AN: Hey, reader! I'll be adding in footnotes when needed to explain a few concepts. I'll give an example to prepare you:
"You are doing fine, my flower[1]," Hazuo whispers, his voice the sound of sunrise.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] toko-no-ma (床の間) or toko is a decoration space in Japanese-style homes where paintings, ornaments, calligraphy, or seasonal flowers are placed.
Past
An Offering of Unease
1 Year After the First Shinobi World War
Orochimaru has never felt this out of place before.
He would spend all his time in the comfort of his apartment, the sole reminder his parents lived. Often, he'd drift towards their graves. He never precisely knew why. If it was because he was lonely, surely the cold silence of stones would make him feel all the worse.
Today, he sits on the patio's edge. Ahead is the Hokage Rock. Only three faces gaze over him. The mountain is almost too big compared to the trio, as if the scope of the Hokage's legacies are ant-like in a huge world. He, too, feels even smaller in his drab, gray kimono, snacking on white bread with strawberry jam. If one would could see him now, there'd be no indication that he knows the world's past, present, and future.
The only action he can take in this instance is heading inside to throw away his trash.
Tokonoma and Hazuo's home is different from his apartment in every way. It is big. Tidy. The sliding doors have elaborate, water-colored stories on them. Every piece of furniture is placed to be both compact and simple. He wonders how rich they are but, seeing as Tokonoma's father helped create the village she lives in today, figures it's a stupid question to ask.
He walks past the low table and into the kitchen. No one is there. He could make another snack. Would they be alright with a guest making that much mess?
He wants more but doesn't want to push their kindness. He crumbles up his napkin half-heartedly—
In the distance, there's a thud.
He shuffles through the halls to find where the noise came from: a small room with a cracked open door. Peeking through, what he finds shocks him.
Standing in front of a long table in a room of packed bookshelves are two people: the owners of the house and the ones offering him a temporary haven. Both of them are home today, as it's the weekend. Their day clothes have been traded for relaxed loungewear.
Tokonoma had put on a mint green top with a plunging neckline and royal blue pants starting high at her waist and stopping at her calves. Compared to her favorite outfit, the current colors suit her far more.
Hazuo carefully placed on his white yukata house coat. Other than the red obi belt, the design near the bottom of his floor-length outfit is a climbing smoke cloud transitioning from red, to orange, and finally yellow.
Like their clothes, the two are relaxing in an unexpected way. Hazuo is pulling things out a box and handing the items—oh, they're books, over to Tokonoma who observes them and runs her fingers all over the covers and pages. She stands so close, their arms are pressed together. Neither parts.
"Our little princess would hold this book very dear to her," Hazuo is saying, handing a thin book to her. "The Ember That Burned Down the Village."
Huh?
Orochimaru never read any kids books, so he has no clue if that's normal or not.
Tokonoma hmms in a skeptical way. "You tryna turn her into an arsonist, Hazuo?"
He laughs. "Absolutely not! It is a charming tale that teaches about emotional regulation."
"Well, the pictures are kinda pretty."
"Yes, they are." He's already digging for another book. "There are sequels to that book as well! My favorite is The Tear That Became a Pearl. That one helps those who grieve."
"Oh…" Tokonoma takes that book and thumbs through it.
He pulls out a thick, tan book. It's so old, its pages are amber-colored. Wear and tear have scratched at the edges of the hardcover. Its title is painted in gold shimmering in the sunlight: Tales of the Pure Land.
Huh? Nothing of the title makes sense. Perhaps it's a fantasy book.
Hazuo knows it quite well for in his excitement, he bounces on the tips of his toes. "A classic, my flower! The author, Konpaku[1], wrote about his journey escaping the Pure Land[2]."
Tokonoma takes this book, tracing the title. "I don't know him. Why is it a classic? What's the point?"
"The point is that Konpaku is the only man known in history to have escaped from death and returned to the land of the living!" As Hazuo's voice grows louder, Orochimaru's eyes widen. "Apparently, the Second Hokage asked for his account when he was creating that technique."
"Woah, woah—it's real? Hazuo, are you serious?"
"Completely! Unfortunately, Konpaku has died and must be unable to return. He may feel no need to return anymore…"
Orochimaru needs that book.
He needs to know how Konpaku tore himself from the Pure Land, the highest plane of death, through Purgatory, and to living. How he survived the animal plane of death, the vengeful spirits plane of death. How he could be like him: a soul that defied death.
How did Orochimaru arrive in this world? What set him apart?
Could there be clues to recreating the Second's Worldly Impure Reincarnation Technique within that book?
Imagine if he could do it like his original self did. Instead of achieving immortality, he could create an undead army—if he could get over the hurdle of sacrificing a life to return a life. No living soul would have to die. No child would be without parents.
I could ask my parents what they thought when they died…
Tokonoma takes the enthralling novel and holds it against her chest, knocking it against her Uzumaki necklace. "Alright, what are we waiting for?"
"Alas…" The man clutches his chest. "I must clean."
Tokonoma and Orochimaru frown.
"I'll let you do your thing. Welp, I'll go bother the little one."
Oh! He should go hide and…
Before he can dash away, Hazuo lifts her chin and places his lips delicately on her, like caressing a butterfly. It's so unexpected, he just stands there, mouth open.
"You are doing fine, my flower," Hazuo whispers, his voice the sound of sunrise.
Tokonoma's face flushes. She turns sharply towards the window across from them grumbling a response and making him chuckle.
Orochimaru decides to leave now. He finds himself back where he started, only he has no snack, no interesting book, and unwanted thoughts.
Why didn't my parents do that?
He racks through his memory for any moment like that. There's…nothing. There are no fleeting, special moments he accidentally saw. Nor warm-hearted displays for him to see. No magic when they were together.
His mother would buy mooncake for him during the mid-August holidays. When he'd stuff his mouth with the sweet filling and the salty dough casting, his mother smiled at him the same way Hazuo did.
Sometimes, when his father wanted him to eat too much meat because he was too thin, the disgusted faces he made was enough to make his father grin.
Never did those faces happen between his parents.
What happened? Where did the magic go?
Did…his parents never love each other?
Did they even want m—
A clap jolts him out of his thoughts.
At his side is Tokonoma, hand on her chin, nodding in satisfaction.
He is beyond confused.
She sighs. "You were so out of it, I balanced a plate on your head."
What? He carefully grabs the edges of something flat on his head and removes the plate. She actually did it. He is about to complain until he sees the plate has more white bread slices covered in jam.
Tokonoma moves from crouching on the grass to standing on the patio. "Next time you're gonna spy, you need to be quieter."
Oh no! He turns to her, mouth opening and shutting and opening.
Avoiding his eyes, she holds a fist to her mouth. "You're fine. I'm hypersen—super, like, aware of stuff. Spying is okay, but if you see something you shouldn't…" She trails off, thinking of something. "Wait a sec! Don't go thinking I do weird things just to teach you a lesson! I'm careful. S'not like I want you to spy on me like that, I'm just saying, if I slip up and you see something—well, it's probably my fault at that point…" In the end, she huffs with her pink face. "Spy at your own risk! Now, eat your snack and come inside when you're ready! Geez!"
With that, she slides the door with a smidge more force than normal, likely not to break the delicate fixture.
He eats his snack gleefully.
Orochimaru knows Hazuo is going to clean, he just never considered how long he'd do it for.
Hazuo cleans and cleans and cleans. When the man is too sore or tired, he rests on the futon mattress upstairs for an hour or two. Then heads right back into cleaning.
So he does not go insane waiting for the man, he helps Tokonoma cook. Like this, he gets to learn a lot of the food he never got to eat before. It's fun. Come sunset and it is dinnertime. He watches in dismay as Hazuo eats without an end in sight. He's not surprised when the man is patting his stomach and saying, "I ate so much, I may sleep forever!"
"Careful, you." Tokonoma points her chopsticks at him. Unlike the man, she eats less and less the longer dinner is. "You're not as young as you think. Keep it up, and you'll burst through your clothes."
Orochimaru can barely eat his green beans in sesame dressing even though the bowl contains six stalks in total. His stomach flutters beyond all control.
Hazuo sighs wistfully. "Oh, where did my youth go? To have wine and castella cakes as the day lazily drifts by…"
Orochimaru cannot relate to the man in either of his lives.
Bedtime arrives yet again. The most deplorable part of the day as he must sleep in the same room with Hazuo while Tokonoma stays awake. It's been almost two weeks, and he has yet to see where or what she does. Never has he seen her after she just woke up. Does she sleep?
Hazuo, though, will fall asleep fast and will be dead to the world. He wouldn't snore but move an awful lot. The sounds tend to keep Orochimaru awake.
Thankfully, Hazuo tucks him in and says, "Tonight, I will be sleeping a little later. You will be alright here, hm?"
He's no stranger to being alone.
"If you get scared, find me. I will return immediately." Hazuo smiles and leaves.
Times ticks by. The katydids and crickets make their melodies while he stares at the ceiling wondering what the book could be. His eyes won't close now; like his heart, his soul is awake and drumming. The shadows on the walls have shifted a good few centimeters by the time he sits upright in the bed, tosses off the blanket, and ever-so quietly opens the door.
He's going to find that book.
During the day, the earthy colors are inviting. At night, the large swaths of dark brown absorb every piece of tenebrous hue. A still lit candle decorates the top of the staircase in reddish-gold. He sits on the top step and tip toes down the steps hugging the edge. Every time he thinks the smallest creaking or the sound of his toes sticking to the floor is audible, he freezes and waits. At length, the darkness of the bottom floor swallows him whole.
The front sliding door is his next hurdle. Will the obscured moonlight filtering into the entryway fall on him and reveal him? Ahead is the hallway. The main room is around the corner. He should be fine. Still, he gets to his belly and crawls past the door. All sounds he hears are hundreds times louder. Even his heart is beating the loudest it has ever been.
Ahead is the kitchen, door opened just enough for him to slip through. All the dishes are air-drying. Droplets of water roll down the side a few bowls, almost appearing like blood with the mix of their dark surfaces and the flickering, honey glow of candles. The biggest room in the house, all the numerous dishes, the decorative porcelain, the food packed to the brim in every storage space available, looms over him like storm clouds. Just as he makes it near the sliding door, there's a sparkle in the corner of his eye that draws his attention. Next to the candle are two rows of knives. He'd seen a glimpse of them when Tokonoma prepared the meat. Sharp, thick. The knives wouldn't be out of place in a shark's mouth.
He can't wait to leave.
The kitchen leads to the main room that he'd intended on taking a shortcut to get to the other extraneous rooms, but he finds himself unable to move.
There the two of them sit where he did that morning. They are still wearing their loungewear despite the fact it will become drenched in the aroma of the night. The autumn air is chilly, so they are have blankets. Hazuo is resting his head on Tokonoma's thigh, book in hand. His hair, free from it's usual ponytail, is being combed by Tokonoma. When the insects let up on their chirping, he can hear Hazuo speaking in a hushed voice unlike his normal tone. It's embellished. Like that of a an announcer or an orator.
He wants to stay. He wants to go.
Never had he seen something like this. His parents, both parents, never did this. Although he wants to commit the surreal scene to mind, seeing the two of them in their own world, reading the most interesting book under the light of a full moon, is too much to handle.
He makes his way back making less noise. Under his blanket, his heart does not slow. The sweat that cooled his body does nothing about the growing heat under his skin. He blinks, but his eyes remain sore and irritated.
Would they do something like that just like now, without him here? Would they be in this room snuggled together, warm and sleepy, without him here?
Somehow, he has forgotten, yet again, he does not belong in this place.
That fact that he forgot that scares him. For once in his life, he wants to be a part of something.
He's afraid he'll ruin it.
Waking up the next morning, going through Tokonoma's morning routine, and eating breakfast are much more bearable with the anticipation of reading that story.
He sits on the couch ready for either to ask what he wants to do or needs. Eager.
Hazuo is cleaning up the table (after all, who'd trust precious dishes in the tiny hands of a four-year-old?) when Tokonoma calls from the kitchen, "Hazuo, if you're not busy today, mind heading down and getting groceries?"
When Hazuo beams and says "I'd love to", he wants to scream.
Tokonoma fusses over writing the grocery list and making sure Hazuo does not forget anything and check it and go to the stall to grab the item after checking it. The man idly listens. He sprawls on the couch and stares at the ceiling, resentful he slept so well in the comfort of this house for once in two years. He can't fall asleep to pass time! Maybe if he chugs chamomile tea, he'll fall asleep. (This never works. His bladder is the size of a pebble.)
Once Hazuo is out the door, Tokonoma finishes washing. The clinking dishes give him a headache. Finished, she steps into the main room. "You just gonna be there? Doing nothing?"
He wants to mope.
"Alright. Well. Guess we're doing this today."
Tokonoma walks deeper into the house. The silence of it highlights all the noises she makes—some shuffling of boxes, the shifting of heavy objects. But burying his head under a pillow would be very rude, so he just glares in her general direction.
She appears with a small table only to go elsewhere in the house. Never has she done this kind of housework before. She moves heavy boxes to and fro. Wooden furniture, decorations. None of it having any sense of coherency. Thud, schill, thud! His eyebrow is twitching.
What's the point in doing all of this?
Wait…
Did she hear him last night? He's sure he was silent, although…there's no guarantee she's sensitive to only sounds. She could be a chakra sensor. Is that how she's able to read his mind so uncannily? His parents could only predict him up until a certain extent: the visible things he did since he was born. Beyond them, all the people in his life had to guess at what he needs.
In hindsight, he should have recognized Tokonoma's strangeness sooner.
He lounges in the discomfort of his punishment as she works without another word. A smell of rice jolts him. His position has changed on the couch, but when did he move? Did he fall asleep?
Tokonoma walks out, a white bowl with smoke tendrils drifting off the top. And…she completely ignores him as she walks by, returning empty-handed.
Huh?
She drapes herself onto the couch next to him. To get cool air on her sweating chest, she stretches and releases her shirt multiple times. After a moment, she says, "This is fine. Let's head on over."
With a loud groan, she pushes off the the couch onto her feet. He can only look at her. "Come on," she says, flapping her hand for him to follow.
Tokonoma doesn't seem mad. It's not as if she would hide her anger. Still, following her makes his stomach knot up. It doesn't let up until they reach a room he'd never step foot in, small room with no windows, only a back door. It is slightly ajar. On purpose?
Half of the room is covered in a plain room divider; on the half, closest to the door, is a small table covered in decorations.
Tokonoma sits on folded knees and beckons him closer. He stares at her, at the table. "C'mere. It's not like it's gonna hurt you."
He shuffles to her side, a reasonable distance apart, and sits on folded legs. The table, low to the ground, allows him to plainly see its contents, despite his short stature. There is a scentless candle, burning incense smelling slightly of tea, a small plant with a floral aroma. These are reasonable decorations, but there are more.
Tokonoma catches his gaze. "Alright now. Hands joined[3]." She presses her hands together before her chest, in line with her nose. After a beat, she inclines her head, bob strands just barely hiding her closed eyes.
There are cherry red dishes on the table as well. One is a small cup full of lukewarm water. There is a bowl of freshly cut fruit next to a bowl of rice—the very same rice she made and did not give to him. The scent taunts his stomach.
He looks at her once more; she prays. Who? For her father? Her uncle? He's seen people go to the Ninja Temple to pray for them on New Years, but why now? Why is she insisting he pray for them on a random afternoon?
"Alright. Well. Guess we're doing this today." She said those words as if it have meaning.
Ah, the words do.
The ninja that would come to watch him around holidays, festivals, and the New Years, eagerly took him to the Ninja Temples. He'd see fireworks, eat the food, follow them into Ninja Temples and Shrines where they would pray at elaborate Buddhist altars[4] and ring bells.
Come to think of it. Did his mother by him mooncake? Why did the memory feel like a dream? Surely he visited the festival with them…
Regardless, he would be bored when this part arose. He had died. He knew the end. There was no god, no paradise, no hell. There was just the sad and permanent cessation of life before he woke up trapped in a newborn's body.
Perhaps he's still dying in his real body and this is all an elaborate hallucination. As dark as it may be, he can allow himself to hope of something cosmic beyond life. Because what did living all those years mean if there's nothing in the end?
Why did he fear death for so long?
Was he a good person because he wanted to be, or was he just terrified of the societal consequences?
"Oi, whaddya think you're doing?" Ripping him out his thoughts is Tokonoma pushing his head down, and grabbing his hands. "We're praying. You know how that works, right? Pray to your parents with me." Tokonoma resumes her praying before he can look at he inquiringly.
Why does she want him to pray? Why is she joining him? Maybe she's pretending, lying in the way that little children naively believe.
He closes his eyes. But…how should he pray? Why? He doubt they'd hear him. He doesn't want to telepathically communicate—he wants their warmth, their words, their support. He wants to go to their grave and be comforted by the fact that they are physically close. As close as he can get. Praying only reinforces the fact they are gone and not on a long, long mission.
Click.
The noise floods the silent house. He opens his eyes, looking in the direction of the front door being shut. He can hear the steady footsteps. The crinkling of bags. A man voice calling for the two of them.
He's ready to leave this awful room, but Tokonoma doesn't budge. He knows she can hear Hazuo. Hazuo's voice gets closer and closer until he stop in the doorway and smiles. He watches the man hold up one finger before his lips, Shh!
Thankfully, Hazuo enters the room before long. He stands up, all too ready to go. Tokonoma does not budge.
"Tokonoma, I need you to help me with putting up the food," whines Hazuo, as he hooks her arms around her waist.
She ignores him. "Do it yourself."
"Alas, I cannot. I need only you, my flower." Taking a breath, Hazuo tightens and picks up Tokonoma, exhaling a groan.
At last, Tokonoma opens her eyes and stands. She struggles out his grip. "Men work for women."
"Even for men like me?"
"Especially for you, lazy bones."
Hazuo is still smiling—how can someone could be so cheery? The house could be on fire, and it would be a minor inconvenience. "I want to see my portrait come to life, though. I need to see the beauty of the most special woman in the world."
At that, Tokonoma stops pulling his arms away. She chuckles. "You wanna watch me bend down and put up stuff, Hazuo."
"Is that so wrong?"
"You perv."
"Only for you."
"Geez." Tokonoma smiles. "Okay, Orochimaru, you can stay here if you wanna finish praying. Hazuo is forcing me into helping him."
As she says that, Hazuo is guiding her to the door.
"Don't touch that food yet, or I swear I'll eat you." Tokonoma disappears down the hallway. He can hear them still talking, though it's too muffled to make anything out.
He should have left the room by now.
But…
Why did my parents never act like that?
How could he ever pray for souls who didn't seem to want each other or him? He just thought it was their personalities. In reality, they probably never loved one another. Even worse: they did but fell out of love.
He doesn't like the altar. He doesn't want to return here.
And to their graves? To his old home? Could he go back? Knowing what he knows?
Head aching, he leaves the room, only looking back once at the still open back door. The motion reminds him of the room divider. His stomach goes cold; what if there's more to the altar? No!
He rushes into the hidden half of the room.
He legs halt him.
The low table here is much longer and wider. The same few cups of water and tea, the small bowls of rice and sweet fruit, incense and evergreens, litter the table. Unlike his, it is decorated by photos in white frames. And if not in frames, hyperrealistic drawings giving life through ink stand. There are the faces of Hashirama and Tobirama; there are dozens of faces he has never even seen before. All, in some way, take on the appearance less like Tokonoma or Hazuo, and more the distinct appearance of battle-harden Senju. Tanned skin, dark eyes, muscular and stocky builds…
His body feels too heavy. He stumbles back, just managing to brace himself against the wall. It is cool against his head. Sound carries through the it: the placement of food, the cry of fire, the conversation between two interrupted by laughter.
He is surrounded by the dead and alive simultaneously, and never felt more out of place.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] konpaku (魂魄) is the Japanese translation of a Chinese philosophical concept (Taoism) of different souls, called hun (cloud-soul) and po (white-soul). All living humans have a spiritual soul that leaves once dead; the soul remaining in the corpse is the corporeal soul.
[2] Pure Land is a term used in Taoism and Buddhism. There are many Pure Lands divided into castes for gods to animals to demons, and Shintoism's afterlife copies a lot from here. This is a temporary state for a soul to meditate and contemplate before moving on to…nothingness, really. In other words, to survive being dead, you need to move fast.
[3] gasshou (合掌), a specific praying technique.
[4] butsudan (仏壇), a wooden shrine made to pay respects and worship the dead.