Chapter X

Approaching the Beast

As agreed, I head to where Naruto is. They explained to me that the system of the entrance door and the jail uses an electrical circuit for opening and closing; a precaution, they said. Unless the teenager has developed a talent for lock-picking during that last month, I judge the measures to be somewhat drastic. However, this does not prevent me from being impressed by recent technological advances.

I hear the mechanical sound telling me that I can go down the hall. As fatigue tries to catch up with me relentlessly, I take a deep breath. I'm nervous to the point where the tremors have reached my hands. In the silence and the darkness lit by a mere bulb offering only a useless subdued light, I enter the lair of the beast.

An unpleasant heat licks my skin after a single step inside; the air is heavy like a summer day laden with humidity where the storm is on the horizon. At this, a strong and unpleasant smell that I can hardly identify anchors in my nostrils and tears me a cough. I detect a nauseating scent of sulphur that drowns the room in its toxic aromas. There's something else to this mix, but it's too abstract to explain in words. A second step, and the sound of a growl rip the silence.

This sound, this voice, it's Naruto.

He lets me know that I'm not welcome here.

I expected this, but it still breaks my heart.

I pull myself together; I refuse to let fear and anxieties take over. I scan the surroundings around me. A stone wall on my left and the prison on my right. As seen on the videos, the bed is in the corner to the left, far, and opposite to the entrance. I notice an anomaly in this grid; there is a space large enough to fit a tray of food. They placed a glass of water and a ramen from Ichiraku by the way; no fume emerges, indicating that it has been there for a while. I conclude that it is lukewarm, probably cold. The part of the door in the prison bars is also located to the right, close to me. This one was unlocked while I was crossing the first one. In front of this jail, I feel on me the wild gaze of my pupil. I crouch down and I see them, in the pitch blackness beneath that bed, those sapphire eyes glowing like a thousand lights in the dark, watching me and staring at me apprehensively. A bead of sweat slides on my forehead, my pulse is now racing.

Everything will be decided when I enter the cage. If it passes, I will only have one chance, I know it too well.

In any case, I have no right to fail.

With caution and delicacy, I push the door; I almost jump when it creaks dully. That noise must not help the situation. I slip one foot inside. I hear Naruto's aggressive complaints again … nevertheless, these stop quite quickly and are less loud than the first ones. Could he recognize me or be curious about me? At least, this me who knew how to calm his anger? No matter how I interpret his reaction, it doesn't change the fact that he didn't greet me with his hellish flames unlike the others.

A hope sprouts in my mind.

Once inside, I gently close behind. Too bad for the escape if he decides to launch the assault; treating my wounds will be much less painful than trying to put him back in his jail while facing a suffocating inferno. Every move I make is carefully calculated and I make sure to stay far enough away, almost sticking myself to the wall opposite to him.

"Naruto, do you recognize me?" I say in a soft voice as I sit on the ground. "It's me, Kakashi. You remember me?"

Surprised, but not surprised, I receive no response. Not that I expected him to talk to me, but I was still hoping for something; a desire for him to lower his vigilance and his shell further when listening to my words. I'm pierced by his gaze, although I don't sense any aggression in it. Needless to say, sociability is not my forte. I hardly know what to say to him. I'm trying to think of something, but nothing comes to my mind … not what I would like, things said. I see in images fragments of my memory of this impulsive and clumsy young boy who aspired to become Hokage and who shouted it at whoever wanted to hear it or not. Then that of this teenager after two and a half years in the company of the late Jiraiya.

Nostalgia and a touch of melancholy take hold of me and a silence reigns.

"I'm sure the Naruto I know is still here, amnesiac or not. You'll remember one day or another," I say, avoiding looking at him, as if shame pushed me to do so.

The immediate is not his memory, but his physical state, not to mention the bond of trust—although small—that I have to weave. I pull the handy tray in my direction and place it in front of me. If the teenager is suspicious, perhaps he will deign to touch it if he sees that it is without any danger? Taking the bowl, as I suspected, I notice that it is cold; I further lose my already absent appetite.

"Naruto, do you remember we used to eat at Ichiraku's when we came back from a mission or training? I can't believe you've forgotten your biggest passion for noodles," I say with a genuine chuckle as I thought back to that day when everyone had to speak and share about themselves to our first meeting.

I speak for the sake of speaking, yet my smile remains honest. If I trust the video recordings, the camera must be behind me; this habit of keeping my visage hidden under the mask that never leaves my skin forces me to take this detail into account. I never really knew how to explain it, but it offers me a comfort that I can no longer do without, and this, since I was very young. There is also the discomfort that takes hold of my whole being when people try after many attempts to witness my face; it exposes me and few feel comfortable showing that part of intimacy.

Me included.

A subtle glance to make sure it's the only camera and that I'm at the perfect angle. Certain that they won't be able to see it or worse, record it, I lower my mask to my chin, just under my lower lip. I take the chopsticks and the container to grab a first bite of ramen. To my misfortune, the dish seems to be a shabby and pale copy of the real recipe in question; the cold drove out the taste that made it so unique and exquisite. So as not to betray myself, I suppress a grimace.

"Delicious," I lie, glancing forward briefly. "You must be hungry and thirsty after these two days, don't you think, Naruto?"

Since there's no point in waiting for an answer, I let the chopsticks soak in the broth and settle for taking a sip of water. Despite the unease and discomfort of my own actions, I exaggerate my reactions. By doing so, I hope to push the teenager to desire them in return. My hypothesis is that he feels neither hunger nor thirst—something that can be common during a trauma or a forced and prolonged fast; to have seen his condition, even briefly, it is plausible. Although he does not ask for them, his body needs them. He is still human after all.

However, I can't help but be anxious. His silence worries me and I don't know if my ploy will have any effect on him. If I can't at least get him to drink, drastic measures will have to be taken; he won't survive another day. I gently push the tray forward to imply that I am offering it to him while replacing my mask up to the top of my nose; already, I feel much better and less stressed … yet, it is only for a short time. As I press my back against the wall to enlarge the space between us, I wait and wait. In this unbearable wait, time drags on as the anxiety rises again until the wetness of my forehead soaks my silver hair. Subconsciously, I clench my fists and wait. The lump in my throat is a ban on speaking.

'I beg you, Naruto. You have to trust me,' I whisper inwardly in the form of a prayer.

To help me stay calm, I close my eye. Again and again, I wait in this silence that snatches hopes hanging only by a thread. Suddenly, a sound makes me miss a heartbeat. As I hold my breath, I open my eyelid to stare ahead … nothing. Ready to give up, a movement catches my attention. Unexpectedly, I see Naruto's hand come out of the darkness from under the bed, followed by the other. I can hardly believe what is happening. Slowly, the teenager comes out of his hiding place.

The first observation is his irises which no longer shine and which finally seem normal to me, in a way; his skin is paler than usual and he's just flesh and bones; his blond hair covers further his face hollowed out by hunger and fatigue; his nails are longer and sharper, like when he calls on the demon fox's power; he's wearing a three-quarter length jogger pants and a simple t-shirt and looking closely at it, the collar is damaged—a sign that he must have chewed it at some point… Of course, there's this long, thin, ebony-black tail with a bushy tip which—at first sight—seems as, if not taller than him.

Like a wild beast, Naruto scans the surroundings with his anxious eyes, but his blue irises never leave me. I analyze his non-verbal language. He is nervous and suspicious. His pulse must probably be rapid since his breathing has quickened. Once out of under the bed, he sits up in a ball keeping his legs ahead of him before embracing them; his tail meanwhile places itself in front of his body, wraps almost around himself. I conclude that this position imposes a barrier between us. Just as I do, his gaze even more piercing than mine observes me and gauges me. His bending and unbending toes betray his anxiety.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Naruto," I calmly reassure him as his clear irises dodge mine, then he turns his head away slightly. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The teenager with the golden mane remains quiet and turns his attention back to me. He reacts to my words, but I don't know if he understands me or not. Language is something that cannot be lost even with total amnesia, so I doubt very much that he has forgotten this element as acquired as speech. Nevertheless, his silence can be explained depending on the events that led to this result; just thinking about it, I feel the anger welling up inside me like boiling water ready to scream into a kettle.

I look at the glass and he imitates me. I have his attention where I want it.

"You have to drink, Naruto," I insist, nodding at the container to tell him to take it. "You will feel much better afterwards. I can assure you of that."

I know very well that he should eat too, but in the immediate future, we must chase away the dangers of the dehydration which is hovering the guillotine over his neck. I don't want him to be tied to a hospital bed either, even chained, with IVs that will cause further unnecessary trauma. He hasn't taken his eyes off me since I entered this place. He saw me swallow the contents; there is no reason to believe that he is still suspicious of it.

After a moment, he looks back at me and frowns. He doesn't seem convinced. I insist again, but this time, with a smile:

"If you don't like it, I can always get you something else."

To my great relief, the blond finally deigns to change his posture; I can sense the curiosity that possesses him when he stares at it more eagerly, getting his head forward to see what's inside. On all fours, he moves ahead a little more until there is only one metre between us. Hesitantly, he swallows and approaches his hand to the glass. With a sharp movement, he grabs it before stepping back to sit against the bed in a similar position. Not to scare him, I made sure to stay as still as possible. It seems to have been a wise choice.

Naruto brings it to his lips to take a sip. A brief moment passes and he starts again until I guess the glass empty. I then feel a huge weight leave my shoulders, as well as fatigue resurfacing. But what I notice next leaves me speechless.

I saw Naruto crack a smile.

The time of a breath, of a second.

I recognized the boy I know.