5 years later
.
.
The man had appeared suddenly in front of Tobirama as though spat by the crowd. His feet danced unsteadily beneath him, scraping the ground. The bulging sack on his right shoulder clattered, the sound reminiscent of kettles and pans banging together, as its mystery contents were jostled about inside their canvas walls. Tobirama's hands shot out when he began to pitch forward and grabbed his shoulders, stopping his fall before a painful collision could occur.
The man flinched away in astonishment. The momentum threw him off, and he staggered back several steps into a well-illuminated part of the street. He had a head of unkempt hair that fell across his eyes in thick greasy strands. He looked like he'd not bathed for weeks, and there's also a strong stench of alcohol and tobacco oozing from his person.
With a huge effort, the strange man pried himself off the wall he'd fallen against. He mumbled something unintelligible, his tone surly, and he kept his head down as he hefted his cargo higher up its perch, the heavy weight causing him to slouch forward. He took a step to the side. It's obvious from the beginning he had no intention of apologising to Tobirama for almost ramming into him, but the young shinobi let him go.
The man glanced up at his motionless figure as he tottered past, perhaps out of curiosity rather than suspicion. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth partially opened in shock. A pair of beady eyes peered from behind the curtain of grubby locks. He broke off from the trance with a small jump, tearing his eyes from the etching on Tobirama's happuri, and took in his appearance from head to toe.
Tobirama calmly returned his stare. A simpleton would recognise a shinobi in their battle gears without knowledge of clan crests. And this man, drunk as he was, could – judging by the way his face paled.
The sack slipped from the man's grasp and hit the floor with a clang. He dropped to his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. Words tumbled from his mouth in nervous sputters. "Pardon m-me, sir! Didn't see you there – honest! F-forgive me. Please forgive me!" he beseeched and scrambled to his feet. He swept up his sack into his arms and took off without waiting for a response.
Tobirama stared after the man in bemusement, even after he'd vanished amid the shifting crowd.
Sir?
Sure, he's turning eighteen next February, but he couldn't look that old?
Tobirama shrugged it off as unimportant and turned around, burying his hands back under his travelling cloak. He paused to glance around.
The odd bystanders who'd stopped to watch the commotion leapt back to what they're previously doing with an air of forced obliviousness.
He paid them no heed.
Strolling down the village's market street, he took in the lively atmosphere around him. Stalls lined the sides of the street, their fronts decorated with bright and colourful banners advertising their trades and wares. The air was choked in eye-stinging smoke rising from the grills and stoves, and Tobirama felt instantly relieved when he'd left the food stalls behind. He wasn't hungry anyway. Games were predictably the most popular attraction after food among the festivalgoers, especially families with young children. They clustered around the booths, their excited faces illuminated by the paper lanterns hanging above their heads. The whole place was buzzing with indescribable energy, filled with chatters and laughter. It's almost as if he's walking through an entirely different universe parallel to his. Except his was torn apart by wars.
Tobirama didn't stop to investigate the stalls. He preferred to observe from afar, and it's difficult to manoeuvre through the section of the street here. Children were running about unattended, chasing each other, or dragging their parents and siblings along. It was utter chaos. He had to keep an eye out for the shorter ones lest he'd accidentally knock one over. He didn't need the stress of dealing with a sobbing kid.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, his gaze landed on the tiny figure of a girl standing outside a busy goldfish-scooping stall. She couldn't look older than five or six years old, and seemed to be…
'Waving at me?' Tobirama raised an eyebrow. He walked on indifferently. 'A stranger in the crowd? That's not possible. This place is heaving, and the girl is on the other side of the street.'
What were the chances?
He glanced behind and, to his horror, the girl had moved away. Towards him, and the panic set in.
The girl hadn't gone far when a man grabbed her from behind and pulled her back to the stall. The way he'd reacted and looked, terrified and exasperated, there's no doubt the adult was the child's guardian.
Tobirama had briefly seen him standing in front of the girl in the queue. He watched her guardian lowered himself to her height and forced her to look at him. What was being said over the clamour was unclear. From the severe expression on his face and her slumped shoulders, the girl was likely being scolded.
The man stood up, threw a frosty glance in Tobirama's direction and strode away from the goldfish-scooping stall with the downhearted girl, holding onto her hand in a protective manner.
A breeze brought in a sharp scent of salt from the sea.
Shivering, Tobirama tugged the collar of his cloak tighter around his neck. He hunched his shoulders in an attempt to combat the cold, and resumed his journey down the market street, brows pinched together in deep thoughts. He'd been ignoring their stares and whispers all this while. The locals were curious of him, in awe of his presence. There were the odd nods and tentative smiles, a nervous glance at the katana at his hip. Apart from that, they left him alone, which suited him very fine. Their lack of congeniality didn't bother him. The village chief more than made up for it with his exuberance and eagerness to appease their 'honoured' guests.
As a general rule, the Senju army avoided civilian settlements at all costs unless they found themselves in a life-threatening emergency like extreme weather conditions, or if essential supplies such as food and medicines started to run critically low. The mercenary clan was careful not to affiliate themselves with any civilians. It could endanger innocent lives as well as their own's if enemies made false assumptions, and there's also the matter of spies and collaborators.
But this village was different.
Because of its strategic location on the coast of the Land of Hot Waters, the village and its people had endured years of tyranny under pirates' rules. Back then the locals struggled to make ends meet, relying heavily on fishing which mostly ended up on the plates of their oppressors. It wasn't until six years ago that the daimyo enlisted help, and the village was liberated by an army led by Senju Butsuma himself.
Tobirama had not been part of the action but remembered his father telling him about the mission and Jiro, the village chief.
The former fisherman had sought out the clan head after the pirates' defeat as the army was about to leave. He'd tried to offer them every valuable the impoverished village possessed and the meagre treasures the pirates left behind in exchange for protection. To which Tobirama's father had declined, citing the clan's protocol; it wasn't uncommon to receive similar propositions from civilians. But Jiro had been persistent about being indebted to the clan. In the end, Tobirama's father had asked the village to provide a place to rest for the Senju if they ever crossed path in the future as a gesture of goodwill.
Fast forward to the present, Tobirama couldn't fathom he'd be in this village his father saved. For one night, he and his brethren were staying at a classy inn and given the best rooms – for free. The stop wasn't premeditated. They'd been passing around the outskirts of the village when a couple of locals spotted the large group of Senju warriors, taken to meet Jiro, and the rest was history.
Tobirama studied the busy marketplace. A lot of structures destroyed in the battle six years ago were rebuilt from the ground up. Through the combined efforts of the villagers, and with a little monetary support from the Hot Waters daimyo on the side, the village was able to prosper and become a place of commerce today, attracting traders and travellers from afar…
But one couldn't simply remove a decade of terror and anger.
Tobirama could sense the wariness in the air, following him around as he walked in the villagers' midst. Civilians didn't normally go around trusting his kind, even if those people were from the very clan who saved them.
He was a shinobi.
A person capable of harm.
It wasn't as if he hadn't foreseen the circumstances his presence would emit, like the drunk man who looked at him in fear and the father's loathing. Some were just better at hiding their emotions than others. So why did it leave a bitter taste at the back of his mouth?
The merchants didn't seem to mind him. Though Tobirama suspected it might have something to do with the clan's social status and affluence. An owner of a leather business told him that he'd met plenty of 'his sorts'during his lifetime of travelling, enough that he's certain an honourable clan like the Senju would never provoke aggressions for the heck of it, and seemed openly critical about the way the villagers treated him as if he's carrying a terrible disease.
Tobirama ignored his remarks as he browsed. He chose a roll case to store his weapon sharpening tools. His current one had been slowly disintegrating over the past years. He brushed a thumb across the case's front. It was high-quality leather.
After making the payment, he thanked the merchant and turned back to the street. There were fewer people milling about the further he moved away from the festival's main attractions, and with more breathing space he found himself slowly relaxing amongst the late-night shoppers and enjoying the stroll through the marketplace for the first time this evening. Along the way, he paused at a few stalls where he's greeted by a flurry of flatteries and discounted prices – but nothing caught his interest for long.
Tobirama folded his arms beneath his cloak, fighting back another shiver. His exposed skin tingled in the cold air. Perhaps he should have stayed behind, hunkered down in front of a warm fire while nursing a cup of sake between his hands.
He dispersed the thought with a shake of his head.
Sake was a bad idea, and he didn't want to go back to the inn just yet. Jiro was holding a dinner party there for the Senju warriors. Tobirama had quietly slipped away after one cup of sake; it's the most he allowed himself.
Tobirama couldn't sense being followed – he'd made sure nobody saw him sneaking out through the backdoor of their host's residence – which meant he had the rest of the night for himself. The marketplace was closing later than usual for the festival the village was holding in the run-up to the winter solstice. That's next week.
If they leave tomorrow slightly after dawn, he calculated, they could arrive at the valley two days before the solstice. Everyone's looking forward to celebrating with their friends and families back home.
Tobirama hastened his pace.
He's running out of time.
He cast about searchingly, biting the inside of his cheek with mounting frustration. 'There must be something in this village I can…' his thoughts trailed off, catching a flash of light out of the corner of his eyes.
Feeling inquisitive, Tobirama traced the source to a small stall sandwiched between a fabric store and a ceramic dealer. A couple of women were browsing, and he waited until they'd become bored and moved away before walking up to the dazzling display. The lanterns were deliberately positioned about the stall so that the polished surface of mirrors and precious stones glimmered brilliantly in the warm light. There's an assortment of combs, kanzashi, folding paper fans and hand mirrors as well.
Tobirama picked up a kanzashi that was lying at the far edge of the table, away from the ornate ones displayed at the front like a centrepiece. He immediately liked it at first glance.
"Excuse me, how much is this?" he asked the old lady behind the gleaming table, even as he's reaching under his cloak for his money.
There was a creak as the elderly merchant leaned forward in her chair to get a better look at the kanzashi in his hand. "200 ryo, please," she rasped after a moment's pause. She studied his face while he's preoccupied with counting the money. "Forgive me for prying, boy. Are you buying for your lover?"
Tobirama looked up in surprise. "No, she's not my lover. I'm not in any form of relationship," he added without preamble.
"I see. Well then, that rules out a wife… Ah, from your silence, I take it I'm right in my assumption. Is she your sister?"
"Uh, no."
"Your mother? Grandmother? An aunt? Cousin?"
"Neither of those," asserted Tobirama, struggling to keep the exasperation from leaking into his voice. He just wanted to pay for the kanzashi and leave. He took a calming breath, reminding himself to uphold a polite bearing, and said, "She's a friend of mine. It's her birthday gift. She turned sixteen two months ago but I wasn't around then." Because of his duty.
"A friend, you say?" The old lady hummed, her milk-grey eyes regarding a bewildered-looking Tobirama pensively. "Young man, I must warn you against giving her such a personal item. You'll be better off finding something else for her."
"It's just a hairpin."
The elderly merchant sat back in her squeaky chair and straightened the thick blanket on her lap with an air of a patient grandmother teaching her stubborn grandchild. "My boy, think carefully. These are women's accessories. We, ladies, use them in our daily lives to maintain and complement our appearances. The action of a man – especially an unmarried one such as yourself – presenting one to a lady carries a profound message. As if he desires her to be beautiful. I understand where your good intentions are coming from, but it'll be awful for your dear friend if gossips arise, no? You don't want to cause any misunderstandings."
"Never," Tobirama responded with firm conviction. For some reason, he felt like she'd add something along the line of 'not unless you're thinking of courting her' if she wasn't being prudent. "I apologise for my behaviour. Thank you for the advice."
He put away his money but hesitated at the kanzashi, gazing at it forlornly. The glass ball's shade of blue was what drew him to the kanzashi the first time. White flowers adorned the surface, each painted by a pair of skilful hands. The design was simple enough, something the wearer could put on every day, and it suited her taste. He reluctantly placed the kanzashi back on the table.
The old lady's gaze softened, a smile forming on her wizened face. "What does she like, this friend of yours? I might be able to direct you to one of my friends in the market who'll give you a good price."
"Really?" blurted Tobirama. "That'll be a great help. Thank you." He tried not to look too elated. He cleared his throat and stiffened. It was a voice his keen ears picked up over the market's din, calling out.
"What's the matter, boy? Are you alright?"
The old merchant was speaking, but she and the noises around him sounded as if they're coming from somewhere far away.
The voice called out again. Closer this time, and in an obnoxious sing-song manner.
Tobirama recognised his name.
He wheeled around and felt the wind knocked out of him from the force of a person bowling into him at a stampeding bull's speed. It nearly threw him off his feet, but an arm winding its way around the back of his shoulders kept him steady. Then it yanked him forward, and he found himself face to face with his loud brother.
Hashirama's tanned skin was flushed, his dark eyes half-lidded and glazed over from the effects of alcohol. "There you are, Tobirama!" he exclaimed, leaning heavily against his brother. "I've been looking all over the place for you!"
The strong pungent smell of sake in his brother's breath hit Tobirama like a tonne of bricks. He pinched his nose, stifling the urge to gag, and glowered at his brother. A drunk Hashirama was ten times louder and more annoying, and even now he's taking a long swig from the sake flask in his hand.
Tobirama would deal with him harshly if they weren't in a public space. Already, the two Senju were attracting looks and whispers from the locals, and he's conscious of the elderly merchant behind them was watching. For a moment of horror, he wondered how much Hashirama overheard their discussion, but seeing how inebriated his brother was, he relaxed.
"Get back to the inn, anija," Tobirama spoke in a low voice, shoving Hashirama in the rib. "You're making a fool out of yourself."
"But I don't wanna," whined the future head of the Senju clan.
"For once in your life," Tobirama snarled, "act like an adult. You're nineteen!"
"No."
Irritated at his brother's immature behaviour, Tobirama resorted to shaking him off his back. Hashirama hung on, latching onto his neck tighter. Stars began popping up in Tobirama's vision. He wrestled against the chokehold, desperately yanking at his brother's arms. His patience had already shattered. "Get off! Get off me – NOW!"
"How could you?" Hashirama howled, real tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm your brother! I would die for you!"
Tobirama snapped back, "Shut up!"
"Oooi, Hashirama!"
"Don't go running ahead of us, damn it!"
"Is that Tobirama with him?"
The two brothers stopped in mid-quarrel and turned around in unison. Hashirama lost his grips on Tobirama during the abrupt movement and fell onto the ground with a loud crash.
Tobirama stared at the approaching entourage with incredulity. Three of their friends – Makoto, Tousuke and Akira – were sauntering up to them, flanked by a flock of local girls. Together with Tobirama and Hashirama, the five of them were roughly around the same ages, and they'd been training together since very young.
The group came to a halt before the brothers.
Tobirama ignored the way the girls were eyeing him like a wonderful specimen.
"What? Have you been here all this while, Tobirama?" Akira remarked with a chuckle. "Are you on your own?"
"I was," Tobirama bit out, his snarky comment falling on deaf fears.
"We lost sight of Hashirama some time ago," said Makoto, rubbing the back of his head, "when we were watching a street performance and thought he might have gone back for more drinks. We were about to look over there. But then we heard a commotion and saw he's here –"
"— or rather, down there," Tousuke interrupted, pointing at the haphazard shape by Tobirama's feet, and all three of them burst into hysterics.
The girls joined in, giggling behind their hands, their shoulders trembling with mirth. It was then Tobirama noticed the quiet kunoichi lingering a few paces behind the group.
Touka's expression was a perfect blend of how-did-I-get-myself-into-this-mess and weariness stemming from annoyance acting as the boys' chaperone. If it weren't for her brother, Tousuke, she wouldn't be needed here. She rolled her eyes, heaving a sigh at the same time, and mouthed 'bunch of idiots' to Tobirama.
Tobirama probed around for their kindreds' chakras and found them scattered about. The party seemed to have spilled out into the market. Some were still at the inn. He could only pray that the evening ended peacefully.
"We're going to head back to the festival," said Akira, after everyone had calmed down. "Want to join us? There's a firework display at midnight."
"No thanks. I'll pass."
"But you must!" Makoto insisted. "Or you'll miss out on all the fun."
"And the pretty ladies!" Touka's brother chimed in again and drew two girls into his arms, causing them to blush and giggle. Touka rolled her eyes again.
Tobirama furrowed his brows into a scowl. "Do I need to remind you the proper way to conduct yourselves?" he said in a disapproving tone, looking in turn at each of his friends' faces, red from the alcohol. "You're warriors from the Senju clan. Have some self-respect."
"Oh, come on! It's only for one night. 'Gotta loosen up after all that fighting, you know?"
Murmurs of assents rose from the group.
"Are we not your type, Senju-san?" a plucky one amongst the local girls piped up.
"That is not –"
"Tobirama's type?" Hashirama rose to his feet with such fluidity, one could be fooled to think he hadn't been drinking at all. He perched his elbow casually on his brother's shoulder, ignoring the warning look he's receiving. "That's easy, miss. That girl is kind, diligent and witty," he ticked them off on his hand like a list, "has a very fair complexion, hair the colour –"
Tobirama grabbed the offending hand hanging from his shoulder, and dug his fingers into the targeted pressure points. He coolly addressed his friends while keeping a strong and steady grip on his flailing brother, "Don't do anything foolish that you'll come to regret later. Understand? Or I'll skin all of you alive."
He released Hashirama's hand without remorse and stalked away.
"Oh my, that was scary!" a girl gasped, as the group watched people jumping away from Tobirama's path. "What a frightening man – Ah! No offense to you, Hashirama-sama. He's your younger brother, isn't he?"
"That's alright," Hashirama grinned through the pain, massaging his poor hand. "Tobirama's not all that bad once you get to know him better." The urge to defend his little brother was instinctual. His pride, perhaps not as much. The alcohol was muddling Hashirama's ability to think rationally. "Say now, do you girls want to hear a funny story about Tobirama when he was a baby?"
The group erupted with a resounding "Yes!".
Hashirama in the lead, launching his tale with a rakugoka's flair, the jolly group started heading back to the festival.
Trailing behind them, Touka shook her head. "Boys."
…
Sat on a rock, Tobirama wrapped his cloak around his body to fend off the bitter wind blowing from the north. It was colder here, out in the open by the sea. His neck was particularly vulnerable, but there's no way he'd return to the village in his current bad mood.
His eyes wandered about the sandy beach. He's the only soul around as far as he could see. To his far left, the looming silhouettes of merchant ships moored at the harbour were rocking gently in the wind. He'd planned on investigating them after checking out the market. A little sight-seeing.
'So much for planning,' Tobirama sighed glumly and leaned back on his hands to gaze upwards.
The distant sounds from the festival hummed in the chilly air. Tobirama focused on the sound of waves as they rolled ashore, colliding into rocks, and retreated back out towards the wide expanse of water. The grass around him rustled. A few wisps of clouds hung in the night sky. The moon was full tonight, casting an ethereal silver light onto the sea and beach, the white sands seemed to sparkle like the stars above.
On an empty beach, this place was like heaven and Tobirama was gradually lulled into a tranquil state. He pulled out an envelope from under his cloak. His name was scrawled neatly down the front in black ink.
Letters were great morale boosters and thus encouraged between the frontline and home. The only frustrating downside was the unpredictable waiting time. It couldn't be helped. Couriers were risking their lives, often walking into a warzone, if not tracking their movements across the lands to deliver their letters. It's understandably not an easy job. Summons were saved for information sensitive letters and packages, while ordinary birds were rarely utilised as they could be intercepted.
Tobirama slipped the contents of the envelope and carefully unfolded each of the three papers on his lap. Despite his best efforts, they'd crumpled under his armour on his travels, but the letter was still legible with some persistence. The last wrinkles flattened out, he gripped the edges of the papers tightly for fear of the wind.
The letter dated back to October, written on her birthday to be exact. He kept her old letters collected over the past months, sealed away in an unmarked scroll only he knew of and had sole access. There's no way he'd risk his brother finding it, or anyone else for that matter. The teases and knowing looks from his friends were bad enough. Add to his misery, the messengers had to be insufferable with their smirks when they came to hand his letters. Every. Single. Time.
'Can't a guy and a girl exchange letters without all that… that – that piffle involved?' seethed Tobirama, thinking back to the kanzashi at the market. Why complicate things? Or was it because – as the elderly merchant had said – he's unmarried?
He forced himself to focus on the letter in his hands. The words were imprinted in his memory deeply, he could predict what the next passage would say before his eyes were able to catch up. But he took his time, feeling more at ease reading at this casual pace. Her penmanship was far better than his. It hadn't always been this way, of course. When she'd first started out writing to him – the first one received years ago came as a pleasant shock – the letters were short, barely covering half a page, awkwardly structured, and straight to the point. Simple and repetitive, but heartfelt words all the same: How are you doing? I hope you're alright, and Please look after yourself.
Nowadays she'd grown creative with words, adding a touch of her humour and sarcasm. Her letters could spread over four papers, sometimes longer, but they wouldn't bother Tobirama. On quiet nights whilst the camp's immersed in a deep slumber, he liked revisiting them to take his mind off the things of war. Those nights were often accompanied by a bittersweet sense of homesickness.
The autumn leaves are changing early this year. I can't wait to see the colours at their peak. The way the valley looks in autumn each year, its beauty is almost surreal. As if it has jumped straight out of a master's painting – and the bamboo grove makes an outstanding contrast. Isn't it extraordinary that bamboos remain green? I know there are species of trees out there that don't shed their leaves either, but there's something mysterious about the bamboos. I can't explain it… but I feel like they're telling us, humans, to persevere. What are your thoughts?
Tobirama folded up the letter, slipped it back under his armour and stood up from the rock.
The sand under his feet dipped as he made his way down to the shoreline, careful not to put too much weight. He paused where the ground was more solid. The breeze danced in his hair, and his cloak billowed around him. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring pensively into the horizon where the sea and sky met.
'… I feel like they're telling us, humans, to persevere.'
He wouldn't rest until he found a suitable gift, Tobirama resolved to himself. After this unplanned stop, the plan was to resume the journey back to the Land of Fire with fewer breaks and evade civilian areas completely. There's no telling what he'd stumble upon in the wilderness, and that's not a risk he's willing to take. There must be something in the market he'd overlooked.
As he racked his brain, his wandering gaze fell on a tiny shell at his feet. He picked it up between his thumb and index finger. The shell was empty. Looking around, there were more scattered about the beach. An idea formed inside his head.
A shrill whistle shattered the stillness of the night an uncertain amount of time later, and a burst of green sparks exploded over the seaside village to an echo of cheers.
The fireworks had started.
It's midnight, and Tobirama must return to his clansmen. The curfew was relaxed tonight but only for so long. He bounced the drawstring pouch experimentally in his hand, his lips curving at the satisfying weight. He nodded to himself and started to head back to the village, feeling optimistic in a while.
Tobirama woke up hours later, his legs tangled in the duvet and a splitting headache. Every fibre of his being screamed in protest, just sitting up took a strenuous effort. He cradled his forehead in agony, eyes scrunched shut. The ache throbbed at the tiniest sounds as if someone was stabbing his skull relentlessly with a pike. There were movements around him and a jumble of voices he'd hear through the cloud of pain and confusion.
The clatter of a door being pushed open jarred his delicate head, causing him to wince. "Breakfast is ready, guys," a male's voice called. "Get ready quick. We're leaving in twenty minutes."
Sounds of approval went around the room – at least that's what it must be. Feet shuffled across the tatami, a door closed, then all was quiet, except for the muffled voices coming from behind the walls.
Tobirama groggily lifted his head and took in the guestroom he shared with eight others, their futons had been crammed into every inch of space available. The faintest light of dawn poured through an opened window, through which a delectable smell was drifting into the room from the kitchen downstairs. His stomach gave an audible growl.
He peeled the duvet off him and stumbled to his feet, barely registering the fact he'd went to sleep in his day clothes. The space on his right was bare. Hashirama's pack and armours were stacked against the wall beside his own.
'Downstairs,' he guessed, plodding over to the door.
Tobirama was starving. But first things first, he needed to freshen up. He delicately picked his way along an empty corridor with lumbering steps, bracing against the wall for support. He couldn't figure out why he's feeling awful, or why he had no memories of returning to the inn.
The men's bath was two doors down, and he dragged himself over to the wooden tubs. He filled one with water from a barrel and washed his face. He gritted his teeth together. A few splashes of the freezing cold water later, he felt more awake. He patted his face dry with a fresh towel the inn provided.
There's no time for a bath. Besides, he already had a long luxurious one yesterday after checking-in at the inn. He could tolerate living without a bath for the next four days.
He grabbed a mirror from the shelf and stared.
An equally nonplussed boy in his late teen with red eyes and dishevelled silver hair gazed back.
Tobirama brushed a finger along his – their – left cheek, watching intently, as it passed over the streak running from their jawline to a point below their eyes; his chin and other cheek were also marked. He lowered his finger from his face and didn't find a smudge of red.
He propped up the mirror beside his wooden tub. He washed his face thoroughly, dried his face on the towel, and checked his reflection. Still there. He washed again, dried and glanced at the mirror. Still there.
He repeated the process for the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time, rubbing the towel over his entire face until his skin was chafed raw.
Still there.
'No, no, no. No! This can't be. What – how could this have happened?' Tobirama stared into the mirror, dumbfounded, as water dripped down his chin to soak the front of his kosode. The red markings remained flawlessly intact despite the abuse he'd inflicted on his face.
What happened after he'd left the beach? All he'd remember was bumping into Hashirama and his friends at the festival. There'd been a building behind them. A bar, was it? What happened next? His memory was fuzzy, and thinking was giving him another blasted headache.
"Oh boy, something smells good!" the chirpy voice of Touka's brother came from outside the men's bath. "I'm starving like crazy. I hope there's plenty of meat and – woah!"
Tobirama shut the bathroom behind him and rounded on Tousuke, grabbing a fistful of his kosode. He yanked his friend forward until their noses were almost touching. "What happened last night at the bar? You were there too. Why do I look like 'this' the way I wasn't yesterday? Talk!" he barked when Tousuke hesitated.
Tousuke put his hands up as if they could protect him from Tobirama's murderous aura. "Okay! Okay! Easy, Tobirama. I'll talk!" Tobirama loosened his grips but didn't let him go. He narrowed his eyes, a non-verbal gesture coercing him to spill. Tousuke swallowed a nervous breath, his mouth dry. "Right. Eh, umm – Hashirama started a drinking game. The rule was the loser had to down an entire bottle of sake in one go at each round. You and your brother betted over something I can't remember, but I think it's –"
"Cut to the chase!"
Tousuke squeaked, "You lost! Three times –"
A grimace passed over Tobirama's features.
"—and passed out. Hashirama carried you over to the house of a tattooist he met at the bar. And then, uh, then –"
Tobirama released Tousuke and marched out of the men's bath. He didn't have to stay and hear the rest to know how it's going to end.
He descended a flight of stairs and came to another corridor on the ground floor. Hashirama stood at one end, his back to him. He seemed to be in high spirits, talking animatedly to their acting commander. Naomoto was the brothers' first cousin once removed, and served their father as his right-hand man. Since he's older, the brothers called him uncle for simplicity's sake.
Over Hashirama's shoulder, Naomoto noticed Tobirama striding towards them with resolve. A storm was brewing beneath a façade. "I don't know what you did, Hashirama," he calmly said, "but I suggest you better run."
Hashirama took one glance at his brother and legged it towards the exit behind his uncle. Tobirama gave chase.
Naomoto followed the boys at a normal pace to the porch. He watched the brothers running barefooted past their tethered horses and into the forest behind the inn. A jet of water burst through the canopies, and a yelp could be heard echoing throughout the village.
Naomoto shook his head in disbelief. 'What a way to start a day.'
As each passing day brought them closer to home, a giddy atmosphere had swept through the Senju warriors, building up as they journeyed through the Land of Fire.
Only one of them couldn't join in the jolly mood.
Everyone's keeping a safe distance.
Hashirama had to be physically restrained from coming too close to the designated hazard zone. He'd been apologising non-stop and throwing kicked-puppy looks at his stony-faced brother since leaving the seaside village.
On the fourth day of travelling, the excitement had leaked through the travel-and-battle-weary features. Their long journey was finally coming to an end, and it's as if an invisible lid on was taken off. Talks of families sprung up. A handful of new parents were about to meet their children for the first time. There were friends to catch up with, relatives to visit, and home-cooked meals to feast on. When night had fallen and everyone was gathered around the crackling fires, singing songs and joking aloud, even Tobirama was starting to look forward to the prospect of home.
It was past noon the next day when they reached the gate of the Senju's village.
The soldiers assembled at an empty training ground in an immaculate formation, standing at attention in front of Naomoto. Hashirama and Tobirama stood at a respectful distance behind him, facing their men.
As their uncle gave thanks, Tobirama studied his brother out of the corner of his eyes. From age fourteen, Hashirama was the possessor of the famed Wood Style; no records showed any Senju predecessors possessed the Wood Style or remotely similar techniques, making it the first and only Kekkei Genkai of its kind in the shinobi world. And with his unique healing abilities, Hashirama had been turning the tides in the Senju's favour. Soon his brother would stand in the same spot as their uncle was right now, to represent the head of the Senju clan in the battlefields.
And as for him?
Tobirama tuned back to the present just as Naomoto ended his rousing speech. The troops were dismissed.
Naomoto looked over his shoulder. "Let's go, boys. It's time to meet your father."
…
Tobirama fixed a tenacious gaze at a random point behind his father's shoulder, pointedly ignoring his perplexed stare. He saw him glancing over to his right, at a nervously smiling Hashirama. Whatever happened between the brothers would be a topic for dinner, their father's expression told.
"You're looking on the thin side, Butsuma. Have you been eating at all?" Naomoto asked in good-humour. Now that they're back, he didn't need to be all solemn and tense in the privacy of the clan head's study. As before, Tobirama and Hashirama had positioned themselves behind him while he sat in the middle of the tight triangle facing the clan head.
"I appreciate the concern. But I can assure you my appetite is the same as always," Butsuma replied, evenly.
Hashirama frowned but didn't make any comments.
Tobirama took careful note of the exchange. Their father fell seriously ill last month, and Hashirama was summoned back to the valley to assume some of his responsibilities while he rested. From what Tobirama was told their father made a full recovery from the flu within two weeks before resuming his duty.
Butsuma spread out his hand. "You know how it's like dealing with the daimyo, meeting delegates, and all that. There's also worry over our winter food reserves. The usual stuff."
"Alright," Naomoto sighed, submitting to his cousin's hard-headedness. That trait of his seemed to have passed onto the second son. He cleared his throat and adopted a serious demeanour. "Shall we commence our meeting?"
"Of course."
Half an hour later, Naomoto had gone back to his own home.
Butsuma shifted on his bottom, crossing his legs and folding his arms across his chest. He looked more comfortable, his shoulders less stiff and the wrinkles on his aged face less pronounced, now that the formal business had been taken care of. He took a long look at his two sons. "Welcome back. How was the journey?" he directed his question at his second.
"It was fine," replied Tobirama, perhaps too swiftly. "We didn't expect to stop at a civilian settlement, but the village chief – Jiro-san – was generous."
His father had been briefed on the impromptu stay at the seaside village in the Land of Hot Waters. So Tobirama didn't expound beyond what his uncle disclosed, and specifically left out the bit involving passing out drunk and sleeping through the whole tattooing procedure. Tousuke claimed the tattooist had used topical anaesthesia on him beforehand. It'd explain how Tobirama wasn't aware of it all, but it didn't leave him feeling any less humiliated.
Though his father didn't pry, Tobirama was sure he couldn't dodge the awkward questionings later.
"Chichi-ue, how's your body?" Hashirama suddenly asked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "What Nao-oji said –"
Butsuma cut him off with an audible click of his tongue. He waved a hand in front of his face as though his eldest's question was a fly to shoo away. "Enough. Stop pestering me about it. I've told you I'm fine, alright?" he scowled, but there's a touch of softness in his tone suggesting he wasn't really as annoyed as he's pretending to be. "Now the two of you look like you're in need of a bath – goodness knows, I can smell you from here. You're free to do whatever you want for the rest of the day. But starting tomorrow, I'm going to keep the two of you busy."
The brothers exchanged a look. Tobirama lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug.
"We understand, chichi-ue," Hashirama caved in.
Relief briefly seeped into their father's features. "Good. There is, however, a matter that requires my attention. For that, I need your help," he said, glancing over Tobirama.
…
It's nice to walk around without the cumbersome bulk of their armours and weapons strapped to their bodies, and the feel of their casual clothes against their skin was luxurious after months of wearing the same all-black attire. Not that they weren't washed or anything, for obvious hygiene reasons. They hardly had the time to spare on laundry when a shinobi's out in the battlefields.
Tobirama would've like to spend the whole day – preferably the entire winter – soaked in a yuzu-scented hot bath. Alas, there were only a few hours of daylight left, and aside from his assignment, the brothers had made plans.
After dropping off the dirty laundry at their house and notifying their father, the brothers made their way to the gate together. A solemn silence fell between them, their paces unhurried. Tobirama held incense sticks, and Hashirama carried a bunch of flowers from their garden.
Outside the village, the winter sun bathed the clan's cemetery. It sat at the base of the mountain where the clan's shrine was located, the surrounding forest in different stages of shedding their leaves. Some trees stood completely bare, while a stubborn handful of them clung to their last foliage left from autumn. The brothers silently passed through the rows of graves of their clansmen – people they knew, people they've never met – and halted in front of a headstone. Its elaborate design set it apart from the rest, except for the few belonging to deceased members of the main branch of the Senju.
Hashirama, the eldest, lit the first incense stick. Tobirama would join his in the incense holder moments later. Someone had come by before them, their incense stick long burnt out and left a vase of flowers, their delicate red petals still fresh and fragrant, identical to the ones Hashirama had picked.
Sasanqua, a flower their mother loved.
Tobirama took a step back at the same time his brother moved forward cradling the bouquet of sasanqua in his arms.
'Chichi-ue must have visited this morning,' thought Tobirama, taking a step back at the same time a sullen Hashirama came forward cradling the bouquet of sasanqua in his arms.
After laying down their flowers beside the vase, the brothers lowered themselves in front of their mother's grave and offered prayers. She'd passed away in the summer, days after the first anniversary of the deaths of Itama and Kawarama, surrounded by her remaining family. The memory of her last moments surfaced in Tobirama's mind as the heady scent of smouldering incense wafted of his face. The encouraging smiles she'd given them, the serene look on her face as she took her final breath before slipping away from the mortal world. Even at death's door, his mother was strong in faith and spirit.
Tobirama and Hashirama continued their ritual onto their late brothers' graves next. Itama and Kawarama were buried in the cemetery devoted to fallen shinobi who'd died in service to their clan. Their bodies, however, were kept apart by two separate battles. They found sasanquas and incense sticks at their brothers' graves, offerings from their father. The surviving brothers added theirs, placing them next to his, as they did at their mother's grave.
As Hashirama lit his incense stick for Itama's, Tobirama glanced around the vast cemetery. His heart clenched.
Rows after rows of graves.
He counted fifteen new headstones had been added since he last came, for those who'd perished in the recent battles. Unbidden memories of recovering their bodies from ravaged battlefields played through his mind.
Tobirama willed those images away. Conscious of Hashirama, he kept his composure in check when it's his turn to light his incense stick. At the end of his prayer, he looked to his right, wondering if his brother's done.
Hashirama's eyes were opened, a pair of coals that'd been set ablaze in a swordsmith's furnace. They stared ahead with such penetrating glare, at something beyond Itama's headstone. At something only they'd see. Something distant and perhaps unreachable.
.…
"This looks like a good place to part," said Hashirama, coming to a stop where the footpath split into two. The paths ran in opposite directions, stretching through the bamboo grove as far as the eyes could see.
Tobirama nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry I can't come with you."
They're supposed to visit the families of their deceased clansmen to pay their respects together. Tobirama understood the importance of his task, but he still felt bad for letting his brother go alone and not being there to support him. It wouldn't be easy. It never was.
Hashirama wheeled around, his waist-long hair twirling with him. He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "Don't worry about it, Tobirama," he smiled. "I'm sure they won't take it personally. They'll understand once I explain, and I'll tell them you'll drop by when you have the chance. You go and take care of chichi-ue's important business."
"Thanks… anija."
Hashirama's grin broadened. He reached out and patted Tobirama on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "No sweat! We're brothers. And brothers have each other's back. But you know," his voice lowered and took on a conspiratorial note, "I'll accept your gratitude more if you –"
"Not in a million years," Tobirama scoffed.
The tattoos weren't permanent per se, and Tobirama knew he's partially at fault for getting himself drunk in the first place. That didn't mean Hashirama was forgiven. It's only fair he had his fun.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Tobirama's lips. Raising a hand over his shoulder, he started down his path and called out to his brother standing miserably at the fork, "See you later."
The path, one of the several winding trails, weaved around the bamboos like a snake. Finally alone with his thoughts, Tobirama reflected on the expression Hashirama wore back at Itama's grave. He couldn't shake off the feeling a vow was made; Hashirama was the type of person who'd stop at nothing to achieve his goals. There's something about the look in his eyes that unnerved him. It's one of those rare moments where he wouldn't dare think of crossing Hashirama.
The air stirred, and a chorus of rustling bamboo leaves swelled with the wind.
Tobirama snapped out of his reverie. He shook his head and slowed down his strides until he's walking at a calmer pace. Leaves danced around him as they sank towards the earth. It'd be easy to forget about the winter season, walking amongst the towering green bamboos, if not for the chill in the air. It wasn't unpleasantly cold like the winds of the seaside village, but Tobirama felt more comfortable with his haori pulled over his chest. For good measure, he crossed his arms on top to keep the fold in place.
Bamboos eventually gave way to deciduous trees.
The ground rose and fell like the steady breaths leaving Tobirama's chest. At one point, he stepped out of the path and carried on moving confidently deep into the forest. He'd walked back and forth through this part countless times over the years, he didn't need to sense their chakra to adjust his course. He knew he's close when the ground levelled and the forest began to thin.
A faint thump drifted through the trees. The sound, or rather sounds, went on intermittently with pauses in between lasting from a few seconds to a minute at most before restarting again.
Tobirama emerged into a clearing where a large house stood, basking in the warm sunlight. He treaded along the wall and stopped at a certain point. The sounds – of wood being hit by something sharp and heavy, likely an axe – were coming from the other side. He sensed a second presence inside the house.
He gazed up at the old stonework contemplatively, lips pursed and brows drawn. The chakra behind this wall was so different from his blood relatives, and yet so intimately familiar as his brother and father were to him. It caused his heart to trill for some reason.
Tobirama turned away from the wall and headed towards the main entrance. At the west side of the yard, he found her labouring over a pile of logs meant for firewood. Her forearms were exposed, a tasuki holding back the sleeves of her kosode while she worked. Her amber hair was pulled into a ponytail and hung down the back of her neck, giving a sideview of a freckled face pinched in strain and utmost concentration as she swung her axe down on the log beneath her.
It went halfway through. A trickle of sweat rolled down her cheek. With a grunt, she raised the axe again.
Tobirama stood a few feet behind in awkward silence, staring at her figure with uncertainty.
There was a resounding snap as the final bits of the log split cleanly in half.
An image of an axe swinging towards his neck flashed in his mind, and he threw the idea of tapping her shoulder out the window. Okay. Perhaps his imagination was overreaching a bit, but he couldn't eliminate the possibility of her getting startled and reacting on reflex.
A heavy sigh of relief penetrated through his thoughts.
Tobirama hung back, waited to make sure she's taking a break before he crept forward. The axe was embedded in the chopping block, a thicker log derived from a tree trunk, and she's leaning against it, panting in exhaustion.
"Aoi."
There was an audible pause in her harsh breathing.
Slowly, Aoi turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and for several moments she seemed to question reality. Her face was scarlet and glistened with sweat. She brushed away the stray strands of hair from her eyes and stared at him speechlessly, clutching her hands to her chest.
With a jolt of mortification, Tobirama suddenly remembered the state of his appearance, A.K.A. the stupid tattoos, and mentally cursed. He was about to say something when she emitted a happy cry.
"Tobirama!" Aoi walked up to him, a wide smile blossoming on her face. "You're home!"
He'd been hearing her voice through her letters, and now he basked in the familiar warmth of her presence. After eight long months of fighting, fighting, and being constantly on his guard, he had returned to his birthplace to his father and clansmen.
And to Aoi, he could finally say it.
"I'm back."
I might as well say I'm back too with another update after a long absence. 2019 didn't start off easy for me. Last month, my grandfather had passed away. Before, he was admitted to the hospital since the beginning of January for a condition he had for three years. I may be at peace knowing he's no longer suffering in pain, but there's a part of me that's still coming to term with his death. And I would like to personally thank Mandy Faria for your words of encouragement.
Thank you all for following Hollyhock. I hope you have enjoyed Chapter 11. I know there's not a lot of action going on - it's the start of another story arc. This one I've been looking forward to for a long time: Awkward teenage moments, anyone?
Also I know some of you might be asking 'Tobirama is a minor! That's underage drinking! Isn't that illegal?' Japan doesn't have a law prohibiting underage drinking until 1922 according to an article on Tofugu. Modern Japan allows the purchasing and consumption of alcohol if you're aged 20 or over. 20 is also the age when a person is considered an adult there. Before 2014, it was apparently lower at 16. I would think the Warring States Period in Narutoverse was a lawless time before the establishment of Hidden Villages. I mean, if a 7 year old is deemed an adult because he can fight in wars? It's pretty messed up.
But please if you're a minor, no matter where you are because you're bound by that state's or country's laws, please don't do underage drinking.
A big thank you to everyone. If you have any questions, feedback or comments, as usual drop me a message or review. Please look forward to the next chapter!
Character age list (as of Chapter 11):
Aoi - 16
Tobirama -17
Hashirama - 19
