I feel like a broken record by this point, but I do hope that I may be forgiven for the abysmally long time since my last update. Drama has been piling up and piling up for the past...well, it seems like forever. My classes seemed hell-bent on taking my brain out and sending it through a meat grinder; I've been working on my first original novel and am still nowhere near the point where I can publish it, several months later; the landlord at my previous residence proved to be a grade-A moron and this led to a somewhat-expected move a few blocks away, and it's only just now reaching the point that it feels like home.

My mind has been continuously going in sixteen directions at once lately, and sitting down to write these works of fanfiction has been obscenely difficult. All this said, however, I think that I've finally hit on something that works, and while it's certainly true that this story arc has been taking a long time, it's finally nearing conclusion. I hope you will continue to be patient with me. With luck, and continued support, I hope to conquer this case of writer's block and finally hit on a proper flow again.

I'm so sorry to have taken six months to update; I never meant for things to get this far out of hand. But I hope that you will find this satisfactory.

Thank you all for putting up with me.



"He was…crucified. In front of his own son."

Tazuna had his eyes closed, and Tsunami had her head down. Both looked as though they were mourners at the fisherman's funeral, praying for the safety of the man who had become a hero; the linchpin of their village's morale. As he listened to a story that sounded uncomfortably familiar (it sounded like something that wouldn't have been out of place in his former homeland), Gaara realized that this Gatou was at least passably intelligent. He didn't like praising the man; he sounded like just another bullying child looking for insects to crush beneath his shoe.

But killing Kaiza, no matter what one could say, had been a sound, and logical, tactic.

While crass, and heartless, it had worked.

This village had lost its collective will to fight, and all Gatou had had to do was take out one crucial element. Strike at the cornerstone, topple the structure. It was just that simple. In Gatou's position, Gaara would have done no differently. The red-haired genin liked to think that he would never be in Gatou's position, but he was a soldier. A battlefield was no time to be thinking about such moral pleasantries.

Still, he was tactful enough to keep these thoughts silent.

"After Kaiza…nobody tried to fight anymore," Tazuna said. "He'd proven his damned point, and the people listened. Most of them. I got a few…pitifully few, by now, to stand up and keep on in his memory, but…it's not working. I need to be honest with myself. It's just not working."

Kakashi let out a heavy breath and leaned back in his chair. "And so, you called us."

Tazuna nodded. "Gatou has ninja in his service. You've seen them. I thought the only way we could really stand a chance at driving the bastard out of our home would be to…play his game. Bring in ninja of our own. But of course, we're so dirt poor around here that there was no chance at affording the kind of muscle we needed." The old man looked up, and he actually offered a small smile as he nodded in Hinata's direction. "At least, that's what I thought. Who knows? Maybe this will work out, after all. Your…men, pardon the expression, are better than I gave them credit for."

Kakashi chuckled. "They're better than anyone gave them credit for, and that includes me, and themselves." Naruto flashed a toothy grin, Hinata blushed, and Gaara made no visible reaction. He wondered why his commander was paying them so many compliments. Was it as simple as their being more adept than he'd anticipated? Or maybe it was simple tact. Perhaps he was doing it as an act of diplomacy. Naruto and Hinata, neither of whom were used to being noticed for their accomplishments, reacted quite well to it. Hinata, especially, with her distinct lack of general self-esteem, needed the attention.

And Gaara…well, he had to be honest with himself. He was unbalanced.

He could feel it within him, that cold psychosis coiling in his gut. Such reinforcement of positive qualities…well, perhaps it helped. Gaara wasn't sure. He appreciated the sentiment, if nothing else. He wondered, though, just how honest it was. But, he supposed that if it had a positive effect (and judging by his teammates, it did), then honesty didn't matter very much. In a world made up of lies, the white ones were not only accepted, but expected.

Considering Kakashi's track record with students (that is, he'd had none until them), Gaara had to think that his lavish praise was purely functional. He wasn't lying, per se, but he pointed it out so often strictly to keep them psychologically sound, to keep them in high spirits, and properly motivated, until he could get them home and regroup. Gaara supposed he couldn't blame him; Kakashi had been saddled with a very unbalanced squad, generally speaking, and the current situation was doing the exact opposite of helping.

"So," Kakashi continued, noting that Gaara was looking at him but not commenting on it, "this was an act of desperation on your part. The odds are not in our favor, I hope you know. We do not know just how many soldiers he has in his service, and if he still has men of Momochi Zabuza's caliber waiting on the sidelines, we may be in for a…problem."

"Do you think that likely?" Gaara asked.

"I wouldn't bother guessing. Best to assume he does. He has the funding."

"Awesome," Naruto muttered.

"It seems that Gatou has a particular fondness for psychological tactics," Kakashi said. "Terrorism. That is...fortunate. Shinobi are taught to disregard such things. You three," he said to his team, "were taught by Iruka, so you weren't taught to think like weapons. He is…not very fond of that theology. I am not certain that I blame him. That is, perhaps, a disadvantage. But it can be overcome."

In the ensuing silence, Tsunami finally spoke.

She said, haltingly, "Do you think…getting rid of Gatou…do you think it might help Inari…? Maybe he'll get better…?"

Kakashi looked thoughtful. He didn't answer immediately.

"It's a first step," Gaara said, when the silence went on for a few seconds. "I will say this: so long as Gatou is a threat, he will not recover. He will not want to recover. This is a defense mechanism. A…familiar one, personally speaking. I would venture to think that he is angry with Kaiza for abandoning him. However, he feels guilty for this anger; and confused, because the guilt does not banish the anger."

Naruto raised an eyebrow. "Don't sound to me like Kaiza abandoned anybody."

"Of course not," Gaara said, waving a dismissive hand. "It is not a logical conclusion. That does not mean it doesn't exist. Inari is young. Younger than we, far younger if we're speaking in terms of emotional development. He does not fully understand just what has happened here. He is still egocentric. All the world is here, in this village. And if Kaiza, his idol, his hero, has been defeated…then there is no chance for anybody. Heroes no longer exist to him."

"So if he's gonna feel better," Naruto concluded, "then he's gonna have to find out that they do. That's why Gatou has to bite it. He's the bad guy. The villain."

"Basically, yes," Gaara said.

Kakashi was nodding. "They speak truth, Tsunami. This is our part. If the focus is to be on raising the morale of the village, and your son specifically, then dealing with Gatou is our part of the equation. Tazuna, your part is to continue working on the bridge. If you stop, for any reason, the village, and Inari, will view it as the final nail in the coffin. Tsunami…you have a job as well. I think you know this. You cannot let your son see that this ordeal wears upon you, as well. As his mother, you were, and are, his foremost emotional attachment, and that must remain strong. You must remain strong. He has lost one parent. He cannot lose the other, to anything."

Tsunami nodded. "Of course. I understand."

"I know that you do. Keep it well in mind."

Naruto shot to his feet. "All righty, then!" he declared.

"…Naruto-kun?" Hinata ventured, speaking for the first time in a long while.

The blond winked. "If Inari don't believe in heroes anymore, then we just gotta show him!"

"Let me guess," Gaara said, smiling faintly, "you will be the one to prove it to him. You will be the hero of this story."

"Naturally!"

Hinata smiled now, as well. Kakashi looked amused.

Tazuna crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Tsunami looked halfway between exasperated and hopeful. Naruto had that general effect on people. He seemed to thrive on it. As he straightened his jacket, he winked, and headed for the door.

"Heroes need to train much more diligently than those of us who are merely mortal," Gaara noted.

"Damn skippy!" Naruto called back.


When the master is sleeping, the servant must be diligent.

When the master is vulnerable, the servant becomes the bodyguard. Wherever the master has a weakness, the servant becomes his armor. This Haku had been taught, and upon this Haku thrived. He rose early, before the sun. No sound came from Zabuza-sama; he still rested. This was good.

The young hunter stretched, drew in a deep breath of pre-dawn air, and rose to his feet. He elected to wear his pink, flower-print kimono today; always utilize the advantage. He looked like a girl, and so it was better to accentuate the fact than detract from it; to be more subtle would ruin the illusion. Surely no male, no hot-blooded young man, would be caught dead in such a ridiculously feminine outfit.

Hence, he must be female. Ergo, he must be harmless.

Male chauvanism...such a convenient idea.

It would be a headache to convince his master, but Haku nonetheless decided that it was best to be prepared; after brushing his long black hair, he left their hideaway and headed off to find the proper herbs with which to make a particular tea that would help in Zabuza-sama's physical recovery.

He held no honest hope that he would be able to convince Zabuza-sama to indulge in such a drink; the Demon of the Mist held fast to the theory that sheer willpower would see him through any sickness or injury, and that to use anything but that willpower was a crutch.

Zabuza-sama had no interest in crutches.

As Haku made his way through the mist and trees that encapsulated the land, he thought that it was a shame to have branded such a place as a battlefield. It was beautiful, in its own way, and bloodshed seemed a sacrilege. But, then, Haku had no leg on which to stand when it came to such things. Was he not inherently, and irrevocably, blasphemous himself?

After all, he had sold his soul to the devil. Hadn't he?

Such dark thoughts did not behoove the innocent, farmer's-daughter's face that Haku wore right now, and he found that suitably ironic. He made sure to work his mask into a pleasant smile, because that was what farmer's daughters should wear, especially while on an early-morning stroll.

He began to hum a soft, tuneless little melody as he saught his quarry, and he made sure to pick a flower for each herb, so as to hide his true motive. Was anyone likely to see him out here? No. On the off-chance that someone did see him out here, would that someone think to look into his basket to see what he was collecting? No. If that someone did think to look into his basket, would they see anything but random plants? No.

But, Haku was nothing if not studiously cautious. So he had been taught, and upon such he thrived.

Excuses did no good against the fury of a man like Zabuza-sama. Haku was his only student, the only subordinate he trusted (if it could be said that Zabuza-sama trusted anyone), and it was precisely because of this that Haku would be quite severely punished if he happened to let any pertinent information leak to the enemy.

Haku had learned the proverbial hard way that being punished by Momochi Zabuza meant deciding between praying to live through it and praying to die during it.


He found the boy lying on his back, eyes closed and mouth open.

He looked fast asleep, but looks were naught but cursory in the world of shinobi, and Haku knew better than most that to take anything at face value was a horrendously stupid move liable to end in death. The boy's hair was blond, messy, and Haku would have been surprised to hear that a comb had been used on it in the past decade.

The boy's face was smeared with sweat and dirt. The undersides of his fingernails were all but black. His orange attire was dusty and beaten. He was, in short, a complete mess. The precise antithesis of Haku, who was meticulously, religiously clean. A part of him marveled at the fairy-tale irony of this meeting, and smiled at the thought of taking this boy home to introduce him to Mama and Papa.

Yes. Fairy tale, indeed.

Haku kneeled down beside the prone blond and contemplated his options. He knew that this was one of the Copy Ninja's students, and thus he knew that this dusty child was no idle threat. Yes, he looked young, and yes, he was young. But then, Haku was young, too. And yes, this boy looked about as dangerous as an earthworm, but...Haku looked about as dangerous as a flower arrangement.

The duality was not lost on his hunter, not at all.

It would be perhaps most efficient to snuff this threat now. It would put the rest of them on high alert, but then, Zabuza-sama would approve of that. He would find dark amusement in showing these newbies just what happened when a ninja let his—or her—guard down, and he would revel in the added challenge that would result in this warning.

Yes. Zabuza-sama would approve.

It was that fact, and only that fact, which decided the answer for Haku.

He reached down, one dainty, porcelain hand closing in on the dusty, tanned skin of the blond genin's neck. Just one firm grip, one deft twist, and it would all be over. No pain, no sound, no preamble. The act of death, reduced to simple routine.

He did not count on what happened next.

Just as Haku was preparing to end it, he felt something. What it was, he couldn't be sure, but he knew better than to misjudge intuition. He felt...heat. Blazing, furious, evil heat. He snatched his hand back and stared at his palm, expecting a burn. There was no burn, but there was the...idea of a burn. The concept of a burn. His skin tingled with the intangible pain of it.

The blond boy opened his eyes.

Haku quickly forced himself into the facsimile of a frightened jump (it wasn't as difficult as it might have been a few moments ago), and let out a girlish little cry. "Oh!" said he, and the blond looked at him. "I'm so sorry! I thought...I thought maybe you...were hurt."

The blond blinked owlishly at him, then shot forward to a sitting position. The nonchalant speed with which he made this transition betrayed his training, and Haku found himself impressed. This was...quite the unpredictable shinobi.

Haku liked unpredictable.

"Hurt?" the blond repeated, stretching and turning to face his new companion. "Nah! Not me! I'm not hurt. Just resting. Must've dozed off, I guess." He looked up at the sky. "Wow. Light out. Must've really dozed off." He turned his attention back to Haku. "Hiya!" he said suddenly, as if just realizing that he didn't know who Haku was, and that an introduction was in order.

Haku smiled. "Good morning," he said.

"What're you doing out here?" asked the blond pleasantly, as if he lived here and Haku were a visitor. The hunter let his smile widen just a bit, and contemplated what to say. This was an Enemy, pleasant or not. That meant caution was in order.

"I'm gathering herbs," Haku said, and he would wonder later at the suddenness of this decision, and curse the folly of it. "A friend of mine is injured, and I hope to heal him." Haku lifted a sprig from his basket and showed the boy, who looked at it studiously but probably couldn't tell it from a common weed.

"Medicine?" the boy wondered. "Friend of mine's real good with medicine. She'd probably know more about that stuff than me. So, so...are you going to be a doctor? Or a nurse?" Haku marveled at the idea that this was a fellow ninja, and that no more than a year—possibly two—separated their ages.

Innocence was a rare commodity, and Haku rarely encountered it anymore, even among the smallest of children. He wondered just what had warned him against killing this boy, and how it could possibly exist in someone like him.

Such malevolence seemed entirely out of character.

But then, Haku himself was no stranger to that.

His estimation of this genin rose several notches, the more he contemplated the similarities. Haku had been tempered in ice, this boy in fire. In this way, they were brothers, and if there was one thing Haku never trusted, it was family.

"I...learned that certain herbs can help with injuries and sicknesses," Haku said, putting in just the right touch of humility. "What are you doing? You look tired. Have you been running from something?"

"Me? Run? Nah!" The blond puffed out his chest and grinned, and somehow didn't look arrogant for it. "I was training! Lost track of time!" Energy seemed to live in this boy's body like a sentient being. His eyes all but glowed with it. The grin on his face was strangely infectious, and Haku found that keeping the pleasant expression on his own face didn't feel as much like a mask as usual.

This was a dangerous adversary.

"Training?" Haku echoed with an air of absolute cluelessness. He let his eyes stray to the headband marking the blond as a Leaf, and they widened. "Oh, that headband! Then you must be...! Are you a...a ninja?" Haku made sure to say this last word in little more than a whisper, made sure that he was as awestruck and worshipping as possible.

As expected, the blond seemed to grow. Yes, praise worked well on this one. Haku filed the information away for further exploration later. He did not think that pride, per se, was this boy's weakness. Rather, that his self-confidence was directly proportunate to the way others looked at him. When looked on with awe, he would become indestructible, a veritable hero for the ages. When looked on with disdain, Haku thus ascertained, he would become as vulnerable as a statue crafted from deadwood.

"Yeah-huh!" said the boy, bursting with excitement. "I'm gonna get stronger, and stronger, until I'm the greatest ninja anybody's ever seen!"

Haku manufactured a giggle. He'd heard that same ambition from Heaven only knew how many other upstarts, and Haku had personally cut more than a few of them down to size before ever coming close to their astronomical goal. The only thing that worried him was that for some inexplicable reason, this time, from this upstart...it actually sounded attainable.

This was a very dangerous adversary.

"You...already seem plenty strong to me," Haku said, and it bothered him to hear the sincerity in his own voice. "Surely you must have almost reached your goal already. I'm sure you're an amazing ninja. You must be a hero where you come from."

The boy blinked, clearly surprised, and then averted his gaze in clear embarrassment. It was only a moment, barely more than a flicker, but Haku saw it, and it told him something important: the one thing this boy was most assuredly not, in the eyes of his homeland, was a hero. That one flicker told him that, yet again, he had something in common with this genin.

Trash. Discarded, disdained, abandoned.

Yet while Haku had been taken up and remolded by Zabuza-sama, this boy had been taken by the Copy Ninja. The implications were staggering. For the first time since this mission had become what Zabuza-sama thought of as, "interesting," Haku finally understood just what he meant.

This was actually fun.

"Hero...?" the blond echoed. "Nah. Not yet, I'm not. But I will be!" The shift was instantaneous, and it nearly made him flinch. From embarrassed to uncertain to unwaveringly confident, all in the space of about three seconds. "You watch!" he told Haku, as if challenging him to say otherwise. "I'll be a hero! That's why I'm training. I'm gonna show everybody just what I'm made of, and if they think they can ignore me—ha! I'll show them!"

Haku put on the awestruck expression again, amazed at this idea. He idly wondered how many times this sermon had been delivered. Judging by the blond's excitement, this was perhaps the first time his audience had been so accommodating. But judging by the way the words fell off his tongue, this was not the first time he'd had an audience.

"You're so...determined..." Haku murmured, with just the right touch of innocent naivete. Let the smile come slowly, so slowly, creeping onto the face as if unsure of whether it wants to be there or not. Hands up, cover the mouth.

Little, girlish giggle.

The boy grinned all the wider, but there was a hint of color to his dirt-streaked cheeks now. Perhaps he wasn't quite as young as he looked, Haku thought. This was far more entertaining than it had any right to be. Haku had put on this precise act an untold number of times, but had never received quite this sort of reaction before.

Did he dare...? Could it be...?

He asked.

"Do you...have someone...that you want to protect?"

Such an odd question. Such a personal question. Had he asked it because his basket was nearly full, and he was running out of time? Had he asked it because this boy somehow caused the shields Haku had built around himself to falter?

Or had he asked it simply to find out if this could possibly be someone who understood.

The boy looked confused, and Haku felt more than a little crestfallen. But he couldn't give up just yet. He said, "Someone...special. Not just your homeland, or your neighbors, but...one person, that you want to protect. Over everyone else. Someone..."

Someone you love, he almost said. Someone you adore. Someone...you worship.

The boy mulled this over for a while, then his blue eyes widened and his grin came back.

"When you're protecting someone..." Haku murmured, almost to himself, "...that's when you truly become strong. When you understand what strength is. It gives you...power. And courage. It gives you the will to do anything."

The boy's eyes continued to widened, and eventually he was nodding.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, yeah, I...I get that. I...I do have somebody like that. I guess. And...and you're right. Yeah..."

Haku felt his heartbeat rise.

Pure adrenaline was flooding him, and he wondered if he might faint.

This...this was...radiant.

He suddenly stood, and the blond boy blinked, flinched, and one hand flew to the pouch at his waist. Oh, yes. This was perfect. This boy was...was...

He couldn't stay here.

"Then I think you really will become a hero," Haku said. "I think...if you really understand that...then everyone will know your name. I...am honored to have met you." He bowed, lifted his basket. "I am finished gathering. I must get back home. Thank you very much for your company. I appreciate it more than I can tell."

The boy hopped to his feet and dusted off his pants. "Sure! No problem! Uh...hope that medicine works...whatever it is."

Haku smiled broadly. "Thank you."

He turned away. As he began to walk, his mind slowly began to clear. His breath came more easily, and he was able to calm himself. He stopped, about ten steps dividing him and the blond shinobi. He did not turn his head, but he called out, in his normal speaking voice, "By the way...I'm a boy."

He smirked as he continued to walk, knowing without looking that the blond was now staring, slack-jawed, at his retreating back. Haku almost didn't notice that someone was close to him until the red-haired boy—one of the blond's companions—was nearly upon him.

This boy's eyes were ringed with dark, blotchy skin. They instantly locked onto Haku's own, aquamarine searing into dark, dark brown, and Haku found himself chilled. Not a comfortable, icy cold like he was used to feeling. No, this was the biting, clawing, eroding cold of a desert wind at midnight.

Dry. Merciless.

Howling.

"Gaara!" called the blond boy with such obvious familiar happiness that Haku actually flinched.

The red-haired boy turned to face his friend, and his face transformed. The smile that met his thin lips was genuine. There was no mask here. Not like Haku's smiles. There was a duality about this one, too. A frightening one.

"This place is dangerous," said Gaara, low and deep, not at all befitting his still-boyish face. "I don't pretend to know the game you're playing in that outfit...but it won't serve you here." Those light green eyes bore into Haku's very essence again, and he heard the wind in his ears again. "Something you will learn about the downtrodden, the desolate, the defeated. They won't care about your gender. To them...you'll be nothing but fresh meat."

Haku put on a clueless smile.

"Are you worried for my...purity? That's very nice of you. Chivalrous. But please, don't."

Gaara's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Haku's smile remained.

"I'm no purer than you are."


As Naruto—freshly cleaned—stepped out into the front room of Tsunami's home, still with a towel covering half of his head, he couldn't help but think that his commander looked like nothing so much as a judge presiding over an execution.

"You all are as prepared as you're going to be, in these circumstances," Kakashi said as his three students lined up in front of him. Naruto stole a glance over at the doorway leading into the dining room and saw Tsunami standing there. Inari stood behind her, watching the four ninja intently (though still with a sullen look on his face).

"Should this be taken to mean that we are going on the offensive?" Gaara asked.

"Playing defense never wins a war," Kakashi replied. "If we're going to complete this mission, then we can't sit around waiting for Gatou to make the first move. We force his hand, and force him to fight on our terms. That will give us the best chance at victory."

Inari sniffed derisively, but nobody made any reaction to it.

Naruto cracked his knuckles. "Then let's do this!"

Hinata squared her shoulders and stood up straight. She did not avert her eyes when Kakashi looked at her. Gaara drew in a deep breath and flexed his fingers.

The silver-haired jounin nodded.

"Move out."

"Since you are reapplying the gauze to your face, I assume you are satisfied with your body's performance?"

Zabuza didn't respond to his upstart protégé's words. He went through the practiced motions of covering his face, and his nerves sang as the familiar cloth wrapped over his skin. He moved slowly, methodically, almost as if in a trance. He did not need to look at Haku to know that the young missing-nin had discarded his ridiculous kimono. He was dressed for war.

When Zabuza finally finished, and did turn to look at the boy, he was surprised to see the excitement burning in the thirteen-year-old assassin's eyes. Haku's smile was genuine this time, not just a façade meant to intimidate. He wondered if he had ever seen Haku looking like this while preparing for battle. He couldn't remember it.

He was positive that he would have.

It was almost frightening.

Zabuza's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You look excited."

Haku gave one of his girly little laughs and shrugged his thin, delicate shoulders. "I suppose I am," he said lightly. There was no lie in his voice. He was being perfectly honest. He said, "I met two of...ahem...my opponents this morning. Let's just say that I'm...looking forward to meeting them again."

Zabuza was silent for a long moment.

Then, suspicion gave way to amusement. He finally understood what Haku looked like right now.

He looked like a little boy about to visit his first festival.

Zabuza laughed. "Is that right? Well, that's good. There's hope for you yet, boy."

"I most assuredly hope so." Haku bowed his head, and donned his mask.

Zabuza reached out and clutched the handle of his gargantuan sword, hefting it easily and resting it against his shoulder. All traces of positive emotion was wiped from his face as the Demon of the Mist put on his mask.

"Well, then...let's get started."


The final fight of the arc is up next, folks. Haku finally gets to show us all what he's made of.

...Not that way, perverts. Sheesh.

Anyway, this is probably the penultimate chapter for the Zabuza arc. Which, of course, means that the Chuunin Exams are up next. This, I think, is where the diversion I've set in motion will really start to show its true colors. Plus, being as how it was my favorite arc in the original story, I have a sneaking suspicion that it will be my favorite arc to write. And, if I do my job correctly, it should be your favorite to read. Or, so I hope.

'Til next time.