Disclaimer: 1st time admitting to the non-ownership of Naruto and its universe. I am simply making it a better place.


Rating: Pretty much what you would expect from a fic revolving around shinobi: violence, language, suggestive themes, and so on.

Pairings: The reason there is no pairing listed is quite simple: this is not a romance fic. There could be romance, there could be sex . . . there could be a lot of things here; but it's first and foremost action/adventure/drama. If you read Naruto fanfiction for the sole purpose of finding pairings that you like, then this is the wrong place. There is also not going to be any harems. I'm not a fan, so that's that. And no yaoi. Maybe yuri, but only mildly and in side-side-characters.

Summary: It's so hard writing even a vague summary without spoiling anything. Still, I can at least give you guys a few titbits that aren't plot-related: this is a realistic shinobi experience, in many ways much different then what canon dictates. Yes, there will still be flashy battles and all that, but done in ways that don't make you want to cut yourself to escape how ridiculous some of this anime is—especially considering that this is a show about ninjas! Anyway, Naruto will be . . . different. He won't be an ignorant, naïve, orange jump-suit with rocks for brains. And he will actually kill people! You know, cause he's a damn ninja? Honestly, you should probably try reading this before judging.

Furthermore: No beta, so there are bound to be all sorts of errors here and there. If you see them, and aren't too lazy, I do ask you to speak up so that I can either correct them or learn from my mistakes. Thanks!


The Aftermath

Sake, they say, unmakes the mind. Its attributes, while wholly able to bestow upon the user a temporary haven from all the life's troubles, also have the potential to rot and corrupt; leaving but a husk of one's former self. In most cases, it is the former that draws attention, while the latter is kept out of mind and rarely ever analyzed. It is, after all, the nature of humanity to choose between what to make a reality and what to neglect—despite knowing, somewhere in the depths of their minds, that reality is not created by their own minds, but rather interpreted by the mind in a way that brings most benefit. So whether a thing is or isn't matters little, simply because human nature demands satisfaction; and satisfaction demands a world drawn in a certain way, painted by a certain color, and run in a certain way. —Anything off path is to be left for the very last page . . . a page rarely reached.

Such a funny thing, the mind. So funny, and yet so sad. Here he was, trying to battle his own thoughts, numbing the mind with poison as to prevent himself from actual thought. And, quite honestly, it was working. Had he not just spent hours upon hours analyzing the substance which he wished worked just a little better? Why, in the name of kami, won't they make sake for shinobi? The watered-down version worked wonders on civilians, but for someone like himself . . . He sighed.

It isn't fair, he though, that I'm even alive. It really wasn't. But, then, life isn't fair. It had never been, and it never will. That, at the very least, was never up for question. What was up—he tensed, interrupting his train of thought. Even in such a sorry state, he still couldn't miss the stir in the air and the change of pressure in the room signifying the entrance of a "guest." The identity of whom easily revealed by the unique chakra patterns that every individual possessed. Bringing his head up and locking in on the darkest corner of the room with his eyes, he steeled his expression and inquired, "Yes?"

The figure molded out of the shadows, matted white mask appearing as if out of nowhere, followed by the dark attire reserved for the Anbu. "Hokage-sama," was uttered with a slight bow at the waist, "there has been an . . . altercation at the hospital." The hesitancy was impossible to miss.

Hiruzen Sarutobi, years ago appointed Hokage for a second time in his life, couldn't help but feel unnamed dread disperse throughout his body, sobering his mind nearly at once. He knew, deep down in his old bones, that the news his Anbu had come to report weren't going to bring anything but more pain.

Without another second of thought, the Hokage of the Leaf vitalized his body to appropriate scale and flickered away through the open window in a seal-less and silent Shunshin, leaving nothing but an empty seat and a soon-to-follow Anbu.


Years of practice, hundreds upon hundreds of hours of experience, and there were still surprises on the job. Usually, those surprises only held back progress momentarily—because with enough accumulated knowledge between the hospital's med-nin, problems just seemed to disappear. This time, however, things were different. Very, very different.

Ryou Kanpo swore, unable to believe just how cruel humanity could be. How . . . misguided. It shouldn't be all that difficult to believe, really, he thought, having seen all that I have. Still, this reaches a new low! He shook his head, trying to clear his mind . . . then slapped himself. "Ow."

What the hell am I doing? I need to prepare something! Anything! The Hokage would, undeniably, be there soon and Ryou would not simply stand there silently without an explanation. And that's when his focus, once again, settled back on the real world and, more importantly, the operating table. He noticed that his staff was still at it. Why? Why would they still waste time on such a lost cause? Why waste manpower? Why . . . Right! Shit! The Hokage! Ryou's hand found itself pressing against his forehead as if to push away the fear of potential repercussions for letting someone to close to the Hokage die. And . . . in a such a way, too.

Clearing his throat, he shouted, "On the double, people! Do whatever is necessary to bring that boy back to life!"

"Yes, Kanpo-san," was the answer from multiple directions in varying tones—some actually energetic enough to sound hopeful, some stoic as stone, some anguished (which he couldn't quite understand, as it was his own ass on the line), and the rest completely resigned. To be truthful, he would have been of the endmost kind if this case wasn't so damn important. As it was, however, he had to at least act like it wasn't yet over. The Hokage, while usually quite docile, had been known to literally crush people's heads in retribution to any damage dealt to a certain boy—a boy who, regrettably, was now rather . . . dead on a table in Konoha's star hospital. Of which, catastrophically, Ryou Kanpo was the head of.

"Shinigami, take me now," he whispered, feeling another headache approaching with a vengeance. His palm again found itself leaving an indent on its owner's cheek with a resonating strike seemingly all on its own. "Ow."


The wordless departure all in itself wasn't exactly much of a surprise if the circumstances were taken into consideration, but the abruptness with which it happened still washed the Anbu with slight surprise. It wasn't everyday, after all, that the Hokage let slip his true prowess in the shinobi arts. The Shunshin was . . . sudden. Having been in the Anbu for the last decade or so and having seen all the crazy that came with it, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that there were still people out there that could literally kill him within a blink of an eye—without actually needing to resort to stealth of any kind. Yet, it was still quite unexpected.

He had almost forgotten that his Hokage—usually a figure of mere leadership and wisdom—was also often referred to as the "God of Shinobi." The moniker wasn't, after all, just a barren title. If such a name is bestowed upon a nin on the battlefield, it is more than likely deserved. I will remember this. Better to overestimate than to underestimate, after all.

Still, he thought, chasing off a shudder, that was perhaps the most well-performed Shunshin I've ever witnessed. It was perfect. If I wasn't sure that no Genjutsu was involved, I would have never pegged it as simple speed. And, yet, that was all that it had been. It was just pure, unmatched speed of the mind and body coupled with flawless technique and the potential for unaccountable destruction—and all with but a D-rank Jutsu. Truly, Hokage-sama was one scary dude.

Moments passed . . . and a small orange book materialized. Only to disappear once more a second later.

Isn't there something I should be doing? he questioned himself.

Shit! The hospital! The Hokage! The boy! An explanation for our failure!

The Anbu slapped himself and couldn't help but frown at his own stupidity. Aren't I supposed to be a genius?

A few flickers later and he arrived at his destination: one of the ER rooms at the First Konoha Hospital that currently housed an evidently furious Hokage, a distraught and frightened Chief of Medical Staff, multiple med-nins, attendants, and two more Anbu that appeared to desire the walls at their backs to provide protection of some kind from the Hokage's ire—unfortunately for them, the walls had yet to respond.

For a second, the newly arrived Anbu wondered why they were all even allowed to be there. All non-medical personnel were usually ushered out immediately after having been properly chastened for interfering with matters not of their grade (Hokage-sama or not). Then he looked at the operating table. Blinking, he thought, there is no way. Slowly and carefully, the Anbu released a probing chakra pulse focusing in on the boy that laid unmoving and utterly pale on top of it. There was . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He wished, at that moment, to be somewhere else. Somewhere very far away from where he was—somewhere far away from the Hokage and the rising tides of all-encompassing intent to murder, mutilate, shred, gauge, crush . . . melting skin, bones to ashes, brains to soup, eye balls on a stick . . . the urge to just . . . DIE!

A deep breath. Another one. And another one. Again, and again. Just breathe!

I'm fine . . . now. I'm fine. An—abruptly interrupted from his thoughts by a scream, he turned his head. There, on the floor, laid most of the medical staff. Not dead . . . just out of it. Scared out of their minds, most likely destined to hours upon hours of nightmares and then days of headaches. One even seemed to have stabbed herself. Fortunately, two med-nins looked relatively well enough able to take care of that. Well, there is that, I suppose.

Shaking off the after-effects of the immense killing intent with some effort, he then looked back at his leader, waiting for the inevitable.


Rage was too mild a definition for what swelled within his heart at that very moment in time. Yes, he had controlled himself and managed to cage his killing intent before having it kill most of the hospital's occupants, but the power of the emotion lessened none at all. It was still there, the fury, just barely contained. For all its inconveniences, however, it did well enough in masking the sorrow that he knew was going to eat at his soul every day following this one.

Schooling his face—or trying to, at least—the Hokage turned to the head of the hospital and asked tersely, "What happened, Kanpo-san?" in a tone he had used rarely in his life, usually in prelude to a massacre of enemy shinobi. It wasn't flat, as one would suspect, and it carried no intent behind it—it was simple an unspoken promise of things to come. What those things were, however, was left to the imagination. He liked it that way.

His "victim" seemed to instinctively know this, for he looked more like a recently-released captive of the T&I department than the Chief of Medical Staff. The slightly pale complexion, tensed facial muscles, a tic of the brow, sweat, balled-up fists, and irregular chakra fluctuations were only some of the evidence, but it all still came down to fear and possibly guilt (although of that he wasn't so sure of yet). The Chief's mouth opened for a moment, his face uncertain, only for it to close once again. Then, a spark of continuity seemed to light up his countenance, signifying the readiness to proceed.

"Hokage-same," he started with a brief, deep bow, "as you already know, the boy was brought to us earlier this morning by the Anbu to treat a broken leg." His eyes, then, concisely converged on the mentioned boy, only to snap right back to look into Sarutobi's eyes as he continued on, "A regular occurrence, unfortunately, and not something we ever worry about. He heals . . . he healed quickly from all matters of injuries, many of which would have felled even the strongest of shinobi. So . . . we did what we could, which mostly bottled down to giving him a quiet place to rest, and left him to heal on his own—as he always had. At the time, he was just fine. The bones were already knitting back together perfectly." A pause as he looked to the side.

The floor was now clear of any unconscious unfortunates and a single med-nin stayed close to the operating table, occasionally running diagnosis of different sorts on the boy. Sarutobi, though, could tell that it was futile. There wasn't a single wisp of chakra, a single bodily function that in any way gave rise to hope. It was over and done with. The anger build. So he pressed it down further. A shuffle brought his attention back to the med-nin in charge of the hospital.

"Nothing seemed out of the ordinary," he continued in a more subdued tone and downcast eyes, "until one of the attendants ran out of his room screaming for help. I arrived slightly later, after my med-nins have already started to try and treat him at the ER. They weren't sure what was happening at first. A broken leg turned life-threatening in a boy tougher than adamantium? It made no sense. Well, until they started to really dig. And what they found . . . Hokage-sama, there was nothing we could do!"

The desperation was almost palpable. The pause unwelcome. "Continue!" Sarutobi roared.

The med-nin flinched and seemed to contemplate running away. Then reason returned and he went on submissively, "There were—well, there were poisons. Many, many poisons. Different kinds. I think half are still unidentified. Maybe some we didn't even catch at all. There were nearly a hundred! There was nothing anybody could do! Nothing!" He paused, gathering himself. A good thing, too, because Sarutobi was starting to lose his patience with the excuses.

"Even just from the poisons that we have already identified, I can safely say that every square inch of the boy was attacked in some way. Every single cell, every single organ. Everything. There was even a chakra-conductive poison that seemed to attack his reserves, not to mention the chakra already active in his tenketsu. He lasted a little over a minute before his body simply shut down completely. We tried every technique we thought would help bring him back, but . . . . well, nothing worked." Then he just looked down and kept silent, his body like a statue.

"That's it, then? That's all, Kanpo-san?" The rage was becoming more potent, more focused. His tone borderline homicidal.

"Yes, Hokage-sama," was the low-keyed answer, body unmoving.

Sarutobi nodded, mostly to himself, and decided that he wasn't going to take a life in anger simply because . . . well, because. Time to hear how this was even allowed to happen in the first place, then, he thought.

"You can go, Kanpo-san . . . and take your med-nin with you."

That was a surprise, judging by the man's incredulous expression. Still, he bowed deeply and signaled for the only other med-nin in the room to follow. In seconds, the Hokage was left alone with two terrified Anbu that were supposed to guard the boy that was now dead and an Anbu that he could admit to himself was one of his favorites—for how long, however, he wasn't sure. Molten rage once again bubbled on the surface of his fragile mentality. It was about ready to be released to punish all those around him, but the tight control still held . . . somehow.

Turning to Dog, a squad leader and the party often-times responsible for assigning guard details, he began, quite coldly, "Dog-san . . . correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you in charge of assigning Anbu guards to watch over Naruto-kun? Were you not given the duty to prevent . . . his death?" Sarutobi paused to watch his Anbu squirm—not in any visible matter, of course, but chakra didn't lie and Dog was quite literally shaking in his Anbu-sanctioned boots. He then finished: "A death, I might add, as we all know, that hasn't been prevented."


Yes, Hokage-sama was one scary dude. Why it took so long to affirm that ostensibly obvious fact of life, he didn't know. It should be written somewhere as law! His very tone of voice should be classified as an S-class Jutsu!

But, wait, he had been asked a question, right? Yup. So . . . "Hokage-sama, you're right, of course. I was in charge of the assignment, and today was no different in procedure than any other day. Those two behind your back, Hokage-sama, the ones trying to crawl into the wall and possibly disappear for all eternity, were on watch since early morning. They've done this countless of times before and I am fairly certain that this is the first time that anything has happened on their watch." Yeah, that was good enough, wasn't it? What else could he have done, really? A lot, he added, judging by the Hokage's face.

The Kage was not . . . pleased, it seemed. Quite the opposite, in fact. His jaw worked as if chewing on nails. His eyes a gaze of obliteration. Thankfully, his wrath switched directions and instead centered on the other two Anbu in the room—the ones that were, perhaps, actually somewhat responsible for the day's events.

Dog watched his leader pin the Anbu with a gaze both cold and hot, stoic and furious. It was almost enough to seem unreal, as if a Genjutsu was taking place. That, of course, wasn't the fact. The Hokage deliberately took his time as he crept closer to the objects of his fury. Once standing no more than a foot away, he asked one simple question, emotion barely restrained: "What have you to say for yourselves?" It sounded . . . mundane, the question; and yet it was packed with a subtext so powerful, it might as well have been said out loud: If your answers aren't satisfactory, I'm going to flay you.

The one of the right, Mouse, somehow managed to find the courage to answer—but not without taking time to collect himself first—"Hokage-sama, please, we don't even know exactly what happened! One second we're in position, and then nothing. Then we wake up, and the boy's already thrashing around and the med-nin are saying that he's going to die!" That . . . looked to have exhausted the Anbu. He was in complete panic. And his partner wasn't doing much better. I wonder what's going to happen now . . .

His answer came as a duet of floor-meets-shinobi. Dog waited, then, to be knocked out as well. Possibly taken to T&I. It never came, however, as the Hokage said, "Take these two to Ibiki-san." He then looked up from the two unconscious Anbu and stared at the last Anbu in the room actually standing. "If I didn't know I could trust you, you would be sent along with them. Now . . . get going. I need a funeral to plan." The Kage's eyes no longer held rage. Now they vibrated with sorrow.

Dog bowed slightly and acknowledged the order, "Hai, Hokage-sama," before settling the two unfortunate Anbu up on his shoulders and flickering away—grateful, at the very least, that he wasn't going to experience Ibiki's idea of tender mercies.


Continue? Probably yes. Soon. I hope.