They hadn't fished together in seemingly forever. The twelve-year-old watched with disinterest as nothing bit at his line. The lake was as still and dead today as he felt on the inside.

Some wounds were so fresh that he wondered if he'd ever feel joy again. The loss had been enough to activate his sharingan. As much as every Uchiha took pride in their eyes, Fugaku would have preferred to go his whole life without them than to continue on without his friend.

"You'll catch something, Fugaku. Just be patient and don't make any sudden movements."

Fugaku leaned on his father's right shoulder and sighed. "What's the point? I already caught the biggest fish." He reeled his lure back and put the pole away before flopping onto his back. As his dark eyes gazed up at the early morning clouds, he frowned. "And after a fish like that, how could any other compare?"

Sarani took note of his son's body language and recognized grief for what it was. His brow furrowed, causing his glasses to go slightly crooked. "We're not talking about fish anymore, are we?"

But the boy didn't respond, even as Sarani put away his own bait and tackle. "Whether we are or we aren't, let me remind you of something. Yes, you did catch the biggest fish, but the others won't stay small forever. Give it time and they'll grow. And if they eat enough and stay out of harm's way, another fish may even grow to be larger than the one you caught before."

Sarani stood up, giving Fugaku's leg a lighthearted tap with his foot. "If you spend your whole life chasing only the big fish and make no time for the little ones in between, you're going to starve. Don't forget that."

…

"He's starting to worry me," Sarani confessed. "It's like he's convinced himself he'll never have another friend like Nawaki and there's no point in anything anymore."

He took another slow sip of tea and watched as a couple of little Aburame boys in bulky coats and dark glasses chased after butterflies with nets. None of them were his teammate's children. Buyo was the only bachelor left among them.

"I can relate," the Aburame admitted. "When we lost Junko-sensei…"

He didn't have to say much else. Sarani knew those two had been close. "I know you talked before about training Sensei's nephews. They've recently graduated from Academy. Were you serious about doing that?"

"I don't joke. I'm always serious."

And that was as close to a joke as Buyo ever uttered. Sarani didn't find it particularly funny. "When do they start? Do they have a third teammate selected yet?"

"No. You want to put your son in there. Don't you?"

Smaller fish.

"I can't think of any better qualified jōnin to work with him. So long as you and Lord Taiyō don't mind…"

The Aburame smirked, shrugging his narrow shoulders. "Fuck Taiyō. Tell your kid to report for active duty this Thursday, right outside the Hyūga compound. I'll talk it over with the Hokage."

"You're sure about this?"

"He's your son, Sarani," Buyo replied. This time, his smile turned warm. "I'm excited to see what he can do."

…

If Fugaku moved any further down the corridor, he would need to cauterize every single torn tendon he damaged. Any motion he made would hurt his former opponent. Somewhere, hidden in that scarlet spider web of nerves and blood vessels, a human being suffered.

It didn't matter how many curses and mean-spirited jeers he heard from the Smog Ninjas heckling Yaten for his final, ruined form. A part of Fugaku still pitied the boy and didn't want to cause him any further harm unless it was unavoidable.

'I saw your interview, Yaten. I saw the first time you sat in front of Tadashī's camera and talked about being on the run. People come here in all shapes and forms, you said. And those who truly "make it" always go for implants. You hid your face because you were scared, didn't you?'

And if Hizashi was still hell-bent and determined to leave Konoha behind, would he meet this same fate someplace else? Or would he be the prey rather than the predator because his advantage came to him from birth?

Fugaku couldn't shake the mental image of his friend in one of those khaki coats, marching up and down the halls in search of weaker refugees with transferable skills…all the while fearing being torn apart himself. What if the only thing awaiting him in his journey was an ending just as grisly as Yaten's?

He was determined to memorize every expression of torment on this runaway's face. Fugaku stared with his sharingan on, letting the atrocity soak into his permanent memory. He'd never forget Uwasa Yaten and he'd keep the name of Yaten's master forever in his mind: Uzumaki Shigeru.

"Fugaku…" Hizashi lightly brushed his shoulder and gave him a somber look. "We need to keep looking. Let's go."

"But his nerves are–"

"There's no way to avoid it. Just move as cautiously as you can and try not to hurt him."

But they would. With every step they took, a strangled groan echoed from the core of the living knot.

Module 1118 was only an additional twenty meters away, but it felt like a thousand. Fugaku watched his every motion, hoping his best to spare Yaten from any extra pain. He wanted to know what motivated that boy to run away in the first place. Why would he risk everything to come to a place like this? Was the Hidden Smog truly better, or would Yaten caution any would-be runaways not to make his mistakes? "This is it?"

Hiashi nodded his head. "I'm picking up on a faint chakra in this room, but there's so many flies that I–"

"I can hear them from outside," Fugaku commented. "I wonder if Sensei released his entire swarm." The lights continued to flicker, only giving weak bursts of light because the fluorescent bulbs were dying. The light glowed red through Yaten's mangled body. Every stain looked black in the hallway. The grungy walls resembled raw meat and appeared to breathe as Yaten spread…and spread.

Looking down, Fugaku could even see the tendrils were starting to crawl underneath the door, hoping to get in. 'You probably think your doctor can save you if he sees you. He can't.' He felt nothing but pity in that moment, trying to gently move the nerves elsewhere, rerouting them away from his feet.

Hiashi took a slow, nervous breath in the hopes of preparing himself for what was on the other side of the door. There was no telling, but Fugaku had some idea. Hizashi had been in there before to plant a camera. That still made him angry.

"Hiashi." Hizashi slowly shook his head. "Let me do this. I heard the guy we just fought say Sensei called out my name. I should…" As nervous and as worried as he was, "I should be the one to look in there."

All three braced themselves, knowing that whatever awaited them on the other side of the door would be etched in their guilty hearts forever. There was no possible way Buyo could still be alive, but was the lab still occupied? Was anyone still alive in there?

The other two waited, wondering how long it would be before Hizashi gave the all clear. Instead, all he did was slowly fall to his knees, hands dragging on the cold metal of the door. His eyes welled with tears and he cried.

Inside that room, almost every piece of flesh had been consumed. A radio announcement from the Kemurigouken Mayor about the untimely death of his son filled the airwaves, only to fade back to a soft, gentle-sounding tune as the beautiful voice of Yamamoto Seiko crooned out a ballad.

"He's in there, isn't he?" Fugaku asked, listening to every sob to come from his friend. Hizashi nodded, wiping his face with a black sleeve. "Is he dead?" But the scene was far too much for Hizashi to describe. Each time he tried, the tears returned and he was rendered mute.

If he could talk, he'd inform his friend and his brother that Buyo-sensei's chest erupted with such violence that his ribs broke apart. The flies went on a rampage, chewing everything in sight down to the bone. Very little flesh remained and there were so very, very many flies. The only way he knew for sure that he was looking at Buyo's body was because the flies had left behind a part of his face…and the dreadlocks. He'd recognize the dreadlocks anywhere.

'I did this,' Hizashi understood. 'I'm responsible. Sensei left the apartment to look for me. He died, thinking about me. Just me…'

Enough of Buyo's face remained for the Hyūga boy to recognize the signs of suffering. His sensei's one remaining eye stared lifelessly up at the ceiling, directly at the hidden camera. Hizashi's stomach twisted into knots. 'He knew.'

Why didn't his brother or Fugaku move to console him? Were they made of stone? Where were their tears? "How bad is it?" Fugaku asked, doing that annoying thing where he tried to sound firm and unmoved when he wasn't fooling anyone.

Hizashi heard every crack in his friend's voice and knew the rage and the sorrow would bubble over and make itself visible again once Fugaku thought he was alone. He wouldn't want to sleep in the same place as him tonight because his anger was palpable.

"How bad?" Fugaku repeated, but he got nothing. All Hizashi could do was continue shaking his head between hiccupped sobs.

…

They sat together in the back corner of Moya Murasaki's gambling den because it was the closest space that still felt mildly safe. Although it was a couple of floors beneath the disaster zone, Fugaku noticed a few pieces of Yaten's "red ivy" slithered its way into the walls.

He wasn't the only one, either. One woman shrieked when a nerve twisted around her ankle. She took off her high heel and proceeded to stomp on the appendage as though it were a spider or roach.

Murasaki's den was so crowded that the trio could barely find an unoccupied table. The air smelled strongly of smoke, freon, vomit, and spilled alcohol. Many of the drunks and gamblers spoke in worried whispers. A few women were crying. Others, including some men, trembled and tried to hide their anxiety behind loud laughs. A teenage boy's hand shook so badly that he spilled cheap beer on a much bigger, angrier man. He lost a tooth for that.

Most of what Fugaku picked up in the air was panic. A few whispered and laughed, pointing at the nerves, but Yaten's explosion wasn't the center of attention anymore. There, on the one giant television screen inside the bar, was the smiling hazel-eyed face of a clean-cut and friendly looking teenage boy.

"Ohzora Seiya, 17 years old…murderers at large…suspects believed to be a gang of undocumented rogue shinobi…illegal Hidden Smog Village…trash ninja phenomenon…"

Hizashi had kept his arms folded and flat to the table with his head resting upon his arms. Only every once in a while did he lift his head to face his brother and his teammate.

"You're not the only one who lost Sensei," Hiashi growled. His own face had turned pink. No tears had spilled yet, but they were threatening to come out. Right now, he felt furious. He wanted to blame someone and that someone was throwing himself a private pity party. "Why are you making this all about you? You're–"

"He feels responsible," Fugaku interjected, wanting to cut this before it got out of hand. "The only reason Sensei died was because he went looking for him." Hizashi clearly didn't want to hear that right now. "Yes; we lost him, too, but it's not the same. It's…"

'I know this type of guilt,' he realized. He'd let it consume him before and still had yet to free himself completely from the cold and merciless claws of survivor's guilt. He could go weeks, even months, without feeling it. Then that day would roll around again and the ghost of teammates past returned with a vengeance: determined to remind Fugaku of his greatest failure.

Very gingerly, he reached out to touch Hizashi's hair because the Hyūga boy usually found that soothing. Hizashi only buried his head further into his arms so he could have a good cry in peace. 'It has to be worse for you,' Fugaku thought. 'I blame myself for Nawaki because I didn't react in time to save him. This…'

"Leave him alone," he asked Hiashi. "Getting angry won't bring the dead back to life. We'll go back after it's dark and there are fewer people around. There's no way we can leave him in there." Buyo deserved better than to be left behind and thrown out with the garbage. "Until then, we'll just bide our time."

A woman passed by and Fugaku asked her if she could buy him a drink. "I don't have my ID on me, but–" The woman took the money before he could get a good look at her, only to come back a moment later with an unopened bottle of a dark red liquid. Hizashi slowly lifted his head: silently agreeing that alcohol probably would help, at least in the short run.

Instead of pouring it into a glass, the woman popped the top and let it spray on Fugaku's face. "Thanks for the free drink, sucker," she jeered, snapping her fingers. The henge no jutsu broke and he realized immediately who he'd given money to.

Tsunade.

"Some example you're setting as a future police chief!" she continued to taunt, poking the cold bottom of the bottle against his cheek. Her laugh was loud enough to turn a few heads. She sat beside Hizashi so she could lean forward and look Fugaku in the face. "The hell do you think your ma's gonna say when I tell her you asked me to buy you booze?"

"I bet she'll be too caught up with the fact our sensei died to really care," Fugaku retorted. Tsunade's smug expression disappeared. Her eyes went wide and her smile vanished. "We're stranded out here."

Her brown eyes remained wide open. "So…what? One of you's going to take the lead and do your best to make it out of here?" That visibly worried her. "All three of you are walking targets!"

"Believe me," Hiashi sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "We know."

'You'll never make it,' the Sannin thought to herself. 'Not without help.'

"What's this news story everyone's talking about?" Fugaku asked, trying to change the subject. "You look like you've been in here a while. I thought you'd know."

Tsunade's face was all ruddy and her eyes remained slightly bloodshot. This was her hair of the dog: a cap-off to help with a growing hangover. "Somebody killed the mayor's son," she explained as she scratched an itch on her left thigh. "That's a bigger deal than you realize."

"Judging from the worry I'm picking up in their–"

"They call that man Beloved Mayor. Ohzora Soichi holds control over this whole city and carries enough clout to politically rival a Kage. Documented or undocumented, civilian or shinobi: that man's word is law and he keeps that title until he dies." Tsunade gulped a couple of mouthfuls of the drink and shivered. "If Soichi publicly wishes a man dead over the radio, every trash ninja and legitimate Smog Ninja will stumble over each other in a rush to be the one to do it."

"He can do that!?" Hiashi couldn't imagine a leader doing that in any place other than some nightmarish totalitarian regime. Wasn't this the freest place on earth?

"Yep." Tsunade wiped the condensation off the bottle with the bottom of her shirt. "As soon as he can put a name or face to his son's murderer, just you wait." She scooted closer to the boys more for their protection than the other way around. "The whole city will turn to chaos. He'll call out a name and the hunt will–"

"Shiri Tadashī…if you're listening…"

All three boys lifted their heads, their hearts in a panic. Although none of them much cared for Tadashī, he was still their client. 'And shit; we left him alone with Utaro and Chigusa. They aren't–'

"Finish the documentary, Tadashī. Finish it so we can put a stop to this. For all the Seiyas out there…finish it."

Fugaku couldn't believe his ears. The whole reason they were guarding this man was because the documentary was declared dangerous anti-Kemuri propaganda and banned by the mayor. He'd changed his mind so easily?!

"We need to get out of here," Tsunade informed the boys. "First thing in the morning, we're take off."

"What about your mission?" Fugaku asked. "I don't know what you're doing out here, but–"

"I was bounty hunting Uzumaki Shigeru, but it looks like he's gone on the lam again. It would've been one hell of a payday for me, but…" She shook her head. "If it's the difference between my raking in a river of ryo or making sure the future heads of two major clans don't die out here…it's no contest. I'd feel better knowing the three of you made it home safely."

…

Tsunade slept on the couch in Tadashī's apartment, lightly snoring. Chigusa had been mesmerized by the blonde and asked her so many questions from the moment Tsunade entered the room. The Akane girl chatted merrily, enchanted by the older kunoichi, until Tsunade finally said she needed her beauty sleep and told Chigusa to fuck off.

Fugaku packed his belongings in silence, watching as Tadashī poured himself a third celebratory drink. His face was ruddier than his red hair. He laughed…and laughed…and laughed. "This works out for everyone, doesn't it?" He'd had a few too many. The fact he knocked over his own card table when he got up made that perfectly clear. "I have sanction! I've been endorsed! I can finish it here and never have to leave!"

And with each laugh, Inago Utaro cringed. Finally, he insisted he'd heard enough bragging and needed to take care of something before he returned. Fugaku saw the boy leave with a camera. He asked no questions. The more he asked, the more he realized from experience in this place: he really didn't want to know.

'It doesn't work out for everyone, you pompous ass,' he wanted to snap at Tadashī. 'A man died and the fact you get to do this without anyone threatening you anymore means he died for nothing! We–'

"We're lucky, aren't we?" Hiashi whispered to Fugaku. "I feel a little safer with Tsunade-sama looking out for us. And…" He glanced to the corner. Sitting against the wall was a medical laundry sack. Inside were Buyo's remains. "At least we get to take Sensei back to his clan."

Hizashi placed some distance between his teammates and himself, whispering hurriedly with the Akane girl. Something he said caused Chigusa to nod her head and pat his back.

'You're still determined, aren't you? I'm curious now, Hizashi. How will you manage to break away from the pack with Tsunade watching?' And Fugaku was starting to second-guess his decision to let his friend go.

Utaro returned, thanking Chigusa when she opened the door for him. "Hizashi-san," he called out, waving. He grinned, holding an item in his sun-kissed hands. "I got it! Nobody else was in the lab, and–"

Fugaku's heart sank when he realized what that was…and what would be on it. His eyes turned toward the body bag, then back to the tape. He knew Hizashi planted it…but Buyo-sensei's death would be on there.

Tadashī pulled out a large wad of money, which he distributed equally between Hizashi and Utaro. "I have everything I need now," he insisted, ruffling Utaro's curls. "You're good kids, the both of you. Good luck out there."

Hiashi hadn't known. He didn't even know how to process this.