The door to the apartment slid shut with a creek, followed by the telltale clicks of several locks. It was around 9AM, the blond had apparently returned home after waking up earlier for breakfast in his favourite Ramen stand; presumably starting his weekend on a positive note.
He strolled through a short entry hall that lead into an open living room, lit by the morning sun it displayed a neat but slightly bare room; although not suspiciously plain, it had a certain hollowness to it, perhaps the lack of defining features was the issue, no photographs, no small personal trophies, simply a few old pieces of furniture and some striped rugs with a small bookshelf pushed against the wall between two closed doors.
One lead to the bedroom, while the other lead to the bathroom; a third to the Blonds' left lead to the kitchen.
Entering the kitchen he strolled towards a storage cabinet placed in the room's corner, it was rather large, and of sound although dilapidated build, with cleaning supplies, miscellaneous rags-tools and a variety of paints and brushes filling its interior. An ordinary glance would see nothing amiss, however upon closer inspection, the edges of the cabinet's left panel looked to be unusually worn, with the panel itself minutely out of alignment.
Naruto easily pushed the panel backwards, causing it to display well oiled hinges attached to an opening in the wall. The space within was tight, forcing the blond to momentarily crawl through before he could enter the modified apartment adjacent to his own; a slight glow accompanied his crawl as he passed several complex carvings.
The crawl-space opened into a reconstructed combination of bathroom and kitchen. Several shelves with various bottles and pastes lined the walls, while the now off-white bath tub and sinks were filled with substances in different physical states; one apparent chemical was heavily bubbling and as a result saturating the room with misting steam that clouded the disproportionally sized mirrors found around the cluttered work area.
Amongst such additions, notes both on paper and drawn on surfaces could be found everywhere, acting as both labels and supporting material for future experiments, or theoretical as well as studied applications.
He ignored the impromptu lab and moved towards a doorway to his left, opening it he was met with a rather large room filled with any and all clothing he had collected to effectively complete his jobs.
The room was oval in shape and had a colourful assortment of apparel filling nearly every space from walls to ceiling; the only free area was the centre, where a small stool, a sink with basic pastes/mixtures, a mirror and a small lamp sat.
Sitting down, the blond flicked a switch on the lamp and shone a clear light onto his face, after a quick inspection he was assured that his henge did not have any implicatory discrepancies.
Forming a quick ram hand-seal, his form exploded into smoke that quickly dissipated to reveal a hooded individual with purposefully half-hidden Kiri headband.
In routine-like motion, the individual began by removing his cloak, and untying his hair, allowing his now visible wavy brown locks to pool onto his broad shoulders.
A white rag was then wet, and used to clear the artificial pale complexion of the assassin, revealing a yellowish skin tone under the makeup. Brown eyes turned green as lenses were removed, and a minor but noticeable adjustment to the man's face occurred as two globs of cotton were spit out.
And then the second henge was released.
In the clearing smoke green eyes turned blue, while various chakra manifestations collapsed, with the man's bulk suddenly slithering off into smoke, and his pooling hair dissipating into black curls.
In mild irritation, the itchy wig and subsequent hairnet were pulled off, as a result allowing sharp blond spikes to shine through, this combined with the bright blue eyes and suddenly tan complexion looped into the original henge, only this time there was no rough illusion in place.
He found the precautions extremely bothersome; the layers upon layers of deception strung together with convenient alibis and calculated outcomes. There was never an end in sight, it all looped, in a boring but necessary cycle.
Admittedly it was entertaining yet simultaneously tiring; he could barely differentiate the act and the reality at this point. Was he some calculating con-artist this month? Or maybe an overly confident mercenary?
His wrists cracked as he rose from his seat, remaining dressed in the now oversized clothing he wore for his role as the Kiri assassin.
He wasn't a genius, nor was he some hard worker that invested hours into becoming a 'true' shinobi that lived by a ruthless mindset. His circumstances were rather unusual, improbable really. Anyone his age wasn't meant to act this way.
He picked up the cloak and hung it amongst several others.
Was his status the reason behind his unusually professional mentality? Or was there some other explanation, some other reason.
Chainmail slithered as he slid out of the dull black light-armour and threw it into the appropriate pile.
Was it a mutation, possibly genetic, maybe even artificial? It wasn't unusual for some shinobi to be moulded into weapons from birth or early developmental years, take Root for example, but the lack of seeming continuity in his circumstances eliminated that possibility.
He shoved his sandals into a cupboard with the number 42 spray painted onto it and started unwrapping the gauze surrounding his chest and the end's of his rather uncomfortably large pants.
His adjustment to his current lifestyle wasn't immediate however, it could even be said that his childhood was rather unfortunate.
The blond snorted as he carefully wrapped and compressed the gauze before throwing it into small drawer.
Once he was cognizant of the village's 'negative' opinion of him, he became rather infatuated with the practise of trying to prove himself as an individual and gain as much attention as possible. It was a bit naive, but he couldn't really fault himself for the attempt.
He folded the pants and placed them into a larger drawer.
Yet somewhere along the line, 'proving himself' went from loud declarations and pranks, to violent outbursts. Maybe it was him wanting to give the bigots avoiding him a reason to dislike him, a justification of sorts.
He hung the Kiri headband onto the wall, placing it amongst others of similar likeness.
That behaviour snowballed into hanging around the wrong crowd in the wrong places, making him well acquainted with the red-light district, the backstreets, and Konoha's understandably unsavoury population. The Hokage made an effort to change his mannerisms and inclination to hang around 'rough' crowds, but his actions never amounted to much, and Anbu couldn't be bothered or logically used to monitor him 24/7, so they eventually stopped, leaving him to his own devices, which included his current dangerous and very much illegal profession.
The Hokage however more than likely knew the majority of his activities and was carefully monitoring him, surely not the full extent, but nonetheless enough to be wary of him and his numerous acts. Knowing that, he prepared several, backup plans in case things got out of hand; whether he could actually successfully implement them was a different question entirely.
He was sorely lacking resources, specifically versatile jutsu, allies, and general freedom. But that would hopefully be rectified soon enough.
Exiting the stuffy room, the Blond navigated towards a small rest area where he carefully revealed a hasty on-body storage seal that he meticulously studied and cautiously adjusted. Satisfied with the matrix, the blond proceeded to channel the suitable level of chakra, and unseal yesterday's bounties, or what remained of them, immediately transferring them into secondary scrolls for later work. Finishing up, the Blond picked up a wrinkly orange jumpsuit lying on a couch and braced himself while he got dressed for the day, he had a lot of stuff to do; after all, tomorrow was his birthday!
He chuckled ponderously, one more year and he could graduate, a simultaneous blessing and curse, being an active shinobi would really mess up his schedule, oh well, he'd think of something.
Now, where did he leave the paint and customized fireworks?
The rising sun announced the arrival of a new, beautiful morning, one filled with hope, ambition and... Fireworks!
A sudden eruption of screeching rockets and flashing explosions lit the sky; colourful smoke intermingled with clouds in a beautiful display!
BOOM-POP-FIZZLE
The groggy Konoha citizens who rushed to their windows received an eyeful as they, in intrigued anger, watched the explosion-display paint the sky, and cursed the bastard lighting fireworks at 5AM.
As annoying as it was, it was rather mesmerizing, the sky seemed to be filled with swirls of orange, red and green, sparkling and fading to be replaced with flashier explosions and bright lights appearing in colourful and interestingly organized patterns.
But that wasn't the main attraction; it was simply the lead in, an opening ceremony of sorts.
As some looked towards, or approached the source of the fireworks, they found themselves staring at the unusually colourful Hokage Mountain.
Slathered across the prideful monument was an equally colourful assortment of phrases, mocking each Kage's sculpted likeness separately, many gaped at the audacity while others momentarily chuckled or smiled in silent appreciation of the humour, before they got the full picture of course.
No Kage was spared, the variety of jokes and comments was astounding, for instance, the First was asked about his, 'Mastery of morning mokuton', while the Second was dubbed as a glorified plumber. The Third's face was creatively painted to look like a monkey wearing glasses with the nearby caption, 'Professor Poop flinger'. Even more, the admired and regaled Fourth was advised to have a shave, and visit a medical professional, as too much yellow was not normal in the process of 'flashing'.
Although a seemingly harmless joke, the context and connotation of the vandalism was not lost on the shinobi force, or many of the villagers. October 10th was once a celebration of the Fourth's triumphant sacrifice to defeat the Kyuubi, however after the occurrence of several disastrous incidents in the midst of celebrations, the tradition had died down to become a silent affair of respecting the past leader with small gifts and prayers instead of massive amusements and festivals. Naruto Uzumaki's role in the transition was muttered about, but rarely mentioned openly, as despite the unanimous agreement on his involvement, no actual evidence was ever found, nor could anyone actually link the, presumed idiot, to the transgressions.
How could they? There was always an alibi, an excuse saving him from blame. Moreover no one could truly expect Uzumaki to have, brutally tortured the more vocal villagers and criminals who made use of the event for their seedier activities, jinchuriki or not, he was a child, but not a child without his own secrets and friends.
'A dangerous child playing a dangerous game. '
The Third thought grimly as he watched the gathering Konoha citizens, smoke rings trailing out of his lit pipe.
His time was coming to an end and one year remained, the issue would rear its ugly head again, and the battle fought with paper and subtle actions would reach open ground, his sweeping of Uzumaki's actions under the rug would become impossible. The child's efforts at stealth were admirable, but he remained a child, with basic training and a skewed understanding of the world and how it functioned. Chakra was not a one-sided tool of profit, murder was not a chore to be chosen and bartered independently, a shinobi was not a free-handed tool, and Naruto would need to learn that soon, else he would be consumed by the other observers; he needed to ensure the child's allegiance.
A game was being played, with each side vying for its own dominance, and at its centre was Naruto dancing to the meticulous plans of invisible hands, believing his fate to be his own. Power, strength, skill, intelligence, the child did not lack in any, but neither did he account for his achievements in each personally, and for the blonds' own sake, he hoped Naruto remained ignorant.
The usual brightness of Konoha dimmed under the overcast gloom of herded clouds. Fearing rain, a young woman rushed hurryingly towards her destination, an imposing plain stone tavern. Approaching the heavy oak door, she knocked timidly, as if afraid of what she was to encounter within.
The panel nonetheless slid, and a man questioned monotonously, "Code?"
Her mumble was barely audible, but the doorman seemed to accept the incomprehensible words allowing her entry as the locks clicked in mechanical succession.
A light haze filled the room, giving everything blurred edges and refracting the orange light shone by heavy lanterns around the room. The woman seemed to relax upon entry and glance around the room, looking at its several inhabitants while catching bits of casual conversation here and there.
Seemingly not finding her intent, she proceeded to walk further into the tavern, navigating around the organised chaos that encompassed the open room. Eventually, she came upon the private booths, with the entrance to one curiously ajar, a jewel encrusted shoe apparently keeping it open.
Steeling her resolve in the obvious clenching of fists and look of determination, she boldly but softly knocked on the painted door and entered the lavish booth, being sure to swiftly close the door behind her.
The man within didn't spare her much attention, being too focused on the word's being formed by his speeding hand. Not taking offense, the young woman sat in the parallel arm chair and quietly watched the man complete his work.
"How may I help you?" he asked without detaching his gaze from the lengthening text his hand scribbled.
"Ahhh-h yes, I was told that you sold certain, ah, services?" her timid and unsure voice chimed.
The man paused, his hunched back straightening on the plush chair, while his busy hands released the ink-pen and stilled in a closed clap in front of him, with his gleaming eyes boring into the fidgeting girl and cutting her apart, mind, body and soul, he portrayed a rather intimidating figure, despite his colourful jester-like apparel.
"I see you've expanded your repertoire Uzumaki, good, progress is always good." Acknowledged the man as his mismatched eyes fell on the concealed blond beneath the heavy disguise, ignoring the artificial persona and seeing through the enhanced attempt at deception, "But your voice is lacking tone, you alternate minutely, and you grind your jaw and constrict your throat making it seem forced, practise with a mirror, make it subtle".
The look of soft apprehension fell away to show a satisfied but attentive expression that adjusted the girl's demeanour into one more reminiscent of the Uzumaki's, with the tensed shoulders relaxing, crossed arms moving to the armrests and unnecessarily raised eyebrows dropping to a standard level.
"It's an experiment, I've noticed it's rather effective to use the visage of a woman for certain tasks, and I lucked out with some cheap extensive items when I restocked. Anyhow, let's get to it, did you –"
The blonds' still warped voice was cut short as the eccentric man unexpectedly shot his right hand at his face. It wasn't a gesture of violence, but of silence, the singular raised pointer forcing the disguised blonds' stillness as he watched the man's left hand slide the document he was writing seconds ago towards him.
"Spare me your rash wants and farfetched plots at peeping, patience is a virtue I wholeheartedly respect, as you should know by now." The man's face twisted into a plainly hollow smile, "Before we get to it, I believe that today's special occasion should be celebrated; call it our anniversary, an equally beneficial gift for us both!"
Used to the man's sudden swings and jumps in mood, the blond shouldn't have been surprised, but the warning gaze the man fixed on him said that this was different. Cautiously he slid the paper off the shined table and scanned its contents, noting the 'chemists imperceptible nod.
His gaze did not change, be it his own fortitude or the assistance of the disguise, he remained stoically uninterested, but the content had shaken him, despite the cut-off and rather incomprehensible scribbled out sections, the message-purpose was not lost, even if it was never directly stated.
'Your stock of blueprints were provided by –_-_-_- '
'The first mercenary was drugged to make your assimilation eas-_-_-_-_-'
'Yami contracted you previously for the elimination of –_-_-_-_-'
'The Hokage convinced them to take you as a –_-_-_-_-'
'The pale landlady is a retired Anbu operative, she reports –_-_-_-_- '
'Danzo has put in 50-_-_-_-_-'
'They will begin to actively attempt to gain your all-_-_-_-_; they are not willing to let their investment be hastily picked off, _-_-_ust no one, accept nothing, what you are has been calculated and planned, they _-_o_-_ everything.'
The document shouldered into his thoughts and the reality nearly overwhelmed his fortitude, it was ironic, just 2 days ago he questioned his deposition, and here he was, getting the answers he sought, shouldn't he be satisfied? An enemy you know, technically, is better than one you do not. Right?
But then again, the point becomes moot when the whole system is against you.
His composure was cracking as random thoughts began invading his mind, his misplaced pride, sense of achievement, individuality, all unreasonably stupid fucki-
He took a deep breath, sinking into his seat as his lungs released their store of oxygen. He couldn't lose his head; it was dangerous enough to show weakness, even more to lose control with a demon to egg him on.
He needed to think rationally about this, as much as he wanted to just let the frustration wash over him, he wouldn't, he was not weak, and he would not be brought down.
Another deep breath, his ankle cracked as he shifted it, his pupil's dilated as he set them on the waiting informer.
This was a premeditated decision, the 'Chemist never did anything out of the kindness of his heart, there was something to be gained out of providing him this certainly limited but simultaneously reasonably classified information, but was it personal gain? Or was he hired?
He needed to tread carefully, now more than ever, even if what the document provided was falsehood, someone was more than likely monitoring his progress, and seeking his power, cliché as it may be.
Pity he couldn't actually access it.
"Now now, I understand it's rather surprising, but don't go gallivanting with it, keep it close and cherish my little gift Naruto, you won't be getting many more."
And so the conversation ended, the man stood up and left, leaving behind the inconspicuous yet bizarre jewelled shoe. Naruto should have questioned him, should have squeezed something more concrete, but he hesitated, could he even? It was rather obvious something was going on, the wording, the now burning paper he was doing his best to ignore, and the general caution exuded by the situation, he was way over his head, but when did that ever stop him?
His fingers rubbed at his forehead as he took another deep breath, this was getting annoying, he couldn't get shaken up like he did, confidence was key, he was Naruto Fucking Uzumaki, the only thing keeping the embodiment of Malice from going on a rage induced natural disaster fun fest. Bracing himself, he adjusted his posture and facial expression, adding a bit of apprehension and guilt; it wouldn't do if his prim and proper lady didn't find this activity, disgruntling.
After all, she was daughter the Konoha Merchant guild's president, keeping up with her social status was important, otherwise, who knows what an observer may think if she were to be seen in such an undignified place.
Indeed, what would they think? She pondered, her eyes glimmering momentarily as she carefully shut the booth's door behind her and carefully strolled towards the entrance, no physical indication of an exchange or meeting on her; presumably.
As prim and proper as she may have been known to be, it was also common knowledge that the President's daughter liked living on the wild side, when she get away with it at least, so it did not come as a surprise when she was discovered trying to sneak into her room rather, loudly, and unsuccessfully. You'd think she'd learn after her many adventures; heels and dresses aren't good apparel for climbing into windows, or anything for that matter.
The result of her discovery was also standard, a harsh lecture by her protective father, pitying looks and giggles from the maids milling around the household, and a lengthy period of house arrest, or more specifically room arrest, where she would stay and, 'ponder how dangerous her actions were.'
Actions that were of course not defined but arbitrarily considered as dangerous, she obviously complained, but, father's word was law.
It was rather fortunate that the original, president's daughter also followed this law, even more fortunate that she had been on the detestably boring house arrest for the last few days, and had been feeling rather feverish and ill throughout them. She had attributed it to an extreme case of food poisoning and tried to sleep it off, taking her fixed medicine every so often to assure a full recovery.
She never found the fatigue or drowsiness odd, nor the unusually prolonged hours of sleep, where she may or may not have been displaced to allow for a specific blond to use her identity for a little bit. Not that he could have taken advantage of her position or anything, he would never…
And even if she was noted to have acted strangely, it wasn't like ill people didn't act weird from time to time, when the girl was discovered she was practically swaying on her feet and as hot as a furnace. Hell, when she was woken up the next morning and questioned about her little adventure, she attributed to a waking dream before she tiredly fell back asleep.
She was often known to sleepwalk, poor girl.