauseated when he saw his captor's face. Most of his skin was gone; ripped off long ago. A mass of quivering, twitching muscle was now all that remained. Throughout the natural muscle fibers ran the same black threads that now held Kurau aloft.
"Where. Is. The body?" Shinimaru hissed. Kurau felt some ominous rumblings in his gut. He tried not to retch and dug in his mind for something to say.
"You know, Shini-chan," he said, "You should probably get that checked out. It looks serious. Ulp-" With that, Kurau lost the mental battle he'd been fighting with his innards. With a powerful, "HURGH!" he surrendered the contents of his stomach and vomited them onto his captor's face. In normal circumstances, this would have been foul (not to mention rude); however, given Shinimaru's 'skin condition' and Kurau's alcoholic diet, it probably felt as though Kurau had belched flame. Shinimaru shrieked and fell backwards, but the threads only tightened. Kurau still couldn't move.
"Yeah, sorry," he said over the screams, "That's the booze, not you." One of the men who had come in with Shinimaru stepped forward and without hesitation clubbed Kurau's head with the hilt of his sword. Kurau's last thought was that he hoped they wouldn't steal his liquor. After that, everything went black.
*****
The next morning found Kurau's house all but demolished. A few of the city's ninja combed through the wreckage, looking for anything to tell them what had happened. In the middle of the ruins, a tall young ninja stood stock still, his eyes flickering back in forth in the air as if he were seeing things no one else could. After a while, he shook his head and held his hands to his face. Whatever he'd been doing, it had put a great deal of strain on his eyes.
"Jin!" a female voice called at him. Jin tilted his head towards the sound and smiled.
"Hello, Kisa," he said, "Careful. There's broken glass everywhere. Amazing considering there was only one window."
"Not so amazing, given that sensei lived here," she said. Jin couldn't see her face, but he could still hear the smile in her voice. That was just like Kisa; she would laugh and smile through anything, no matter the difficulty. Jin had always thought of himself as being more sober, though others might call him pessimistic. He'd certainly experienced plenty in his life to make him that way.
Jin was a member of the Hyuga clan, one of Konoha's noblest families. His immediate family had little in the way of social status, since they were only servants to the main house, but they had always prided themselves on the use of their byakugan, the bloodline trait that all Hyugas shared. The byakugan allowed it's user to see everything in a three-hundred and sixty degree radius. It could penetrate walls, trace chakra lines, and detect hidden enemies and traps. It's use had elevated the Hyuga to a position of power and prestige, and the trait's characteristic white eyes were a mark of distinction amongst the people of Konoha. From his birth, Jin had been different.
Jin's irises had shown the characteristic white of the byakugan, but his sclera, the 'whites' of his eyes, had been colored a deep shade of crimson so dark it almost looked black. It had taken no time at all to determine that he was blind. Though he'd learned to cope without sight since he could walk, and he had easily mastered whatever ninja techniques presented to him, he had never been able to use the byakugan. This had brought great shame to himself and his family and had embittered him towards his clan from a very early age. Though he'd worked hard to achieve prowess and recognition, his handicap with the byakugan had threatened to permanently estrange him from his clan and family. That had all changed because of Kurau-sensei. And now, someone had kidnapped him.
"I checked the site out," Jin told Kisa, "I think it may have been the Boketsu. My vision wasn't very clear since I didn't have anything belonging to the attackers, but it looked like them."
"Is sensei alright?" Kisa asked.
Jin shrugged, "They knocked him out, but it looked to me like he did a lot more damage to them than they did to him. They must need him alive for something."
Kisa frowned, "I can't imagine what they'd need him for," she said, "but he's said before that he has history with them." She hoped that he'd be alright. If they were able to find a personal belonging of Kurau or one of the kidnappers (garbage didn't really count), she would be able to determine their location. Kisa was a fortuneteller and with something as small as a shred of clothing, she would be able to locate the current position of their teacher and friend.
Kisa Matsumoto, like Jin, came from a distinguished and venerated family. Although the Matsumoto clan was relatively small compared to the Hyugas, their history was even more impressive. The women of the clan had been serving as fortunetellers for hundreds of years. Their clans history went back even further than Konoha itself. Kisa, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been born with a gift for predicting and altering the future. By allowing the spirits of the land to speak to them, the Matsumoto's were also adept at locating things that were lost or in hiding. Bounty hunters and policemen often approached the family for counsel and advice, along with a steady trickle of normal people who simply wanted their fortune told.
As Kisa saw it, the only real downside of having such an ancient family was the occasionally burdensome traditions she had to follow. Of these, the most obnoxious was the white veil. All practicing fortunetellers of her clan wore one, but it annoyed Kisa to have to constantly cover her face. The veil covered her from just below her eyes all the way to the neckline of her tunic. Her father was especially insistent on her wearing it whenever she was out of the house, claiming it would keep boys from pestering her. At 18 years old, Kisa wouldn't have minded a bit of pestering, but her father's predictions were proving depressingly accurate; she had never been on a date and had never been kissed. In all probability, her love-life would probably continue to stagnate until her father dictated otherwise: the Matsumotos also had a tradition of arranged marriages.
Still, she tried. Kisa typically wore a sleeveless black tunic cut short enough to show a little bit of her trim stomach. Her father had also forced her to wear the traditional ankle-length black skirts of the family, but Kisa and her grandmother had cut long slits in both sides of the skirt. It was still ankle length, but allowed her to show a little leg. In order to keep her father from hitting the roof, Kisa had agreed to at least wear a matching set of loose pants. Truth be told she'd been drawing the eyes of more boys than she suspected, but if the veil didn't deter potential suitors, her father did. Unfortunately, Kisa thought dryly, her teammates didn't help much either; the two of them seemed to have adopted her as their little sister (even thought they were only a year older than her). Where the veil and her father failed, Jin and her other teammate, Ichigo Musashi, stepped in. And speaking of Ichigo . . .
"Hey, Kisa! Jin!" a new voice called from across the rubble, "You see this?" The two shinobi hurriedly picked their way towards the voice. They were going as fast as they could, but the broken bottles made the going difficult. Ichigo was waiting for them. He was standing over a small gold coin that lay just outside of the wreckage of the house about where the front door had been.
"I seem to remember you don't like me to touch stuff," Ichigo said, "so I haven't looked at it yet. But is that what I think it is?" Jin knelt and placed his hand over the coin. He picked it up and ran his finger over both sides.
"Yes," Jin said, "It's a Boketsu ferry coin. They were here alright." Ichigo swore.
"Give me a minute." Jin said, "Maybe we can find out where they went. Kamigan!" Jin's eyes suddenly shot completely open and veins throbbed at the corners. He turned and walked back to the center of the house with the coin clutched tightly in his fist. Ichigo glanced at Kisa and casually rocked back and forth on his heels.
"Soooo . . ." he said, "How's Jin?"
"He seems about the same," Kisa said with a shake of her head, "Serious and quiet."
"Yeah, I got that vibe." Ichigo agreed, "What about you?"
"I'm fine." Kisa sighed. Ichigo had been gone for almost three months on a special mission to the Village Hidden in the Mist. He'd only come back yesterday and the three former team members hadn't been able to see each other yet. Ichigo was often singled out for missions involving the Hidden Mist because his family had once been shinobi there.
The Musashi clan had enjoyed a prosperous business as shinobi smugglers. They had brought illicit or expensive goods back and forth between islands, and had learned to use their chakra to influence the weather. But the when the Mizukage began the notoriously violent shinobi graduation ceremony, the clan fled to the Village Hidden in the Leaves. The Mizukage had forced shinobi students to fight to the death one on one until only a single graduate remained. Ichigo's parents were already tired of the tight shipping restrictions and tariffs that the Mizukage had imposed on them; this threat to their infant son was the last straw. Taking all of their money and valuable shipping charts, they defected to Konoha and were welcomed as refugees.
His parents had found the transition to overland shipping a rather easy one, but they had all been considered wanted fugitives until the Mizukage died and was replaced a few years ago. Ichigo was currently acting as the liaison between the two villages. He traveled frequently, and Jin and Kisa had gotten used to not seeing him often. The three of them had been planning to meet up with Sensei once Ichigo returned, but it seemed that the Boketsu had other ideas.
Jin came over and joined them again. "Definitely the Boketsu," he said, "I'm sure I saw Shinimaru and Yuudai, and the coin was definitely Kazuya's. Let's go talk to the Hokage."
"What for?" Ichigo asked.
Jin smiled grimly, "Permission to go to the Village Hidden in the Waterfall and go get our sensei. That's where they took him."
Kisa looked worried. "If they get him back there, we won't be dealing with a strike force . . . we'll be dealing with the entire cult."
"Come on," Jin said as he started walking towards the Hokage's office, "The biggest problem isn't just that they're taking him back to the Hidden Waterfall. They need him because he knows where Kakuzu's body was hidden. I think they may be trying to- um-"
"Bring him back?" Ichigo asked. Jin winced and nodded. The three of them walked in silence for a moment. Ichigo swore.
"Well," he said, "Looks like Teamn 13's ready to go again. Anyone else see the irony of us going to the Hokage for permission to go rescue Kurau-Sensei? I mean, do you guys remember when we first met him?" The three of them smiled and Ichigo continued, "Seriously, I'd bet Tsunade-sama would have paid us just to get him off her hands. . ."
--------
"Kurau?" The voice was piercing, female, and unwanted this early in the morning. Sleeping on a park bench was uncomfortable in the first place; the hangover didn't help. The high pitched voice in his ears helped even less. He decided to ignore it. Maybe she'd think he was someone else.
"Kurau Shouchu!" She was insistent now. She'd confirmed that it was him and ignoring her probably wouldn't help anymore. Dang.
"What?" Kurau groaned. He didn't roll over to face her, but stubbornly remained turned towards the back of the bench. He tried opening his eyes, but even the muted shadows underneath his impromptu bed proved too painful for his sake-drenched eyes. Kurau groaned again.
"The Hokage wants to see you. Now." She might have been expecting the Hokage's name to carry some weight. She was disappointed.
"Mmmm. No." Kurau didn't much care for authority. He'd seen three Hokage's and found them to be pretty much the same. Definitely not worth getting up for.
"But-"She said, "But the Hokage-"
"The Hokage can kiss my hairy-" WHAM! Kurau's well-honed instincts sparked into life unhindered by the alcohol still leaving his system. One end of the bench shot straight up into the air and violently threw him into the grass. He landed in a crouch and immediately leapt forward at his attacker: a middle aged woman with short purple hair wearing a trench coat. She was ready for him and met him with a kick across his face that sent him flying again. He decided not to get up right away.
"What's your freaking problem?" Kurau shouted. He winced and held his head, "Do you have any idea how much my head hurts?"
"More than it did five seconds ago, I'd wager." Anko grinned at him and arrogantly placed her hands on her hips.
"Anko, I swear I'm gonna kill you one day. It's way too early in the morning to be dealing with you." His eyes took in the woman in the black kimono behind Anko. She must have been the one who woke him up. "Either of you…" he muttered.
"Shizune's been sent to come get you," Anko said with a gesture at the woman behind her, "She'll be the one to get in trouble if you don't show up. So get your booze addled arse up and go!" Kurau just grunted, reached under the remains of the bench and pulled out a green glass bottle. Kurau felt a brief flash of satisfaction when he saw the way Anko's eyes watered at the smell. He took a swallow of the alcohol, savored the burn a moment, then looked up at Shizune.
"Ahh. Alright," he said, "Fine. Because this lovely young lady has so politely begged my presence, I'll be happy to go with you to the Hokage. But before that, you" he pointed at Anko, "are going to buy me breakfast." Anko laughed. Kurau grabbed the large scroll that lay on the grass beside him and strapped it to his back, then stood up to go.
"You do realize that it's like two o' clock right now?" Anko said. Kurau frowned and squinted up at the sun, which was shining brilliantly in the middle of the sky.
"Ok," he said, "Then you buy me lunch." Anko could only laugh again.
--------
Hokage Tsunade wasn't pleased at the delay, but Kurau didn't much care. His stomach was full of tempura and rice (and booze), and he felt rather good about himself. Most ninja would stand at attention before the Hokage; Kurau slouched. Tsunade glared at him for a full minute in a futile attempt to make him uncomfortable. Finally, she filled the awkward silence with a sigh.
"Shouchu Kurau." she said, "Rank: genin. Completed missions: 38 D rank, 56 C rank, 75 B rank, 29 A rank, and 12 S rank, for a total of 210. Your success rate hovers around 87%. You've been working as a ninja since you were twelve, which given your current age means you've served Konoha as a shinobi for over 30 years. In that amount of time, you have turned in more than 50 bounties, assassinated seven high profile enemy targets, potentially averted two wars, and probably caused at least one. You've never progressed past the rank of genin, you're not married, and you've never trained." She looked up. Kurau had a feeling that something was expected of him.
"I also like sake, shrimp tempura, and long walks on the beach." he said. This did not impress the Hokage. She gave him a tired look, then reached for a sheaf of documents in front of her.
"Kurau, I realize that you were good friends with the Third Hokage. But ever since his death, you've been drinking more and more and your work is getting sloppier." Kurau didn't say anything. Tsunade continued shuffling papers. "And I am trying to find something to do with you. But Danzo was in here yesterday ranting about how you're a liability."
"He's just ticked cause I peed on his lawn." Kurau said. Tsunade sighed and continued shuffling papers, but Kurau noticed her mouth twitch. He snickered; there was certainly no love lost between Tsunade and Danzo.
"Unfortunately," Tsunade continued, "Most of the higher families in the city agree with him. And with the situation with Akatsuki as it is right now, I really can't afford to have you running around on your own anymore."
"I work alone." Kurau muttered. There was no heart in it because everything she said was true. In the past year he'd been sliding further and further down a hellish slope of boredom and ennui. At this point, he didn't even have an apartment; it was too much trouble to clean and the weather was warm. Since the Third had died, Kurau hadn't much of a drive to do anything. He'd only taken a few missions, and they'd all gone badly. It was probably the booze.
"Sorry," Tsunade said, "but not anymore. I'm indefinitely assigning you to a ninja team. You'll be a member of team 13. And please don't waste my time telling me it's unlucky. You've proven before that you make your own luck. I have your first mission and dossiers on teammates in this file." She held the file up and Kurau took it, but didn't look at it. He was watching a bird fly past outside the window. It was a small bird, a sparrow or something equally plain, but Kurau seemed to be entranced as he watched the tiny bird t wheel and turn in pursuit of an even tinier insect.
"Did you remember me?" he finally said, long after the silence had become awkward. "When you came back?"
A smile twitched at Tsuande's mouth again. "Yes," she said, "I remembered you were the little kid who followed us around and brought us drinks."
"Juice for me, booze for you." Kurau chuckled, "I was just remembering when you and Shizune left town . . . right after Dan died." Kurau could feel the tension in the room spike. A fly idly buzzed against the window. He didn't say anything else.
"What are you saying?" Tsunade finally asked. Kurau shrugged.
"Nothing I guess. Just weird is all." Kurau plucked a bottle from his bag and set it on her desk. "That's a gift; some of my best sake. Share it with Jiraiya next time he stops by. Good to have you back." Without another word he turned and walked out of the room.
"Kurau." Tsunade called after him. "Take the file with you." Kurau sighed and slumped back into the room, grabbed the file, stomped back out, and slammed the door behind him. Tsunade glanced at the bottle, then pinched the bridge of her nose. Shizune started to say something, but Tsunade cut her off.
"3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . ." she muttered. Right on cue, an expletive echoed through the building and Tsunade heard Kurau's loud footsteps bang their way towards her office. He threw the door open and hurled the file into the room. Papers scattered everywhere.
"NO!" he shouted, "No! No! No! We've been over this, Tsunade! I'm not training genin!"
Tsunade cracked her knuckles and smiled, "That's 'Hokage', Shouchu. And you may want to consider watching your tone. Besides, I don't know what your talking about. I just assigned you three teammates to keep you in line."
"Yeah, a bunch of ten year olds are gonna be a real help on my next mission!"
Tsunade raised an eyebrow. "They're twelve, and I'm the Hokage, remember?" she said, "You're a Konoha ninja. That means you do what I tell you. You're a great asset to the city, and it's time you passed that knowledge on." Kurau glared at her in impotent rage for a moment, his mind racing furiously to find a way out of this. Finally an argument presented itself.
"I'm not allowed to train!" He said, triumphantly, "I never passed the chunin or the jonin exams, which mean I'm still legally a genin, therefore I'm not authorized to train anyone, no matter what you say." Tsunade didn't mention the idiocy of that argument; Kurau had undertaken any number of duties supposedly exclusive to jonin class ninja, including leading younger ninja on missions. The only reason he was still a genin was because he refused to take the exams seriously. He'd stopped showing up years ago. Tsunade brandished a scroll and presented it to Kurau.
"This is a scroll signed by the Third Hokage that promotes you to the honorary rank of jonin, allowing you full access to the responsibilities and privileges of that class. It was signed six years ago."
Kurau pouted. "You found that, huh? I burned mine. Shoulda figured that the old geezer'd have copies made." Kurau glared at Tsunade again, then grabbed the bottle of her desk and opened it. Without hesitation, he tilted it back and began drinking.
"Oh, and in case you haven't noticed," Tsunade said, "the children you'll be training all have very distinguished backgrounds. Just in case you're thinking of dismissing them. You're training Jin Hyuga, Kisa Matsumoto, Ichigo Musashi." Sake spewed all over her as Kurau choked. Tsunade's veins throbbed as she tried to keep her temper in check. Kurau wasn;t even trying. He had gone from angry to downright incensed. His face was turning red.
"Are you HIGH?!" he shouted in her face, "Are you trying to get me killed?! All of their parents want me dead! And what are you thinking assigning me of all people to the Musashi kid? I mean-" Tsunade had had enough. She quickly grabbed Kurau's hair and slammed his face into her desk hard enough to crumble the wood to splinters. Just for good measure she threw him across the room, then walked over to where he was sprawled on the floor. She planted a foot on his chest and leaned down towards him.
"Again: Hokage remember?" she said, "You've been assigned to them because you're on thin ice as it is and I don't want you screwing this up. Their parents may hate you but they won't go against my orders. So don't even think about failing them because if you do, the heads of three very powerful families will want some very good explanations as to why." With one hand, she pulled him up by his shirt and held him up in the air. He glared at her. His face was bloodied from the desk and it looked like one of his teeth was missing.
"Well you've talked me into it." he said. She dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.
"Good." Tsunade replied. "Anko's waiting with them outside."
"Boy oh boy," Kurau muttered to himself, "This day just gets better and better."
--------
Anko and the children were waiting in a small park nearby. It was more or less just a fenced patch of green, but Anko figured it would be less imposing to the fresh recruits than standing directly in front of the Hokage's office. They'd been waiting since class let out almost an hour ago; all of the other squads had long since met their new teachers and gone home. Anko had even had to leave them alone for a while when Kurau had insisted that she buy him breakfast (although the clock said it was lunch time). Her own patience was beginning to wear thin; not with the kids, but with Kurau.
"When's sensei going to get here?" the girl-- Kisa-- asked. Anko sighed. Mentally she ran over the Hokage's intructional litany. Don't speak ill of Kurau. They must not have negative perceptions about him. Let them think he is the master they want him to be.
"I'm sure he's on his way," she said uncertainly, "He's probably just . . . going over some paperwork with the Hokage."
"I bet he's drunk." Ichigo said sullenly, "I see him almost every day on my way home buying sake from the corner store." Anko wanted to contradict him, but didn't have the heart. The kid had a point. Cicadas buzzed in the bushes and the sun continued to beat down. The three younger ninja grew more sullen, Anko grew more frustrated, and Kurau, watching from across the street, took another swig of beer. Deciding that they'd waited long enough (his beer was almost gone anyway), he finally staggered to his feet and walked across the street. He laughed when he saw Anko's expression; relief with touches of desperation, anger, and frustration.
"Thanks Anko." He said. "Say hi to your mom for me." He threw her a bottle of sake, then ignored her. Relieved, Anko caught the sake and hastily took her leave. Kurau stared at the genin for a few minutes. They stared back, unimpressed. He finished his beer and they looked even less impressed.
"Why," he finally said, "are your eyes that color?" Jin flushed furiously and gritted his teeth.
"I'm-" he began.
"Not you." Kurau interrupted, "Redhead over there. The boy's eyes are bloodshot enough to make me think he had one too many drinks last night." Now it was Ichigo's turn to color.
"I was up late studying for the exams today," he muttered. Kurau snorted, then threw away his beer can. "Right. That's good. Liquor's bad for you." Kurau belched. "You're lying through your teeth, but I'm going to pretend to believe you, and you'll pretend to be educated and we'll all get along. Alright, everybody up." Kurau clapped his hands and all three of his pupils stood. He turned and began ambling slowly down the street; they followed.
"Ok, here's the deal," he said, "My name is Kurau Shouchu and I am your new teacher, you lucky little buggers. I don't want to be here. You also do not want to be here, though you may not know it yet. Give it time. I have never taught genin before, and I wanted to keep it that way, but Granny Tsunade had other ideas. I already have your basic background information, but just for the look of things, I want you to tell me your names, your age, and why you want to be a shinobi. And your favorite kind of drink. Ladies first."
"Oh . . . I'm Kisa Matsumoto." Kisa said. There was an expectant pause.
"Okaaaay . . . and how old are you, Kisa?" Kurau prompted.
"Oh . . . I'm twelve years old." Silence returned again. Kurau sighed. "Alright then, Kisa. Glad to have you with us. Have a drink." Kurau unrolled his scroll a few inches and flashed a hand sign. With a puff of smoke, a bottle appeared in his hand and he handed it to Kisa, who accepted it silently. The bottle was ice cold and full of something translucent and pink, but she didn't open it. Kurau rolled his eyes. The girl was painfully shy; he would have to work on that. His own mother and sisters had dealt with a drunken and unruly father all their lives by giving as good as they got. Come to think of it, his mother had been drunken and unruly too. He grinned.
"Short, dark, and broody, you're up." he said. Jin nodded and ran through his own information in a cold, emotionless tone.
"My name is Jin Hyuga." he said, "I am twelve years old. I became a ninja to uphold the honor of my clan."
"Uh-huh." Kurau said. "You kids are really cruddy liars, you know that? Don't they teach you about body language and stuff in school?" Jin looked offended and opened his mouth to, Kurau could just tell, spout something about honor and family. Kurau forestalled him by saying, "And, you never told me what you like to drink."
Jin paused, then simply murmured, "Green tea," before lapsing into a sullen silence. Another hand sign and a puff of smoke later, and Jin held a bottle of iced green tea, just as cold as Kisa's drink. Also like Kisa, he didn't open it, but stubbornly continued walking in silence.
"Aaaaand contestant number three," Kurau said, "Who are you?"
"I'm Ichigo Musashi," he said, "And I'm thirteen years old. I'm going to become a ninja and prove to you Konoha scrubs that only the Kirigakure makes real ninja!"
Kurau sighed. There was one in every group. "And?" he asked.
"And I want some sake!" Ichigo said. Kurau barked out a harsh laugh, then said, "Try again, shortstop. And bear in mind that you did just diss the city in which I am currently employed and you are currently living . . . you'll be lucky to get water."
"Um . . ." Ichigo considered this for a moment then hesitantly said, "Aloe vera juice?" Kurau didn't reply, but flashed a hand sign and handed the chilled bottle to Ichigo. "Thick enough to chew." Kurau muttered. They'd walked quite a distance by now, but no one had opened their drink, and there had been no talking beyond Kurau's terse questioning. Kurau reached into a pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
"Kay," Kurau finally said after he'd finished lighting up, "As I said before, my name is Kurau Shouchu. I am 47 years old. That means that, technically, I am old enough to duck out of training you, but since the Hokage is older than me, her old trumps my old and here I am. None of your parents particularly like me, unfortunately, and I sincerely doubt you'll feel any differently. But the next chunin exam is a long way away and we're pretty much stuck together till then."
"Wait," Kisa said, "What about our acceptance test?" Ichigo shushed her and whispered, "Shut up." Kurau smiled.
"Have you guys eaten dinner yet?" he asked, entering a restaurant and gesturing for them to follow. No one answered but Kurau wasn't surprised. He was getting a little tired of their disinclination to talk, but he'd had an idea.
"Y'know Kisa," he said as they sat down, "Now that you mention it, I guess I did forget the test, didn't I?" Ichigo frowned at her and she looked a little crestfallen. Jin's face remained stoic and flat. Kurau didn't mention that he'd been more or less forbidden to fail the three of them, so whatever test he gave would be for his own amusement. He waved a waitress over and whispered something into her ear. She smiled and produced a few menus, then walked off again.
"I'm buying," Kurau continued, "So get whatever you want. Anyway, I've heard of some pretty devious tests over the years . . . one of the more popular ones is to have you steal something from me. I ain't a fan of tests, but I am required by Konha law, as Kisa said, to 'administer a test in order to assess the trainee's potential and confirm their graduate status.' To that end-- thank you, miss." The waitress had returned and deposited a thick catalogue and microphone on the table. Kurau continued where he'd left off.
"To that end," he said, "Pick your favorite song."
*******
"And then," Ichigo gasped, "when none of us would go first, he got up and sang, 'Bohemian Rhapsody' at the top of his lungs!" The three students laughed out loud at the memory as they left the city later that afternoon. The busy morning at the Hokage's office had gotten them the permission they'd needed, and the afternoon had been spent packing. The sun was just touching the horizon when they finally left the city. It was warm and pleasant, and the three comrades had a hard time remembering the urgency of their mission on such a beautiful evening.
Jin had done his best to negotiate a team to go with them, but their had been no other jonin or chunin available. However, he took comfort in the fact that the three of them were very competent chunin with prestigious records of successful missions, both as a team and as individuals. The Hokage had promised to send backup as soon as it became available. Jin had insisted that they leave immediately, and Kisa and Ichigo both agreed.
Kisa suddenly stopped and looked back, "Jin, did you get--" Jin held up their teacher's large summoning scroll without a word. Kisa nodded. When they found him, Kurau-sensei would probably be pretty thirsty. The three chunin shared a smile, then leapt into the treetops and began their pursuit.
Miles away, Kurau was enjoying the evening as well. Having determined that they needed him alive, he had immediately begun making his captors as miserable as possible. His shackled feet were clumsy and were continually getting caught in roots or ankles, usually resulting in a disordered tangle as he fell on his guards. More than once an unfortunate Boketsu initiate was soaked when Kurau tripped him into a puddle or (once) a river. What's more, nothing they did to him phased him in the slightest; he seemed impervious to torture, though his face had become considerably more bruised than it had been that morning. In fact, he spent most of his time demanding sake and wishing they'd thought to grab his summoning scroll. All in all, he reflected, he'd had worse days. He smiled and wiggled a newly loosened tooth. He hadn't felt so alive in years.