Chapter 119
Loose Ends: How We Change the World
The days that followed the liberation of the Flower Shops and labor camps across the Land of Water were hectic. Consumed day in and day out by some manner of mission, investigation or relief effort.
The Mizukage's office was encountering a massive flux of foot traffic from all manner of shinobi reporting in, from green Genin to grizzled veterans, from members of Anbu to the medic-nins, and any and all between. Work to rebuild their Village and Nation did not stop, regardless of the crisis.
However, the aftermath of the coordinated raids against the Crimson Flowers took immediate priority, and for good reason.
Time was against them. Every second that passed without relief for the liberated souls or without meticulous investigations guaranteed further loss of life while expediting their enemy's escape from punishment. They couldn't hesitate. They couldn't allow emotions or politics to obscure and obstruct their mission. There was too much work to be done, too many lives depending on them to hesitate now.
On one battlefront, there were the shinobi responsible for the construction and protection of the refugee camps, which were performed alongside supply deliveries to the necessary locations wherever and whenever possible.
The delivery of supplies faced the greatest challenge. Delays caused by the weather, the mountainous terrain itself and the remoteness of some of the mines led to discussions, and arguments, on how to transport the aid to those who needed it.
In this crisis, the sudden demand for blankets, clothes, medical supplies, food, water and shelter was, unfortunately, greater than the present supply could accommodate for. Requisition orders were sent out to all the remaining textile mills within the Land of Water for blankets and clothes and other such equipment as swiftly as possible.
Shinobi rations were tapped to temporarily alleviate the food and water crisis, but more was needed. A lot more. Shinobi rations alone weren't enough, and they were needed for the soldiers undertaking these missions. And they'd just entered winter; the season only exacerbated the issue.
The additional threat of bandits was also discussed, and argued. Bandits would be emboldened to strike the caravans when they realized the value of the supplies; supplies which could help them survive the bitter winter like hibernating bears.
Eventually it was decided shinobi would guide and guard the caravans to their destinations through the snowy mountain trails.
The mines and Flower Shops remained the temporary homes for the vast majority of liberated slaves. Rations were spread thin between them, but no one complained. They were not forced to perform labor of any kind. No punishments were doled out, nor were they caged like rabid animals.
They were gifted new clothes. Bathed. They had blankets, makeshift beds and cots, food and water. They were being tended to by the few and far between medic-nins of the Mist, as well as the doctors who volunteered their services when news of the crisis reached them; every doctor was vetted meticulously, rightfully so. For the Mist shinobi had captured Crimson Flowers spies seeking to infiltrate the liberated camps.
But not all was positive news from the liberated camps. Since the liberation, a little more than a dozen of the victims had died from infections, diseases, organ failure, heartbreak and suicide. Reports suggested there would be more. There were also those afflicted by the narcotic to consider, some of whom had inflicted self-harm while suffering from withdrawals.
Simply put: There weren't enough doctors or medications available to treat the sudden flux of patients suffering from starvation, infections, addiction and trauma that was equally emotional, mental and physical. And there weren't enough shinobi to watch all the victims to prevent self-harm and suicide.
The search for a cure to the narcotics effects, or at the very least a means to mitigate its effects and ease the individuals afflicted back into a regular life, was ongoing.
On a different battlefront, the shinobi of the Mist were following leads gained through the coordinated raids throughout the Land. It was a full-scale hunt. The wolves were set loose. And they were hungry for justice.
Some of the trails led to useless dead-ends—old businesses or routes no longer in use. Others led them to earners for the organization, who were taken in by the squads for more information, or store fronts used by the Crimson Flowers to hide their gambling, prostitution and extortion rackets.
They hunted agents of the Crimson Flowers. They hunted clients. They dealt with the traitors within their own forces. They followed the supply chain and located the distributors of their narcotic. It was delicate work. And it was steadily eating away at what time they had to locate and pluck the leader of the organization before all of the weeds tied to them were burned in a cleansing flame.
Whoever was in charge covered their trail well. They kept their fingerprints off the crime, all the while puppeteering it masterfully from the shadows.
Chōjūrō trusted in Natsumi and his comrades to locate them. In the meantime he focused first on his recovery, and then aiding wherever he could.
He hadn't seen the Mist in days. None of them had, he knew. Haku and Natsumi were presently working together to hunt down the leader of the organization while he and Haruhi sought out their other business ventures and distributors of the narcotic.
Master Zabuza, he learned upon one warehouse raid, was also hunting, too. He had taken the entire warehouse on his own, asking Chōjūrō and Haruhi to watch for stragglers.
The operator had the unfortunate fate of being taken alive by the Demon all the way back to the Mist.
Admittedly, Chōjūrō was confused by his sudden appearance. Haruhi theorized the man in charge was somehow more valuable to the overall organization than they anticipated, which perhaps meant he possessed Intel on the leader.
They would never know for certain what was learned. Only that the operator would suffer if he didn't cooperate with Master Zabuza or Lady Mizukage.
He hadn't cooperated. At first. He learned to.
On the fifth day, a messenger bird sent from Natsumi reached the pair while they made camp. The message was simple:
We've found the bastard. Iwasaki Port. Meet us there.
"What is our new mission?" Haruhi asked after he rolled up parchment, noticing his serious demeanor.
"Iwasaki Port. They found the leader," he replied.
Haruhi nodded once. "Then let us cut out this cancerous tumor once and for all."
The two Mist shinobi dashed off for the northwest port.
Of all the towns and ports in the Land of Water, Iwasaki Port still somewhat resembled itself from the past era. While not without poverty and crime—only a utopia was absent of both—the presence of both was less abundant in Iwasaki Port. Less visible at first, second and even third glance, but not wholly invisible.
The buildings were well-maintained, lacking distinct damage, weathering or graffiti as was known to be found elsewhere in the Land of Water. Trade with the islands outside of the Land of Water was maintained through the tumultuous dark times, though the frequency of importing and exporting trade goods had significantly lessened until this last year.
Times seemed to be changing.
Random assaults, pickpockets and muggings were at an all-time low. These crimes were as likely to be encountered in Iwasaki Port as locating a desert in the Rain Village. Work at the docks, in the warehouses and in returning shops paid livable wages. Some jobs paid enough to gamble without losing your entire livelihood.
Overall, Iwasaki Port was a town that had survived the death throes of poverty and was bouncing back.
Sadao the Kind was a businessman and an influential leader of Iwasaki Port. A kind elderly man known by all those who called the port home, he could be seen in the early mornings walking sprightly through the city, sharing familiar and fond greetings with the townsfolk before he would inevitably return to his office and continue work.
Those who had known him the last two decades had seen his long hair and beard grey and thin everywhere except around the crown of his head—it had receded completely there.
The rebound of the town, the lack of crime, it was all thanks to him. His leadership saw them through the dark times, his wealth kept them afloat and his connections kept trade flowing.
Sadao the Kind, as it was widely known, was a man who worked as hard as those who performed physically taxing jobs all around the port. Sometimes twice as hard. Before he had grown old, before arthritis afflicted his hands, he could be seen working right alongside them.
But he was old now. His body rendered frail by time's eroding power. Still he worked. Not in physically taxing labor, but at a desk rebuilding the port.
On one such snowy afternoon, as he dipped his expensive swan quill pen into ink, lettering a stern and strongly worded reply to a trade company attempting to swindle their way out of the tax all businesses of their wealth were required to pay, he was greeted by an expected interruption.
His office door opened without a courtesy knock. He didn't glance up as four individuals filed in with his assistant—a gorgeous middle-aged woman with dark hair—demanding them to make an appointment while apologizing to Sadao for the sudden entry. The elderly man waved off her apology with his free hand, explaining it was fine and she could relax, but to ensure they were given privacy.
Once his assistant was gone and the door shut, he addressed the intruders without taking his eyes off his letter.
"Please excuse me for not standing to greet you. As you can see by the documents on my desk there is always more work to be done here in Iwasaki Port, and my arthritis slows me down considerably. Although…"
He gently dipped his quill into the ink well. After carefully considering his next words he began again, the light scratch of his quill on parchment filling the space of conversation with a deliberately drawn out silence. He wanted to dictate the power dynamics; it was his nature as a businessman. His intruders needed to understand they had a trivial fragment of his attention, which was gracious of him to give all things considered.
"Although," he continued, "formality and general courtesy seem to matter little to you, seeing as you have barged into my office unkindly, without an appointment, and distressed my assistant in doing so. She is a hard worker. As I mentioned earlier, my arthritis has slowed me down considerably, as has my age; the majority of the letters written here are in her penmanship, and though my word is final on all business deals, she handles more and more of the meetings and deals with each passing year. One day she will be in charge. But I digress.
"What has provoked you to barge into an old man's office? Keep it brief, if you can. I am a busy man."
"I think you'll find that your schedule is about to open up," a young woman said, her voice bearing a sadistic charm.
Sadao said nothing. He scratched his quill over his parchment, scribing the final touches to his stern letter; they would not try to swindle this port again once they read it. Otherwise he would destroy their pride and their reputation entirely with another letter.
Who needed blades when the quill was a far stronger weapon?
Setting aside the finished letter and his quill, he procured a sealed envelope, retrieving the letter from within with only a slight glance up at his intruders.
The four Mist shinobi stood slightly spread apart. The bespectacled boy with the fish-shaped sword was standing beside the door. Examining his shelving units without touching them like a nosey mother hen was a boy with long dark hair. Off to the side, closer to the window with a view of the port, staring at him with cold orange eyes was a chestnut-haired kunoichi.
Finally there was the crimson-haired kunoichi, who bore a crescent-shaped scar under her left eye and a scar through her right eyebrow. She was standing at his desk, turquoise eyes pinned on him like an ocean of fire. He wasn't intimidated.
All except the boy with the sword wore cloaks.
"Oh?" he replied, mocking a surprised intonation. "Unless you are here to tell me I have won the jackpot lottery in at least two Nations outside of our own, guaranteeing a sum of money enough to secure my retirement and rebuild, refurbish and replenish Iwasaki Port to its past splendor, then I am afraid I am at a loss as to why my schedule would open up.
"And please do not waste my time," he said with a mild shake of his head. "Time is too precious to be wasted. You youngsters should learn that now. One day you will grow old, as we all do, and your bodies will no longer bear the strength of youth you currently possess."
"Heh. For a guy nicknamed 'the Kind', you really are a pretentious prick, you know that."
"Insults, young lady? Is this how the Mizukage's assistant handles business? If so, then it is no wonder the Mist has made limited progress in rebuilding itself."
He expected the kunoichi to slam her hands on his desk, or even snatch him by his collar. From what he could see in their limited interaction, her temper was volatile and on the verge of snapping like a crack of lightning striking the earth.
Instead, she defied expectation and huffed a mocking laugh. At him, Sadao sensed.
"Did you think you could provoke me with that? Those cantankerous councilors have more bite than you, old man. And they're even more pretentious and entitled, so spare me the garden variety provocations. We aren't here to trade petty insults like teenage boys trying to puff their chests out and measure who has the longest kunai."
The bespectacled boy blushed. The dark-haired one rolled his eyes. The orange-eyed kunoichi didn't react; her cold gaze had not left him.
"Tactful," Sadao drawled. "In case you have failed to notice, thus far you have yet to give me single inclination as to why you are interrupting my work. Or have you no reason at all?"
"Are you seriously gonna pretend you don't know?"
"I have many talents, young lady. Acting isn't one of them."
"Could've fooled me," the crimson-haired kunoichi replied, sniffing dismissively. "From where I'm standing, you should be taking this show on the road. The kind, innocent old businessman. A good, honest man who helped keep Iwasaki afloat. Hell, you have this entire Port believing it. They're all drinking your snake oil. Lapping it up with smiles on their faces because they can't see through this."
She gestured to him with a wave of her hand, fluttering her cloak.
"This disguise greater than any Transformation Jutsu. You sure complain about your arthritis. But age is your weapon, isn't it?"
Sadao exhaled an exasperated breath, setting the letter he'd been reading down. The look he gave the kunoichi matched his exhale.
"Young lady, my quill is the only 'weapon' I wield. It has kept this port from succumbing completely to the poverty the rest of this Nation suffers from, but it alone wasn't enough to defend every livelihood. We survived, but not without losses.
"However, these accusations of whatever misconduct you suspect me of are baseless. My business practices are all within the laws. I pay all the taxes expected of me. I employ hardworking men and women who otherwise would have been left to starve, due in no small part to the Fourth Mizukage's destructive reign. A reign that has crippled our Nation considerably from the splendor none of you are old enough to have witnessed.
"So, again, do not waste my time. Do not impugn my character, young lady. Do not insult the honest back breaking work myself and others performed to keep this port open and suitable for trade."
He narrowed his eyes.
"While you and your Mizukage were plotting rebellions—the success of which we are all grateful for—we were all working. Struggling. Sweating. Bleeding. I have buried friends who should have outlived me. I have witnessed parents bury their children. I grieved with them. So do not insult me with your baseless accusations."
The Mizukage's assistant met his glare with her own.
"Tell me, old man, when you grieved with those parents, did you tell them about all the other kids you helped put in early graves?"
Sadao curled his lips in a disgusted frown. "Now you slander me with a crime as abhorrent as killing children? Tread carefully, young lady. I will write a letter personally to your Mizukage if you slander me further."
"Go ahead," she dared with a malicious smile. "Who do you think Lady Mei will believe? Some old man she barely knows? Or her assistant and intelligence gatherer who she taught to hunt down every lead, brush away all the lies and half-truths until all that remains is cold hard facts? From where I am standing, the conclusion to this argument is obvious."
Sadao interlaced his fingers and rested his forearms on his desk, unintimidated by her dare or her attitude. In fact, he welcomed it. She had provided him all he needed to throw her over his knee and teach her a lesson in respect and power.
He hardened his gaze.
"The Mizukage will believe cold hard facts, you say? Then allow me to teach you some, young lady. Iwasaki Port is the champion of prosperity in the entire Land of Water. We are responsible for seventy-five percent of the trade that enters and leaves this Land. The other twenty-five is spread sparsely, with lower quality goods I might add, between the other ports, all of which are riddled with crime and corruption.
"This 'old man she barely knows' is the one who has rebuilt Iwasaki Port, and through it I feed, water and keep the majority of businesses in this Land open, feeding this starving economy your Mizukage has inherited. From where I am sitting, the conclusion is also obvious.
"She will be faced with a choice: Either she listens to your baseless accusations, of which you provide no evidence for, or she listens to an old man keeping her Nation afloat on his withering back."
Sadao withstood her aggressive and violent glare. He watched her grind her teeth together in frustration, for she knew the truth: He held all the power. He was in control.
"The key to winning any negotiation," he began in a calm but strong voice, "is to hold all the cards in your hand from the start, young lady. You come to me with baseless accusations over abhorrent crimes in your rage and anger over whatever it is you shinobi are dealing with. I may not know how to act, but I know how to conduct business."
"Natsumi."
The orange-eyed kunoichi spoke for the first time. Everyone looked to her, while her gaze never left Sadao. She was an unnerving girl.
"Answer me one question: Would you stake your life that he is the leader of the Crimson Flowers?"
"Yes."
The kunoichi nodded once. "Then it is settled."
Sadao's eyes were too old to track the flash of movement. When he blinked, his vision refocused to look down the blade of a kunai, equipped by the unnerving kunoichi who was leaning over his desk in a clear attempt to assassinate him, but restrained by the dark-haired boy grasping her wrist.
Sadao swallowed roughly and quickly leaned back into his seat.
"Don't," the boy implored.
"I trust Natsumi's judgement," the kunoichi replied calmly, cold gaze fixated on Sadao.
All he saw in her eyes was death. A cold and painful death at the hands of a demoness.
"He is responsible for Mika and Chinami's scars, their tears," she said. "He set the Hound loose on this Nation. He is responsible for the torture and suffering those laborers and the Flower Girls endured. For the corpse pit I witnessed piled with the nude bodies of adults and children thrown away to rot like garbage. He is a cancerous tumor, and I will remove him and his poison from this Nation. He must be removed or more will suffer."
"I know," the dark-haired boy sympathized. "But not like this. If you martyr him, what he implies will come true. The whole Nation will suffer without the trade this Port provides, and the Mist will bear the blame. We will damage the Mist's reputation and the trust Lady Mizukage has fostered. I trust Natsumi's judgement as well. But please, do not do this. There is another way. Trust me. He will not walk free, I promise."
The kunoichi held Sadao beneath her cold and calculating gaze, kunai knife leveled with his head but restrained. Then she lowered the weapon, hand disappearing into her cloak. She stepped back; her eyes never left Sadao.
"Thank you, Haruhi."
She said nothing. She merely glared through Sadao. He swallowed roughly and looked to the dark-haired boy, trying to escape her unnerving gaze and regain his position of power. The boy turned to face the businessman and said:
"Forgive my comrades. We have witnessed a great deal of misery over the course of the last several days. I believe that is why Natsumi," he gestured to the crimson-haired kunoichi, "has tried to make you squirm in discomfort for the crimes we suspect you of. Clearly she underestimated your fortitude."
Despite the apology, Sadao noticed a distinct lack deference and sincerity in it. The boy stared at him with apathy.
"However, as you have said, thus far we offer no evidence to our suspicion. Suspicion alone, even if we bet our lives, is not enough to convict you or anyone for a crime."
"Exactly," the man nodded.
"So allow me to begin presenting our case," the boy continued. "We have been investigating an organization we have named the Crimson Flowers for the disappearances of our Nation's citizens. This name, although unofficial, is named after the red flower they use as their symbol. It is also used by their leader as a stamp on official documents.
"During our investigations, we found a lead through a small boy who escaped their clutches. He was enslaved in a sex trafficking ring called a Flower Shop. These abhorrent businesses were run by the Crimson Flowers beneath shops which sold flowers all across the Land of Water.
"Through this child we learned where to look for our enemies. He had a map, you see, of their plans for expansion, stolen by his sister in a daring attempt to free all those enslaved by the Crimson Flowers. We learned of their mining operations, which I will spare you the details of for obvious reasons."
Those obvious reasons, he sensed, were their suspicion of his involvement, not a mere courtesy of sparing him from the imagery of imprisoned slaves.
"We learned of their illegal smuggling in and out of the ports of our Land, as well as their gambling and prostitution rackets. We also learned they are trafficking humans and a specific narcotic, which has been used to poison innocent people who are merely searching for happiness in this cruel land. They are tricked into believing it will cure their misery, and when they can no longer afford their addiction they are taken in as slaves."
"This is… This is all exceptionally disturbing," he said, lowering his eyes and shaking his head. "I knew of the bloodshed rogue shinobi and bandits spread throughout our Land. Who does not? I knew there would be those who kidnapped and exploited others. But this…"
The Mizukage's assistant sniffed dismissively.
"Your heart must be breaking," she sneered.
He ignored her. He raised his eyes to the boy again.
"Iwasaki Port once had its own problems with corruption and bloodshed. It took time and effort, but we regained control of it. Still, I am insulted you would suspect me of these crimes. I am a businessman, true. But I take no part in of the crimes you have mentioned."
"What I have said so far is only to provide context to the situation we have uncovered, not the evidence we have gathered," the boy countered calmly. "Over the course of the last several days, the Mist has freed those who were enslaved and decommissioned countless operations under the Crimson Flowers command. And some that were not, incidentally."
"Oh? That is good news, indeed. The Mist continues to show it has turned over a new leaf."
"Yes, it is good news," the boy nodded. "What we learned in the process was, as my Master said, enlightening. All the operations were run independently of their leader; that is to say, they had autonomy from one another. They did not interact outside of rare gatherings. And they were challenged to earn more than their 'competition'. Competition, as you might know, is good for business, regardless of what manner of business is in question.
"The leader, we learned, never interacted personally with his operators. He acted through a proxy, a lieutenant: a man named Sōma Akebino, formerly a Mist shinobi who is renowned for crimes I will not mention. Suffice to say, they were enough to be removed from the ranks of other Blood Mist shinobi."
"He must have been a Demon to rival even Zabuza Momochi."
The boy smiled a strange smile. "More of a monstrous Hound than a Demon, I would say." He dispensed with the smile. "The leader of this organization was smart. And their business model, abhorrent as it was, was profitable. Exceptionally profitable.
"They covered their tracks well, leaving plenty of pawns to fall in their place while keeping their identity hidden. And were these illegal activities to fall, they could always rebuild again after some time. After the Mist grew tired of hunting ghosts, we suspect.
"Truthfully, were it not for Natsumi's talent for gathering information and connecting the pieces, we may have never found you."
"Again," he sighed, a hint of annoyance slipping into it, "you accuse me of a crime I have not committed without evidence. I grow weary of this. If you have nothing, which I suspect at this point you don't, then leave. I will not be intimidated into a confession for crimes I am not responsible—"
"Be quiet," the boy commanded, narrowing his eyes.
Apathy was replaced by irritation. Sadao was silent. He had withered far too much of the boy's patience, but he was not one to act out like his crimson-haired comrade, or to simply kill him where he stood, like his orange-eyed one.
No. He did not need threats of violence or death to attain silence or cooperation. He, too, understood that words and the tone in which they were used could be a far greater weapon than a blade.
"I, too, grow weary of this conversation," the boy said. "I am very weary. For the last several days I have witnessed nothing except the darkness of the human heart. I have seen death and misery at its highest degrees. I have witnessed the tears of innocent children—broken, traumatized and emaciated. I have dreamed of what I have seen the last several nights.
"And the person responsible for this misery should be grateful, very grateful, it is I that is engaging them in a peaceful discussion rather than Lady Mizukage or Zabuza Momochi—both of whom wished to 'speak' to the individual first. Believe me when I say they would not be nearly as patient and merciful as I have been. They would not escort the person to face judgement uninjured in their current moods."
The boy held his gaze. After a stifling and heart-thudding silence, he began again.
"We do not need to intimidate a confession out of you. That is not necessary. We possess all we need to convict you of the crimes you have committed. First, for all your careful calculation, you underestimated your victims will to survive. We have already reunited a young man you tricked into slavery with his family here in Iwasaki Port.
"Presently, he and his family—a family you scared into silence—are telling their story to the citizens of Iwasaki Port. There are at least three other liberated slaves who remember your face and name on the day they were kidnapped. All from the same time period. Likely when you were first beginning your organization."
"That is hardly—"
His desk and the room itself vibrated when the boy slammed his palm onto the wooden desk. Silence fell over his office. Deafening silence.
"Be. Quiet." His voice was quiet, soft, but bladed.
Sadao swallowed roughly and held his tongue.
"Second," he began in the same intonation, "my comrade found a gambling chip on one of the guards inside a mining operation. We tracked its origin to a gambling house. The operator was certain, as were his logbooks, that all chips came from Iwasaki Port. You own this Port in everything but name. That also makes you a suspect.
"Third, on every building under the Crimson Flowers control, there is a flower carved or designed into a piece of its structure—somewhere hidden in plain sight. On its own or in passing it appears as nothing more than the destruction of property; vandalism and graffiti are well-known in our Land. But it's the perfect scheme. That is how your clients and business partners know where to go or deliver supplies. And your business is no different. It's on the arch above the front door, hidden in a mosaic from the average eye. But for someone looking for it…
Sadao portrayed an air of calm. He was not.
"Finally, your men had no time to destroy all of their logbooks. Sōma was even less vigilant. Everything, everything, you smuggle and sell comes through Iwasaki Port. And the latest shipment of iron and people," he ground out the word, "was delivered here. But all of it is unmarked. Deals are done under the table, so to speak, where the people of this Port cannot see. Were I to examine the logbooks here in Iwasaki, I would find nothing of suspect.
"And Sōma? He enlightened us the most in death. Your first meeting and how your organization first started was detailed in a journal he kept. He was the muscle, you were the brains."
The boy's eyes were blades of ice. His voice matched it.
"You unleashed that monster on this Land. You fed his disgusting desires. And you are fortunate, very fortunate, I understand the importance of bringing you in alive to face judgement. Because if I did not, I would kill you where you stand for all the suffering you have caused."
Sadao carefully measured his next words.
"Judgement, you say?" he said at length. "What I hear is not judgement, but foolishness. An arrogant naiveté based on youthful altruism. You impugn my character, you lay your accusations at my feet and believe the testimony of liberated prisoners—prisoners you admit have been afflicted by a detestable narcotic—and a rogue shinobi who's character is untrustworthy and morally reprehensible will lead to my judgement?"
He scoffed. "You truly are wasting my time. The foundation of your case is crumbling beneath you. My history and my character are well known. As is the Mist's. Liars, fiends, demons and traitors are what you are known for, and not without cause. We've all suffered beneath the Fourth Mizukage's reign. I have struggled to uplift my fellow citizens. But you would undo it in this search for judgement.
"Furthermore, in your youthful altruism you have forgotten the most important fact: Iwasaki Port's economic importance, and my influence, outweighs your accusations. And its need has only flourished because of your 'heroic' actions.
"Our streets will be filled with men, women and children without homes and jobs, struggling with addictions. And who will pay for it? Who will be the victims of the crimes your 'heroics' will cause? Everyday citizens."
He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers and resting his hands on his lap.
"Tell me, while you were decommissioning this organization's operations, did you ever stop to consider the jobs and livelihoods you destroyed? While the abhorrent trafficking of human beings and narcotics need not exist, what of the gambling dens and prostitution rackets? Gambling is hardly illegal. It's a part of all Nations and all societies. It's a profitable business.
"As for prostitution, the business of sex has existed since the birth of humanity. It won't vanish because you don't like it or because it doesn't agree with your moral values. It will continue to exist. From a purely business standpoint, it would be better for everyone if it were widely accepted and legalized."
He gestured with his right hand. "On one hand, it would be safer for the workers. More security, a severe decrease in abuse, death and illegal trafficking, as well as greater and improved testing for diseases and guaranteed payment for their work." He gestured with his left hand. "On the other, the business model would be more profitable for not only the business owners, but for the Nation as well. Legal businesses pay taxes, and so would these.
"Finally," he lowered his hands into his lap, "as for the illegal trafficking, whoever leads this organization you are hunting is but one of many who take part in this detestable business. Remove them and others will fill in the gaps. As you said, in your hunt for these 'Crimson Flowers' you encountered other such businesses outside of them. There will always be evil."
"So we should just let it exist?" the crimson-haired kunoichi mocked. "Or should we work with the evil we know? Is that the most profitable business model?"
Sadao pretended to sigh. "Clearly you are beyond sensibility. Your altruism blinds you to the truth."
"And what truth is that?"
"Some must suffer so others can prosper. It is a necessary evil. It is necessary for survival."
The crimson-haired kunoichi's lip curled, her eyes flashing with violence.
"People like you disgust me the most," she hissed. "You talk about necessity and survival, you pretend to fret over people who break their backs working to survive and act like you stand among them, that you're working to help them. But you don't understand the first thing about necessity or survival.
"You've never been hungry. You've never been homeless. You've never had to search through garbage for food, or fear whether or not you'll survive through the cold night and see the sun tomorrow! You don't know the slightest thing about survival. What would you know of survival when you've always had work, when you've always had a roof over your head, when you have had opportunity after opportunity to prosper?
"You're an excellent actor. How 'bout a standing ovation!" She clapped slowly for a moment, then continued in her emotion. "I'd call you a cunning fox, but you're just a greedy toad.
"You sit here and pretend to and preach about helping uplift our Nation. All the while you stuff your pockets with the money you make off other people's misery.
"And while you tell everyone that you're here to help, while you prop yourself up as a man of the people, you stab them in the back. You lie. You cheat. You use the power and influence granted to you to choose who is deserving of a decent life and who isn't.
"You steal orphans off the street! You convince the poorest of people in desperate straits that you can help them. That you are their friend!"
Strangely, the orange-eyed kunoichi's eyes left him to look out the window.
"And then what do you do? You twist them into sex slaves. You afflict them with a narcotic. You defile and molest them! You enslave them in labor camps to work until they die. And then you callously toss their broken bodies away into a pit and shut the door behind you, out of sight and out of mind.
"You scare witnesses into silence with your power and influence. In the end, you're just as much a monster as the Hound was."
"As enjoyable as this banter has been," Sadao drawled. "I think it is time you see yourselves out. I no longer have time for street rats."
"Incoming projectile," the orange-eyed kunoichi said, stepping away from the window.
The other shinobi followed suit. Before Sadao could question it, the window to his office shattered, broken by a brick that clattered and slammed on his floor.
"Wha- what is the meaning of this?" he gasped.
There was a loud gathering he could now hear clearly happening outside of his business. Sadao rose from his desk and lumbered to the window, peering out at the scene taking place.
A crowd of Iwasaki's citizens were yelling his name, brandishing all manner of blunt instruments. And rope. They were red in the face. Furious. Among the crowd he noticed a young man with a flower brand on his neck.
"Well, well, what do you know," the crimson-haired kunoichi purred dangerously. "Seems we have ourselves a lynch mob."
"What have you done?" gaped Sadao.
"We exposed the truth," the Swordsman of the group answered, speaking for the first time. He spoke without the vehement emotion his crimson-haired counterpart had. He stared at Sadao with a dispassionate frown.
"They've seen the evidence. They know what crimes you have committed. But we didn't organize a mob. We didn't ask them to come here to bring you to justice. When faced by what you deem necessary, and altruism, they've chosen that you are no longer necessary. And they're right. As you said, your assistant practically runs this business now."
"We will have her vetted to ensure there are no ties between her and your organization. We will not replace one tumor with another," the orange-eyed kunoichi said.
"From where I am standing, it would seem our case has more foundation than you believed," the dark-haired boy said.
"And these 'street rats' are all that's standing between you and public execution," the crimson-haired kunoichi purred maliciously. "I'm almost tempted to throw you to them."
"You can't!"
He whirled around and looked at them in fear. Only the crimson-haired kunoichi revealed her satisfaction at his fear through the sadistic smile on her face.
"Are you ready to cooperate?" she asked. "Or should we let them shame and defile you as punishment for your crimes? I think I see a branding iron out there. And a knife. Wonder if they mean to cut your hair or take your fingers. Maybe that snake tongue of yours. By all means, they have a right to punish you themselves. Huh, it looks like a few plan to stone you to death.
"Ah, to hell with it. Let's get out of here. Let the citizens of Iwasaki handle him. I've had my fun. Come on, Chōjūrō, Haruhi, Haku. We're done here."
The kunoichi turned to leave. In spite of his panic and terror, Sadao was a businessman. He knew a deal when he saw one.
"…What do you want?"
The kunoichi didn't stop. She kept strutting towards the door. Afraid and angry, face reddening, Sadao reacted on emotion.
"Dammit, you street rat. What do you want?!"
The kunoichi paused. She glanced over her shoulder at him.
"I want you to suffer." Her turquoise eyes were remorseless, cold and calculating. She turned around and stepped towards him. "I want you to beg and plead for your life, screaming at the top of your lungs until your voice goes hoarse as someone whips the flesh from your skin. I want you to experience the same shame all those innocent boys and girls and men and women have faced. I want them to cage you like an animal and starve you for years."
Although he was physically taller than her, even with the hunch of his spine and neck, in her quiet fury she seemed to tower him. He felt sweat building on his forehead, at the nape of his neck and on his back.
She was in his face, glaring with the harsh coldness of a winter storm.
"I want to take my kunai and cut you from ear to ear. I want to drag you into the mountains, tie you up and throw you into a bears den and listen to you scream as it mauls you to death! I want to hang you by your feet from a tree, equip a bunch of your victims with clubs and watch them crack your skull open like they're hoping treats will fall out.
"Maybe then, as you are being shamed, starved, caged and broken and killed, you'll finally understand what you've caused. Maybe then you'll realize what it's like when someone else chooses whether you deserve to be a part of the group who gets the decent life or the group who has to suffer for their personal gain!"
She snatched him by the collar and tugged him closer. His heart was pounding.
"What do I want? I want to exchange your worthless life for all the lives you've stolen. But I can't have that. It's impossible. So you're going to give me something else."
"Wh- what?"
The kunoichi leaned in with menace.
"Everything."
With a rough shove, the kunoichi released him.
Sadao the Kind, leader of the Crimson Flowers branch in the Land of Water, collapsed to his knees in his office, a resigned and defeated expression on his face.
"It's as you said, old man, the key to winning any negotiation is to hold all the cards in your hand from the start," the kunoichi mocked him.
Sadao the Kind was escorted out of his business, around the crowd who once smiled and waved in greeting to him, now spitting at his feet, in his face and hurling obscenities for the heinous crimes he committed.
He was a shell of the powerful man he'd seen himself as moments ago. A depressed shell, walking through Iwasaki Port for the final time with his reputation and all he ever worked for in tatters.
It was hell.
He was afraid the worst was yet to come.
"With the Hound dead, Sadao captured and the Intel we gathered, the infrastructure of the Crimson Flowers is collapsing around the remnants," Natsumi reported to Mei, the pair standing on the Mizukage's balcony overlooking the Village.
No snow was falling, but the bitter chill of winter kept the two kunoichi bundled beneath cloaks.
"There are still loose ends out there, though," Natsumi continued, visibly crossing her arms beneath her cloak. She tilted her head to the side, gazing out at the misty mountain peaks surrounding their Village. "Like cockroaches, those we haven't squashed will hide wherever they can to stay warm, hibernating until the winter passes when they'll start skittering around again. They'll join other groups with similar goals. The intelligent ones will disguise themselves. Maybe even take control of these other groups. And innocent people will still suffer. Disappear. And those who were sold and trafficked out of our Land will remain in captivity."
"True," Mei nodded. "In my next message to Kakashi, I will pass along what Intel we have gathered of the Crimson Flowers organization. We've taken the head off the snake here in the Land of Water, but this organization, this beast has many other heads yet to be lopped off. Because it was born here, we have a responsibility to end it ourselves."
"You're already planning a joint-op with the Leaf," Natsumi realized after a moment of thought. "And you're doing it under the guise of Mist honor and responsibility; the cantankerous councilors wouldn't dare refuse that."
The Mizukage shot her assistant a coy smile, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"I trained you well." Mei turned to face Natsumi, dispensing her smile for a serious expression. "But it isn't a façade. I truly believe we have a responsibility to save those poor souls and destroy the Crimson Flowers outright. The Mist's honor is at stake. This organization started here, by men like Sadao and Sōma Akebino. If we are to rebuild our reputation, we cannot merely stand by and allow this organization to spread its darkness to other Land's.
"As you said, natives of the Land of Water were sold and trafficked beyond our borders. We will not abandon them to the fates we know await them. We will not simply ask others to save our people for us. But our hands are presently busy cleaning up the remnants of these fiends and tending to the liberated prisoners."
She sighed, long and tired. There was so much more she wished she could do. So much more she could do if their Land hadn't been submerged in death and poverty.
"We are stretched thin, truthfully," she said. "The Feudal Lord has been generous with providing us work, and offering aid and support for those we've liberated. But we can only do so much.
"And those beyond our borders need immediate aid. By sharing our information with Kakashi, and through him the Leaf, they can use their resources to locate the branch of the Crimson Flowers within their borders and neighboring Nations. And perhaps in the Land of Wind as well, assuming they've spread that far.
"Then, when the time comes and our present situation has calmed down, I will mobilize a squad for a joint-operation between Leaf and Mist. Sharing this information will be a step in the right direction towards our overall goal of forming an alliance with the Leaf; it proves we are willing to share delicate Intel the Mist of the past would be ashamed of admitting to. A joint-operation will, hopefully, be a powerful leap towards the future."
"Whenever that time comes, we'll be ready," replied Natsumi. "Have you considered Chōjūrō's recommendation, Lady Mei?"
"I have. I intend to speak to Haruhi later today. Although I trust Chōjūrō's judgement, and though the Mist would only be strengthened by a new generation of the Seven Swordsman, it will be Haruhi's decision whether or not to undertake the training."
"Wonder which sword she'd prefer," Natsumi wondered aloud. "The last female member of the Swordsman was Ameyuri Ringo, wielder of the Kiba Blades. If we could find Raiga and reclaim the swords, Haruhi could follow in Ameyuri's footsteps. Without the bloodlust."
"We will locate him, in time," Mei said. "As for Ameyuri, she was no worse than Zabuza." The Mizukage glanced out at the mountains, frowning. "Her bloodlust was merely a product of the time. Those of us who endured that era all have our demons."
She looked back to her assistant. "However, she was not wholly unkind. She was not without redeeming qualities. Truthfully, I've always felt sorrow for her loss. She was so young."
"How did she die?"
"An incurable disease, unfortunately. She would've made a powerful and loyal ally were she alive today, like Zabuza." She shook her head. "Regardless, I will leave the decision in Haruhi's hands. One must truly desire to be a Swordsman to enter the ranks, and even then they must endure the training.
"As for what sword she might wield, she may choose to train with any of those we have, and even prepare for those we still must recover. Mangetsu Hōzuki, for example, could wield all seven mystical blades. Who is to say Chōjūrō or Haruhi could not attain the same feat."
"Mm."
Natsumi pursed her lips in a thoughtful frown. She maintained her silence for an extended stretch of seconds.
Mei tilted her head, curious. "What is bothering you, Natsumi?"
"Ever since we've learned what the Crimson Flowers were doing, how they targeted orphans and impoverished family's to coerce, trick or steal children to supply their twisted business… It was all a cruel reminder of the life you saved me from. I've always known I was lucky to meet you. But this mission has hammered in just how lucky I've really been.
"In reality, I could have easily ended up like Chinami or Mika. Or even Fuugetsu. I scrounged around in Shinjuku before we met. And in some of the other towns we found their operations. One run-in with one of the operators, or the Hound, and I would've been a Flower Girl or in those godforsaken mines. I wouldn't be here, healthy. Happy. Building a future and free to choose my own fate.
"I was lucky. Lucky to be born with gifts those other orphans stolen off the streets didn't have. I think that's all that saved me. Being an intuitive, crass, callous and distrustful orphan who could sense chakra and special techniques is probably all that saved me. I wonder, though, if I could've saved other orphans. If I hadn't been so selfish, so callous, so disinterested in other's well-being, could I have done anything for them? For even one person?"
"Perhaps," Mei said, nodding slightly. "Perhaps you could have saved a life or two. Maybe more. Or, perhaps, you would have been captured as well. Were that to happen, I wonder, would the Crimson Flowers in the Land of Water be dismantled?"
"You would've found them," Natsumi stated confidently.
"You assume I would still become Mizukage without ever meeting you. Perhaps my yearning to overthrow Yagura would have waned if we never met. Perhaps I would've given up, or perhaps my Will wouldn't have been strong enough to survive and defeat Yagura. As we now know, he or the individual controlling him had a deal with the Crimson Flowers. Perhaps our meeting is the reason I was driven to succeed."
"Lady Mei…"
The young kunoichi shifted on her feet, discomfort prevalent in her expression. Mei stepped closer to rest her hands on Natsumi's shoulders.
"There are people free today because of the actions of you and your comrades, Natsumi. Of course darkness in our Land and this world remains; evil will always persist in some form. There will always be those afflicted by greed, like Sadao and Koshiro. There will always be monsters like the Hound. But there will also be those who stand against them. Those who carry light in their hearts and refuse to bend in submission to their darkness."
She squeezed Natsumi's shoulders. "What you and your comrades accomplished is wonderful, Natsumi. Do not question what you could have done in the past. You were a child, alone, subjected to this cruel Land. There are people today who have a future because of you. You have given people hope. They have a tomorrow to believe in because of you. You've changed their lives, irreversibly. Do not lose sight of that."
"…I know I haven't said it often enough; I've never been good at expressing gratitude or vulnerability. But…thank you, Lady Mei. For saving me all those years ago. For taking me in. For not turning me into a thoughtless weapon or using me. For training me and giving me a future."
Natsumi looked away to the mountains.
"You could have twisted me a hundred different ways. You could have turned me into a monster. Abused me. Treated me as something less than human. You could have left me behind. But you didn't. And I've always been grateful for that. To you. So, thank you. For everything you've done."
Mei smiled, warmly. She leaned down and wrapped her assistant in a hug.
"And thank you."
"For what?"
Mei stood up and smiled.
"One day I will tell you. Now, come along. There is still plenty of work for us to do."
Chinami crashed to the floor in a heap of sweat. She panted heavily, greedily sucking in oxygen through her mouth; the slightest of whimpers could be heard with every exhale. Her heartbeat was pounding through her chest, in her throat and temples, deafening her ears.
Was it going to explode? It felt like it was.
Her muscles trembled. Her legs and arms were weak and heavy. Everything ached. Everything hurt. Every ounce of energy she possessed was gone. So she lay there on the cold floor, panting. Whimpering. Staring at the ceiling at times, or merely shutting her eyes in submission to the exhaustion and pain.
When she opened her eyes after a few rapid breaths in darkness, she was greeted by the sight of Mika's face hovering over her, a concerned expression on his face. The ends of his long dark hair hanging over his shoulders tickled her sweaty and flushed face.
"Are you hurt, Chinami?"
In all her years of imprisonment, she had suffered all shades of abuse. She'd been whipped until her flesh was stained red by blood and her eyes and cheeks burned with tears. She endured beatings that had broken bones and discolored her flesh. She was starved, slapped, choked, shamed, used as a tool of satisfaction, and through it all she suffered.
Yet this was unlike any of those experiences. This wasn't a pain she was acclimatized to. She may have been emotionally and psychologically worn down at times, days where she curled inwardly and separated her spirit from her mortal shell, entering a sort of out-of-body experience where she could pretend it wasn't her enduring the abuse, but someone else. And because it wasn't her, she couldn't be hurt or shamed by the monsters surrounding the empty vessel she watched.
But never had she been this physically taxed, this physically worn down where every muscle and fiber in her body was awake and in agony; a Flower Girl wasn't useful if she couldn't move or tend to clients.
In spite of the overwhelming exhaustion and pain, Chinami rolled her head back and forth, indicating she was not hurt with the gesture. There were different kinds of pain, she wanted to explain to her little brother. This was good pain, if such a thing existed. She chose this. She committed to it for the sake of their future.
"Now it is your turn." Chinami lifted her head, peering up at the orange-eyed kunoichi now standing above her. Haruhi outstretched her hand. "Come. An agent of the Crimson Flowers or a bandit will not wait for you to gather your breath. You must learn to overcome exhaustion, pain and fear if you hope to defend yourself and Mika."
"Ri- right," she panted.
Chinami took Haruhi's hand and stumbled and struggled to stand as the kunoichi hefted her onto her feet with ease.
This self-defense training was a different kind of hell. While Haruhi was ultimately kind, patient and constructive, she also took no prisoners and demanded Chinami's best. She was a shinobi—a title the woman learned to respect.
For Mika's safety and future she would endure this hell.
He was worth it.
The surprise attack occurred while Haku was walking to the Mizukage's tower. It came from above. And it came with ample warning through an exhilarated sing-song cheer.
"Hakuuuuuuu!"
Haku's eyes snapped up, narrowing dangerously at the grinning blue eyed madman descending towards him. He did not leap to evade. He shifted his feet, centered himself and weaved all but one of the necessary one-handed handseals for his counter.
When his ambusher was within arm's reach, fist flying for the Mist shinobi, he leaned his face out of the way and caught the arm, quickly shifting his weight and using the speed and momentum of the madman against him in a graceful act that ended with a harsh crash against the street.
The body splattered into a puddle on impact. Haku was a step ahead, however. Finishing his handseals, ice rapidly spread from his foot to the puddle, overtaking half of it before the madman leapt out of his Hydrification Technique and onto solid feet again.
Again, Haku was one step ahead, appearing behind his ambusher with his hand resting on the nape of his neck.
"What are you doing?" Haku pressed in a dangerous voice.
"Ho ho ho," Fuugetsu Hōzuki laughed merrily, "you're so serious, Hakuuuu. I like it!"
"No games, Fuugetsu. Answer the question."
"Easy, easy. Although this world could do with more frozen sculptures of my likeness—I mean, look at this profile! Blessed by the Gods, I tell you. Anyway, I'm not in any rush to volunteer as living model. Or a frozen one."
"Then why are you attacking me?"
"Awww, don't be so cold, Haku," he pouted. "I was just checking your reflexes! Making sure you haven't lost your edge. I heard the leviathan left you lying, losing blood despite you Mist shinobi leaving the leech as leftovers for scrounging scavengers seeking a salad of scum. Oh, and look! My entourage has arrived."
Two Mist shinobi jumped down from the nearby rooftops, though Haku did not recognize them by appearance. He had not met them before, he was certain. One was a tall, heavy set man with a grizzly beard; he was incandescent, grinding his teeth together audibly. The other was slimmer but just as tall, bald and clean shaven, bearing a harsh cluster of scars over the right side of his face by what appeared to be a bear. There was a black dragon tattoo on his neck.
"Not very handsome, are they," Fuugetsu continued haughtily. "Nothing like yours truly. And they don't even bother with foot rubs, I'm afraid. They won't even feed me grapes, can you believe that? However," he mocked a sigh, shaking his head, "they're entranced by yours truly and refuse to leave my side. It is quite bothersome being devilishly handsome, I tell you."
"Shut your mouth, you little fool," Grizzly Beard growled.
"And rude, too!"
Haku directed his attention to the two Mist shinobi, hand still placed at Fuugetsu's neck.
"You two must be his guards," he greeted.
"Forgive us for the trouble," Dragon Tattoo apologized. "We underestimated him, truthfully. But we will not make the same mistake again."
"It is no trouble. However, I would temper your expectations if you believe guarding Fuugetsu will be a simple task. He was able to conceal his presence from Natsumi entirely, and he has a strange idea of fun. Now that he knows it frustrates you, I would expect him to make further attempts."
"See!" Fuugetsu gestured to Haku wildly. "That is how you compliment someone, my dear entourage! Heed this lesson well."
The annoyance from his fellow Mist shinobi was palpable. Haku fought against a smile, choosing instead to roll his eyes. He lowered his hand from Fuugetsu's neck.
"Fuugetsu, Lady Mizukage has shown great leniency to you. Please, do not abuse it."
Fuugetsu turned to face him. He glanced back at the two Mist shinobi, then looked to Haku again.
"Watchdogs are leniency? I can't go anywhere without these hounds on my tail. In fact, I can't go anywhere at all outside of these walls," he said, becoming serious suddenly. "Seems to me like I've traded a grisly prison for lavish one."
"Lady Mei is a cautious woman who cares a great deal for her people," Haku explained patiently. "Although you have renounced your ties to the Crimson Flowers, which I do believe is sincere, you did commit crimes in their name. We have also encountered spies attempting to infiltrate the refugee camps, and those within our own forces who aided their crimes. It is all a precaution meant for the safety of the Villagers and yours, I promise.
"And you aren't allowed outside the walls because you haven't fully healed yet, from what I've heard. And seen. Your reaction time is significantly slower than when we last fought."
Fuugetsu pursed his lips in a childish pout, crossing his arms.
"Not nice, Haku. Pointing out another man's inadequacies in front of others. I thought we were friends," he whined.
"Once you are healed," Haku continued without acknowledging his childish pouting, "Lady Mizukage has promised to let you choose whether you wish to stay or leave, with no strings attached. Sadao and other members of the Crimson Flowers have no such luxury. Many more weren't granted a shred of mercy."
"At least some of those pieces of human garbage suffered," Fuugetsu murmured. "What about the Hound? Did he suffer?"
"He is dead, yes."
"Isn't what I asked, Haku."
"I will not go into perverse detail," replied the Mist shinobi, frowning and shaking his head. "He is dead. That is what matters. And no amount of pain we inflicted before his death will account for the suffering he inflicted on others. Or you. As I said before, those imprisoned by the Crimson Flowers will continue to suffer in the days, months and years to come. Already there have been those who have taken their own lives because their suffering was too much.
"Were the Hound still alive, and were we to torture him for years, even that would not heal the wounds he dealt or bring those lives back. Vengeance leaves only emptiness. We must focus on aiding the living, supporting them and showing compassion, sympathy and empathy as we do. We must help each other heal these wounds."
Haku looked at Fuugetsu with a meaningful expression. "That, I believe, is how we change this world. How we overcome the darkness and cruelty spread by men like Sōma Akebino and the Crimson Flowers."
Fuugetsu shut his eyes and shifted his head side to side repeatedly, as if literally tossing his thoughts around inside his head. After a long stretch of silence Haku opened his mouth to dismiss himself and continue on towards the Mizukage's office. He was cut off by a sudden and wild cheer from Fuugetsu, who pumped his fists into the air.
"Yaaahhhhh!"
Haku recoiled slightly, cocking an eyebrow up. The other two Mist shinobi bore equally bewildered expressions.
"I know what I'm going to do now!" Fuugetsu declared.
"That is…good," said Haku cautiously. "I hope you find—"
"Ohhh, I have a tickle like you wouldn't believe right now. You and I are going to have so much fun, Haku!"
A knot formed between Haku's brow. He didn't like the sound of this new plan at all.
"Fuugetsu, what are you talking about?"
"The future!" declared the madman, who spread his hands out in a grand gesture. "I've decided to stay. Boom! Decision is official! Ya ha!"
"Okay. Why did you mention me?"
"Because you helped bring on this bout of inspiration. And, as my best friend, you deserve to know you'll be seeing more of this handsome devil around. In fact, you'll see me the most." Then he brought his finger to his lips in a sign of secrecy, smiling wildly. "But that's all I'll tell you. You'll have to wait until I'm fully healed. Then, hehehe! Oh, the surprises I have planned! I can hardly wait!"
"Fuugetsu…"
"Come, my entourage!" Fuugetsu turned on his heel. "I have surprises to plan!"
The madman giggled and hopped, clicking his heels as he departed. Haku stared at his back with a baffled expression.
Whatever he has planned, Haku thought, I have a bad feeling about it.
Fuugetsu Hōzuki was still the strangest person he had ever met.
When Haku had a moment of time to himself, he settled down with pencil and paper to write his response to Amari's latest letter. There was much he wished to say in regards to her previous letter, of the tangled feelings he hadn't spoken to anyone over what he'd seen and experienced while handling the Crimson Flowers. Also a warning of the organizations existence within the Land of Fire.
Despite how often he'd thought of her letter, his feelings and Amari over the course of the last week, the words to express it all did not come easily to him. Not at first. But he found his way, knowing Amari's heart would understand his even if the words weren't perfect.
The following morning he sent Kaito off with both letters.