Published: 8/10/2014
Edited: 1/12/2015
Akihiko: Purgatory
"Hey, senpai."
Kamoku is able to catch the scroll thrown at him and identify its origin—his subordinate Akito—without ever looking up from his reading. After he finishes the paragraph he is on he sets down his book and glances at the file in his hand.
"The new guy's report?" he asks quizzically, unrolling it and giving it a once over, briefly scanning through some general background before reading his current evaluation. "Seems like he's doing fine."
"They want you to run his last test," the cat-masked ANBU in the doorway shrugs. "I'm kind of inclined to agree. That sort of thing isn't my specialty, if you what I mean."
Kamoku smiles dryly. So he is needed his specialty, is he? That doesn't bode too well for the recruit, but Kamoku isn't going to argue. If they want him to take a crack a breaking the new guy, well, that is his job.
"I've been meaning to take a look at him in person," Kamoku says with a shrug, re-rolling the scroll as he stands and reaches for his mask. "As soon as I heard we had a kid coming in I was interested."
"I left him out on the training field," Akito replies. "He's waiting at the north end."
"Then I'll get on it." Kamoku nods; Akito leaves with a wave. His squad leader puts on his mask before zipping away in a shunshin, crossing ANBU Base 1 in a matter of seconds; when he comes to a stop outside on the training field, there is a little boy standing in front of him, dressed head to toe in black. Kamoku can tell his hair has recently been cut; each time the wind blows, he blinks as though expecting bangs to brush over his eyes.
"Namikaze Akihiko," Kamoku intones, tossing his scroll in the air, catching it, and sliding it into his belt pouch in two fluid motions. He eyes the boy critically. "Last test. Show me what you can do."
Kamoku technically doesn't need to see Namikaze jump through advanced kata and show off his athletic ability—the others have already evaluated his skill level—but he wants to observe the new recruit up close. He scrutinizes him closely, taking in every punch and kick and grunt and analyzing it, quietly fitting pieces of a puzzle together until he has put together a picture he is satisfied with.
"Enough." Kamoku waves a hand. Namikaze halts and returns to his place in front of the monkey-masked ANBU, standing attentively. Kamoku folds his arms and regards the boy coolly.
"What are you running from?" he asks. Namikaze blinks once, twice—
"I don't follow, sir," he says, smoothing the puzzlement off of his face. Kamoku snorts.
"Yeah, I bet. Give me two-hundred high kicks," he orders. Namikaze blinks again at the non-sequitur demand before smothering a look of irritation and turning to the post behind him. He sinks into a taijutsu stance and executes a flawless high kick, torso twisting easily, arms and legs moving in perfect unity. Kamoku saunters forward.
"When kids dream of being ninja," he begins, circling the boy, "they don't dream of ANBU. No one sees us enough to aspire to it."
Namikaze says nothing, focusing on his task.
"No one comes here unprompted," Kamoku murmurs, uncrossing his arms and leaning on another post, staring intently into Namikaze's blank face. "Your family holds you to no particular expectation and you have no obvious motivation for being here. No one has forced you here; you have come on your own without being requested. And if you have come on your own, without the need to impress anyone or fulfill someone's wishes, you are the one who needs be here. Conclusion: You are running."
Namikaze lets out a grunt; the post splinters with a crunch. Kamoku cocks his head to the side. Well. It seems the new guy has a temper.
"You have nothing to say?" Kamoku prods, intent on figuring out how far Namikaze can be pushed. "You're not going to deny it?"
Grunt, kick.
"So you are admitting to running away?"
Grunt, kick, crunch.
"We don't accept cowards, you know," Kamoku informs lightly, affecting aloofness and adjusting his gauntlets. "Guess we'll just have to send you back."
The fear in the boy's face is so quickly replaced with fury that Kamoku almost misses it—almost. The training post receives a strike so vicious it shatters, sending slivers of wood flying. Several of them lodge themselves in Namikaze's calf.
"Your poor form is confirmation enough," Kamoku shrugs as the blond lets out a hiss, shifting onto one foot—perfect balance, hm—as he pulls his leg up to examine the damage. "You might as well just tell me. Why are you here?"
"There's nothing for me in the General Forces," Namikaze bites out, planting both feet back onto the ground with a glare. "I can get better here and I can do it faster. That's reason enough."
Kamoku raises an eyebrow even though he knows the boy can't see it.
"Is that so?" he asks, contemplating briefly what angle to work him from before settling on the wound he knows is still raw and bleeding. "And Misuzu? Now that your teammate Yoshiya's gone she's your only friend."
Just as Kamoku predicts, the brief flash of emotion that shoots across Namikaze's face is one of pulsing, festering pain. Yoshiya? Kamoku considers it with a hum. No… Misuzu. She'll serve his purpose much better. Cousin, teammate, and friend… she is perfect. Not to mention she is still alive—there are so many more approaches to take when the exploit isn't dead.
Namikaze snarls, trying to let his fury mask his moment of vulnerability, but Kamoku has already latched onto his weakness. He is one of ANBU's best interrogators, after all. Only the T&I specialists can beat him out when it comes to hitting where it hurts.
"She'll only hold me back," Namikaze declares boldly, but the waver in his voice precluded any pretense of credulity Kamoku might have entertained. The report read that they have recently come into conflict, but he knows for a fact no attachments are so easily severed. "She's nowhere near my skill level. I don't need her."
"But what if she needs you?" Kamoku asks blithely, bringing a hand up and pretending to examine his glove. "Recently field promoted, wasn't she? If you're right about her skill, she's in trouble."
He looks at Namikaze out of the corner of his eye; the boy frowns harshly but resolutely says nothing.
"Don't you think you should look after her?" the ANBU drawls, undeterred, as he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the kid down his nose. "She won't be able to look after herself. Field promoted chuunin are always the first kind of chuunin to die, you know."
There it is. Namikaze's will begins to warp—Kamoku sees in the way that his shoulders hunch and his gaze turns downward. Breaking point already? The monkey-masked ANBU is a bit disappointed. What a shame. He had had so much potential.
But then, slowly, Namikaze's head begins to rise. Intrigued, Kamoku watches as the swirling storm of confliction in the boy's eyes recedes. Cold, emotionless determination takes its place.
"That's her problem," he says, hands fisted but face admirably clear of any emotion.
Kamoku regards the boy carefully, feeling a vague sense of surprised delight trickle over himself. He gives a very, very small twitch of the lips.
"That's cold," he says, allowing a sharp smirk to settle on his face as he slides his mask off. Blue eyes meet brown; Namikaze's chin jutts stubbornly.
"That's life," he retorts, arms crossing. Kamoku laughs cynically. Is that bravado? That is interesting.
"Careful, little boy," he warns with a dark smile. "You think you can handle that kind of talk? Greater men than you have broken over those words, and no one here is going to hold your hand and ask you what's wrong when you're suffering alone in silence."
"Then that's my problem," Namikaze coolly replies, gaze frigid. Kamoku beats back a grin of satisfaction, opting instead to stare the boy down with every ounce of intimidation he can muster. A short silence falls over them, the younger glaring defiantly up at the older. Kamoku draws back a bit, mind turning as he forms his judgement.
"…You'll go far here, kid," he finally says, nodding once and smiling at him ever so faintly. "I look forward to working with you… Rengoku."