Naruto: A Red Eye Hidden by Shadow

by Tatanka4Life

On the fateful night of the Uchiha Massacre, a girl of Uchiha and Nara blood is spared and left with no memories of her past. Now she must walk on the path left by her family to help her build a new future for herself. Her path will be hard, full of struggles and pain, but as long as she has her friends and family at her side she will keep forging ahead, even if it was a drag.

148. Chapter 147: Eyes of a Liar

Chapter 147

Eyes of a Liar: I'll Have to Give You a Funeral!

A delicate pitter-patter was sprinkling upon the Curry of Life's weatherworn rooftop.

The nip on the air turned bitter. Biting. Grey clouds shaded the atmosphere in somber monochrome, stripping the green, yellow and brown leaves yet to fall of their color, transforming trees into twisting, ghoulish shades appearing in their multi-arm forms; their thin and bony fingers stretched towards the sky, towards the earth, and seemed to reach for any passing traveler.

Amid it all, within the sea of grey and among the ghouls, was the curry shop. Although its weatherworn walls appeared grey, and its old awnings groaned and creaked in agony, warm light gleamed from its windows like a lighthouse beacon, valiant against the subduing cold, leaden ambience.

Inside the sanctuary, seated on her knees at the table previously occupied by Mist shinobi, Amari shut her eyes.

And listened.

She listened to the rhythmless tap-dance occurring on the roof, allowing her senses to be absorbed by Mother Nature's delicate percussion.

She listened to the distant rumble of thunder, how it rolled and echoed like waves crashing against stone, and she exhaled calmly through her nose.

With every breath she sank further into the recesses of her own mind. Deeper. Deeper. Far from reality. Far from the Curry of Life and its artificial light, and yet connected to the outside world, to Mother Nature and all of her children, by an intangible umbilical cord.

She sank deeper into a feeling of oneness.

Vividly, she imagined the raindrops falling into a vast, radiant underground lake, shimmering a bioluminescent bluish-white. Although dark, the bioluminescence caused the dull stone to glint and glimmer rich silver.

Plop-plop-plop.

Every wet plop gave birth to a ripple upon the bioluminescent surface. Their shadows, reflected onto the caverns silver walls, cascaded along the stone like silent waves.

The acoustics of the cavern were immaculate.

Amari inhaled calmly.

The movement of Grandma Sanshō in the kitchen, nor the discussions of Hachidai and Sangorō disturbed her mediation. She did not think of Rokusuke sleeping upstairs, unaware of the binds tying him. She did not think of her Shadow Clone performing a similar meditation while she waited for him to wake once more.

She only imagined the underground lake, listening to the delicate pitter-patter of rain and its calming massage on her senses.

She exhaled a long, calm breath.

The storm had passed through Katabami Gold Mine. Now, in its weakening state, it loomed over the Curry of Life.

Outside, in the world of monochrome, the windmill's fan oscillated slowly. The birds sheltered among the ghoulish trees. Every now and again the wind would howl as the storm conjured up a strong gust, and the awnings groaned, the walls creaked, but nothing more. The gusts never lasted.

At that moment, two squads trekked towards the gold mine, towards the sky that remained perpetually overcast despite the passing of the storm, and the man they hoped wasn't beyond reach.

Amari inhaled again, slowly, over a period of seconds, controlling the expansion of her diaphragm as she counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

She imagined herself kneeling before the bioluminescent lake, smelling the scent of fresh rainfall, hearing its gentle, wet patter echoing through the cavern. She embraced the balance of peace amid a storm.

And exhaled.

Their plans were made. Their preparations finalized.

I've played my part, she thought amid her meditations. Now it's in their hands.

---

"Boss! Mikki! Anyone!"

Karashi had never considered himself afraid of the dark or claustrophobic. Fear like that was for children. He was a man now. He knew there was no monsters waiting for him in the dark broom closet in his mother's kitchen. And claustrophobia never made a lick of sense to him.

Now, trapped on all sides by the cramped walls of his very own coffin, he remembered his childhood terror of darkness. He couldn't see a thing. Noting except blackness. It consumed all. It suffocated everything it touched.

It was endless, expanding in every direction without a single ray of light anywhere to be seen. And yet it was also closing in all around him. Shrinking. Crushing the air out of his lungs and clutching his heart between sharp pincers.

Were he not squirming, panicking, trying desperately to kick or shove open the sealed wooden lid, Karashi would have felt himself trembling from head to toe. Were it not for the cold rain that had soaked him he would've felt himself sweating profusely.

And had he a chance to relieve himself before being thrown inside he wouldn't now be suffocating on the reeking smell of regret and humiliation staining his pants.

"C'mon, let me out! Pleaseeeee!"

He couldn't so much as beat his hands or kick the wooden prison as he could thrust his toes, knees, elbows and hands against it. The coffin was too compact. Too small.

"I won't ever lie again, I swear!" he lied.

No one answered.

---

"How is old man Ena?"

At his question, Mikki, the loyal second-in-command to the Kurosuki Family, leaned casually against the doorframe to his quarter's small kitchen, where Raiga was brewing more hot chocolate for himself and the other half of his soul; their last cups had gone cold as a corpse.

She crossed her scarred and heavily tattooed arms over her ashen-colored, sleeveless vest, tattoos including those gained in drunken bets—like the mermaid and her impressive, naked bosom on the underside of her left forearm—and more personal designs—like the colorful image of an ascending dragon on her back.

Most prominent of Mikki's visible tattoos were the colorful sleeve tattoos that stopped at her elbows depicting two wrathful guardians—Niō, as they were known in mythology.

Wrapped around her abdomen she wore a large teal sash, frayed by years of wear and tear and sun exposure; the tribal patterns were getting harder to see with every winter that passed.

The vest draped down to her knees, much like his own, appearing like the skirt of a dress hanging over the dark, baggy trousers she wore. The plunging neckline revealed her jagged and ugly scar tissue, which led from her breastbone, along the right breast, where its true breadth remained hidden beneath her garb.

Often Mikki took it upon herself to challenge those she caught staring, asking bluntly if they'd found what they were looking for, and whether or not they liked her beauty mark. Often the menacing tone and scarred grin she donned frightened the ill-mannered fools.

Still, to call scars beauty marks of all things, he respected that kind of attitude.

"Scrape is cleaned and bandaged. He's resting in his quarters now," Mikki answered. "Should be able to work tomorrow."

"Good. We'll give him a lighter schedule so he doesn't overexert himself. At his age, a scrape and bruise on the knee can be quite bothersome." He added in the cocoa powder to his mix, humming and smiling in satisfaction as he worked. "Would you like some hot chocolate, Mikki?"

"Is it dairy-free? Lactose and I are set to quarrel for eternity."

"Of course."

"Pour me a cup, then."

He did so when it was ready to pour. Ribbons of steam rose from the chestnut liquid as he served it to his second-in-command, who cupped the warm porcelain in her gnarled and calloused hands.

"Make sure you let it sit for a minute. Blow on it," he advised. "Otherwise it'll burn your tongue."

"Thanks."

The scars on her cheek seemed to deepen when she pursed her scarred lips to blow air over the cup. Meanwhile he prepared another cup for the other half of his soul.

There was something special about a warm cup of hot chocolate on a cold and wet winter day. He enjoyed the warmth against his cold hands. He savored the cozy aroma of cocoa, breathing it in deeply. He could tell the other half of his soul delighted in it, too.

That satisfied Raiga.

"What's your plan for our delicate and deceiving cupcake?" Mikki asked, wisps of steam rising from her cup.

"Our…" Raiga blinked. Then he shut his eyes, smiled and chuckled softly. "You're quite taken with him, aren't you?"

"He's the prettiest one in this strange Land," Mikki said after an elongated pause. She pursed her lips and blew on her hot chocolate again. "I like them pretty. And weak."

Raiga hummed.

Before she was his second-in-command, Mikki sailed the seas as one of the most fearsome pirate captains the shinobi world had ever seen, plundering all manner of ships and ports regardless of Nation or affiliation.

She captained a ship, and eventually a small fleet, comprised of souls like herself—souls who sought freedom above all else. Freedom to live, and to die, for their own cause, for their own dreams, for their own beliefs, rather than those dictated to them by one of the Five Great Nations.

Eventually, inevitably, perhaps, the Cloud retaliated against Mikki's fleet in their usual way—with overwhelming brute force.

In an early morning ambush, caught unawares after a mighty celebration, the Cloud shinobi sank the entire fleet, unleashing a barrage of Water and Lightning ninjutsu that devastated the infamous Pirate Queen and all the devils who followed her.

Later Mikki would learn a member of her fleet had betrayed them for amnesty.

Later, with Raiga's aid, she hunted him to his traitorous little hovel and extracted justice for the comrades and friends she'd lost.

On that day, however, Mikki's ship was struck broadside by a massive Lightning Nature attack, constructed of Black Lightning and shaped into some manner of devilish feline she hadn't seen clearly.

By all accounts, the Black Lightning should have killed Mikki. It had killed her first mate and the greater majority of her crew in a single strike, splintering her ship from bow to stern, cleaving it in two. As well as many other smaller pieces.

But not Mikki. No. She did not die there, although there were many days she wished she had.

Instead, by luck or fate's whimsical nature, she was thrown into the sea by the blast—critically wounded, but alive. Corpses and driftwood floated amid the red sea. Screams of those still dying in the ambush cried out to her over the water lapping in her ears.

She couldn't save them.

Some generous Cloud shinobi would eventually find her clinging to life. Of all her fleet, she was the sole survivor. So, those generous shinobi decided to fish her out of the sea. They threw her in the brig, half alive, half dead, and donning her new beauty marks, and left her there, fully expecting her to die but hopeful she would linger a little longer.

They had plans.

For what could have been days Mikki passed in and out of consciousness. But she did not die. When her stubborn Will to live became clear, the Cloud shinobi moved ahead with their generosity.

One day they dragged her weak and wounded body out of the damp and dank brig, back into the blazing light of day, where they proceeded to sell her freedom—her very life—to a company she'd had plundered countless vessels of.

The owner, a ruthless businessman, wanted revenge. And he was willing to pay handsomely for it.

For six months they held her prisoner. For six months his thugs starved, assaulted, and used Mikki as a tool of relief and satisfaction.

She didn't let them do so quietly. She took an ear before they gagged her, snapped a neck before they bound her arms behind her back, and many other deeds of rebellion and violence that weren't worth recounting.

Then, on one a fateful day, Raiga happened upon her and her captors. She was a gaunt, shell of a woman, caged and naked, and yet her eyes were neither afraid nor defeated. They were alive, fierce, and determined to escape.

To this day he could remember the wild, animalistic grin on her face when the final head rolled in front of her cage.

Afterwards, he sheltered and fed her at the behest of the other half of his soul, who recognized Mikki had the same eyes as them.

Eventually he helped her hunt down the traitor.

That man had died as all traitors do: Screaming for mercy, begging for forgiveness, and pleading for the betrayed to understand why they had decided their lives and dreams were worth more than all others.

For that reason, Mikki's preference for pretty and weak men did not surprise him.

You can control a weakling. A weakling can never do what those monsters did to you. And, as you say, he thought with a slight smile, you like commanding the ship.

"Don't worry," he reassured. "I'm only discipling Karashi for his assault on old man Ena. And his attempt to deceive me. This is for his own benefit. By reflecting alone on where he lost his way, he'll come out of the coffin with new vigor and life, like a beautiful butterfly clawing its way out of the cocoon it created while it was a measly caterpillar. He looks at me like a father figure. So I asked him to think of this as a time-out."

Mikki snorted at that. She took a cautious sip of her hot chocolate and hummed in approval.

Drumming his pointer and middle fingers along his warm cup, Raiga wondered if Karashi had fully reflected on his misbehavior yet, or if he still required more time to hatch into the man he hoped to become. He would need to check soon.

"I do not want him to become another petty thug," he said thoughtfully. "There are far too many scum like those in this world. And this Land," he scowled, "it's traditionalist values are archaic. When we first liberated Katabami Gold Mine, before I learned more of this Land, I was content to linger here for a bit before we continued on our way. As those labeled as 'rogues' a nomadic lifestyle is a necessity."

"Grow too comfortable and someone will eventually catch you unawares," Mikki agreed. "We also need to be mindful of the strays we welcome into the Family. A man like Karashi, for instance, needs to be kept on a tight leash. He's weak-willed and easily tempted by money and power."

"Yes," Raiga nodded. "Which is why, if I fail to guide him into the man he hopes to be, I'll leave the leash in your hands."

She smiled wryly. "I thought you wanted it to be his choice."

"I do. However, since you're quite taken with him, I won't prepare Karashi's funeral if he fails to mature under my guidance. I'll allow you a chance to whip him into shape." He looked to his second-in-command and smiled a coy smile. "Or spank him, if you prefer."

Mikki threw her head back and let out a harsh and hearty wall-shaking laugh. The abrupt action led to a few droplets of hot chocolate escaping the cup, sprinkling onto the cheap laminate floor. It was okay. He'd clean it up later.

"I've already taken a crack at it," she grinned a wild grin. "I'll say this: There's plenty of booty ripe for plundering."

With a shake of his head, Raiga decided it was in his best interests not to indulge Mikki's lewd thoughts further. At least for the sake of the other half of his soul.

He took a sip of his hot chocolate, savored it for a moment, and then squinted at a space on the wall.

"I was thinking we should move on soon. But after learning how deeply this Nation's traditionalist values hurt Kanpachi and Rokusuke, and how they've poisoned even a young man like Karashi, I wonder if I should liberate the whole Nation. Free them of these…these chains which label kind people, loving people, as monsters."

Instantly, Mikki's demeanor shifted.

"Too bold," she stated firmly, seriously.

Raiga eyed her not with anger, but curiosity to hear her opinion. She, like the other half of his soul, always had a clear sight. She was also smarter, he could admit.

"This Land borders Fire and Wind. Conquer it and the Feudal Lords will demand their shinobi intervene. Guaranteed. They will not miss a chance to annex land or gather favors," she explained.

"We've kept the fat, aristocratic palms of the Land of Rivers Feudal Lord greased with his gold. As long as we do, he will not question who gathers it or who is in charge. Such matters are beneath him," Mikki said. "It's different on the sea. Out there the only 'Lord' is Mother Nature. Every Captain worth their salt respects her. Those that don't sink into the crushing depths.

"The Lords and Kage's may try to claim this or that span of sea as their own, but they will never conquer her. Never. The sea belongs to no one. Out there we are all equal.

"On Land that changes. The Nations have drawn their borders. They stuck their flags in the earth and claimed these Lands as their own. Now the Lords and Villages maintain a balance of power—for better or worse.

"They're like cats. As long as you don't disturb their wealth and keep them fed, watered, and clean their litter boxes, the balance is kept. Disturb it in any way and they will remember there are Lands they do not own. Lands that would increase their realm and their wealth.

"And you and I alone cast large waves wherever we go." Mikki shook her head. "Conquer this Land and they will come for us. Bounty hunters, hunter-nins, they will all come to 'liberate' this Land from our Family and wrap the Land in new chains."

Raiga hummed, displeased by her point, but acknowledging its value.

"Don't the chains of their traditions weigh on your soul, Mikki?" he asked.

"In this Family there are no chains. We are not bound by any tradition any Land possesses," Mikki replied, steadfast and sincere in her belief. "Do I wish they could be free? Of course. The chains of traditions were forged by men to maintain their power over the populace.

"They wish the people to be sheep who keep their heads down and their eyes shut, and they slaughter those who do not grow the 'proper' wool. They write unbending laws, and yet these laws become flexible to those with wealth and power. They're a scourge. I'd keelhaul them and their traditions if I could, then watch the sharks feed on their fat.

"However, I have only known two places where such freedom exists. One is this Family. The other is the sea. Everywhere else possesses a chain and an anchor, one we cannot dislodge by simply conquering this Land."

"Mm. I suppose you're right," said Raiga after a moment of thought. "Conquering this Nation wouldn't make it a home. Home is wherever we are free. This Nation would just become a chain around our necks."

They sipped from their hot chocolate after that. He was glad he voiced his frustrations with this Land to Mikki. As always, she had a better vision of potential consequences than he did. He'd always been impulsive, striking without prejudice or thought, like the lightning he commanded.

Mikki and the other half of his soul tempered him. Protecting the freedom they'd all found in this Family was more important than crushing the traditions of this Land. It was only a shame Kanpachi had died, and Rokusuke had gone missing; they may have found freedom in his Family had he known sooner.

"Some of the men overheard something interesting from the workers," Mikki began suddenly.

"Oh? What did they hear?"

"There's a curry shop not far from here. Apparently it hosts the spiciest curry in the whole Land."

"Ugh," Raiga scrunched his nose and frowned. "Sounds unpalatable."

"Touya, Botan, Ryoichi, Shuji, and Kari want to check it out. See if it lives up to the rumors."

"Well," he drew the word out as he hummed, "although I have no taste for spicy food, they are quite the adventurous sort. And what's life without a little adventure?"

"I'll drink to that."

"And it is close to dinner time," he considered, rolling the thought around. After a moment he nodded. "All right. Tell them they can go. But tell them not to cause the curry shop trouble. Tell Ryoichi twice," he implored.

"Of course," she grinned. "Man's as thick as a mound of wet cow pies."

"And tell everyone we'll be moving on soon." He narrowed his eyes at the wall. "Rokusuke, Hachidai and Sangorō haven't turned up yet. We may have shinobi sniffing our trail."

Mikki nodded, expression becoming serious again. "We'll be ready." She downed the last of her hot chocolate and set the cup on the counter. "Thanks for the treat. Let me know if you need anything."

"The same goes for you."

He watched Mikki from the kitchen doorway wrap the maroon shawl around her body so it draped over and hid the upper half of her left arm. She pulled on her rain cloak, slipped her heeled boots on and opened the door.

"Don't forget about our delicate Cupcake," she threw over her shoulder, a harsh chuckle in her voice, shutting the door behind her.

"I won't."

Thump-thump. Her heavy steps echoed on the two wooden stairs leading up into his quarters as she left.

These Land's traditions won't change even if I conquer this Land, he thought as he looked down at the chestnut-colored liquid. But they don't have to. We're free. And anyone who tries to take that freedom won't have a funeral. No. I won't dedicate a funeral to them.

I won't leave anything left to bury.

---

It was decided the teams of Leaf and Mist would separate before reaching Katabami Gold Mine.

Based on what Intel they had, there was a genuine possibility Raiga came into possession of some manner of Sensory Organ, one which granted him the perception to see or sense there was a shadow manipulating the Fourth Mizukage. Likely a Sharingan or a Byakugan.

They couldn't leave anything to chance. Even if he possessed the Sharingan, which could not see as far as the Byakugan, there remained a possibility of Sensory Types among the Kurosuki Family.

If they saw or sensed the Leaf shinobi lying in wait, any attempt to negotiate a peaceful conclusion would go up in smoke.

For that reason, Chōjūrō and Haruhi went ahead alone. The Leaf squad, with the aid of Neji's Byakugan, were to watch from afar for any sign of battle. Should peaceful discussions fail they would leave the shadows to aid the two Mist shinobi.

So far peaceful discussions had won the day.

They all hoped that wouldn't change.

---

"Raiga. We have company."

"How many?"

"Two. They're Mist shinobi."

Raiga didn't know whether to feel angry to be disturbed by Mist shinobi, or insulted the Fourth believed after all these years and the countless hunter-nins he sent that two measly shinobi would be enough to do what dozens before could not.

"It's been a while since the Fourth sent his hunter-ninjas after us." He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, hidden beneath his rain cloak. "I'm in no mood for a funeral. A funeral won't bring back any good memories. I'll simply erase them."

"Wait. They're not hunter-ninjas," the other half of his soul declared softly.

"Huh?"

"They aren't wearing the same clothes. They don't look like hunter-ninjas. And one of them…"

"What is it?"

"One of them wields a sword like yours."

Raiga paused. He felt neither joy, shock nor anger. It was more aligned to curiosity, for now.

"A Swordsman?" he wondered aloud. "Do you recognize them or their blade?"

He had no fond memories of the Swordsmen. No memories he wanted to reminisce. There were certain members, though, he hated. And one he felt neither hate nor fondness for.

He would be a fool to act rashly now, with his Family and the workers so close, against one of the wielders of the Seven Mystical Swords of the Mist.

They might bring down the whole mine if they weren't careful.

"It looks like a fish."

"Hiramekarei," he recalled, nodding his head and drumming his fingers along the hilt. "Mangetsu Hōzuki, the Second Coming of the Demon."

Mangetsu was the only member he felt nothing particularly for. They'd never had a cross word and the Second Coming of the Demon, despite his nickname, never gave in to the Fourth's worst impulses. He was calmer. Calming, even. Unlike the others.

"No," the other half of his soul said.

"No?" he repeated.

"I remember Mangetsu. He was always polite. I do not recognize this boy… Does that mean Mangetsu died?"

"It's unfortunate, but yes," Raiga confirmed. He gripped the hilt tighter. "The question is did this boy kill Mangetsu to take his place? Is he another of Blood Mists creations? Or did Mangetsu perish by some other means? Did he pick this boy as his predecessor before that?"

"Are we going to ask?"

"Ask? No. I will demand an answer," he asserted. "As you said, Mangetsu was always polite. If his murderer approaches me, I will honor him by erasing them from this world. They will not be given a funeral worth remembering!"

He paused again, fighting the impulse to leap off and call upon the lightning to erase his target. The other half of his soul had said something he had nearly forgotten in his emotion.

"You said there were two. Who is the other?"

"I don't know. She's around the same age as the boy."

"Two youngsters, huh? Hm."

The Fourth was cruel enough to send to young shinobi to their deaths. Yet he felt a flourish of curiosity grow.

Were they spies?

Assassins?

Were they rogue shinobi like him, seeking refuge from the Fourth? Seeking freedom from the binds of the Mist? Now that would be a twist.

"This is interesting," he said, smiling widely beneath the hood of his cloak. "Very interesting. Let's go meet our guests. I'd like to see what they have to say for themselves."

"What if they did kill Mangetsu?"

"I'll erase them," he answered simply, releasing the hilt of his sword. "Now, where are these youngsters?"

"I'll lead you to them."

"Thank you. Now…" Raiga inhaled a deep breath. "Mikki!" He called down to his second-in-command, deeper down the pit. He saw her head tilt ever so slightly in his direction, indicating she had heard him. "I'm going to greet some guests! You're in charge until then!"

She raised her right fist, indicating again she heard his order clear as day. Immediately she barked out orders to the members of their Family in her immediate vicinity, jabbing her finger in preparation of whatever came from their guests.

"And pull Karashi out of the coffin," he ordered as he stalked off. "I think it's time to see if our caterpillar has finally become a butterfly!"

"Aye aye!"

"Please, be careful," the other half of his soul pleaded.

"There's nothing to fear as long as we're together," he reassured.

"Right!"

As long as we are one, he thought, preparing to leap up the terrace, there is nothing that can stand in our way.

Whether they are assassins, spies or Swordsmen, I will protect our home.

---

The electric prickle dancing over his skin, summoning his hairs to stand on end, was the only warning of an attack.

"Get back!" Chōjūrō called to Haruhi, but it was unnecessary. She had felt it, too, and leapt in synchronicity with the Swordsman.

No sooner had their feet left the ground did a violent stream of Lightning Nature chakra carve a strict path up the cliffside overlooking the mining pit.

Like a waterfall flowing against gravity, it climbed up the stony cliff, then cut a straight line across the pathway, scattering tiny shards of rock through the air and splitting a shallow rut into the earth itself.

The blue flash of light reflected off the Swordsman's glasses, it cast long shadows despite the overcast sky and illuminated the grimace on his face and the severe expression on Haruhi's. His clothes and Haruhi's cloak seemed to glow in the new light.

Before his feet even found the ground again his hands were reaching for the hilts of Hiramekarei. For that reason, as he landed and began to slide backwards, sandals grating against the stone and dirt, the bandage wrapped form of Hiramekarei was already held at the ready in front of him. His chakra and the chakra stored in the blade were waiting to be unleashed.

Similarly, Haruhi gripped the collar of her cloak and tore it off, throwing it aside before she landed; the cloak was an unnecessary weight and material that possessed the potential to impede her movements. She slid back alongside him, though she lowered herself closer to the earth, and primed her chakra for combat.

The Lightning faded a second later. Chōjūrō exhaled calmly through his nose and stared straight ahead at the cloaked figure responsible for the literal line carved in the earth. Haruhi's cloak fell flat against the ground.

That wasn't a real attack, the Swordsman analyzed, swallowing what little jitters he had. It was a warning.

He was actually sort of thankful Master Raiga had launched that jutsu. It forced his nervousness to the recesses of his mind and the brought forth his shinobi training and instincts, calming him, strangely enough. His focus was razor sharp.

Please don't be hasty, Leaf shinobi. Just give us a chance to talk.

"For two youngsters, your reaction time is pretty good," Master Raiga complimented.

Despite his best efforts Chōjūrō couldn't see anything of his Senior Swordsman than the lower half of his face and the bulging hump protruding beneath his thick rain cloak; he kept the hood up to conceal his face and the cloak closed.

He didn't use the Kiba Blades with that warning, the Swordsman analyzed. Yet I can still feel my hairs standing on end. I can smell ozone.

His natural Lightning Nature jutsus were concentrated and powerful, it told him. As concentrated and powerful as the stories said, which could only mean the Kiba Blades likely were as strong, or stronger, than legends claimed.

I bet he's hiding the Kiba Blades beneath his cloak, Chōjūrō thought, hands tightening around Hiramekarei's hilts. We have to be careful.

"I don't recognize either of your faces," Master Raiga said. "It doesn't seem like you're hunter-nins of the Fourth, either. Your equipment is all wrong."

"Master Raiga, we are not here to fight. We have no allegiance to the Fourth Mizukage, either, or the dark days he oversaw," Chōjūrō stated firmly against the slightest tremble in his voice. "Please just give us a moment. We only want to talk."

This was Raiga Kurosuki, member of the strongest era of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist. He could feel the thrum of power on the air. It was like Lady Mei's, Master Zabuza's, and the Hound's. He felt a slight tremble in his hands.

Haruhi showed no sign of nervousness, as usual.

"Why should I believe you? You wield Hiramekarei against me. Last time I saw that blade it was in the hands of Mangetsu Hōzuki—the Second Coming of the Demon, he was called. Despite that, and unlike the other Swordsmen, Mangetsu was always polite. Respectful. Like you appear to be.

"It makes me wonder: Did you follow in Kisame Hoshigaki's path and kill your predecessor to claim that blade?"

The accusation shocked him. Nearly as much as the sharp electrical charges that left his skin tingling all over.

"Wha- what? I didn't kill Master Mangetsu," he replied, taken off guard.

"Then how did he die? How did you become his successor?"

"I…don't actually know the circumstances that Master Mangetsu died under," he admitted nervously. "By that time, he was the only Swordsman left in the Mist; everyone else was either already dead or a rogue shinobi. Honestly, I couldn't believe Master Mangetsu had died. It's still hard to believe. He was one of the most talented Swordsman to exist, capable of wielding all seven mystical blades. Even Samehada."

And Samehada doesn't allow just anyone to wield it.

"Hmm." Master Raiga's lips twisted into a frown. "Mysterious circumstances, huh? I've heard that line before. Mangetsu learned something the Fourth Mizukage didn't want him to. It's as simple as that."

Chōjūrō wondered if it really was the Fourth he trampled on the toes of. Or if he stumbled into the Crimson Flowers and the Hound, who were tied into the Fourth's regime.

He filed thought away to investigate when they made it home.

"It's a shame. Mangetsu was the only one I didn't hate by the end," Raiga sighed. "At least his successor is humble and polite. Unlike me. I've been impolite and impulsive. I've gone and accused you of murdering your predecessor. I've treated you as a potential enemy despite your assertion of holding no allegiance to the Fourth or his… What did you call it? Boy, what did you call the Fourth's reign? Tell me again, please."

"The dark times? Or was it dark days?" He tried to recall. "Uh, um, is that really important, though?"

"Dark days? Dark Days…" He seemed to be rolling the words around in his thoughts.

"Uh, Master Raiga? Can I ask—"

"Yes! I remember now!" The exhilaration in Raiga's voice bordered on crazed, as did his wide smile. Suddenly he started to stride quickly towards the line his Lightning carved in the earth. "I've heard those same words before. The same ones! I knew they sounded familiar when you first spoke them—I was just thinking of them. I was wondering whether or not she survived. But if you're saying them, then she must have!"

He crossed the line, reached his hand out of his cloak and pulled his hood back, revealing himself to the pair. He spread his arms out in a sign of camaraderie as he approached. The tension in the air faded entirely.

"You must be subordinates of Mei Terumī!" he declared joyfully.

I don't understand, Chōjūrō, puzzled, lowered Hiramekarei slightly. He doesn't have a Sharingan or Byakugan. He's…

The Swordsman examined the blue eyes and the small ripple around them, the long green hair that would've reached his waist were it not for the hump of his back, and the Kiba Blades hung on his hips.

He's normal. Or as normal as Master Raiga can be.

"We are," Haruhi answered plainly, rising out of her defensive position.

"Uh, right. We joined her cause to end the Fourth's regime," he began to explain.

Before he could explain further, Raiga clapped his large hands on top of both of their shoulders and began to shake them roughly in his excitement.

"Why didn't you say so? I wouldn't have been so impolite had I known she sent you to speak with me. I have nothing but good memories of Mei."

"Sorry! I was working towards it," Chōjūrō said as the massive hand shook him around.

"Mei has sent you, yes?"

"She has," Haruhi answered calmly.

"I'm pleased she has survived this long," Raiga said with a sincere smile, releasing his hold on them. "Let's not talk here. We'll talk in my quarters. Do you enjoy hot chocolate?"

"Uh, sure," Chojuro answered unsteadily.

"I have no prior experience with…hot chocolate." Haruhi did not appear to know what to make of the name. "Is it a spiced chocolate?"

Raiga barked out a loud and boisterous laugh that echoed down the terraces of the mining pit. Chōjūrō sweat-dropped and smiled an awkward smile.

"N- not exactly," he said.

"I like you two, I think I'll try to remember your faces," Raiga decided. He turned away and pulled his hood up. "Come with me."

Chōjūrō placed Hiramekarei onto his harness once again. Haruhi picked her cloak off the ground and hooked it into place.

They shared a silent look of understanding and followed the Senior Swordsman down the terraces.

Down into danger.

---

Hidden in the trees on the outskirts of Katabami Gold Mine, Team Guy listened to Neji detail the encounter between the Mist shinobi and Raiga, and what his eyes were able to see of the Senior Swordsman. Specifically his powerful chakra, his possession of the Kiba Blades and his utter lack of dōjutsu.

"Wait, so he doesn't have a Byakugan or a Sharingan?" Tenten asked.

"No," Neji confirmed. "However, there is something far more bizarre about that man's presence."

"What is it?" Mimi asked, arms crossed as she leaned on the v-formation of two branches.

"There's a blindspot over him. An area of darkness over his back which the Byakugan cannot penetrate."

"A blindspot even the Byakugan cannot see through? What could that possibly mean, Neji?" Lee asked.

"I do not know. That's what concerns me."

"Maybe we're too far away?" Tenten offered as explanation.

"No," Neji shook his head. "I can see the space around him clearly. Yet… Imagine you've accidentally looked directly at a flashlight. Even after you look away and blinked you may see dark blots in your vision for some time. That is what this bizarre formation is like. Except for one detail.

"I believe this area of darkness is actively concealing itself."

---

"C'mon! Someone please let me out!" Karashi pleaded as he continued to thump his toes, heels and his hands and elbows against the coffin. "Boss! Mikki! Someone! I've learned my lesson, I swear!"

Just then a playful rapping of knuckles knocked against the coffin.

"Is anyone home?"

Excitement flooded the young man.

"Mikki!" He'd never been so happy to hear her menacing voice.

"Karashi. How are you?"

"Are you serious right now?"

"Always," she replied, but he heard her snort all the same.

"How do you think I'm doing?! I'm stuck inside a coffin! It reeks in here!"

"If it stinks in there, Cupcake, you only have yourself to blame," she chortled.

There was movement on his coffin. At first he thought Mikki was popping it open, but then he heard her drumming her fingers along the top. He felt the vibrations from her heel tapping against its side in his teeth.

"Are you sitting on the coffin?!"

"I've been on my feet all day, Karashi." He could see the terrible and scarred grin on her face through her voice alone. "Sometimes a woman needs to take a load off. A foot rub would be wonderful."

"Oh, c'mon! Stop messing with me!"

"I haven't messed with you yet," she said lewdly. "I might, if you play your cards right."

"Mikki!" he yelled her name.

"Karashi!" she moaned his.

He recoiled at the noise and smacked the back of his head against the coffin.

"Gah!"

"Ahhh!" she moaned again.

"Wha- what the hell are you doing out there?!" he demanded in horror. And, perhaps, arousal.

"What are you doing in there!"

He felt himself flush at the loud, throaty, almost croaking moan from Mikki. He was certain everyone could hear her.

"Mi- Mikki!" Now he was definitely combating horror and arousal in equal measure.

"Ka- Karashi!" She was breathless.

There was movement again. To his ears it sounded like her nails were digging into the wood. Her heel kicked harder once, twice, and then a third time.

In the darkness, he could only imagine what she was doing. And his brain went the distance in imagining it.

Then, without any warning, the top of the coffin popped off. Standing over him was none other than Mikki, fully dressed, and joined by a handful of the Kurosuki Family members.

"Now how is our caterpillar? Has my performance helped you mature into a butterfly?" she asked, stifling a throaty laugh.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he demanded, gaping in horror and embarrassment.

"Ah, don't get your britches in a twist, Cupcake. I was just toying with you," she grinned. The women she was shadowed by were openly laughing at his expense, all but holding onto each other so they wouldn't fall over. "I can see you enjoyed it. Maybe if you ask nicely I won't fake it next time."

Karashi was too embarrassed to question what she meant by fake it. Could women actually fake…those kinds of things?

Suddenly Mikki's nose scrunched. "Dammit, you stink! Hit the shower and get some new clothes, Karashi!"

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Are men supposed to shirk responsibility?" she asked menacingly, lowering the coffin lid ever so slightly.

"Don't be like that," he muttered in defeat. "It's humiliating enough."

Mikki eyed him for a moment. Suddenly she pushed the lid off, turned on her heel and barked out,

"Show's over! Get back to your posts!"

They scurried off, though he heard their laughter and giggles trail their every step.

Mikki turned back to him and thrust her hand out. Hesitantly, he took it, and felt his shoulder nearly pull out of its socket as she yanked him up and out of the coffin.

He was too happy to be out of the coffin to complain about how absurdly strong she was for a woman.

"Go inside," she lifted her scarred chin towards the Boss's quarters, which they stood just outside of. "Get clean. Do nothing else while you are in there. Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll procure fresh clothes for you."

"Thanks."

"Get moving, Cupcake. I'll wait for you out here."

"Yes ma'am."

---

Out of nowhere, a thick stone was chucked into Amari's peaceful, bioluminescent cavern.

It clattered noisily off the silver stone, bouncing off the walls then plunging into the lake. The resounding splash set forth shadowy, violent waves that consumed the previous calm ripples, disturbing the atmosphere as much as a bolt of lightning may have.

Amari's eye snapped open and the bioluminescent cavern collapsed on itself instantly.

Springing to her feet, Amari whirled to face Sangorō and Hachidai, who were seated at the kitchen counter in the midst of a perfectly calm and perfectly normal conversation. Unaware of what approached them.

Miss Anbu was already standing in the center of the Curry of Life. The masked kunoichi had materialized from the immaterial like a shade before Amari finished rising, and as a result startled the two men and Grandma Sanshō thoroughly.

"Hachidai, Sangorō, go upstairs. Quickly," Miss Anbu cut straight to the point and spoke in tone that was unmistakably a command. "Kurosuki Family members are approaching."

"What?" Sangorō went pale as a sheet.

Although shocked, Hachidai didn't waste time on questions or paralyzing fear. He grabbed his fellow miner by the shoulder and begin guiding—dragging—him towards the stairs.

"Go to Rokusuke and hide with my Shadow Clone. Stay as quiet as possible," Amari ordered as she pulled her headband off with one hand and untied her bandana with the other, freeing her wild mane of blue hair to drape down her her back and over her shoulders.

"Hurry, Sangorō," Hachidai pressed as they climbed the stairs.

Now standing beside Miss Anbu, Amari handed the kunoichi her headband and asked, "Can you keep this in your pocket, please?"

Miss Anbu blinked, then took it. "Of course."

Amari tied her bandana around her forehead and covered her left eye with it before slipping out of her haori. She ran to the entrance to gather her sandals and that of the miners, grabbed them, and then quickly ran behind the kitchen counter to the adjacent broom closet, where she threw all the items and shut the door to hide them.

As she began to roll up her kimono sleeves, she directed her attention to Grandma Sanshō, who was nervously looking between the two kunoichi for guidance.

"Grandma Sanshō, I know you have no love for the Kurosuki Family. These people may even know you are Karashi's mother and try to provoke you," she spoke quickly. "All the same, I need you to treat them as customers in order to keep everyone safe."

"Are you sure they aren't here to stir trouble?"

"No. But that's why I'm staying at your side." Amari finished rolling her sleeves up then placed her hands on the short old woman's shoulders. "No one will bring harm to you or the others, I promise."

"Oh, don't worry, dearie. This won't be my first rodeo," Sanshō smiled up at her. "What about you?"

"I was an orphan you found collapsed outside of your shop. You nursed me to health with your curry and took me on as your apprentice. That will be our story. Can you remember it?"

"You can count on me!"

Amari smiled and nodded. "Good."

The best lies are founded on truth, she thought, releasing the old woman's shoulders. It's Lee's story, which will make it easier for Grandma Sanshō to remember. But we've altered it just enough on the possibility they've heard Karashi talk about Lee. Or if one of them is Karashi.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about cooking curry, so treat me as you would any new apprentice," she said.

"This is all very exciting! I'll prepare my stool so you can stir the pot."

The kunoichi winced at the unfortunate necessity. Why do you have such tall countertops and pots? You're even shorter than I am!

Quickly, Amari hurried out of the small kitchen to approach Miss Anbu and finish final preparations. The Kurosuki Family members were almost here.

"You're putting yourself in a position of unnecessary risk," Miss Anbu said softly. "Men like these do not treat waitresses well."

She had already considered the possibility of handsy thugs. It was not a pleasant thought.

"It isn't an unnecessary risk," she said instead. "As long as Chōjūrō and Haruhi have a chance to take Raiga and his people away without incident, we can't attack members of his 'Family.' With me on the floor I can watch over Grandma Sanshō. I can also gather Intel on the enemy." She smirked. "No one ever suspects the quiet, shy ones."

"Amaririsu…"

Amari clasped her hands around Miss Anbu's left hand, which still held her headband. She met the woman's dark gaze. "It's unfair of me to ask this, but please trust me. I'll be careful." She smiled again. "Besides, I have a guardian angel watching over me. I'm probably the safest girl in the whole world."

Miss Anbu stared at her for a short moment that felt so much longer. She then shut her eyes, exhaled a breath and placed her free hand on top of Amari's.

"I will always be close by," Miss Anbu swore. "I will be your very shadow. You will never be alone with them, this I swear."

"See. Safest girl in the world," Amari smiled.

Miss Anbu hummed, and though the cat-mask hid her expression, it was clear in her eyes that she was smiling.

The whisper of familiarity was there again. She could hear it at the back of her mind. She could feel the wet match trying to strike a flame.

Later, she promised herself. Later there will be time to figure out who you are.

After a soft squeeze, Miss Anbu relinquished her hands and vanished once more. Amari returned to the kitchen to wait for the Kurosuki Family to arrive.

Later there will be time figure out who you were to my family. For now…

The door slid open. Five cloaked figures entered from the storm, the boisterous jeering and laughter of the Kurosuki Family announcing them as noisily as the rumbling thunder.

For now I have a new role to play.

All it took was a single deep breath. One deep breath and Amaririsu Yūhi, kunoichi of the Leaf, vanished from the Curry of Life.

In her place, the shy, timid and weak Amaririsu stepped out of the kitchen with slumped shoulders, making her appear even smaller than she was. She twiddled her fingers in front of her chest and flicked her eye nervously from the customers to the floor, to the customers, and to the floor again.

"Uh, um, he- hello. We- welcome to the Curry of Life. Ho- how may we serve yo- you?"

---

The Katabami Gold Mine was another world entirely when compared the labor camps run by the Crimson Flowers.

No fine-tooth comb or magnifying glass were necessary to see it. Even without glasses Chōjūrō would have noticed the stark differences.

First and foremost, the mining camps utilized by the Crimson Flowers were located deep inside of mountains, hidden from plain sight by the terrain.

The Katabami Gold mine was a vast open pit, a valley shaped into a sort of oblong half-circle. Snaking by the foot of the valley was a river, famous for flowing north instead of south from the highest peak in the Land of Rivers.

Several tunnel entrances built by the workers in their hunt for gold could be seen despite the overcast atmosphere. Some had miners actively working, others appeared abandoned. Perhaps all the gold had been mined in those tunnels.

At a glance, they had equipment both simple and advanced for the ōjūrō wasn't a specialist in mining or mining equipment, but it appeared to be in good condition. At least at this distance. And when compared to the old, worn pickaxes and shovels he'd seen from the Crimson Flowers.

There were also actual living quarters for the workers, he noticed. Warm rooms, real beds, a mess hall and places to bathe. The Crimson Flowers offered no such luxuries.

In his minds eye, the Swordsman could vividly see the small cages crammed and stacked on top of each other, containing the slaves as though they were rabid animals.

He could see those poor people huddled inside, cowering in the darkness. Afraid of the next punishment. Afraid they would soon be sent to horrible places like the Gallows, where none returned from.

Unlike these workers, who attired themselves in a variety of average workers attire, the prisoners of the Crimson Flowers were stripped to their unclean and, at times, ripped and torn underwear. They were left in the cold air, on the harsh earth and metal cages, with no blankets, beds, and no opportunity to bathe. And they were left with grotesque pockets of pus from untreated wounds.

Truthfully, some nights he dreamed of that emaciated woman. He would feel her bony fingers curl around his, see her glistening eyes, and hear her plea to be saved in a broken and hopeless voice.

And he would smell the unclean tang of body odor, the gag-inducing stench of fresh and old feces, and the rot of death hanging on the air.

Katabami Gold Mine was nothing like he expected.

It's so different. I want to say it's crazy, he thought, rubbing the tip of his thumbnail along his opposing thumb's nail plate. But what we all saw was insanity. This is almost normal.

Almost was the operative word. Beyond the quick glances, which made Katabami Gold Mine appear to be operating as any normal mine would, he saw problematic signs.

He spotted a dozen or more figures hidden beneath rain cloaks among the workers—members of the Kurosuki Family, doubtlessly. Watchdogs, he judged. Their job was easy to conclude: Keep the miners working and adhering to their daily schedule.

With a constant watch they wouldn't be able to begin planning a revolt, as Kanpachi had. Or escape to hire aid, as Rokusuke, Hachidai and Sangorō had.

Scanning the valley below from the terraces as they followed Master Raiga, he spotted the burial mounds next. It was impossible not to. The makeshift headstones, which consisted of any random item they had on hand at the time—a steel beam, a broken wheelbarrow, and a plank of wood that had clearly been snapped by brute force—all jutted out of the earth noticeably.

Those poor people…

Waiting outside of Master Raiga's quarters when they arrived was a powerfully built woman. She stood nearly as tall as the Senior Swordsman. Broad at the shoulders, she cast a formidable figure even when covered by the thick rain cloak.

Nearby, an open coffin waited for an occupant.

The wet earth revealed multiple sets of foot imprints gathered near and around the coffin, which seemed to be made for a slightly shorter than average man.

Chōjūrō wondered if another funeral was being prepared before they arrived. Then swallowed down his horror and disgust.

At the sight of them, the woman narrowed her eyes. She placed a hand on her hip, causing her cloak to shift and reveal an assortment of tattoos on her forearms, and flicked her stern gaze to Raiga.

"We've discussed gathering strays."

"They aren't strays," Master Raiga assured. "They've come to talk to me. They'll be on their way once we're finished."

"Talk? To you?"

She eyed the pair. Then honed in on the Mist Village symbol on their headband and harness. A malicious grin tugged at her lips, made all the more terrifying by the heavy scarring on her face.

"Pretty impressive," she chortled menacingly. "Here I thought the Fourth Mizukage's shinobi only knew how to kill. Think he's started teaching them new tricks, like the dogs they are?"

Chōjūrō lowered his gaze and unconsciously slouched his shoulders, shrinking inwards at the pointed and, unfortunately, rightfully earned scorn.

"I am also impressed," Haruhi stated plainly, expression neutral but he sensed her orange eyes staring not at, but through the woman. "Pirates are generally drunken, illiterate barbarians. Yet you appear entirely sober. It is revolutionary."

Chōjūrō sucked in a breath. Before the horror could fully encompass him over Haruhi's sharp retort, the scarred woman barked out a harsh laugh.

"Sharp eyes and a sharper tongue! I like this kid. She's got moxie."

The pirate's eyes fell onto Chōjūrō next. He was in the middle of a relieved sigh when she approached. Caught off guard, he stood flatfooted and stiff as a rod, uncertain of what she was doing, and what his reaction should be.

Suddenly she was upon him. Her left hand gripped him harshly by the jaw, turning his head left then right, inspecting him like he was a prized horse. All with a ravenous expression and a devious gleam in her eyes.

Her act opened her cloak and revealed the tattoos on her arms in better detail—which Haruhi had deduced her pirate origin from. Red and black ink colored her arm from the elbows up, and it seemed to his eye they were depictions of Niō—wrathful guardians he'd seen in statue form stationed in disrepair outside of several temples back home.

They were honestly beautiful. The detail, the coloring, he'd never seen tattoos like it. They were truly works of art.

One downward glance revealed two new details to the young man. First, there was a less colorful, less artistic, very naked and very large breasted mermaid winking at him on her forearm.

Second, she had a painful scar across her chest. And, well, at his angle he could see more of the scar tissue than most ever had.

Chōjūrō could feel his cheeks flushing.

"What about you, Sunshine?" she asked. Purred, really. "You've been quiet so far. I wonder, can you use that tongue as well as you wield a sword?"

Chōjūrō choked and sputtered.

Who even said things like that? To a total stranger!

"Play nice, Mikki," Raiga said amusedly. "I like him. He's polite and humble. His backbone may seem made of jelly now, but I saw his eyes before. He won't roll over for you."

"He may for a treat." She caressed her thumb along his jaw and leaned in closer. "Or would you prefer a belly rub?"

A belly rub? Chōjūrō wailed inside his thoughts, face red and eyes on the verge of rolling back in his skull.

Leaning in closer, she nudged the tip of his nose with her own.

"How 'bout it, Sunshine?" she lowered her voice. "Want to dive into the depths to make this Siren sing? Or does that tongue only wag itself for your sharp-tongued companion?"

His flustered and incoherent sputtering twisted he woman's—Mikki's—ravenous and devious smirk into wild grin.

"This Siren is willing to sing a duet, as long as she's up for it," she tipped her head in Haruhi's direction.

Dying inside, certain the smoke rising from his head could be seen by the Leaf shinobi, Chōjūrō looked to his teammate and tried to beg for help without words.

Haruhi blinked. "I do not know how to sing," she said unhelpfully, missing the lewd insinuation entirely.

Ho- how can someone be so pure!

"Ha!" Mikki barked another coarse laugh. "It's never too late to learn!"

Ahhhhhhhh! Somebody help me!

"I hope you realize he's a member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen. He isn't weak," Master Raiga seemed to warn.

"He is as shy as a celibate priestess," she replied without blinking. "There's no storm within him. I can tell. Sunshine here wouldn't unsettle the sea with a harsh gale; he wouldn't twist into a violent tempest to sweep away control of my ship. It'd be smooth sailing."

"Leave him be, Mikki. We need to talk."

"Fine." She released his chin and stepped back. "Maybe next time, Sunshine," she added, winking.

Feeling warm and off-kilter, Chōjūrō ducked his head down, pressed his lips together and began to wring his hands.

I'll sleep easier for the rest of my life if Natsumi never learns about this.

"By the way, how is our caterpillar?" Master Raiga asked.

"Pissed himself he was so scared." She jabbed her thumb towards his quarters. "I told him to use your shower to clean up. We'll see if he's matured into a butterfly soon enough."

"I hope he has. For his sake."

Mikki chuckled darkly but said nothing.

Caterpillar? Butterfly?

Chōjūrō glanced to the coffin again, suddenly drawing the comparison to a caterpillars cocoon. Had someone been trapped inside before they arrived?

Is it some sort of hazing?

Among shinobi, hazings weren't uncommon. There were always more seasoned shinobi who banded together to embarrass or humiliate a new recruit, as a cruel way of "welcoming" them into a unit, or so they could "prove their worth" to the veterans.

Some called it tradition.

To shove people into coffins, though, was downright insane.

Given his history of burying people alive, it's no wonder the person in that coffin was so frightened.

Master Raiga welcomed them into his quarters after dismissing Mikki to monitor the other members of the Kurosuki Family. It confirmed the Swordsman's theory that she was his second-in-command.

Inside his quarters, after Haruhi removed her cloak and hung it on a nearby coat rack, Raiga ushered them to sit in the living space, where a couch and a loveseat formed a right angle around a coffee table.

Chōjūrō and Haruhi picked the loveseat. The Swordsman placed Hiramekarei between his legs with his hands tentatively resting on the hilts.

Down the hall he heard the shower running.

It's impossible to tell which of his men are Karashi, the Swordsman considered as they waited for Master Raiga to return. So far every member of the Kurosuki Family I've seen, except Mikki, have worn their hoods. If this turns into a fight…

He would become secondary. Against Master Raiga, there would be no time to waste locating Karashi, as harsh as it was to say.

Drumming his fingers along Hiramekarei's hilt, Chōjūrō wished he could talk freely with Haruhi. Now that they'd seen some of Katabami Gold Mine and Master Raiga, he wanted to hear her thoughts on what they should do.

He said nothing. They were in the belly of the beast. One misstep and Master Raiga would cease his friendly behavior and likely plan a funeral for them.

For now, there was a chance for this to end peacefully. A chance they could bring Master Raiga back and…

The Swordsman frowned to himself.

I'd like to believe he could help us rebuild and reform our Nation. Lady Mei wants to believe in that possibility. But…I'm afraid if we do bring him back, he'll keep performing his funerals. Except then it will be on our people.

People who had suffered enough already at the hands of the Fourth Mizukage's reign and all it entailed.

If Master Raiga is mentally unwell, there may be nothing we can do to convince him to join us or to stop these funerals. In fact, he's already certain we'll leave after we finish talking.

This could be bad.

"Do not be nervous," Haruhi said quietly beside him. "Trust in yourself."

After a soft breath, he nodded and said, "Right."

I'm still really nervous, but I have to stay focused. He gently closed his fingers around the hilts of Hiramekarei. I can't let Haruhi or Lady Mei down. I won't. Or I'll do my best not to, anyway.

As they waited he heard a quiet murmuring from Master Raiga, the vibrations of his voice trembled through the walls but the words were indistinct. It sounded like he was talking to himself.

Generally, Chōjūrō wouldn't see any harm in it; he spoke aloud to himself from time to time. Yet the indistinct murmurings dragged on, as though Master Raiga was holding an entire conversation with himself.

Given what they knew, it was very possible he was speaking to the 'missing piece of his soul.'

The thought left him even more unsettled.

When Master Raiga finally joined them he did so while carrying two white porcelain cups; his hood was drawn back again.

Ribbons of steam rose from the cups.

"I'm sorry if Mikki made you uncomfortable," Raiga apologized as he approached. "She has a habit of speaking her mind, even if what's on her mind happens to be crude or indecent. Make sure you let it cool. It's still hot," he added as he handed them the cups one at a time.

"Oh, uh, thank you." I was so focused on keeping the peace earlier, Chōjūrō glanced at the chestnut liquid, holding the cup in one hand and Hiramekarei's hilt in the other, I didn't consider how easy it would be for him to poison our drinks. I should have declined.

Haruhi, he noticed, sniffed the aroma. When she began to gently blow air over it he took it as a hopeful sign the hot chocolate was not poisoned.

"And, I mean no offense when I say this, but she prefers men like you."

"Like…me?"

"Shorter than her. Smaller physique. I would say weak, but," Raiga lowered himself to sit on the middle cushion of the couch, leaning forward onto his knees, "as the wielder of Hiramekarei and one of Mei's subordinates you don't fit that criteria. Too much backbone. Too much strength. Mikki must think you're very pretty to proposition you."

Chōjūrō was glad he hadn't taken a sip of his drink. He would've choked on it in embarrassment otherwise.

"Am I right to assume her preference is meticulously crafted towards her ability to remain in physical control?" Haruhi asked.

Raiga nodded shortly. "I am not surprised you recognize that. As a Mist kunoichi, you've been thoroughly educated on what capture at the hands of an enemy can mean. And…"

He held Haruhi's gaze for a silent and pregnant moment.

"Yes. One look in your eyes is all I need to see the truth," he began again in a serious tone. "Your teacher was from my era. They taught you that the body is a shell. A shield for your soul so nothing, no one, can ever truly hurt you."

Chōjūrō glanced to his teammate. Haruhi's expression remained blank.

Master Raiga can see that so easily? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He lived through that era, after all.

"I was trained to be a weapon," Haruhi replied. "However, Lady Mei and Chōjūrō have shown me there is more."

"That's good. Very good, indeed." He smiled in nostalgia as he lowered his eyes. "Lady Mei now, huh? Seems we're finally growing older. I remember the old monikers they attached to her. Sister Killer was the most insulting. The truth of that tale was warped by the Fourth and his ilk to shape and groom Mei into a bloodthirsty demon."

He barked a harsh laugh and paired it with a harsher grin. "Oh, Mei was bloodthirsty all right. For their blood. They created the system which forced her to soak her hands in the blood of her own sister. They wanted a demon. And they got one.

"It's funny. Had they simply fostered both sisters, they would've bolstered the Mist's strength with their kekkei genkais and perhaps prevented the creation of the Mei Terumī you youngsters know. Without her, there would be no one capable of rallying the entire Nation against them. No one with her passion. Her strength. Her cunning. Her Will. They could've had two loyal guardians—or two wrathful demons—at their command.

"Instead, they continued their bloody ritual, and now we're here."

Chōjūrō felt his grip tighten around Hiramekarei. Haruhi squinted but said nothing.

Hearing it laid out like that, it was a bit scary how right Raiga was. Had Lady Mei never lost her sister to the Blood Mist Exam she may have never sought to end the Fourth's regime. It was that catalyzing moment that led them here.

Without it the Fourth could, and likely would, still clutch their Village and Nation beneath his bloody, iron fist. Their chance to build an alliance with the Leaf may not exist at all. Their efforts to rebuild their impoverished Nation would be but a dream.

Everything they were working towards now would be a dream.

Natsumi may have never been saved. The Crimson Flowers could have completed their stranglehold over the Nation. Haku and Zabuza would have never been welcomed back. Fuugetsu would still be a slave. Mika, Chinami, all the others…

Nothing would be the same. Not unless the Blood Mist Exam still altered Lady Mei's and her sister's perspective on the Mist, its future and its leader.

In a different world perhaps the two sisters would have led the resistance together.

It was impossible to say. He didn't want to think about it, honestly. The mere idea that Lady Mei could've become an ally of the Fourth instead of his staunch enemy gave the Swordsman chills.

"How is Mei now?" Master Raiga asked.

"Um, good. Busy, mostly," Chōjūrō answered awkwardly. "Ever since she was elected Fifth Mizukage Lady Mei barely has a free moment to herself. There's always something that needs her attention. Or that's how it seems, anyway."

"Mei is the…Fifth Mizukage?"

The words appeared to taste strange on Raiga's tongue. He didn't seem to know what to make of their flavor, tilting his head very slowly towards his right shoulder as if the world in front of him had suddenly shifted to a strange angle.

He blinked owlishly. The silence, all save the sound of the shower, was penetrating.

"And the Fourth?" The innocence of the question resembled child-like wonder.

It was very unsettling. Chōjūrō swallowed and drummed his fingers on Hiramekarei's hilt, carrying the nervous beat to the warm cup he held. His palm was turning red.

"Dead," Haruhi answered simply.

"Dead?" The taste of that word must've been even stranger. Raiga blinked and let his head tilt to the opposite side. "Yagura is dead?"

"Yes."

Slowly, Raiga's head moved center, then he lowered his face into one of his large hands, covering it.

It's…probably a lot to process, Chōjūrō considered in the awkward silence that followed. All he's ever known was the Fourth's regime, like Lady Mei and Master Zabuza. But I can't tell if he's happy the Fourth is gone. I can't really tell what he's feeling.

As the dreadful silence ticked on second by second, he blew on his hot chocolate; it actually smelled really nice.

The sound of the shower shutting off set Chōjūrō and Haruhi on alert, both of their eyes flicking towards the sudden and unannounced noise like a plate had shattered on the laminate floor.

Another pregnant moment passed. Finally…

"Now Lady Mei seeks to rebuild and reform our Nation and Village," Haruhi broke the silence when the Senior Swordsman did not move or speak.

"Yes. I suspect she does."

Chōjūrō felt his heart tense at Master Raiga's strained voice.

"Mas- Master Raiga?" He felt his pulse quicken.

Slowly, the Senior Swordsman lifted his head. When he met their eyes, Chōjūrō recoiled so much he nearly spilled his hot chocolate all over himself.

For there were streams of tears flowing down Raiga's cheeks. His glistening eyes gleamed with joy, his lips curled upwards in a smile, and there was no doubt of the sincerity of his emotions. Nor was there doubt in the sincerity of mania glistening in his eyes and curling at his lips.

"Uh, um, Master Raiga, are you all right?" Chōjūrō began to panic.

What were they supposed to do about this! He hadn't expected Master Raiga to cry of all things. Or to look utterly terrifying as he did.

Mistakenly, he looked to Haruhi for advice. She merely tilted her head in curiosity at the Senior Swordsman; she was wholly uncertain what to make of the scene.

"Haruhi, um, please hold this!" He tried to hand his teammate his cup. "I'll try to find tissues!"

That was the appropriate thing to do, right?

"No, no, it's all right," Raiga said, shaking his head. His joyful and manic smile didn't budge. "Please, forgive me for this show of emotion," he cried openly. "It isn't for Yagura I weep. It is for Mei. I weep because I am proud of her!"

He lifted his head to the ceiling and shut his eyes, beaming. "Mei, yours is a beautiful face I will never forget. To think you've come so far. The Fifth Mizukage, Mei Terumī! Yes, I like that. It has quite the ring to it!"

Raiga wiped his tears into his cloak, for better or worse. Nevertheless, they continued to fall as he looked at them again.

"I told her that Nation wasn't worth her time or her energy. I was so rude," he seemed to lament. "Yet here two of the Mist's next generation sit before me. So kind and humble. So sharp and observant. And willing to learn. Mei's passionate dedication has finally paid off. How wonderful!"

Again he buried his face into his hand. Bewildered, Chōjūrō watched Raiga's shoulders shake and tremble with every weep, and felt his eyes drawn to the large hump protruding from his back.

There was a disquieting presence about the Senior Swordsman. More than the tears. More than the strength he possessed.

Even as he appears to weep in joy… The young shinobi tapped his pointer finger against Hiramekarei's hilt. I feel something…Something very wrong. Unnatural, even.

He couldn't quite place his finger on the cause. His theory was it related to the hump on his back, and it, whatever it was, related to the 'missing piece of his soul.'

Could it be another weapon? Maybe sentient like Samehada?

Think, Chōjūrō, he tried to coax his mind to locate the conclusion. Maybe it's some manner of artifact. I've heard stories about mystical artifacts capable of immense power. He pressed his lips together. Those are ancient stories, though, passed on through the generations. Nowadays they're treated as mythology. Folklore.

It brought a disturbing thought to mind.

What if Master Raiga found an artifact like that?

It could explain how he sensed the manipulation of the Fourth Mizukage despite lacking a Byakugan and a Sharingan.

"Tell me," Raiga began suddenly, hand still shielding his glistening eyes, "how did the Fourth meet his end? Did Mei melt him with her Lava Style? Did she corrode him with her Vapor Style? Both? Yes, I imagine it was both. It would take a great deal to kill the Three Tails jinchūriki."

"We didn't see it personally," Chōjūrō admitted. "Lady Mei wanted to fight him alone to avoid collateral damage."

"She prefers to avoid perverse detail on the battle," Haruhi explained.

"Such a shame. But," Raiga sighed, lowering his hand to look them in the eyes again. The tears were gone. His smile was not. "The Fourth is dead. That's enough. I appreciate you bringing me this news. After the recent funeral my heart has been heavy."

Heavy? Chōjūrō felt a sudden flare of baffled outrage. You buried that man alive!

He said nothing. He just drummed his fingers along the hilt.

"Still, I doubt that Mei sent you all this way to tell me the Fourth is dead," said Raiga. "You don't send a Swordsman to play messenger. What brings you to me? Why did Mei send you?"

"We are here to ask—"

"Boss!" The foreign voice startled Chōjūrō into silence. He, along with Haruhi, raised his eyes to the newcomer hurrying out of the backroom. "Is everything all right? I heard you raise your voice. It actually sounded like you were crying."

Distress was plain to see on the young man's face, distress which turned to enmity when his steel blue eyes recognized the Village symbols on their headband and harness, respectively. His hair was still damp, dripping, and the color of dried mustard.

Nothing else was remarkable about the young man. He was near in height to Chōjūrō, yet less broad at the shoulders. He wasn't lanky or built from toothpicks but his physique was small even for a common bandit or thug, Chōjūrō noticed, visibly lacking the muscle, and doubtlessly stamina, to be a legitimate threat to someone.

He would struggle to lift Hiramekarei, let alone swing it.

Haruhi, too, noticed the utter lack of a threat he posed to their well-being. She met his enmity with indifference, holding his gaze as she blew over her hot chocolate before sipping from it. Then, once her cup was lowered, she continued to stare at the young man.

Beneath her indifferent and unnerving orange eyes, the young man quickly looked away. For a moment, anyway.

"Who the heck are you two?" the young man demanded through grit teeth. "Think you Mist shinobi can just waltz right in and upset the Boss, huh? Well, think again!"

Chōjūrō sweat-dropped. This must be their newest recruit.

"And you!" He jabbed his finger at Haruhi. "Why do you keep staring at me like that! Keep it up and I'll show you what a member of the Kurosuki Family is capable of."

Haruhi blinked. Tilted her head ever so slightly to her right in a gesture of curiosity, like she was examining a caterpillar crawling on her finger, realizing for the first time it had hair-like bristles on its tiny body.

Hoping to deescalate, Chōjūrō opened his mouth to assert the lack of enmity between their parties. Haruhi was too quick.

"You are a fool," she stated as if it was a fundamental law of nature, bludgeoning the young man with a single, efficient counter. As was her way.

As expected, the young man flushed and recoiled at the statement, taken aback by her blunt riposte.

Raiga, for his part, broke out into an uproar of laughter. Haruhi's bluntness was endearing, apparently.

Awkwardly, Chōjūrō smiled and chuckled despite the anxiousness he felt.

Haruhi is never allowed to lead a diplomatic discussion.

"You- You're a fool!" the young man retorted childishly, coaxing an even greater laugh from his leader. Encouraged by the laughter, not recognizing the rising tension in the air, the young man pressed on. "Yeah! You're a fool for messing with the Kurosuki Family!"

Haruhi arced an eyebrow, but her orange eyes flashed dangerously.

"What am I 'messing with?' I am enjoying a cup of hot chocolate prepared by your leader. It tastes very sweet," she complimented Master Raiga.

The Senior Swordsman dipped his head in gratitude as he wiped tears from his eyes, small laughs bubbling out of him.

The laughter was genuine. As genuine as the irritation flickering in his violent eyes.

"Do not escalate a situation you know nothing of. Go outside," Haruhi commanded. "Or I will force you to."

The young man was underestimating Haruhi. Likely because she was a girl. It was the only explanation Chōjūrō could think of when he grinned arrogantly and said,

"All right. Let's take this outside! I'll show you—"

In a flash of movement, the young man was silenced. Sort of.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow!" he whined.

For good reason. Master Raiga had snatched him by his earlobe and dragged him until he was bent over the couch.

"What do you plan to show them?" Raiga wondered somewhat playfully. Yet his tone made Chōjūrō's spine straighten. "That we are petty thugs? That we are malcontents?"

"Boss, wait, wait, wait! Ow!"

Chōjūrō winced at the sight of Raiga twisting his ear. "You heard me raise my voice. You thought you heard me crying. I did and I was, and I appreciate your concern. But I was weeping in joy! They had brought me wonderful news!"

"I didn't know!"

"Of course you didn't. You were too busy attempting to posture in front of me to this young girl. Is that what you think a man does?"

"It was a misunderstanding! I thought because she was a Mist kunoichi—"

"Oh yes, she is a Mist kunoichi. A strong one. She could kill you without blinking." The assertion caused the young man to swallow roughly. "You're lucky she's so patient. Were she of my era, she would've accepted your challenge and snapped your neck." Raiga snapped his fingers. "Just like that."

"Please, Boss. I thought they had upset you!"

"Do you believe if these two were to upset me so greatly to bring me to tears that I would simply let them sit here with me, drink our hot chocolate, and do nothing? They are our guests, Karashi."

Karashi? Chōjūrō inhaled sharply. He felt rather than saw Haruhi narrow her eyes.

"And you will apologize for being so rude to them. Right now."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Say it again. This time with sincerity."

"I am so sorry! I was an idiot!"

"There." Raiga released Karashi's ear. "All better now."

It was definitely not all better now. Timidly, Chōjūrō sipped from his cup of hot chocolate. The flavor was, as Haruhi said, quite sweet. It didn't relax him.

Of all the awful possibilities they could find themselves in, why did Grandma Sanshō's son have to be here? Why did he have to be right beside Master Raiga?

I don't understand, the Swordsman thought anxiously. Why are you still loyal to the Kurosuki Family? You aren't pretending. You're trying to earn your place among them. Had Master Raiga not stopped you, you would have actually tried to fight Haruhi.

Like hazings, tight-nit gangs and coteries of thugs often had rites of passage or initiation rituals to bring new members into their fold. They were tests of loyalty. A chance for the new initiate to prove they were one of the gang.

Generally, it involved some manner of violence or crime.

It could be a ruthless debt collection, involving the beating of a shop owner who hadn't paid up or who had earned too little. It could be stealing a valuable trinket. Sometimes it was plain cold-blooded murder.

Given the chance, Chōjūrō wondered how far Karashi would go to be seen as a member of the Kurosuki Family. Or as a "man."

"Pardon Karashi's rudeness," said Raiga. "It's sad to say, but he's never had a father figure in his life. It's enough to make my heart ache. Worse, this Nation possesses some undesirable traditions. For instance, this Nation would never elect Mei as its leader simply because she is a woman."

"Well, yeah," Karashi said dumbly, rubbing his red ear. "Men are supposed to be leaders. It's always been that way, even among shinobi, right? It's about strength and power. That's why there are no women Kage's or Feudal Lords."

"See?" Raiga gestured absently to his subordinate.

"I think the reasons are more complicated than that," Chōjūrō corrected awkwardly. "Also, there are two women who hold the title of Kage now. And, well, I wouldn't want to challenge either of them."

"Two?" Raiga questioned. "I hadn't heard. I assume it must be the Leaf. It can be no one else, truly. The Stone has stricter traditions than this Nation; they're a Nation run by old men, always have been and always will be. I haven't heard anything of the Sand in some time or its Kazekage. Strange. As for the Cloud, I know the Raikage isn't dead. Unfortunately."

"You are correct. Tsunade Senju was elected as the Fifth Hokage," Haruhi answered.

"Mm, I see. How interesting. I never thought I'd see the day two women would hold the title of Kage. At the same time, no less." He lowered his gaze to the table, smiling softly. "Seems the world is changing. The tides are shifting, as Mikki would say. I wonder what it will bring."

"You must be pretty weak to be afraid of a woman," Karashi directed to Chōjūrō. "You shouldn't admit things like that out loud. Where's your pride as a man?"

It's not about pride, Chōjūrō thought, blushing. I just understand how powerful Lady Mei and Lady Hokage are. Either one of them could kill all of us here on their own. Master Raiga would put up the most fight, he may even wound them, but eventually he would die.

He didn't bother to say it. Karashi was, in Haruhi's blunt words, a fool. His perception of the whole world was likely his mother's curry shop and little else, which made his attitude all the more strange to the Swordsman. His mother owned a successful business and apparently raised him on her own.

You'd think he'd have more respect.

Perhaps he wasn't entirely to blame, no matter how shallow his perspective was. Perhaps he was only a product of his environment and the stagnant traditions of this Nation.

Admittedly, some of those traditions lingered in shinobi society. There were plenty of men who underestimated or looked down upon kunoichis as weak simply for being girls or women. Even those in more progressive Nations like the Land of Fire.

Historically speaking, kunoichis had always existed in some form. Female warriors weren't a product of the new era; they existed since time immemorial. Statistically, though, they were in the minority.

He once heard a rough statistic for the Warring States Period, something like for every five men on the battlefield there was one kunoichi. Maybe it was greater. He couldn't quite remember.

Regardless, the theory of old was simple: Who else was to give birth to and rear children to fight if not the women? It could only be them, and so they had to be protected. If a Clan lost its women and children, they were doomed.

Or that was the nicer way of saying what his teachers taught him.

It set a…precedent, he supposed. As Karashi said, up until recently leaders were generally—if not always—men.

From what he understood, the majority of women outside of shinobi society were housewives, waitresses, receptionists or in other administrative positions. At least based on his experiences in the Land of Water

Kunoichis in the Mist were different. Sort of. Although there was a similar precedent, there were plenty of kunoichis who carved out terrifying legends of their own, like Ameyuri Ringo. There were plenty who acted as assassins by utilizing their smaller frames or stronger affinity for ninjutsu or poison that they were…well, they weren't considered equals. But men were less likely to underestimate them.

Taunt them or sneer at them, certainly. But never underestimate.

He'd seen it plenty of times before Lady Mei was elected as Mizukage. He saw it occur even in recent days; the Councilors often spoke down to, treated or otherwise looked down their noses at kunoichis like Natsumi, Haruhi and even Lady Mei herself.

Society is still evolving.

Now the ratio was smaller. There were still more men, at least among the Mist, but there were more and more kunoichis each generation; the Village System and the peace it brought granted women opportunities to be more than child bearers.

"Don't insult our guests, Karashi," Raiga reprimanded. "His judgement has nothing to do with pride, and yours could use some humility. In fact, my respect for Chōjūrō has only grown."

"But Boss—"

"Shinobi cannot afford reckless pride like yours. Those who don't abandon it find themselves in an early grave. If they're lucky to be given a funeral, that is. I knew men—powerful men like me—who made the same mistake you're making right now. They also thought lowly of women. A few survived their mistakes. Most are fertilizer."

"It's not that I think lowly of women," Karashi said quickly. "I respect women, I do."

"You are a liar," Haruhi said.

"I- I'm not lying," Karashi sputtered.

"You are insecure in your 'manhood.'"

"No I'm not!"

"You think what makes a man is power and power alone," Haruhi continued as if he hadn't spoken, "and so you act rashly, brusquely, and think if you shove your chest out and posture to all around you that others will see you as a 'man.'

"Power is not what defines what you consider 'being a man'. Power is merely power, obtainable by anyone. I wield power. Lady Mei wields tremendous amounts of power. Your second-in-command, Mikki, she also wields power. If power is what makes a man, then we are all manlier than you."

"What would you know about it anyway?" Karashi demanded. "You're a girl."

"I am. Your grasp of the obvious is almost impressive," Haruhi replied blandly.

Chōjūrō, who had begun sipping from his hot chocolate again, sucked in a gasp at the bland and pointed retort. Liquid shot down the wrong pipe and he began to choke on the sweet beverage.

Not again! Terrible coughs broke from his lips, his chest aching with every wet cough.

To her credit, Haruhi did not blink as she gracefully took his hot chocolate from his hand.

Raiga said nothing. He was listening intently, intrigued by Haruhi's poise and her words.

"What 'I know about it' is a woman and a young boy—a child—who lacked the power I wield—the power we wield," she gestured to Raiga's inquisitive and Chōjūrō's coughing forms, severe orange eyes never leaving Karashi.

"They knew nothing except the hot brand of their 'masters.' They knew nothing except a whipping post they were bound to, forced to feel the bite and lash of a whip as a means of punishment. And a perverse means of entertainment. Their bodies were violated by monsters for years."

Raiga inhaled sharply. His eyes went wide and became possessed by fury, for he recognized the tell-tale signs of the upstart organization. But he did not interrupt.

Karashi did.

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Quiet," Haruhi commanded firmly. Karashi snapped his mouth shut and swallowed roughly. "That same woman and child did not give up hope, however. They successfully planned an escape from their prison. Because of their actions we were able to rescue similar boys, girls, men and women we have not yet finished tallying; these prisoners and slaves also faced the same grim agony they suffered. This woman and child did all of this without kekkei genkai. Without weapons. Without ninjutsu."

"What are yo—"

"They were powerless," Haruhi spoke over Karashi, silencing him with a harsh glare. "They were afraid the whole time. Their failure meant a fate worse than death. A fate you cannot even begin to imagine, you petulant fool.

"Now they endure. They endure scars they will bear for the rest of their lives. They do not wield power as we do. They do not wield the power you believe in. And yet that child and that woman possess greater strength of character than you ever will."

"What is your problem with me?" Karashi hissed.

"You are a coward and a liar," Haruhi did not mince her words. "You lack backbone. You're weak-minded. You rather blame others than take responsibility for your actions. You stand for nothing, and so you will stand by anything if it benefits you. Even a lie. Especially a lie. You are quick to intentionally insult others. Need I continue?"

"No, that's quite enough," Raiga said calmly, raising his hand. "You've made your point."

"As you wish," Haruhi replied, dipping her head once. Then looked at Karashi again. "Do not insult Chōjūrō again."

"He won't," Raiga cut Karashi off as he opened his mouth. "If he does, I'll punish him personally."

The statement and the tone silenced Karashi instantly.

The silence lasted until Chōjūrō finished coughing. He apologized profusely for it, but found his apologies brushed off politely by Master Raiga. He asked only one question before they resumed their original discussion.

"Is the Hound dead?"

"He is," Haruhi confirmed.

"Good riddance. I hope he and his followers died miserable deaths."

"They have."

"Good." Raiga paused to take a breath.

When he began again, the furious storm in his eyes had resided and returned to clear skies.

"Now then, please, tell me what Mei sent you here for."

---

"One and two, one and two, one and two."

The calm chant, almost like a orchestra conductor, guided the repetitious stirring motion.

Amari paused only once to wipe her damp cheeks and glistening eye into her kimono sleeve; the rising heat, in addition to the inhuman amount of spices Grandma Sanshō just dumped into the pot, stung her eye and induced heavy perspiration.

What kind of idiots are these people? They voluntarily ask for the spiciest curry she can cook up?

After wiping away the sweat, she gripped the long, heavy duty stirring spoon in both hands and resumed her task. And her chant.

"One and two, one and two, one and two."

Strangely, it was helpful. Nearly as helpful as the black slush would be in incapacitating the poor fools who ordered it.

Since the members of the Kurosuki Family had arrived they had gone above and beyond in proving Miss Anbu's warning true. They were a rowdy bunch. They'd gotten even rowdier after alcohol was introduced. A common cause and effect of alcoholic beverages, it seemed

There was a silent, unanimous decision among them to torment the shy assistant however they might. It started out small with dumb and immature jokes, their attempts meant to fluster or embarrass her.

She played out the part. Some were crude enough to make her blush, aiding her role.

They would all laugh raucously together at her reactions. They all thought their jokes deserved a roaring round of applause.

Amari believed her acting and the restraint she showed in not bashing a platter over their heads deserved an award.

Maybe I should ask Princess Koyuki for a job.

From jokes it escalated into new games. For instance, when she was setting their beverages on the table they tried to trip her or make her spill. It wasn't until one of the men placed a hand on her thigh as she kneeled and used it to push himself onto his feet that she finally did.

The cup went clattering over the table, she fell and caught herself somewhat on the edge of the table, and they all roared with laughter at her embarrassed expense.

Then she had to clean the table, which they had taken no small amount of joy in with more dumb and immature jokes. One of them even spilled a few droplets of their drink after she finished and turned around just to tell her she "missed a spot."

They all found the shy, sputtering assistant to be entertaining.

She thought they were annoying jackasses.

Every new game emboldened them, she knew. Every new success at flustering her was incentive to push further.

No one had gotten handsy with her. Yet. Except the man who grabbed her thigh, at least, but she'd seen the youngest two members of the Kurosuki Family members leering at her.

Grandma Sanshō must have also noticed it since she had put her to work behind the kitchen. Suddenly, to the surprise of no one, there were less antics.

The Kurosuki Family members jeered one another and laughed and drank obnoxiously. Amari stirred the pot.

And hoped there would be no incidents.

---

At the core of Lady Mei's offer to Master Raiga was the dream she envisioned for the future of the Village Hidden in the Mist and the whole Land of Water.

In truth, like with Master Zabuza, Lady Mei did not want to fight or kill Master Raiga. She was a peacemaker. She was hopeful he could be an ally in her efforts to rebuild the Village and the Land of Water.

Lady Mei wanted to believe Master Raiga could be an ally. He had his demons, of course, and he had committed crimes as a rogue shinobi, but the Mizukage did not consider herself a saint by any measure. She did not consider her hands washed clean of blood or sins.

"Those of us who endured the Dark Times all bear demons. Even I do."

They were both products of their harsh environment and the cruel ritual of Blood Mist. They were survivors of it. They understood the pain of the Dark Times intimately, each in their own ways, and understood those who survived had to evolve or be swept away in the roaring sea of bloodshed and betrayal, like how cactus leaves had evolved into spines to survive the dry, hot environments they occupied.

Some evolved to be bloodthirsty hunters, like the Huntress of the Mist—Ameyuri Ringo. Some followed the way of the tide—orders were orders—killing comrades to secure secrets until they became disillusioned with the world itself, like the Scourge of the Mist—Kisame Hoshigaki.

Some merely gave up hope and left it all behind, like Master Raiga.

Lady Mei hadn't given up. Although her hands were stained by blood she could not remove, although she had a demon of her own, she still went above and beyond to appeal to their better nature.

She saw room for redemption and reformation, and so she reached her gentle hands out to all those she could, lifting them from the bloody rapids onto solid ground, wrapping their shivering bodies in warm blankets.

Now that hand was reaching out to Master Raiga.

When Chōjūrō finished detailing Lady Mei's offer, in the thoughtful silence that followed as he anxiously drummed his fingers along Hiramekarei's hilt, hoping he hadn't misrepresented the Mizukage in any way, he was certain Master Raiga could see her hand and feel the gravity of not only her proposal, but her dream.

It was in the hot-cocoa scented air. It was in his blue eyes. He could see it in how Master Raiga leaned in to listen as he spoke, and now, still leaning forward, stared at the coffee table as he digested it all.

Intelligently, Karashi kept silent. It looked like a struggle. Chōjūrō could tell he wanted to say something. And, based on the panic in the young man's eyes, like he was witnessing a bar of gold slip through his hands into a bottomless pit, the Swordsman doubted it was in favor of Lady Mei's offer.

"Mei has always known how to make an offer," Master Raiga said at length. "This may be the best I've ever heard. Very generous."

It was a very generous proposal. He would no longer be considered a rogue shinobi, granted amnesty for the crimes the Fourth Mizukage accused him of, and ordered him to commit. He would be given a clean slate. A fresh start.

Of course he would remain in possession of the Kiba Blades as a member of the Seven Ninja Swordsmen; Lady Mei's hope, as he now knew, was for him to teach the next generation swordsmanship, among other lessons, and work beside her in rebuilding and reforming their Nation.

However, he was to understand they were not replicating the era of the Dark Times. The slaying of comrades, the trading of secrets, the wanton destruction, chaos, extortion and bloodshed was strictly forbidden. There was no place for it in the Mist's future.

If he could not relinquish the dark shadows of Blood Mist, he would not be welcome.

"It's almost too good to be true," said Raiga. "Usually I would be skeptical of such honeyed promises. But Mei has always been a woman of her word. I can almost hear her passion in your recounting of this proposal."

He smiled. "I am pleased that has not changed. I am also pleased she hasn't lost her edge; Mei hasn't offered her hand blindly to me, and she certainly hasn't twisted her words to hide their true meaning. She speaks from her heart, as always, hand reached out but with a blade ready to defend herself.

"The Mist and the Land of Water are very fortunate to have her. Very fortunate indeed. I can see why you youngsters admire her."

"Does that mean you'll join us?" Chojuro asked, feeling a spur of hope.

"Hm. I'm not sure yet," Raiga admitted after a pause. "There's much I need to consider. I won't simply abandon my Family to these harsh lands with nothing to their name. You can understand that, right?"

"Yes. You care for them. They are friends and comrades—family, as you say. It is only natural you wouldn't wish to abandon them," Haruhi replied.

"Exactly. Thank you for understanding. Hmm." He drew out the noise. "I know I am in no place to negotiate. Mei has already offered me a great deal. More than I deserve, it could be said. However, would my Family be accepted into Mei's Village?"

"You can't seriously be considering their proposal!" Karashi could no longer hold it in.

"Quiet, Karashi," Raiga warned, voice harsh and unpleasant. "You are far too inexperienced to fully understand what Mei has offered us."

"What about freedom to do as we please?" retorted Karashi. "Didn't you leave your home to escape the overbearing oversight of the last Mizukage?"

"You know nothing of why I left," Raiga hissed. "Don't project your childish reasons for running away onto me, Karashi. You chose to leave a stable home. You abandoned your mother, who you portrayed as unbending and unreasonable, to learn to be a man. I am trying my best to be a good influence, but I'm beginning to think the problem wasn't your mother at all. I'm beginning to believe it was your attitude all along."

"That isn't true," he lied. He was pretty bad at lying.

"You're nothing like these two," Raiga snarled. "You can't speak from the heart at all. You hide behind lies to avoid blame. Just like with old man Ena. You would rather blame a harmless old man for your behavior than take responsibility for your actions. I can't stand that."

"Oh yeah? You think this Lady Mizukage," Karashi made sure to sneer at Chōjūrō and Haruhi equally, "will let you hold funerals? You talk about freedom. Now you're talking about negotiating a deal? With some woman? Why don't you just lay down in front of her door so she can wipe her shoes on you."

Raiga shut his eyes, inhaled a long breath, and then exhaled.

"I'm sorry."

Instantly, Chōjūrō knew the apology was meant for them, and he knew exactly what it was heralding. He knew it by the way his hairs stood on end. He knew it by the dark shadow that had fallen over the Senior Swordsman's face.

And the violent storm sparking in his eyes.

"Master Raiga, there's nothing to apologize for," Chōjūrō tried to deescalate on behalf of Karashi.

It was far too late.

"No, I do. I am so sorry. You've been nothing but polite and sincere to me. Even Mikki took a shining to you." His voice was strained again. He sounded on the verge of tears. "Yet Karashi has done nothing but insult you, Mei and even me now. It's very sad, truly. You see, when he first came to us he looked at me like a father figure. I was so happy. I was. I wanted to teach him to be a respectable man, someone his mother could be proud of. That's the way I'd like to always remember him. With that earnest and excited smile and twinkle in his eyes."

As though the electricity tickling their skin had summoned a bolt of lightning to strike the room—even Haruhi was on edge—Karashi realized the gravity of Master Raiga's words. He took a hesitant step back.

"He- hey, wait a minute, Boss. I didn't mean it like that."

"No, you did." Raiga rose. His tall and yet hunched form cast a malevolent shadow across the whole room. "You're trying to lie again to escape punishment."

"Wai- wait, Boss! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you or anyone! I was just trying to—"

"Save your breath," Raiga commanded. Every step he took around the couch was heavy, weighed down by anchors of grief. "Now you would say anything to save your skin. You would even doom this Family if it meant you survived, wouldn't you?"

"No! I swear, Boss! I would nev—"

Chōjūrō stiffened when Master Raiga's large hand wrapped around Karashi's throat, nearly silencing him; he was gasping violently for air and trying to lie his way out of trouble.

Haruhi did not look away. Her hand rested on Chōjūrō's thigh.

At first he thought it was to keep him seated, but then he felt her finger begin to tap it. It took him the briefest of seconds to recognize the code.

"What was it Haruhi said? You stand for nothing, so you will stand by anything? Even a lie? Was that it?" Master Raiga questioned, his features severe. And terrifying. "She was right. I can see that now. I can see how you would endanger this Family and its future. Your eyes are nothing like the Karashi I first met. They're bad eyes. They're the eyes of a liar!"

In an impressive show of strength, Raiga lifted Karashi off his feet with a single hand.

"Karashi, my child, you've given me no choice. I'll have to give you a funeral!"