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Chapter Twenty-Four

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The Uchiha Massacre was possibly the greatest unexpected tragedy the village of Konoha had ever faced. Konoha respected Itachi. Even Daddy had been friends of a sort with the young prodigy. Everyone had expected great things of Itachi. And so, as with all the greatest of heroes, Itachi took the greatest fall.

In the weeks following the slaughter, people began to remember the signs they had seen in Itachi throughout the years. Insignificant fabrications. Little clues like a time the Uchiha murderer had promised one girl a date, only to act clueless the next day. It was a constant reminder of all the stupidity I'd pulled off disguised as him, and it stung deeply.

It hurt to see Daddy retreat into himself and tell me that we couldn't always rely on friends. It hurt to see Kato's confusion and his decision to forget a childhood hero. Everyone's emotions ebbed and flowed around me like a tide, and all I could do was observe.

I applied myself at the Academy. My teachers—even my kunoichi class teacher—couldn't ignore my progress and sent me up through the grades. Were it not for new regulations that students could only graduate two years early, I worry where I would have ended up.

I let sealmaking slide and spent weeks of time practicing thrown weapons and endlessly, ruthlessly using my genjutsu technique. The extra chakra evened out and my hearing returned to normal. For once, I really worked. And as expected, I didn't feel the slightest bit better.

Shisui's death was supposed to be the catalyst. We would return home from the exams, he would pass on, and the massacre wouldn't happen until fall. It was still early spring. I'd grown to like Shisui, but I'd spent all my life thinking of him as the last warning sign. It was wonderful that he had survived. But all this time, I'd thought I could return to the village and fix the clan.

I'd thought I could do the one thing I was good at . . . a talent I'd never really had the chance to use in this world . . . but that chance had existed before and been ignored. It was my failure. My shame for never even contemplating a revelation that would have proven me older than my years but could have saved hundreds of lives.

To cast away my childish identity and embrace wisdom . . . who could tell?

The slaughter happened the night before the chūnin exam tournament. Communication wasn't instant here, and thus the Uchiha in Kiri had no warning whatsoever. Eiko, her mother, and the two other clan members that had gone to Kiri were killed before the day's end. Shisui himself came close, and his cracked mask reminded me horribly of his original death.

I lost Kiyomi and Mikoto. Countless acquaintances and future friends. Now that it was all in the past, the marriage thing didn't faze me any more. Wouldn't it have been a way I'd have to interact with them? No one would have stopped me from making friends! It wasn't too far-fetched that maybe ten years from now, I'd have found someone to pick, right? I could have withstood it! (And boy, was it a good thing that extra chakra problem was solved.)

Now that Itachi was gone and I didn't have to interact with Sasuke, or Kiyomi, or Shisui, or Isami since she didn't know where I lived, I had time to think. At some point I remembered that I needed freedom, and no way would a planned marriage have worked. Maybe, well, maybe with . . . maybe, but apart from him there was no one I could respect.

No Uchiha.

The day I realized I'd only ever given the Uchiha I already recognized a chance was a dark day in my history. Yes, Kiyomi was safe from my mental bias, but Itachi and Shisui? I knew who they were and what they'd done and would do. Had I ever seen them for who they were?

Had I ever seen past a reputation and noticed the clan was made of people?

Had my attitude caused this?

. . . It was astonishing that I wasn't falling behind in class.

Itachi would never put the blame for the massacre on me. He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders—no matter if I knew facts and feelings that would have stopped the whole dilemma. Itachi would not share. But Shisui would make him. They walked a parallel path now. In my world of metaphors, I figured I was following a few days behind. If they knew I was there, they wouldn't be pleased.

I could imagine Itachi stopping by for a night to prove to me that he was a cruel murderer and only too happy to injure his friends. Was it possible to "awaken" my hearing and have it use some sort of Mangekyō effect? Because some of those dreams weren't too far off.

I wished that Itachi weren't so far away. I wished I wouldn't have to follow after.

And so, I wished and regretted and spent months having flashbacks of utter silence.

Life continued, and I healed.

I learned more about life.

And time went by in a flash.

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"This is just routine, Kakashi-san. We're questioning everyone who had contact with Itachi-san before his defection. Your daughter appeared to be friends of a sort with him."

"She's my daughter, Ibiki-san. She doesn't know anything you don't already know."

"That's exactly why I need to ask."

Daddy sighed, and in the middle of the street, without raising his voice, said, "Wakana-chan, come outside."

I obeyed, took Ibiki's proffered hand, and took my first trip to the Intelligence Division's headquarters. It was just routine. They were tying up loose ends. "If you're going to cry, wait until we're inside," Ibiki told me. "I'm not going to hurt you."

I wasn't sniffling because I was afraid, but that was a good excuse. I wiped away some snot and looked up at my escort. "But . . . wasn't he a bad person? Doesn't that make me bad, too?"

"Stop crying," he said brusquely.

I stopped talking. I found I couldn't stop crying.

The interview (interrogation didn't really match up) wasn't quite the simple questions that had been implied. Ibiki started it out like this: "How old is Suzume?"

Few things in the world inspire me to speak the truth and nothing but the truth. Ibiki instantly became one of them. "Sixteen," I answered, shaken.

"Then that's how I'll treat you. When did you first meet Uchiha Itachi?"

I explained how I'd followed a crow summon through the village. It wasn't hard to think back. I'd been doing that for a while now.

Ibiki didn't ask me about specific henge exchanges with Itachi or ask anything about visiting the clan. He didn't give me an opportunity to bring them up, either. He asked if Itachi had cared about perfection. He had me recount the way training and missions took priority over everything else. He asked me if I thought Itachi had become a bad person and assured me that if I could see how that had happened, I knew how to prevent it in myself. I couldn't let my desires get in front of the village's.

If that wasn't an obvious ploy to indoctrinate me into the official stance on Itachi, I didn't know what was. Every memory I'd been mulling over had been given a new light. If I hadn't already known why the massacre had happened, Ibiki would have convinced me.

As it was, he convinced me to keep my mouth shut about what I knew. If this was how he questioned a young girl, not many people would leave with Itachi in a sympathetic light. So I went along with the reasoning and let him convince me. Except for two things.

"Why is Shisui-san alive?" And later, "How do you know about Suzume?"

Shisui, the official take went, was absurdly powerful. Nothing more, nothing less. Suzume, however, was quickly accumulating international renown. How could I pull off a ruse of a retired ninja without knowing I'd be investigated?

I'm sure Ibiki was under orders. That those orders were to mislead me was something I was infinitely grateful for.

It was nice to get out of there alive.

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Isami was mad when I showed up at her family's shop a few, ah, months later than expected. She didn't buy the travel excuse. She spent the next three hours telling me what a despicable human being I was and outlined several ways she could kill me as a harmless civilian. Then, of course, she began to cry, and all was forgiven.

It took her a few months to remember that I was supposed to be wildly in love with my now-evil boyfriend. I'm afraid that that day, we fought. We'd run out of feasible, interesting ideas for seals, and all she wanted to do was talk about my feelings.

So the only surprise about crying on a park bench was when I heard someone staring at me. Uzumaki Naruto, specifically. I stared back with a lot less curiosity.

For some reason, he took this as permission and crouched down on the other side of the bench. He shifted. I considered using him as a tissue. "Hey, lady," he said, "what's the matter?"

My internal crisis over annoying friends, utter failure, and an uncanny coincidence suddenly observed that this park was somewhere the kid regularly walked by. He was probably heading out for supper, or back from it.

I rubbed my eyes futilely. "I'm mad at someone."

"Oh." He glanced sideways at me again. "Maybe you could get back at them?"

Um, no. Even if by some miracle I managed to prank . . . who was it I was mad at, again? Not Isami, not Daddy, not the Hokage. I guess I was still mad at myself. Naruto must have been reading my face, because he waited a minute and tried again. "Maybe I could do it for you?"

How could he help me—

Perhaps the world had merit after all.

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My henges began to grow more complicated again. I stopped catapulting through schoolwork, but the damage had been done. When I tried to follow Shikamaru's advice of failing some tests, my teachers refused to let the grades stand.

Therefore, I created some new lives without school. One time I even went on a date night with my father. That was awkward.

But for once, Daddy let me have as much escaping as I wanted.

I'm ashamed to say that I let me, too.

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"You're so lucky, you know."

"Oh?"

"To be placed on a team with Neji-kun. He's, like, the best of our class."

Now, hang on a minute, I was the best in our class, and—it was at this point I realized that the henging thing was going way too far. "Um, please excuse me."

"But Tenten-chan, your new sensei is coming!"

I bolted for the door, ignoring the stares of my "classmates."

I think I can say with confidence that waking up from a dream like that would warn anyone that things were going a little too far.

To disguise oneself is a dangerous game. People can play games safely. They just need to know who they are long before they make their first move.

It took that dream for me to finally confront reality.

This time, I didn't decide to stop henging altogether. I accepted what was real, and I healed. I just wish I'd done that earlier.

(Thank goodness I wouldn't end up on Team Gai!)

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For my first birthday, the Hokage gave me a ball. For my tenth birthday, erm, I guess a scroll about a face-stealing clan isn't a bad present. "Thank you very much," I said. "I'll try to read it by the next time you call me to your office during my lunch break. Will that be next week, or is Suna still taking up all your attention?"

The Hokage blinked. "As much as I enjoy your perceptiveness, Kana, it concerns me to hear it."

I laughed. "Well, this time it wasn't hard, Granddad." I dropped down onto the floor, my usual place while we were in his office. "I've heard four or five ninjas talking about it in obscure places. Daddy hasn't said a word around me, though."

Hiruzen pulled a stack of papers from a drawer and tossed them to me. A familiar silence fell as he returned to his paperwork and I began the laborious process of copying chakra impressions into the papers. Once I finished, he would see if any of the chakras were recognizable and know which subordinates to reprimand.

Reproducing my memories was tough, and it didn't help that any ninjas I reproduced well were reprimanded and stopped gossiping in public.

One of the papers crumbled when I applied too much chakra. Botheration. I reached for another and restarted my work. "Couldn't you just teach me how to forge chakra in handwriting? I understand that making impressions like this is easier, but the chakra paper is a pain to work with. Every sheet needs a different amount."

"Chakra is volatile," our village's leader commented unhelpfully. "Perhaps once you've mastered this technique."

I snorted. "I'm pretty sure you haven't mastered chakra paper. How's Suna?"

"If you're interested, I can send you with the next delegation. Then you can speak with them yourself."

"You always say that," I pointed out, "but you never do. Besides, how would we have our meetings? Here, I'm done."

While he checked over my shoddy work, I rescued the unfinished bits of my lunch from the compact space of my pocket. I'd cooked and packed it, a thrilling freedom that had faded the instant my relations had asked for food, too.

"Processed," he said, and the leftover papers disappeared into the gaping cavern of his desk. "Anything else?"

All the clever questions went right down the drain. I sighed. "No. Wait, there is one thing."

The Hokage gave me what appeared to be his full attention.

"The matching game, with the red, blue, and purple cards."

He nodded, waiting for me to get to my point.

"Did I ever get it right?"

He pretended not to laugh to his greatest potential. "You know, sometimes even the best answer is the wrong choice."

Sure, keep your secrets. "Thanks for the birthday gifts," I said. "I'll give Kato his when I see him."

I shut the door on the way out. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that uses it, anyway. He has a love for the roof, and most ninjas prefer to use the window.

My contact with the Hokage had grown over the years, although we rarely talked very much. He'd taught me to transfer chakra impressions to special paper about a year ago when I'd asked if chakra mimicry could happen any faster. Since I didn't know where to buy the paper, I couldn't practice more than every few weeks. The Hokage was a clever man. When I did it right, he benefited, and when I messed up, he was there to correct me.

As I crossed the street to return to the Academy, the sound of someone screaming bloody murder broke out. Then Naruto slipped out a window and darted up to me. He aimed wide, blue eyes at me. "Wakana-chan, can you cover for me?" He charged away.

Typical, I grouched. We weren't much more than acquaintances, but just because I'd mentioned once that my friend who made prank seals thought he was a nice kid, he had it in his head that I supported every single prank he pulled. Unfortunately, I usually helped him when he asked. Like most people at the Academy, he knew I'd mastered the henge the day it was taught. He wasn't afraid to exploit what he knew.

I henged into the blonde menace and started running in the opposite direction.

Iruka was seconds behind Naruto. Once he caught sight of me, he closed in fast. I didn't want the teachers to link me in the same delinquent category as Naruto, so it paid to get away quickly and drop the henge.

And then it was back to class and a test I hadn't studied for the slightest. Depressing. We didn't get our papers back, but my teacher asked me to stay behind for a few minutes after school. Not again!

After the Uchiha massacre, the Academy set a minimum age on graduation. No one could graduate before the age of ten. Beyond that, there were additional limitations set on the school system's two tracks. The early students, children who started around age five or six, were allowed to skip up to two grades. Most students started at age eight with the standard program, which had a less rigorous application process and wasn't the charity program for orphans and traditional clan kids. Kids in the standard track couldn't skip ahead. Anyone aged ten and up could take the graduation exam and graduate, though. I guess they figured whoever who did that would have a jōnin leader to iron out any problems.

"Wakana-chan?"

I looked up, not surprised at the man who'd come into my empty classroom because in addition to hearing his approach and quiet breathing, I also heard him shout at Naruto every day anyway. Poor man.

On the other hand, it was surprising that my own teacher hadn't come to speak to me. Maybe he had to grade tests.

"Hi," I said.

I was seated on one of the front desks. Iruka came over and sat down beside me. "I'm Iruka-sensei," he said in a friendly tone. "Would you mind discussing some things with me?"

I shook my head.

He smiled at me. "Have you considered graduating early? You'll be eligible to take the exam this summer. Your teachers have all said you can be ready by then. Are you willing to work extra hard and become a genin early?"

I cocked my head. "No, thanks." That was a little too decisive, though, and so I added a few of my reservations. "I want to graduate with my twin brother, and my father says I should learn as much of the basics as I can."

Iruka nodded. "I understand. Most of the students I've spoken to want to stay in their own classes. There's nothing wrong with that."

Buuut, I heard. I bounced my feet against each other and waited.

"Your aptitude and survival test scores have been exemplary. I strongly encourage you to take the exam this year. I understand your concerns, but you should keep in mind that it's rare for family members to be placed on the same team."

Yes, I knew that. It was just one of my usual excuses. To be honest, I wasn't sure Kato and I would graduate at the same time. Kato was a year behind me and a very methodical learner. He wanted to be perfect before his career began. However, that wasn't all of what Iruka had said. It was time to go on the offensive.

"Why?" I asked. "Is the oldest class missing people? Couldn't someone from the next class move up? Someone like, um, Sasuke-kun. He's top of the year, right?"

"He is," Iruka acknowledged, his infinite patience showing a slight hint of its limit. "However, I am talking to you, Wakana-chan."

I was getting somewhere. "What about the top kunoichi?" I continued. "Whoever she is, she can't be very different from me. If you need a girl, she would be good."

Iruka didn't grind his teeth, but he must have sensed I would happily drive him to that point. "Very well," he said. "One of the jōnin applying for a team requested you specifically."

That was . . . really flattering, actually. Some idiot wanted me on his team? Would wonders never cease? "Who?" I reconsidered. "It's not my father, is it?"

The chūnin raised his eyebrows at me. "I'm not going to tell you. You can assume it's someone interested in your skill set."

I rolled my eyes. "Since when do I have a skill set?" I mused critically. "I'm not the best at everything. I barely pass the thrown weapons quizzes. How could I possibly pass the exam?"

"Weapons proficiency is just one part of the exam," Iruka explained, a little gentler now that I needed reassurance instead of a put-down. "If you work hard, your other scores will make up for it."

Uh huh. I knew that Lee had graduated last month with no ability to use ninjutsu or genjutsu, but that was different. Hatake Kakashi was my father. Kids like me didn't get slack. We either had teachers who saw intelligence where there was none or graded us harder. Unfortunately, I usually got the former and Kato usually got the latter.

"You're the first student in several years to manage a perfect henge on the first try," Iruka encouraged me pointlessly. "And today you used a very nice clone."

Eh? No, I had not. I didn't even know the hand seals for a clone technique yet! Not even the basic, intangible kind, because I'd planned on (for once) miserably failing at it for a few months.

"Nice try," Iruka said, mistaking my surprise for deception. "I saw you talking to Naruto-kun, and once I got the window open, your clone was already running."

But . . . I'd just used the generic henge. Nothing—I resisted the temptation to look down and see how my genjutsus were faring. That was it. They were the reason.

Ever since my special chakra had been too much for my hearing to handle, I'd run genjutsus to keep the chakra level down. The more I ran them, the faster my special chakra depleted. So for the last several years, I'd kept a subtle genjutsu running as often as I could manage. I'd added a second a few months ago.

Today, one of them was supposed to hide my shadow, and the other was a simple bracelet. The shadow one wouldn't be obvious indoors, but in full sunlight? Yeah, I could see how he'd made that assumption. Since basic clones didn't have substance, they didn't have shadows or kick up dust. It wasn't a bad guess.

I'm sure he could have figured out it was just a henge and a genjutsu, but the Academy only knew so much of what I could do. Where prodigies like Itachi probably made shadow clones to play hooky, I had been careful to be as normal as possible.

I knew I should have copied Shikamaru! Why did I have to focus on school those years ago? What a brilliant decision.

"From what I saw your clone do, you're more ready for the field than you think."

My thoughts instantly flickered to Itachi, my friend who'd zoomed through school and been thrown into that very field. I didn't want to be Itachi. I didn't want—but on the other hand, I knew myself.

"I'm sorry," I said, bowing to the teacher. "I should not have helped Naruto at all. I am at fault. Please forgive me."

I could see Iruka go into a tailspin. He knew Naruto. He knew the kid's propensity for pranks and overall lack of friends. Encouraging me to graduate was one thing. "Don't worry about it," he told me, searching for what words to say. "To tell you the truth, Naruto-kun is only looking for attention. He doesn't have many friends."

He scratched the back of his neck. "As a teacher, I have to ask you to be a good student, but," he sighed and looked into my eyes. "He talks all the time about the young lady who gave him some of those Akatsuki gag tags. As someone who cares for him, he needs friends. If you're willing to help him, I won't stand against you."

I grinned. "I understand, Iruka-sensei! I'll think about what you've said."

Fortunately for me, he was too caught up in the guilt of the moment to call me back, so I got home scot-free.

"Yo," I called. "Did Daddy head out on a mission? And where's Kato?"

A red-and-white dog padded out of the kitchen and cocked his head at me. He whined.

"Hey, Ūhei-chan," I greeted him, shutting the front door and crouching down to scratch behind his ears. "Do you know where Kakashi is?"

He whined a no.

"Great," I muttered, "he's probably out on another mission. You'd think he'd slow down at some point."

Ūhei scratched at my unprotected toes, which earned him a hiss and a whack. "Bad doggy," I said. "Learn to speak Japanese if you want to communicate. No scratching." For a nin-dog in his last stage of training, Ūhei was still pretty rough around the edges.

He looked at me unrepentantly. I huffed. "What? You know Pakkun never taught me Dog, and I know you don't speak Japanese."

He barked.

I really did try to figure out what he was saying. In theory, I should be able to decipher more than a few words and ideas. I guess my attention had been elsewhere during my first few years. Not to mention I was much more of a cat sympathizer. Probably. I hadn't been around cats for a while.

"I should stay home?" No. "Um, I should wait?" Yes. "Where?"

At least we were both equally frustrated.

Yep, this settled it. However nice the offer was, I refused to summon dogs. Pakkun was fine, but training puppies into intelligent companions took way more work than I believed in. "Ūhei, no, don't tug on my—"

Ugh, another shirt down. Just one of the joys of not being assertive enough. Oh, well. I was who I was.

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~What's this, no months of waiting for an update? Better yet, most of this was written out a few days ago, so I could have updated in under a week.

Sorry for cheating you out of twenty chapters of healing and reconciliation. Couldn't justify writing that, and wow. That would be overkill. (Eek! I didn't plan that pun - don't shoot!) Besides, now that she's over the killing (yes, I couldn't resist), all of you don't have to read as many tragically sad scenes as you set yourselves up for. If you wanted sad stuff, too bad. Everything is going to be happy fluff from now on. Just like always.

Who wants a question-and-answer thingy? You can ask the characters questions, and maybe they'll answer! Feel free to head to my profile page and answer the public interest poll. If we have one (your call!), we'll do that after chapter 26. Or at the beginning? Hm, which is better. . . . That means there's plenty of time to submit questions. But let's assume that we're having one, you'll have time to come up with things, and if you say "this is for the Q&A thing," I'll keep track of that for you. Please limit any official questions to your reviews so that I can call this public review replies, though. FFN doesn't like to see anything more than story content and authors' notes in the story chapters.

Review incentive is a little bit about what Shikamaru and Kana do for fun.

Hope you guys are doing well! I look forward to hearing your comments, 'cause I know what my opinion is. 'Til next time!