The Forgotten

Naruto

Chapter 2 - Lesson in Pain

I'd spotted them the instant I exited Sakumo's home. There was a bright flash in the corner of my eye, the briefest of flickers that lingered on my retina. For a few seconds in which my body refused to move, I tried to convince myself that I'd imagined it, that there was nothing there in the dark - but I knew it was a waste of time to second-guess myself.

They were too good to be seen so easily, I thought with a hint of desperation; I had only been able to follow Sakumo because he allowed it. That man had walked slowly to let my pathetically unfit self catch up. This flash of white, though, that flicker of cloth and a face, it had to have been an intentional show of speed. A truth revealed just long enough that I'd see it, that I'd know.

The ANBU - they had to be delivering a warning, or perhaps a message.

The Hokage knew about me.

I slowly managed to hobble back towards home, flitting my gaze nervously from roof to roof, from shop to shop, but there were no more sightings along the way. Tempted as I was to break into an awkward run, I knew there was no point - I could no more outrun a Chūnin then Sakumo himself. I just had to pray that the Hokage didn't look on my actions and see me as a liability. Because if he did - well, there was little doubt what would happen to me.

As streets passed me by, however, more rational arguments took over from the flighty and nervous twitching. Sarutobi Hiruzen was the strongest of all shinobi in the village, sure, but sheer power hardly made much difference. Now, politically the Hokage was far more influential than some ordinary thug would be, but from what I'd read the man was not pointlessly cruel. Given the right circumstances, having someone like that on my side could be a great advantage.

I wiped sweat of my brow as I finally made it the last stretch back home, without a single shinobi crossing my path. The ANBU were not there to bring me in, then - they'd have pounced long before, when I was still openly in the street. Such a thing would hardly have been questioned. It has been a message, then: perhaps that I should refrain from interfering again, or that any funny business would be ruthlessly punished. Regardless, I would find out when Sakumo returned.

Han was already waiting for me in the door, squinting into the night. "...What was that all about?" he inquired wearily as he frowned. He looked me over swiftly. "Well, he didn't cut you, at least. Haven't I taught you anything about messing with shinobi folk?"

I shrugged helplessly. "It was fine. I just needed to talk to him, that's all."

"Talk? You followed a killer into the dark to talk?" Han scoffed as he shook his head nervously. "Are you completely insane, boy? Shinobi are dangerous, you know that!Especially that one!"

The comment was so casual that I gaped for a long moment. Han, the most nonjudgmental and accepting person I knew, was buying into the public rumors, the ones that even I had a hard time taking seriously? This had to be more widespread than I'd considered.

"...What's that supposed to mean?" I asked at last.

The old man shrugged. "You know, don't you? He's the White Fang! That man's got more heads on his name than anyone I've ever heard of - even the Sannin don't come close to that sort of carnage, let me tell you…"

I let out the tiniest of sighs. "Ah, I knew that. I've read about him. Figured you were going on about something else..."

"You mean his stirring up a hornet's nest? He did manage to get a lot of people upset," Han agreed mildly. "Now, come in before you catch a cold - or a knife in the back, you never know." He motioned inside, glancing warily into the darkened street. "And if you have to talk to people like that, do it somewhere well-lit and public, for crying out loud! Getting killed is no way to do business!"

I had half a mind to protest, but I finally just went to my room with a resigned sigh, my thoughts racing. Adrenalin still surged in my veins, and I could use the sharpness it brought.

With the moon out in the night sky, I was still thinking about the meeting a few hours later, pondering what it meant to have the Hokage watching my steps. I had no doubt that the ANBU would be checking up on me, now that they'd so blatantly hinted at their presence. Still, with a feeling of resignation, I finally succumbed to uneasy sleep.

Despite my run-in with Sakumo and his problems, life went on as usual in the days that followed, and one might think that nothing happened at all. Yet, after the daily habit of running the shop, getting groceries, and generally spending my time helping out Han, I secluded myself in my room and pulled out books that were slowly accumulating around my desk. Now that I had found a whole new avenue of research that got me interested enough that I'd personally walked into the lion's den, I could scarcely let it go.

I spent long hours studying Han's books, and gathering new ones. Three large tomes were spread out on my desk - one covered the Third Hokage's considerable reign in detail, another chronicled the Second Shinobi World War, and the last was a rather esoteric volume on the psychology of the shinobi, written by a Yamanaka expert. It was invaluable - an analysis of ninja, as described by ninja. None of the books really helped much, though, since I wasn't sure what I was looking for. Understanding, perhaps, beyond the idealist images of the shinobi that I was so familiar with. I was trying to figure out what made Konoha tick.

In my meeting with Sakumo, I had appealed to the ideal of the shinobi that even he shared, and led him towards the matter of the next generation. I offered him ways to invest himself in the future without returning to the well-trodden paths of his life. Idealistic - perhaps. But it was, as far as I could tell, the only way that he might find his way out of the darkness. Even as I'd argued for those points, though, I had already been thinking about the next battle I'd have to fight, should Sakumo decide to lay down the knife. I foresaw a much steeper climb ahead.

Why was it, I wondered darkly, that the village was so hateful towards Sakumo in the first place? What was so terrible about saving lives, even at the cost of a mission, that it could drive a man to seek the end? Chalking it all up to honor was easy - it made people do foolish things. But that hardly seemed a satisfying answer when dealing with someone like Sakumo, who clearly knew exactly how dishonorable a shinobi's life could be, having lived it for decades.

Something else was driving this. And it was festering.

Even from my brief months in its busy streets, and my limited exposure to the rougher side of life in Konoha, something was bothering me about the superficially prosperous village. At first, I thought it was just a bias on my end, hailing from the small towns, and I put my criticisms aside. Now, though, the picture was becoming clearer - and I did not much like what it showed.

I'd read about Konoha, as I did about so many things, and its ideal was what had brought me here, what convinced me to travel into a village that hosted shinobi by the hundreds. Stories of the place spoke of great heroes, valiant leaders that sacrificed their lives for their people, and a proud tradition.

Something was off about the reality, compared to those lofty descriptions. At some point during its reign, people had turned away from the great ideals that had formed their village, and begun returning to a mentality that had been a mainstay for centuries. They retreated from modernity, slowly crawling back to darker times.

Formed to end the in-fighting among clans and families that dominated the previous era, when closest family and their honor were more important than anything else, Konoha had been Hashirama Senju's dream - the First Hokage's vision of a stable shinobi society. But, it seemed, with his untimely death had gone that indomitable spirit, and decay was setting in. It was a rot that would have to be cured - or excised.

Pride, that's what I heard in the voices of those who spread the rumors about Sakumo, and it was the poison that had bothered me since my arrival. It was not the regular, tolerable kind of pride, but the haughty, self-important tone of the ideologue. These people thought of Konoha itself as a goal, rather than a means to an end as it was intended to be. The metaphor for the ideal of cooperation had turned into an ideal all its own, without any of its noble heritage, and it was held up as sacrosanct by firm hands. Patriotism had sprouted into something uglier, which could go in very bad directions if given the wrong push.

Believing in one's village was great, but sacrificing the intent behind its existence to preserve meaningless prestige, that meant one had already lost sight of what was important. Without the original spirit backing the village's existence, it was just a skeleton of an idea, an empty shell - no longer Konoha in anything but name.

And this, I reflected bitterly, this was the world that children would grow up in, knowing only violence and decay for their entire lives. And every year would be a little bit worse, since without a promise of a better future, the dream of Konoha would suffer and dwindle, its shinobi spent. In due time, clans long-united would break apart, either dwindling to insignificance or violently ripping themselves free, and war would reign again.

I didn't care for ninjas - I only knew one, and he was in a sorry state. But I cared about people, and it was clear that even those who threw around fireballs and lightning were more than just killers without emotion. And war would do more than just rip up the defenses of the Land of Fire - or any of its neighbors - but also the very civilian population I represented. I'd argued to Sakumo that civilians dealt with the dangers of the world, too, with none of the shinobi's power. Was I really going to retreat now, shirk back out of fear when I'd so boldly set the first step forward?

There were few roads to a better future that I could see, and only focused will and action could change the world's path. Perhaps a great disaster would come along, tragic enough to unite Konoha's people amongst each other despite personal differences, but it was a sorry thing to consider. It would have to be a war, greater than any before, which would put the lowliest Chūnin next to the greatest ANBU, and remind them both that the reason they fought was not the buildings they walked amongst, but the people they shared them with. They would carry the Leaf on their memories of shared pain.

That could work, but it would be a bad future, a destructive one, governed only by fear. My revulsion at that idea came not only from squeamishness, but from the histories I'd read - such a conflict would destroy more than just peace before it was over. In time, the shared pain would become divided pain - and the story would begin again. Except this time, it would be even more brutal.

So, what then? What could a lowly civilian do to stop a tide like that? What could books and penmanship do to preserve that which even the First Hokage could not keep safe beyond his life? I had no idea - but when I'd stepped into Sakumo's home, involved myself in the affairs of even one shinobi, I knew that my decision had been made already. I was a recent immigrant, true, but I'd admired the concept of Konoha long before I'd seen the reality. It was that which I treasured, and now that I was here, I could not see it go to ruin.

"You shinobi are going to be the death of me," I murmured as I stared out the window. I didn't know if there were any ANBU listening, I just needed to hear myself say it. More than likely, the whole crazy venture would end in my demise. But - nothing risked, nothing gained. Inaction would be far worse on my conscience.

And if I could not use brawn in this new arena, populated as it was with monsters, then perhaps I should wield another weapon. The mind, in the end, could be the sharpest blade of all.

So when the time was right, I would strike.

"I have many scars - some physical, some deeper. There are a few that I remember always, that I cannot forget even in dreams. They are memories of choices to be learned from, warnings of mistakes that I made.

Symbols of my ignorance."

"Are you still awake, boy?" Han wondered aloud as he glanced into my room with narrowed eyes, a few days after my return. "You do know it's two past midnight?"

"I am well aware. I don't need much sleep," I murmured shortly, barely looking up from my book as I nibbled on my pencil. "There's a fascinating account of the First Hokage's life that I intend to start on tomorrow, so I wanted to finish this volume today." I shrugged lightly. "Don't worry - I'll keep quiet, nobody will even know I'm here."

Han shuffled closer, frowning. "So, you've been doing this for the past few days, haven't you? That's why it took such a long time to wake you in the morning." He shook his head. "It's not healthy, you know. You're a young man, you'll surely wreck your eyes, and I can't have you falling asleep in the middle of the day!"

"I'll get glasses if the former happens, and I've done just fine with the latter so far." I dropped my pencil to the desk, sighing. "Honestly, I still get all my chores done, don't I? I figured I could do with my own time what I wished - sleep or otherwise." I followed his gaze to my books, and smiled. "Some of these I borrowed, others I took from the library three blocks over - I'll return them later. Don't tell anyone, I don't actually have a card."

The old man shrugged, and then his brow furrowed. "...What's that you're reading, anyway?" He leaned against my chair as he massaged his knees, eyes fixed on the book. "...Ninjutsu theory?" He glanced at me, startled. "You want to become a shinobi? At your age?"

"No, I don't - I've said that often enough." I closed the book, tapping the cover distractedly. "When you deal with shinobi - or with anyone, for that matter - the first step should be to learn about them, to understand them at least a little. I find that it's quite - illuminating."

"So you're not practicing this stuff, right?" Han inquired as he looked around nervously as he scanned the names on the other books. "I don't want people to become nervous around here, and having a would-be shinobi in the attic, well…"

"I wouldn't even know how, anyway," I muttered. "This is about understanding, not about performing. Though sometimes I'm half-tempted to figure out chakra, just to get a proper night-light." I poked out a tongue.

"And what all this for?" Han wondered, gesturing to my collection. "Why would you want to be involved with them? I thought it was just some momentary interest you took to our - customer."

"I'm trying to get into their heads," I said slowly. "The shinobi are a part of this village too, you know - a big part. But a lot of people seem to think that they toss around fireballs for the hell of it, like they're all bratty children with no restraint. I was just trying to figure out why shinobi work that way - what's behind all of it."

"I wouldn't know," Han muttered, glancing aside.

"Hm. A large part of it, I'm gathering, is based on clans and families," I noted soberly. "Chakra-natures tend to be inherited, so whole clans specialize in particular techniques, such as the Uchiha and their fire-based jutsu. It's a remnant of the era of clan wars, I imagine. The big flashy techniques were basically advertisements - showing off your heritage and power in one strike. When Konoha was formed, those clans joined together, but they still like their independence."

"...So?"

"That explains a lot of the stories I've read - and it's useful knowledge to have. Not every fact has to be instantly applicable. And you never know when it is, until you are suddenly faced with that situation." I got up, stretching, the heavy book under my arm. "Anyway, I can tell that you don't care for my interest. Fine - I'll pick it up tomorrow. It is pretty late, you're right about -"

Flash.

I paused mid-word as I turned ever so slightly to my side. I'd been checking for movement in the window ever since I sighted one of the ANBU, back when I'd left Sakumo's place. For the first time, I'd actually seen something. A momentary glimmer of light had bounced up from the street, right in front of the house. I'd recognized the gleam of metal.

"Why'd you stop? What's going on?" Han inquired, but I hushed him with a glance.

"It's probably nothing, but…" I whispered in response, biting my lip as the worst possible scenarios occurred to me, hoping for once that I had just spotted an ANBU. I took a soft step away from the window, gesturing to the door.

Then, between one moment and the next, the window exploded.

The first blow came before I'd even turned around to escape, a meaty fist impacting just below my shoulder with incredibly force, pain erupting as I let out a half-choked scream. There was blood - I didn't know from where - and I was falling. I couldn't tell which way was up.

I tumbled to the hard ground, rolling across the hardwood floor, my eyes squeezed shut involuntarily as pain ripped through my side. I could hear someone shout from far away, but my mind refused to resolve the sounds into coherent words, refused to do anything but scream obscenities and panic.

He was fast - faster than I could deal with, and the second hit was as vicious as the first. Shinobi, my mind supplied eagerly, but I had no time for analyzing anything - there was just a surge of fear. I forced my sluggish body, still reeling from the last blow, to protect itself from the next one.

My arms came up haltingly, but something heavy was in their way. I panicked, trying to shove it away, but I failed. I couldn't get my bearings - things didn't make any sense. It was dark, and I wasn't sure why; belatedly, I realized my eyes weren't open.

There was a sudden solid thunk asa jolt of pain shot through me - had something hit me?

No - not me, I realized. I managed to pry open my eyes, glancing momentarily to the three-inch kunai that was embedded nearly to the hilt in the book that I was still clasping to my chest, poking out the other side. Then, I looked up.

Gray threatened to flood my vision from the corner of my eyes, and I couldn't see Han, couldn't even see my attacker. Perhaps, I hoped desperately, he thought me dead, and left. Maybe I would be okay, after all.

"You're not much of a fighter, are you?" a sibilant voice asked, shattering my hopes. I turned my head slowly as I struggled to sit up, and met two narrowed dark eyes, nearly black. Clothed black as the night, I could only see the upper half of the assassin's face - and the gleaming hitai-ate of Konoha, the very object which had tipped me off, though far too late to be of use.

Not an ANBU - they would only show themselves willingly. Chūnin or below, then. But that doesn't help me much. The thought congealed briefly, then vanished again. Fuck, I'm dead.

"Wh-" I sputtered, but I couldn't breathe. Maybe I had broken something, I realized. Just below the shoulder, on the side of my ribcage, that's where I'd been hit. Had the bastard shattered my ribs? I'd landed right on those!

I was going into shock - I recognized that distantly as I tried to parse the thought into coherence. I'd forgotten what shock actually meant, but it sounded right.

There was a dull green glow as the ninja leaned towards me, and something surged through me, sharp and soothing at the same time. The scent of chakra prickled in my nose, and something of relief overtook the agony that was my side.

"Not quite yet," the man muttered lightly. "Traitors deserve worse than such an easy death."

Traitors.

I latched onto the word, and even my confused brain could figure out the implications. There was only one person I knew who was described like that - Hatake Sakumo. I'd heard that word enough times in reference to the man. This was no random killing, not some outside agent assassinating civilians. This was my own stupid fault, my actions coming back to bite me. Someone had seen me with the 'traitor' - and tracked me back home.

"Fuck you!" I managed to pry from in between barely responsive lips, and I wondered distantly if I'd hit my head, as that explained why I was trembling uncontrollably, why my fists were balled and refused to open, why fear and anger seemed to mix in my belly and freeze me in place.

"Ah, don't talk now - you're going to need those lungs for screaming." The ninja said as he raised himself up, staring down at me with a shake of his head. "Such a pity, all of this. If only you'd have stayed well enough away…"

"FUCK. YOU!" I repeated, and I clumsily worked myself onto my knees, swaying from side to side. Half my chest felt like it was on fire, and my head was throbbing painfully, but still I managed to stay upright. I scowled at the attacker, knowing that trying to escape was a fool's errand - I was already as good as dead. "K-kill me, then," I said with more courage than I thought I had. "That's what you came for, right?"

If I was going to die - it would at least be on my feet.

The shinobi sniffed, glancing to his side. Han was on the floor just behind the door, bleeding from his forehead, but he was whimpering, which meant he was alive. The man got a gleam in his eyes, and smiled as he brought up a kunai, grasping it by the ring.

"No!" I exclaimed sharply. "Nobody else gets involved in this. I brought this on myself!"

The man smirked. "You care for this pathetic fossil, hm?" He seemed positively intrigued. "This guy is going to die soon, anyway." He twirled the kunai on his finger, then grasped it tightly. "Tell you what - you give me this guy to play with, and I'll let you live. Maybe maim you a little. Good deal, right? How does that sound?" His grin was monstrous, and I didn't need to be a mind-reader to know he was lying. He was here for me.

"It sounds like treason," I murmured at last, as I pulled myself onto my feet, one hand grasping the kunai that was embedded in my book. I ripped it out; my other arm refused to move, still holding onto the book with rigid strength. Still, I shambled forward despite that. "Kill me, you dishonorable bastard! Do what you have to."

He shrugged. "Since you ask so nicely."

I didn't have the time nor wits to evade his attack, to do anything but flail uncontrollably - I slashed with the kunai in the general direction of my attacker, the book still held tightly to my chest, and I prayed for some luck - or for a quick ending.

Maybe, I thought bitterly, the spirit of Konoha had been lost already.

I cried out in sudden shock and pain despite knowing what was coming, and the agony washed over my thoughts, leaving only intense emptiness as the knife sliced into me right where I'd been wounded before, as pain was compounded by more pain. I could feel blood trickling out, but not a lot - the blade had stopped just before it'd have torn into my lung.

The kunai fell out of my hand as my fingers twitched uncontrollably, and the book followed it onto the hardwood with a thud. For a long moment I remained upright, leaning against the wall with my back, and I thought I could hear Han's wailing in the distance. It didn't feel real - the whole world didn't feel real. It felt like a transparent film over a gaping hole, and as I clung to the hardness of the wood below me, it seemed like everything began flowing into one.

The second cut hurt, but it was a distant concern. I could hear my own whimpering, but it didn't feel like it was mine, not anymore. I could see the knife stabbing into my leg, slicing just far enough that my attacker could keep cutting without risking that I'd bleed out quickly.

I would have laughed, had I been able to. He was harming me with intent to torture, I was sure, but he'd begun too greedily. He'd already sent me careening towards the abyss, and all he did now was hurt flesh, not soul. The world was already twisting away, fading.

A fuzzy, buzzing sort of feeling was encroaching on reality, and it seemed to crackle, bend. Maybe it was chakra, the essence of life's energy that shinobi handled so easily - or maybe it was the death rattle of my mind. It didn't really matter - I just watched as the ninja tore into me, and I was sure I'd managed to get a smile through before the end, even as everything became fainter.

Well, that was all fucking pointless, a voice echoed in my head, and I wondered whose it was - before I recognized my own. I die because of a shinobi, at another one's hands. I was right to fear them. And maybe to pity them.

The cutting stopped, and what had been reduced to pinpricks now vanished entirely. Though I could still see, the world was no more than blacks and grays, fuzzy at the edges, and the buzzing overtook everything. Then - white. It was sharp and burning, and my nose protested suddenly at the enormous surge of power that overtook the world as chakra erupted. For a moment, I imagined it was my end, that it was the pure world pulling at me. It was not.

My torturer hung slumped over before me, his blood-slicked knife falling to the ground, joining my own in a pool of blood. His eyes were wide in disbelief, and something bright hung from the bottom of his neck, something I couldn't see clearly. Then more white resolved itself, and I realized it was also on the other side of his neck, tearing through him from end to end - dripping like a bloody fang. And someone was holding it.

Sakumo.

No!

I recoiled violently against the dimming of light when I recognized that face, those haunted eyes. If I die in front of him - this was all for nothing! He'll blame himself and he'll fucking kill himself anyway! I have to survive, damn it!

Even as I struggled, I could hear him faintly speaking in the distance, but I couldn't understand the words. Still, I forced a smile onto my face - the best I could manage. There was a surge of soothing chakra, luring me to sleep, and darkness at last stole me away.

But I refused to surrender.

"There is a saying I have always liked: 'Tragedy should be used as a source of strength.'

Wounds tell us of the consequences of your actions, aches remind us of the sacrifices we made. Healing speaks about the goodness in people, and recovery chronicles hope for the future.

Still, let us always strive to learn those things without pain."

The world returned with a sickening jolt, and everything burned like fire. Everything.

I tried to hiss in pain, but my mouth refused to let out as much a whimper. There was a strange staleness to the air as it flooded into my seared lungs, and I could feel something on my face, some kind of cloth. For a brief and horrifying moment, I thought it was a funeral shroud - then I rationalized that it had to be bandages. At no point did my breathing even stutter.

I felt pain - that was good, I realized quickly. It meant I'd survived. The strangely comfortable detachment that I remembered from before was gone now, and every sensation stood out starkly, solidly, the world once more unshakable. My heart was still beating in my chest, and it showed no signs of weakness. I'd made it back from the very edge of death.

My eyelids protested as I opened my eyes - they stuck to each other as if I'd just woken up from a month's worth of sleep. Which, I realized immediately, was a disturbingly real possibility. I saw only white - a ceiling, as clean as any I'd ever seen. I wasn't in my room anymore, nor even in my house. That had to be a good thing, I reckoned.

Tempted as I was to look around, my brain caught up with me, feverishly trying to make sense of things, and I hesitated to move. My neck felt stiff, and I had no idea what I'd broken, beyond probably a few ribs. I glanced around my limited field of vision with just my eyes, hoping I could figure out where I was, hoping the strange unresponsive heaviness of my limbs bothering me more than I would admit.

"You're awake!" a voice called out suddenly, and a bandaged face came into view - it took me a few long moments to recognize the old man hidden under all that white cloth. Han smiled widely, though it seemed he was missing a few teeth, and there were tears in his eyes. "Thank goodness. I thought you'd just slip away… I'll get - someone!"

Han was gone in the next moment, leaving me to my thoughts. Sounds were oddly muffled around me, I considered, which meant the bandages probably covered my ears. I suppose I'd hardly needed those. Since Han's minor injuries had still been bandaged up, that implied only a little time had passed since I'd gone down. Judging from the quality of the bandages, there was really only one place this could be - I should have foreseen that.

"Forty hours, eh? Not bad," a woman's voice said gently. After a few seconds, she chuckled. "Ah, not moving a muscle, huh? Some of my patients could learn that kind of patience…" She came into view as she leaned over me, a thin smile visible from just above her high-collared outfit. A few stray plucks of brown hair poked out from under her poufy white hat. "How are you feeling?"

I tried to answer, but beyond my tongue flopping uselessly around, nothing happened. I blinked in a burst of panic, forgetting my hesitance, but even my attempt to move my head failed to induce much more than a tremor.

The nurse, doubtlessly a medical-nin, frowned as she wrote something down just out of my vision. "Hm," she hummed. "I'd honestly expected that you'd only wake a few days from now, when the muscle paralysis would've long since passed - I guess you're still locked in there."

It was temporary - the realization came with a wave of relief. It didn't make things any easier, but at least - at least it'd end.

"It's a side-effect of the medicine, I'm afraid," the nin mused. "It's used during surgery, but in civilians it can take some days to flush out of the system, since there is not much chakra to burn it away. I'm afraid you'll have to wait it out." She smiled kindly. "You know who you are, right? And where you are?"

I couldn't speak, and I wondered for a long moment how I was supposed to answer. Finally, I just blinked with emphasis, and she nodded.

"Questions will be difficult, I guess." She chewed her lip for a moment. "In case you don't know this place, though, it is Konoha's general hospital. You were brought in two days ago, suffering from - well…" She shook her head. "Frankly, a baffling array of wounds - very nearly lethal. It took nearly four hours before we managed to stop all the bleeding, so you were quite lucky…"

"Just tell him what he needs to know, Taji. He's bound to be confused after all your rambling," a second person said from somewhere outside my field of view - he sounded older, male. "It's clear that any interrogation will have to wait."

Taji sighed wearily. "Yes, yes. Well, then - the simple truth is that though your condition is stable, Jiron-san, it's too early to tell whether you will regain use of your left arm. A number of nerves were severed, and the knife's blow apparently nicked your spine on its way. Thankfully, we had a number of experts available to heal you." She winked. "As the grouchy fellow mentioned, you're expected to relay what happened when you wake up, so we can put the right people behind bars. Don't worry - everyone involved is in jail."

I managed a slight cough, that time. My attacker was dead, I was sure - I'd seen him impaled on a sword, breathing his last. Barring him, there could only be one person who might have ended up in bad weather, even in jail - Sakumo, whose reputation was already disastrous. Shit.

"Don't worry about any more attacks - we won't put you in danger," Taji said kindly. "We're not allowing anyone in this wing, except for your caretaker."

Though I wanted to say something in Sakumo's defense, the words just dried up in my mouth. Taji left after a few minutes, telling me to sleep off the worst of my medication. Though Han came back to the room after that, he let me be, content to allow me some rest. Everyone probably thought I was utterly devastated, even paranoid about being tended to by shinobi - I imagined they were keeping me apart for fear of my reaction.

But the truth was - I knew what happened, and I couldn't muster any blame for anyone except the bastard that burst through my window. That terrifying moment replayed again and again in my mind, the film of the world rolling back as I shuffled away from life - and all I could really think about was that I felt sorry for the man who died.

In truth, I pitied a man who came to kill me. Because he'd attacked me because of my connection to Sakumo, fleeting as it was, I was certain of it. His feelings of betrayal had been burning so strongly within him, that the only outlet he could find was torturous violence. That sort of mentality - I could barely imagine what had to have led to it. What could have made someone that bitter. And yet, despite all that, I didn't hate the man, not really. I wondered distantly what that said about me - I imagined my old village's priest would have been pleased.

What was clear, however, was that vengeance, even over the littlest things, was horrific business when ninja were involved. If the assassin had not been prolonging my suffering, healing me just enough to keep me alive, I'd certainly have bled out right away - I had most definitely been lucky. My singular contact with shinobi had very nearly robbed me of my life.

Could I do all of it again, knowing the price? If this was no ill omen, I didn't know what would be - but at the same time, I'd survived. If pain was the price I paid for the life of a stranger, what would It take to save a whole village, as I so foolishly intended?

My soul?

I woke up several more times, but I never managed to stick around for more than a few minutes, staring at the white ceiling and wiggling my toes, unable to check if I managed it. I had no reckoning of time, no way to tell how long I'd been in that room - but I remembered the nurse's face peering worriedly at my desperate blinking.

At last, some immeasurable time later, things were suddenly different. I woke up sputtering, and I instinctively leaned turned a little - and it worked. Movement. I was still bandaged up, strapped to the hospital bed, but I could feel again. My mouth, dry as a Suna canyon, let out a rattling sigh, and I licked my lips, glad to realize that I had control again. If there was any apprehension left about my situation, it faded right then. I'd be alright.

Quite suddenly, before I'd acclimated to having muscles again, someone held a cup of water to my lips. I sipped from it greedily before I'd fully registered it, and for a long minute everything was just the water, the sweet sensation of it trickling down my tortured throat. Sharp stabs in my side reminded me of my wounds, even as the water seemed to flush away the cobwebs from my mind. It wasn't until I finally pried open my eyes, turning my head ever so slightly to face my benefactor, that I realized who it was. I nearly choked.

"Calm down, young man," he chided lightly.

"H-" I tried to say something, anything, but my voice grated in my throat, and I cut myself off before I could finish, squinting in agony as pain rushed radiated out from vocal chords that protested against the abuse. As the feeling abated, I finally blinked warily, taking in the man to my side, staring incredulously and not afraid to admit as much.

Because the man who was standing by my bed-side was Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Third Hokage.

He smiled good-naturedly from under his wide-brimmed hat, imprinted with the symbol for 'fire', and his lined face and graying beard made him look a little grandfatherly - but he was still the Hokage, and I tried to stammer something halfway respectful. His eyes held no malice, nor any hint of the stern interior that certainly had to exist - and I wondered why he was here. I'd only ever seen the man from a long distance - I'd never thought I'd actually meet him face to face.

"It seems I came at precisely the right time," the Hokage said mildly.

I didn't even need to see his wry smile to deduce that he wasn't at my bedside by accident. He'd arrived precisely when I'd woken up, which meant he'd been kept aware of when that would be. There was only one person who'd been keeping watch over me the entire time.

"T-Taji-san," I murmured at last from cracked lips. "A-Anbu?"

His gaze sharpened minutely, then he graciously nodded. "Correct," he said to himself, reaching for his mouth, and he stopped as a flash of annoyance made its way across his face. "I forget that there is no smoking in the hospital. Bah."

"H-Hokage-sama? Why are you…?" I stammered out, wincing at every tone. "...here?"

The leader of Konoha didn't answer for a few seconds, his eyes lingering briefly on my side, which was covered in thick bandages, and quite red. "I was quite intrigued, Jiron-san, when one of my finest came to me with the most unlikely story." He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing along my bed for a pace or two, before turning around. "You know who I am referring to."

"Sakumo-san."

The old man inclined his head. "That man is entirely too private for comfort, and I hadn't spoken to him in months outside of assignments. Indeed, not at all since that happened. Then, suddenly, I receive two message in the span of an hour. The first alerted me to a potential spy, and a particularly foolish one. The second - retracted that suspicion." He ran a hand through his goatee, and raised an eyebrow. "That is how it stayed, for a time."

I didn't know what to say, but it seemed my silence was enough.

"After the attack on your person, of course, he was brought to interrogation - and there I heard from him the details of your meeting, and the reason that one of my own Chūnin would hunt down a civilian. He relayed to me the conversation that you had, reluctant as he was to do so, so that you were spared a visit to that department." He cocked his head to the side slightly, smiling faintly. "As you might expect, his words were quite familiar."

"Because they were yours," I acknowledged slowly. I looked away to the ground. "I meant no offense, Hokage-sama."

"I am aware of that. They were my words, but more precisely my ideals. Anyone can recite a book, Jiron-san, if they take the time to memorize it. Hatake-san is quite adept at seeing through lies, and he would have surely caught you if you'd merely paid lip service to my speech. No - you meant those words as much as I did, which implies rather remarkable things about you."

I glanced up, blinking. "...Thank you?"

The Hokage shrugged. "It's surprising, of course. You are a newcomer to this land, and have only recently started calling Konoha your own. But even so, you already possess something that we could use more of in this place. That is what led you to Hatake-san's side, is it not?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do." I shook my head slightly, and it felt like my brain was wiggling around insides, so I quickly stopped. I tried to make a coherent statement, some philosophical observation that I was sure I had ready - but at the moment, it felt like my head was full of jelly.

"You will recover fully, I assure you," the Third said, reaching over to the nightstand, and his hands hovered momentarily over the cover of a large book there, before he picked it up. Right through the middle of it was a familiar hole, and my hand jerked to my chest in recognition. "It seems that sometimes, Ninjutsu can be of service even to civilians."

"Sakumo - is he alright?" I asked hurriedly. "He's not in jail, right?"

"He was released the day after the attack," the Hokage said easily. "The man who attacked you, incidentally, was a particularly vocal opponent of his, and elected to vent his rage against an easier target. The fact that you were a civilian, and therefore defenseless, gave him the chance he needed. For what it's worth - I am sorry he had the opportunity."

"Sorry? For what?" I bit my tongue. "H-Hokage-sama…"

The Third seemed oblivious to my stumbling rudeness. "It is simple. Your visit to Hatake-san's home led to the temporary reassignment of two ANBU guards as your - companions. When no evidence of foul play was observed, I allowed them to return to their regular duties. The day after that, you were attacked."

"Hardly our fault. I should have seen it coming," I murmured. "...Thank you for the concern, Hokage-sama," I said, giving a slight nod - the closest thing I could give him to a bow.

"You are welcome. And Jiron-san?" The Hokage said softly. "If you get involved in shinobi affairs again - please be discrete. The next time, you may not survive."

I inclined my head warily. "Understood."

He smiled dangerously as he stepped out of the door. That expression stayed with me for much longer than I cared to admit - tacit approval of my actions, perhaps. Maybe, just maybe, I could really do something meaningful.

The attack didn't deter me at all, I realized. Now that I had my right mind back, I could no more step back from the challenge that was put before me than I could stop reading books, or never eat again. Solving problems was something I lived for, and here was the greatest of all, placed before me to pick apart, its dangers and promises all too clear to me.

Death had looked me in the eye, shown me the ultimately price I might yet pay for my actions, and then let me go. I feared many things, but I knew I could not let it control my life. I'd face the shinobi that terrified me, stand up to the monsters, and maybe save a few broken dreams.

The future was a challenge that traversed the edge between glory and death.

Bring. It. On.