"If the whole world plots to extinguish your light,
If they find the need to make you break and cry,
Don't you worry, dear, I am right by your side,
So just smile for me,
It'll be alright."
-Servant of Evil, Kuraiinu
"Thank you for agreeing to teach us," Matsu said. He bowed, not low enough, but Joji didn't comment on it. His shirt was baggy on him, his body too thin.
His brother, beside him, didn't bow. Both were caked in dirt.
"Joji-sensei," Yahiko corrected, leaning back on his elbows on the sand, close to the water. He wore a mask made from the torn sleeve of a black shirt.
It would be less of a hassle for him if he wore a rebreather. But if he did he would resemble Hanzo.
Matsu paused as he straightened, looking at Yahiko. "Lord Yahiko?"
"Just Yahiko," Yahiko said, waving the title away. "You're supposed to say, 'thank you for agreeing to teach us, Joji-sensei'."
"Oh. I see."
Enyo knelt, rolled up his pant leg, and untied a civilian cutting knife pressed against his skin. He charged without hesitation.
He and Maho had the same eyes.
There was no anger or determination in his gaze. Only a sense that he was doing it to survive. The cold rationality there reminded him of a stubborn girl named Oka.
Matsu's eyes widened. He reached for the back of Enyo's collar and missed.
Enyo made it two steps before his left foot sunk in the sand, his other foot slid, and he tumbled. He cried out, knife flying out of his grip and sticking in the sand, point-first. Lucky for him, the sun had been obscured by clouds for most of the day.
The sand was warm, but not hot.
Joji thought all shinobi should be trained to run and fight on sand without chakra, wade through swamps without taking to the treetops, maintain their balance on ice without sticking to it. Most relied dearly on chakra and without it they were all but useless.
Matsu started towards his brother. Each step sounded like a window shattering. It was impossible not to notice.
Enyo pushed himself up, spitting sand. He didn't look back as he wiped his mouth. He only took a small breath and ran at him again, yanking the knife up by the handle.
His steps sounded like light rain against grass. Not a crash, like Matsu, but quieter, constant.
Joji stepped sideways, easily dodging an attempt to stab his thigh. Enyo held the knife like someone experienced at handling a blade, but the execution was clumsy. Still, against a civilian, his ruthlessness could be deadly. Maybe it already had been.
Despite the clear sky and what Yahiko wanted for Amegakure, the village's past had left a scar that wouldn't be so easy to mend. He saw it easily enough in Oka. While Joji wasn't aware of all of her past, what he observed spoke of a girl who was tossed down into the bottomless pit of war and thrived, who learned the value of human life by watching death happen in front of her.
Enyo turned, knife slashing at his stomach, and Joji took a step back. He saw much of that upbringing reflected in the boy in front of him.
"If an enemy is stronger and has line of sight on you, a frontal attack is a waste of time," Joji signed, dodging again. Even as little as he'd been moving, he felt a twinge of pain in his middle, the too-tight, uncomfortable pull of skin that healed over to be hard and callused.
Three years before, Nagato, tired, panting, told his half-lucid self that his intestines had been nearly completely destroyed, and his stomach had to be rebuilt from the little that was left.
No matter how much he trained, he'd never regain his old strength. It took him a long time to accept that.
Enyo stared at his rapidly signing hand, confused, but that was why he brought Yahiko along. At Joji's look, Yahiko repeated what he said in a lazy drawl.
Before the Akatsuki, before Hanzo and his recruitment into Amegakure, Joji was a hired assassin. It was the profession that most suited his skills after he left the Land of Iron, and the world of shinobi had no shortage of clients willing to pay to have someone killed.
Growing up in the Land of Iron, Joji always found himself envious of the few tales of ninja he heard, even if those who spoke them did so with disdain. It isn't easy to follow the rigid lifestyle of a samurai, especially in the more traditional village he was raised in where if one wasn't a samurai, they were a merchant, or in some way useful to the economy.
It was even less so for someone who took an interest in ninjutsu and the almost mythical feats of a shinobi early on. His fellow samurai wouldn't see his choice to leave as following his own desires but an abandonment of his post and people.
He thought briefly of Oka calling the punishment if he returned cruel before pushing it away. Joji tripped Enyo mid-lunge and the boy hit the sand hard. He lifted his eyes to Matsu.
"I don't think I can," Matsu said, unsure. "It's been a few days since I ate. It's taking all my energy to stand. Joji-sensei," he hastily added.
"Try," Joji signed. Yahiko repeated it.
Matsu hesitated. Enyo raised his head, nose bleeding. He smeared blood across his cheek when he wiped it, then looked at the back of his hand in surprise.
Matsu sighed, swallowed hard, and came at him in much the same way his brother had.
"If you must attack a superior enemy from the front, make them underestimate you. If you act clumsy and inexperienced, they may become arrogant and think they don't need to use their full power to beat you. You can make an opening for yourself this way," Joji signed. "If you flee, they might think you afraid, or a coward. Some won't pursue you. Others will become angry and sloppy."
Matsu's punch went wide as Yahiko translated, wider than could be explained by him being a civilian.
Joji didn't move, watching Matsu's eyes widen as his fist hit the air next to him. Joji watched his gaze snap to him as he stumbled.
"You have bad eyesight." It wasn't a question.
At Yahiko's flat delivery, Matsu's fists clenched. "Only from a distance."
Joji dropped his heel on Enyo's back, forcing him back down, and heard him choke. Yahiko winced. Matsu sucked in sharply, eyes darting down, but did nothing.
"You only noticed where I truly was when you were an inch away. Don't pretend."
Matsu frowned, eyes flicking back up. "It was better when I was younger."
Joji stared at him.
"Get offa me," Enyo shouted, throwing sand. Joji only tilted his head back slightly, avoiding the knife as it spun past his face, sand particles sticking to his shirt.
"You forgot something, Joji-sensei," Yahiko called.
Joji turned, looking from Yahiko's half-smile to the thumb pointing over his shoulder. In the sea, where it was too deep to stand, Maho was flailing and splashing water.
He was supposed to be floating on his back.
It took Joji nearly a week to break his habit of using chakra to save himself. He shifted his foot off Enyo, walked down to the shore, onto the water, and approached his student as he gasped and coughed and tried to yell for help.
Joji knelt, took Maho by the collar, and dragged the boy behind him as he strode back to solid land. He dumped Maho next to Yahiko.
"Thank you, sensei," Maho panted, facedown. Yahiko patted his shoulder.
Joji went back to Matsu without a second glance.
He dodged Enyo's attempt to grapple his legs, never stopping, signing the entire time, "The ability to read your enemy and predict their temperament is a vital part of surviving encounters with ninja."
Matsu's clenched hands shook. He shook his head. "I'm still going to be a shinobi. I came here for you train us as ninja, not just—"
"You have other senses, don't you?" Joji signed.
Matsu's eyes widened, a second before Joji grabbed his arm, yanked, and drove his knee deep into Matsu's stomach. Hearing his pained wheeze, Joji released him and allowed the boy to fall.
"Oww..." Matsu choked out. He curled up on the sand, arms wrapped around his stomach.
"Never lower your guard in a spar," Joji signed.
Yahiko repeated this, then lamented, "I told them it would be like this, but no one listens to me."
"If you dislike my methods, you can train them yourself," Joji signed without turning around.
"No can do, Joji-sensei," Yahiko drawled. "I'm on vacation."
Joji did turn at that. "Kage don't take vacations," he signed. He sidestepped Enyo's knife and his trip that time was less forgiving.
Enyo landed elbow-first on Matsu's side and the older boy made a retching sound that told Joji he would've vomited, had he anything to throw up.
"You know, Mamoru-sensei said that too," Yahiko said thoughtfully. "And yet here I am."
Joji paused. Behind him, Enyo bent over his brother, saying he was sorry.
Maho went back to the water, dragging his steps, leaving a wet trail behind him.
"How is Mamoru?" Joji finally signed. Their slug had stayed behind to keep an eye on him.
"Keeping himself busy picking up my slack," Yahiko answered lightly, but that wasn't his question.
Joji lowered his hand, staring at his former student, and Yahiko shook his head. "What do you want me to say, sensei? You know how he is," he said, lifting his shoulders. "Nagato thinks Mamoru-sensei didn't expect Hanzo's death to affect him, but it did. All this for someone like that—"
"Mamoru spent a great deal of his life at Hanzo's side, regardless of outcome," Joji signed, feeling Yahiko needed to be reminded of that. Mamoru had been in Hanzo's inner circle longer than he'd been in Amegakure.
Enyo crawled at him, making it about halfway before he collapsed with a low whine of pain, clutching his shoulder.
"Right," Yahiko said, dragging out the word. He leaned fully back on the sand, hands laced behind his head, and said nothing else.
"Can you really not talk?" Enyo asked, wiping his nose again, then wiping the blood off on his shirt.
Joji shook his head. He could make sounds if he wished, but he'd given up on anything more complex years ago.
"Don't ask him that," Matsu said quickly, old fear in his voice.
Enyo shot him a confused look. "Why?"
Matsu looked at Joji, then quickly away. "It's rude to ask shinobi about their injuries. They never react well when you do."
"It's an old injury. I have no need to hide it," Joji signed, but Yahiko didn't translate. He paused, glancing at his former student, but Yahiko was staring at the sky, melancholic.
With little choice, Joji crouched, Matsu and Enyo watching as he started to write in the sand—
Yahiko translated for them, tired-sounding.
"How'd it happen?" Enyo asked, sniffing. Matsu frowned at him.
"Hey sensei, do you think it's possible to see the future?" Yahiko asked suddenly, too light to be anything but forced.
Joji stood. "It's not," he signed in answer. "Why ask?"
Yahiko looked at him for a few seconds more, then turned back to look at the clouds. "No reason. It was just a thought, that's all."
モノフィラメント
Yahiko dropped his head between his legs and sighed.
He should've given up on fishing an hour ago.
His elbows were around his knees. The nagamaki laid next to him. A thick, white branch was wedged deep in the sand in front of him. Ninja wire was double knotted around the top, borrowed (carefully lifted) from Maho.
Somewhere in the water, a worm at the end of the line was left to think of how unlucky it was.
Or was it lucky because he would, inevitably, reel the line back in and let it go?
And maybe that was the problem, too.
He missed the accomplishment he used to feel for pulling in a big fish, laughing when the biggest, most stubborn of them ignored his pulling, his chakra, until his line gave out first and he was left with sore fingers.
He missed the way Konan would cower back and yelp as the fish he caught flailed and tossed water everywhere.
He stared down at the sand and thought that this was supposed to be relaxing. It usually was. Most of the time he could summon his trusty fishing rod, find the least warm spot in the sand, and pretend, for a little while, that he was a fisherman.
That that was only who he was.
But it was a bad day for fishing. He couldn't stop thinking.
Isaas Fujiwara, Kusagakure, and what he would do if it all went wrong.
Again. If it all went wrong again.
Nagato and Oka and how, even now, The Bastard found new ways to screw them and the village over.
It wasn't his preference to accept the first offer of money that dropped into his lap (he knew it was too good to be true, didn't they think he knew that?) but The Bastard left him and Nagato with problems that needed quick solutions.
He—They still needed to decide what to do about the Rain Daimyo. Someone would be sent to the village eventually, once the war officially ended, someone who he didn't want to know that The Bastard was dead—
It's better kept a secret. Not until I—we're ready.
—someone who'd expect the village to have the money to pay for the payments missed during both wards. And right now they just didn't.
He hadn't decided if he was going to pay at all, but he still wanted to be prepared to do so if he had to. He didn't know enough about how Daimyo's worked to do anything but kick it down the road for 'later'.
What would happen if he refused to uphold the tithe? Could the Rain Daimyo contact Daimyo from other countries? Would he? What kind of power did he have to force the village to do what he wanted?
He closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was a civil war.
Mamoru-sensei would know about it. The easiest solution was to ask him.
If only he thought it would be as simple as it sounded. If only there wasn't the chance that if asked about how the Daimyo and the village used to work together, The Bastard would come up.
Mamoru-sensei isn't that careless. He knows how you feel, his reasonable side pointed out.
And what if it comes up anyway? The only one he came close to opening up to was Oka and, well, you know how that went. What if he wants someone to listen—
He paused when he felt something slither up his back, then heard the coarse scratch of sand and slime being left behind on his cloak.
"You're just like Nagato," Namekuji said as he lifted his head. The slug was partially on his shoulder, tentacles an inch away from his face.
"I'm doing great, second-favorite summon of mine. Thanks for asking," Yahiko drawled.
"You sigh a lot like him," Namekuji said like he didn't speak. Then he sighed dramatically at him, mockingly.
Yahiko tried very hard not to think about how he made that sound. He had years of experience in ignoring questions about Namekuji's anatomy.
"I'm almost sure you don't have the parts to make that sound," he said anyway.
He was sure more than just vocal cords were needed to grunt and groan and sigh. Eighty-three percent, at least.
"Dumb, orange-haired human," Namekuji retorted.
Yahiko gestured valiantly at his neck area. Seventy-five percent.
"What makes me your summon?" Namekuji asked, pretending not to notice.
Yahiko dropped his hand and crossed his legs. "I like carrot-haired human more," he said. "And, well, you're eating my chakra right now. That makes me at least two-eights responsible for you being here."
He watched a wave push his bait onto the shore, then drag it back out to the water.
Recast the line.
He didn't.
"It's actually pretty impolite, because I don't have a lot to spare in the first place," Yahiko added.
Namekuji made a vague, uncaring noise at him. "And I want the chakra of a sensory-nin. We can't all have what we want, orange-head."
"You're right," Yahiko agreed, and flopped backwards on the sand. "My chakra could've been poisonous, you know."
Namekuji squeezed out from under him and rejoined the rest of himself on his chest. He was nonplussed. "You wouldn't be boy-wonder if you didn't have perfect chakra control."
And he laughed and tried not to think about Konan. "I haven't heard that name in years," he said, lacing his hands behind his head. "Where do you think Nagato and Oka are right now?"
"I don't know what your world looks like," he answered.
Yahiko looked at the sky. "I drew at least two maps—" he faltered when he saw a trail of black smoke coming from the direction of the hideout.
He scrambled up, grabbing the nagamaki along the way, and ran.
.
.
.
Smoke drifted out of the hatch in a thin trail, clouds of it having already darkened the sky.
Enough of it still lingered around the area for him to use as cover, crouching as he watched a kunoichi doing the same near the entrance.
The kunoichi was far enough away not to be spotted, but close enough to intercept anyone who came out to escape the smoke. She wore a rebreather to filter it out, a headband with the village's symbol crossed out, and a purple jacket over her vest.
Yahiko raised a hand, his pseudo-mask pulled up over his nose and mouth. "Use all the chakra you took from me," he signed without looking.
He hadn't needed it since that day with Joji-sensei.
Namekuji shot a stream of acid from his shoulder. It dense enough that even when the kunoichi whirled around at the sound, hands flying up in the dog sign, and spat a stream of concentrated water back at them, the disruption only made the acid splash.
Yahiko stood as a drop of acid landed on her finger, as the kunoichi jerked her hands down and stared at hissing skin.
He watched realization dawn in her eyes as another drop landed on her shoulders, on her arms, as acid melted holes through the sand and ate through her armor like it was plastic.
I'll find a way for us without bloodshed. I promise.
Yahiko darted for the entrance and didn't look as the kunoichi hit the sand with a quiet thump, face frozen in shock, the top of her head wet, blood slowly soaking through brown hair.
The lanterns had been put out or broken, but he could still hear a coughing shout that sounded like Maho, the clash of metal from deeper inside.
"You'll be blind," Namekuji warned him.
He ran down anyway, his footsteps soundless, the taste of smoke on his tongue.
He left the nagamaki's sheathe propped against the wall and followed the sounds of battle around the corner, into the left hallway.
He held the nagamaki by the handle with one hand, the other around the blade itself, the metal warming under his fingers. When it started to glow bright red he spotted Maho in the middle of the hallway.
His sleeve was soaked red, blood on his fingers as he held Enyo still over his shoulder. He was in the middle of reaching down to pull Matsu up off the ground.
Maho froze, terrified gaze snapping up to him, but Yahiko didn't hear him say his name.
His feet were already moving.
Yahiko was looking past them, at the kunoichi at the end of the hallway. He couldn't see her hands, but he heard her inhale, saw the brief flicker of light in her mouth.
Between his third step and fourth, a fireball shot down the hallway. It tore through the stone walls, gouged up earth, and made spots flicker in his vision like he was staring at the sun.
"Oh no," Matsu whispered, wide-eyed, the fireball bearing down on them.
Yahiko stepped in front of him, his blade slicing up diagonally before he fully stopped, heat licking at his face as he cut the fireball in half.
He didn't move as the remains of the it carved black streaks into the stone around him, as the hallway shook, breathing hard as he was showered in embers.
The five of us will rule Amegakure one day. I promise.
Half his chakra left. It was enough. If it wasn't, he'd make it enough.
Yahiko briefly glanced back.
Maho was coughing hard, gasping into his sleeve. Matsu gaped at him. Enyo was limp on Maho's shoulder, covered in soot and dust, burning ashes reflected in his stare.
He wouldn't let anyone else die.
Not if he could stand, not if he could breathe, not as long as he was still alive.
"Go with them," Yahiko quickly signed with one hand.
Namekuji hesitated, tentacles staring at him.
"Trust me," he signed without looking, and Namekuji dropped off his shoulder.
He didn't wait. He darted into the dark, nagamaki cutting sideways through the open mouth of a fire snake, and on his fourth step he threw it.
The nagamaki was a spinning, glowing pinwheel illuminating the blackened walls, the long gaps in the floor where stone had been ripped up, the kunoichi and a shinobi at the end of the hall.
The kunoichi dodged left and the nagamaki cracked the wall point-first where her head had been. She stared at it, then in his direction. He didn't make a sound.
Using a long-range attack against Maho told Yahiko that they didn't have a way to see in the dark, either. It was the sound of his footsteps and the flash of fire jutsu that told them where Maho was.
It was the only reason they would keep their distance from a medic-nin who hadn't seen combat since early in the war and two civilians.
Yahiko knew how rare it was to have fire-natured chakra in the village. It was a safe, and accurate, bet for them to plan around that assumption. When they fought the ninja The Bastard sent to kill them none of them had used fire-style.
The shinobi didn't flinch, in the middle of making the bird sign.
Fire and wind. While wind wasn't that uncommon, there had to be at least one more fire-natured ninja in the room with Mamoru-sensei and Joji-sensei.
The Bastard's bastards? Or Root?
Yahiko jumped as she reached for the handle, landed audibly on his feet on the ceiling, and the shinobi looked up and shot a mini tornado of wind at him as he started to run again.
How many times had she already thrown around fire jutsu? Even if the fireball was made bigger by the wind user, he doubted she had enough chakra left to keep firing them off like it was nothing.
He dropped into a slide, wind cutting through the air in above him and crashing into the ceiling where he'd been. Broken stone rained down as the kunoichi tossed the nagamaki away, getting rid of the light, but Yahiko only watched it clatter against the ground, standing above where they'd been.
He couldn't see Maho or Matsu, but he looked back anyway.
He'd been a distraction for long enough that they should be outside by now.
Both the shinobi and kunoichi would've moved. Hiding, waiting for the subtlest sound to tell them where he was. They didn't know it, but it was a mistake to stay in an enclosed space with someone like him.
I'll become a god of peace and end the war. I promise!
Yahiko pushed more chakra to the chakra-barrier around his lungs, fast enough to make his chest itch uncomfortably, a secret language only Emon understood.
He threw a kunai blindly, using the ping off stone to hide the sound of him sucking in air. The enemy didn't fall for it, but that didn't matter.
Yahiko pulled down his mask and smoke stung his nose as he exhaled clouds and clouds of poison.
.
.
.
Mamoru-sensei and Joji-sensei were in the main room, the bodies of three more bastards on the ground around them, half-obscured by purple clouds.
Yahiko noted the puddles of water on the floor, the char marks on the wall, and enough blood to tell him that the bastards had been dead before his poison ever made it into the room.
Both stared at him, holding their breaths. Had been for at least fifty or so seconds.
Mamoru-sensei's arm was over his mouth and nose.
Joji-sensei hadn't bothered. "You knew we were here," he signed.
"I did," Yahiko said airily, tapping the nagamaki against his shoulder. "But it moves slow, and takes longer to be deadly if you don't breathe it in."
Joji-sensei looked incredibly unamused.
"Where's the antidote?" Mamoru-sensei signed.
Yahiko bit his thumb and pressed his palm to the closest wall. "Mamoru-sensei, Joji-sensei, meet Emon," he said, and a summoning seal appeared over a black streak.
A tiny black and yellow-spotted salamander was summoned between his fingers, immediately seeking warmth in his sleeve from the cold air, and he smiled.
"Don't move," Yahiko told them, then slowly, carefully guided Emon onto the bare skin of Mamoru-sensei's hand.
She resisted but eventually went, reluctantly crawling off him after a few encouraging nudges.
"I don't know how long it'll take to work since I've never tested it on anyone who isn't me, but it's better than nothing," Yahiko said cheerily.
Mamoru-sensei only sighed.
A/N: モノフィラメント - Monofilament
Ad Meliora - Toward better things.
Matsu - 20. He has Stargardt Disease. The gist is that it's a degenerative eye disorder. The details can be figured out through context clues. He's also nearsighted, but that's less important.
My version of the Land of Iron is more or less feudal Japan with extra steps. The 'capital' is less formal and more lenient on bending tradition; having hosted a past and future (in canon) Kage Summit in their main city, it became more influenced by the way of ninja than the outer regions. Don't know if I'll get to explore it more later, so in here it goes.