Irrevocable Actions

"Master Iruka," began Hayake, with an air of pride about his countenance, "you've done marvelous things for our poor, humble village."

"I've done nothing worth all this honor—I've done things like this before, you see—"

"But you do not know what your little task has done for my people! You've given us the safety and security of knowing that we will not be further tormented by these foolish men you've captured. Now, they are being justly served in the neighboring village's prison. We can never thank you enough for what you've done."

Following the remark, the villagers in the restaurant applauded. Hayake stood proudly, presenting himself to the people who'd come to hear their leader speak. This restaurant was now brimming with guests, as if some horrid plague had kept them from this area for so long and it had subsided to the point where they could enjoy the pleasure of a good meal outside of the home. It was a happy sight, and Iruka could truly see that these people were happy now. Perhaps he had done a great deal to help these people come out of their homes and into the markets and streets once more, without the lingering fear of bandits awaiting their unfortunate passage near their hideaway. No more would these people be plagued by fear, nor by the constant defacing of their homes and property in the town square. All was well in the village again; Iruka beamed at the thought. It wouldn't do him any good to resist all the praise Hayake was giving him, for these people really had needed a comforting blow to the bandits. So, as humbly as he could, he thanked Hayake and the villagers for all the praise he was receiving. Applause rose, Iruka blushed. With an uplifted hand, Hayake silenced the throng once more, continued in his speech.

"We are greatly indebted to your kind deeds, Master Iruka. Please accept our reward to you in my home this evening—the presentation will take place about sundown. A ceremony will follow the next morning as you prepare to leave our village, leaving footsteps and an example that will forever affect us." He looked down to Iruka who, in turn, looked back up to the beaming face of a strong, prestigious man. Iruka nodded in thanks, stood and reached up to shake his hand. More applause ensued. Iruka smiled greatly.

Inside, however, he was still slightly perturbed at the thought that a great deal of his summer vacation had been wasted while he could have been relaxing. He would have to leave for home the next morning, and even though we was to receive a "great reward" this evening, he still couldn't help but feel that he'd be cheated out of a good deal in some way. Ceremony? What was that all about? Maybe this was a great reward. But, then again, these people were virtually unknown to the Fire Nation, and he wasn't entirely secure in their supposed honesty. Trust was something that needed to be established in this village before Iruka was supposed to accept the plea, but with his kind heart, he accepted. Oh, well. Service was never bad, was it? It was all a forgotten folly that men seemed to loathe these days. No big deal.

As he watched the chef prepare the food using all varieties of tricks, tosses, and other things that made people laugh, he felt eyes staring into his soul from across the table. Curious, his eyes brought him to see a young girl—Inori, he'd been told. He'd seen her before, yes, earlier that week when he'd first entered the restaurant. This place was vacant then, but now, it was flooded with happy villagers who'd only recently been freed from their bondage of fear. Inori stared at him with large, bright eyes and a concerned pout drawn at the corners of her mouth. Confused, he smiled in return, and she only looked away. Iruka brushed it off as just some little girlish antics at this "hero" and reminded himself that things couldn't get any worse.

This isn't so bad, he reassured himself. Now, they'll treat me well on my next vacation. Besides—it's given me a chance to brush up on my skills again and do something I haven't done in a long while.

This isn't so bad.

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"It isn't right. We hardly even know him."

"Listen to me, Katana, you're at the appropriate age where if you're not married by now, you're going to have an arranged marriage. Look at you—you're eighteen, and not a husband!"

"There is already someone though! You know I love him, and he love me! We were meant for each other! Why can't you see—"

"Then why has he not asked! Why do you remain in this girlish fantasy! Love like that will not survive because he is poor! He could never support you and a family! He's just a poor boy! And why you've remained in love with him until this point will forever remain a mystery to me. He can't promise you anything—"

"Except love."

"Oh, why do you bother with that again? It's such an old-fashioned thing! People these ages aren't getting married for love; it's for power and prestige and continuing lineage. You know that—"

"So call me old-fashioned, father, because that's really what I am, isn't it! I'm just a foolish girl that believes in old traditions and true love, while you remain in your little folly of power and prestige and continuing lineage! I'm not even your blood daughter! What's wrong with you!" she spat, throwing her arms in the air and storming toward the balcony outside. In the midst of her somewhat immature raging, she halted by further word from her father.

"He could never give you anything worthwhile. He's just a poor boy." His voice was considerably softer than it was before, as if to comfort her raging anger and fear—yes, it was fear. She knew from the beginning that she and Kori would never really last. He really did have nothing to offer her . . yet, what was it that kept her coming back to him? What was it that bound her to him, and he to her?

"He could give me love . . ."

"And what is that worth these days? Nothing." He sat upon her bed. She wouldn't dare look back at him, only kept her longing gaze fixed through the open doors. The breeze danced along the sheer curtains that lined the doors, inviting the cold, hard spirit in the room to thrive and prosper. She suppressed tears, kept listening to the steely words her father was saying. "I expect you to behave well when he comes—not like the little brat I know you can be. Show proper manners, be graceful, and remember what you're doing for this little village. For all you know, he's better than that blasted Kori, and not only that, he can probably bring you up to a wealthy place in his village. He can protect you, help you, keep you safe from harm . . ."

In one raging, solitary moment, she felt a wave of anger sweep through her at the reiteration of her father's words in her brain. How dare he! How could he! Through clenched teeth and a rigid jaw, she balled her fists and prepared to lash out with some comment that she was sure would send him into at least a minute sense of the situation. Right now, he was oblivious to all she'd just reiterated to him—how could he be? How could he not know it was love that bound her to her precious Kori! "Father," she gritted her teeth, "you . . ."

With a quick whip of her head that tossed her hair loosely around her face, she glanced back to see old Hayake, sitting importantly on the bed. In him, she also saw the people of the village looking at her, wondering why she was. Wasn't she just a mistake? An accident? An unwanted orphan wandering the streets? She remembered now, how she'd been unwanted as a young girl of two years, and old Hayake was kind enough to take her in. At this memory, she immediately became frightened, her big, green eyes growing wide and swelling with big tears that slid helplessly down her cheeks. Hayake knew what this was doing to her, and he stood calmly and gathered his once young, dirty little girl into the arms that once held her. For another moment, he held her frightened countenance as she hovered in his arms, then became hysterical all at once and threw herself into the embrace. He sighed in the relief of knowing she wouldn't retaliate once more.

"Oh, father, father . . ." she sobbed, "I'm sorry. Forgive me; it was not my place to rebel against you." He ran his hands over her frailty of a back, smoothing into her the comfort she needed at this time, protection from the storm.

I gave you life, he thought. If it weren't for me, you'd be dead. I shared my life with you because I pitied you. Pity was the only thing that could save you, and it was me that gave it so freely to you. Because I gave you life, I can freely control the direction I wish it to take. Now, you will prevent any anger or frustration from the village by wedding this man I will give you to.

He listened once more to her now quiet sobbing, felt her breathing in his arms. He released her and allowed her to go back out to the balcony she'd previously attempted to retreat to. All at once he was filled with rage at her, pondering on why she'd come into his life. Balling his fists, he took himself to the doors that would lead him to the hallway where he would meet Iruka down in the grand foyer.

I cannot believe I've had to deal with her for so long. I do not understand why she was so inconveniently placed in my hands, why her life suddenly had to invade mine.

He knew the truth, the truth that had been revealed to the once orphaned girl as something twisted into a selfish lie. Hayake knew what happened that night, sixteen years ago. He knew everything that his "daughter" should know, yet was deprived of learning . . .

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"I cannot take her."

"Hayake, you must. You are just as responsible for her as I am."

"Why should I take her? You've raised her since conception—and I've had no part in it. She's yours. She could never be mine. She has never known a father."

"You know I'm bound for death—how dare you be so foolish as to allow her to suffer for the foolish action of both of us! How dare you even think of allowing her to enter a master residence where she'll be mistreated and enslaved and then allowed to die! How dare you hold no pity! How dare you be so prideful as to not admit to the mistake we share!"

"She's not mine. I don't own her."

"But you are a part of her. You know it. I will soon die, and you will probably hold no grudge or regret, but you will remember this: she is yours after I die, and you must take full responsibility for her. If you do not, the blame will be on your head."

"She is not my responsibility."

"How dare you. And I suppose your coming into my house almost three years ago was not your responsibility also."

"That has nothing to do with it. That's out of the question."

"Some leader you'll be, not even having the gall to admit to a mistake or the guts to claim responsibility . . ."

" . . ."

"Foolish, selfish, brainless, mindless, heartless, stupid pig . . ."

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That was long ago. Her convincing and cutting remarks at the time were enough to persuade him to take the dear little girl in, but now, he would do anything to get rid of her. Oh, it was a vile, selfish game he'd played, but it was true that he'd never felt a scrap of love for her. She was just a mistake, after all—a result of the foolish actions of a man and some harlot he'd met on the street.

Maybe it was true. He could never love a mistake . . . They were not affordable, and they caused unwanted occasions.

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It wasn't too long before Hayake entered the grand foyer to meet Iruka, who'd spent the past ten minutes pondering on this great anticipation. Hayake had simply come down, met Iruka with a handshake and a few kind words, then led the way up to the 23rd floor of the grand structure. Iruka remained silent for much of the way. Perhaps he was worried, or confused, or even too excited to say anything. He was thinking of the reward, though, Hayake knew. However, Iruka's reaction to his new "gift" would remain a mystery until the very moment he met her. This could be disastrous . . . no, Iruka appeared to be too kind to refuse such an offer. Surely he would accept it . . .

Or at least that's what the fearful village leader hoped. If things didn't work out, who knows what enemies this tiny, suffering village would make? That was something that couldn't be afforded, especially in these economically challenging times. Every action must be monitored with utmost care and concern.

"Master Iruka," Hayake began nervously, as they neared the 20th floor, "tell me a little more about yourself." Iruka, in a rather bewildered fashion, glanced over at Hayake, smiled nervously.

"I'm afraid there's not much to tell. Is there something specific you had in mind? I'm a rather simple person, I fear, and I'm not sure there's really anything to brag about."

"Oh, come now, don't be so ridiculous—humble, I mean," he laughed heartily with a touch of a nervous edge, which shook Iruka to wonder what was going on. He was becoming too suspicious. "Is there anyone special in your life—anyone you love?"

Iruka thought a moment, yet the only person that came to his mind was—oddly enough—Naruto. He smiled critically at the thought, yet announced it audibly anyway. "There's a boy in the village. He's become like a son to me. He grew up without parents, and nobody in the village likes him. Sounds a lot like me when I was his age."

Hayake raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"

Huh? Iruka looked back at the doors to the elevator, as if doing so would make them suddenly open and someone would jump in and say, "Congratulations, you've won . . .!" The sentence would never be finished, it seemed. "Well, you see . . . my parents were killed in the attack of Kyuubi. They were fighting for the village, and they were killed . . . I suppose. Naruto's just the same way, except he's never even known his parents. That's why he's such a weirdo, and outcast . . ." he sighed, relaxed a bit. Such words put him at ease with himself. "He's just like I was."

Hayake restrained his laughing for a moment, and when it was released, he almost regretted it. Instead, he smoothed it over with a new comment. "No woman? At all?"

Iruka almost laughed himself. "No. Sad, isn't it?"

The 23rd floor. As the doors opened, Hayake stepped through, invited Iruka to follow him. He did so uneasily, yet relaxed when they entered the homier environment of a grand bedroom . . .

Wait. This bedroom was awfully familiar to Iruka. Yes, he'd been saved by one of the bandits in here. Was this . . .

No, of course not. Iruka brushed it off as a senseless worry and told himself everything would not be as it seemed. "Wait here," Hayake intruded. "I must go fetch her." He floated from the room out to a secluded balcony through doors which he closed behind himself. Iruka sighed, ignoring the most recent comment as he alighted on the bed near him. Sure, it may have been rude, but he didn't mind at this moment. Hayake himself was being rather rude, keeping this "reward" a secret. Iruka sat festering in frustration until his vivid concentration was broken by the light footfall nearing the room. He looked through the doorway to discover little Inori once more. She was peering shyly through the open door, staring at him with bright, blue eyes. A light, airy smile came on his face to greet her. She, realizing he meant no harm, smiled and trotted into the room, followed by a tall man dressed in black, as if he were to attend a funeral. Iruka wondered on the situation, yet was interrupted by the presence of the little girl again, who'd climbed up to sit near him on the large bed. The smile came to his face again as she looked at him with wonder in her face.

"You don't mean any harm, do you? You're a good man, aren't you?" Her questions were odd to him, and he questioned her in return with a slightly confused look on his face. The man who'd followed her into the room spoke out.

"Of course he is. Why else would Hayake choose him?"

She merely ignored him, went back to Iruka. "She doesn't want you, you know. Do you want her? Will you take her? She loves someone else, you know."

In one sheer instant, Iruka came to realize his misfortune-tossed fate, which drew him to confusion and led him into a state of mild panic. He stood up quickly from the bed, looked around in bewilderment. His panic was expressed through short utterances of words that seemed surprised, such as, "How? What? Who . . .?" Growing more frightened still, he turned to look at the man dressed in black, who merely chuckled in a deep, throaty voice. "Oh, come now, son, don't tell us you didn't know!"

How could it come to this? Why did I take this job? I can refuse her, yes, and demand that I will refuse any reward—it wouldn't be worth the trouble to take in a complete stranger like this. It's wrong! It's immoral! I don't even know who she is! How can they do this to me! I'll run—I'll run away and never come back! That way, we'll both be happy in our actions, and maybe she'll be happy too. That way, they won't have to pay me and I can just keep pretending that everything's okay, that my summer vacation was spent tanning on the beach.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Iruka said shakily. He took his leave to the door, not looking back.

That is, until he was held back by his hand. Looking back, Inori was holding one of his hands in the grasp of her own. She seemed to convey some sad feeling with her touch, openly yet inaudibly admitting her fear of the situation, that something might go wrong. Her eyes began to gently well up with tears as she stared sternly and heavily into his eyes.

"Please, Master Iruka," she pleaded. "My father's intentions are not to harm, nor to embarrass. We simply do not have the means to repay you with money. Our village suffers as we speak," she pulled him back into the room, trying to persuade him to accept the proposal. "I promise my sister's a wonderful person. She's very strong. Please say you'll love her. Please say you won't hurt her like her mother did."

Her sister? Well, at least she'd be at least half-acceptable by her looks, if she looked anything like her father and sister. But why did it have to come to this? Half-heartedly, Iruka weighed the outcomes of both situations, trying to find out whatever his choice would lead to. He could accept and be miserable for the rest of his life. Divorce was something that was seriously frowned upon, so he couldn't really keep her for a while and then get rid of her when he was sick of her. He could not accept and embarrass the village and be cheated out of his summer vacation for some worthless village he'd saved. That, and he didn't want any bridges burned. All in all, it sounded more agreeable not to accept Hayake's daughter, allowing himself more freedom and spare time and a lesson learned. But, then again . . .

Feeling guilty, he looked down at little Inori, looked into her face once more. She really was upset, it appeared. What was it that made her look this way? What was it that made her think that it would be better for her sister to be taken by Iruka? Why was it so difficult to resist negating the proposal? Iruka sighed in frustration. "Inori," he began, rubbing his temples, "tell me why I should accept your sister. I don't think I can, honestly. Tell me why."

Inori, as innocent as she appeared, shied her look away from Iruka and stared at her feet.

"Tell me, Inori."

She resisted before continuing, looking up once more to the man dressed in black. Without really expressing so, he gave her the permission needed to continue. Iruka listened intently, waiting for the exact reason his future should be maimed for the sake of the village, or Inori's sister, or whatever.

"She's not really my sister, Master Iruka. She was an orphan found on the streets, and Father had the pity to take her in and raise her. But . . . that is not why." She halted further speech, much to the frustration of her listener.

"But she's loved—"

"Maybe she is, but not in the way a father loves his daughter. Maybe he loved her for this occasion only. But he does not love her like his daughter." Iruka sighed again. This was not a good enough reason to accept.

"Inori, please understand—"

"No, you don't understand!" He was shocked at the force she used in exerting this comment. Was she angry? Upset? "Father doesn't love her! He has no intentions of keeping her! Iruka . . ." She looked up with wet eyes. "He beats her. He keeps her locked up—he treats her horribly, and she runs back to him thinking that it's something a father should do! She's never known love, because my father will never love her truly. She's hated in this household. Father's even said so himself that she's nothing but a senseless burden and that he'd do anything to be rid of her."

Iruka was almost angry. Why should this family's troubles determine his future? Why should he accept this? And why did this ever happen?

Because I'm too nice, that's all.

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"Katana, he's here. I hope you've changed your mind about this situation and now realize that this is for the better." Hayake strode boldly to his daughter, leaning over the balustrade that kept her from falling over the edge—or jumping, perhaps, in this situation. Hayake rested a hand on her back as she spoke easily, still recovering from the shock of the crying she'd just come over.

"I know you know better, father, that everything will be okay." She was lying to herself to get out of the embarrassment of appearing before her groom red-faced and angry. "But why—"

"Don't ask me why, Katana. It's a waste of your breath. Besides," his voice became suddenly cold, "he will be more than Kori ever could be."

She raged at this comment, yet allowed it to simmer. Complaining wouldn't do a thing at this moment, so she prepared herself for the worst. Running her fingers through her long, tangled hair, she attempted to make herself at least half presentable. She stood up straight. "How do I look?"

Coldly, again, he replied, "You could look better, little brat. If it weren't for your ridiculous reactions, you might look half presentable." He started toward the doors, followed by his adopted daughter.

This is it, she said. It's only the night before our wedding, and I'm just barely meeting him. This could be tragic. How do I know he's not an abusive man or anything? How do I know he'll love me? What does Father know about this situation, anyway? How does he get off selling me to some stranger? Father's a fool, I know it. This couldn't possibly be right.

Taking one final breath, she followed her father into her bedroom where her fate would be sealed—no, where it had already been sealed the night before. This is it, she gasped quietly. I'm resting my future in the hands of a stranger.

"Master Iruka," Hayake boomed. "I would like you to meet my daughter, Masamune Katana."

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It all seemed to happen too fast. One moment, he found himself looking at Inori and considering accepting her sister for her sake, Inori's sake, the village's sake . . . well, whatever it was, he finally concluded to accept. How bad could it be, huh? Chances are she's an absolutely gorgeous girl with a wonderful personality. We could learn to love, couldn't we? Can't everyone learn to love another?

Why am I accepting?

It was all too quick. Before he knew it, he was taking the proposal of marriage. Had he even seen her yet? Yes, but it was all too much of a shock. Let's see, what did she look like . . . ah, yes. Nothing like her sister or father but . . . oh, yes, that's because she's adopted, but she did, however, possess a familiar recollection of her father. Why was that? Were these features common in the village? Was she attractive? He forgot to check that, he was so shocked. He'd seen her, and it seemed that before Hayake even asked Iruka if he accepted, Iruka was expressing his acceptance.

Because I'm too nice. Oh, what am I getting myself into? I can refuse—

"Iruka, you will be greatly blessed," the man boomed, giving him a firm pat on the back, which almost knocked the considerably smaller Iruka to the ground. "We will perform the ceremony tomorrow morning before you leave—I hope that's okay with you."

That was Iruka's chance. He could turn down the proposal right there and be rid of this burden. He could run, leaving two hearts unbroken that day, leaving them to become one again.

But he didn't. Why? Not even Iruka was sure. All he really thought of next was the mess he'd gotten into. Slowly and uneasily, he turned around to Katana—the woman he'd share the next portion of his live with. She never made eye-contact, only stared solemnly to the ground the way her father had taught her—not directly, of course, but by the way she'd been treated. A solitary tear fell from her face, yet she did not turn away; no, she was being brave.

And for once, she hated it.