There was once a boy who was almost a man.

His father didn't normally have time for him, choosing to hole himself in his study for most of the day. And when he wasn't, he was off fulfilling his duties as a Lord of Iwagakure. He didn't really mind, because his personal servant, Hisaichi, spent his time with him.

One day, his father's business swept him to a small town south of the capital. While the Lord worked, his son got to relax.

"Young Master," Hisaichi called as he hurried after Lord Daishin's son. "Please slow down—I'm not as young as I used to be. Pole!"

The teenage boy, who couldn't have been older than seventeen, stopped abruptly, holding up his hand to touch the wooden post in front of him. His eyes were obscured by black shades. "Thank you, Hisaichi-san," he said. "That would have been painful."

The servant breathed an exasperated sigh. "Really, you shouldn't run off like that, especially in an unfamiliar town. What's gotten you so excited today? You're usually much calmer."

"Today is a good day," the boy announced, turning his head as if he were seeing his surroundings for the first time. "I can feel the joy in the air."

Hisaichi tilted his head in confusion. "What makes you say that?"

"Listen," he commanded, and Hisaichi quietened, obeying the instruction, "to the music. Is it not the sweetest melody you've ever heard? And yet, there is an underlying note of tragedy beneath it all."

Perhaps he was too old, or the boy's hearing was just too good, because Hisaichi heard nothing. Before he could say anything, the teenager was walking off again, this time straight into oncoming traffic.

"Young Master!" he bellowed, feeling his heart jump with fright.

The boy stopped short, and a horse and cart trotted past him.

"Please," Hisaichi pleaded with him, "We'll find the source, but just let me hold on to your shoulder. Otherwise you'll be six feet underground before you even get there."

The boy conceded. "That is wise of you."

"Thank goodness...! Now—wheeze—let me catch my breath as well as my poor heart..."

"Ah. I'm sorry, Hisaichi-san. I always cause you trouble, don't I?"

"It's really nothing, Young Master..."

Together, an ageing servant and his blind master walked through the streets, both of them guiding one another. Eventually, they arrived at a grand building of a concert hall, the afternoon sun partially hidden behind the tallest tower. Hisaichi glanced at his master once before leading him inside.

The boy began to hum to the music as they ventured further in. Surprisingly, there were no guards of any sort. Even if there had been, though, Hisaichi was sure that his master's status would have been able to allow them through without much trouble. It was never wise to try to hinder a Lord, foreign or not.

They found two empty seats—the theatre wasn't too full today, at least for this session.

"Who's down there?" the boy asked as the young singer on the stage crooned, emotion and passion oozing out of her voice.

Hisaichi adjusted his spectacles, squinting. "Why, I believe... it's a young girl. She cannot be older than twelve."

The boy startled. "So young? Surely, your eyes fail you."

"No, no, I'm quite certain, actually," Hisaichi reassured, watching the child preach her message through song.

"What does she look like?"

The servant grimaced. "I can't make out her features from her. But I've never seen such yellow hair before. It looks like sunflower petals."

His master had not been blind since birth. It was only some years ago that his eyesight had started failing from an incurable disease. Yellow was completely within the range of his inner eye.

"Young Master?" Hisaichi prodded his shoulder. "Young Master? Shinichi-sama!"

Shinichi turned to him, unseeing. Then, to Hisaichi's utter shock, he removed his glasses, clouded eyes filled with unshed tears boring into his soul. "It's beautiful."

"Did you mourn?"

Rin's question was seared into her brain like a brand of fire. Sometimes it felt like fire, but most of the time, it was simply a dull, throbbing ache that eventually turned numb. But, Deidara had to ask herself, what was the point of looking back? Wasn't what was most important looking forward? Because it was simply nature for one's life to be fleeting—if you kept looking back, you'd never be able to live it. So what does it matter if I did or didn't, hm? For so long, she hadn't even thought about how her life in Iwa had been life. She had fit almost seamlessly into Akatsuki like a piece of a puzzle—there'd been no need to ever confront her losses when more people had trickled into her life.

But she was not in Akatsuki now.

Deidara glanced out the window of the carriage.

In fact, I'm not even in Konoha City anymore.

"Last stop," the driver bellowed from his position outside, the horses slowing to a stop. No taxis came all the way out here—the only options were horse-drawn vehicles.

Adjusting her work clothes—the typical white blouse and long green skirt combination—she grabbed her case and got off, her slightly heeled boots hitting a dirt path. Not too far away, in the distance, she could see the town. In the today's unusual spring heat, the image was slightly blurred, and she almost thought it a mirage at first. She began to walk. Not much color in it, is there? she thought wryly. Even Sickleleaf Town looked livelier in a storm.

With a name like Mapleflame Town, she had been expecting a lot more orange and brown. The town sat on a large plateau surrounding by mixture of forestry, rocky outcrops, or even a combination of both if the green growing on some of the cliffs were any indication. The tableland was elevated, a heavy fog lurking around the bottom. Occasionally, it would part just enough for Deidara to catch glimpses of a river as gray as the town.

Eventually, after some fifteen minutes of walking, she reached a stone bridge that connected the lonely plateau to the surrounding land. As she crossed, her mouth tugging downward a little at the thought of the last long bridge she had crossed, she felt at her skirt pocket, where she had shoved a package away.

It'd been some two weeks ago, when she had finally told Asuma about her next client. His eyes had lit up, and he had asked her to wait while he fetched something from the back room. The scruffy man had returned with a colorful striped package tied with brown string and a blue ribbon, sheepishly requesting that she give this to Kurenai when they met.

Deidara pulled it out of her pocket now, reading what he had written on the wrapping paper.

To my little girl, Mirai.

She tucked it away after giving the present a quick squeeze. It was something soft—clothing or something similar. Mirai. That's right. Deidara lifted her head, a small smirk of a smile spreading across her face as she tried to defy that constricting feeling in her chest. The future is what's important. I'm not dead yet. I'm alive, and it's the best thing that could have happened to me. As she completed the crossing, taking her first steps onto the cobblestone road of Mapleflame, her grin faltered before completely fading. So what am I waiting for? Why am I hesitating?

A pair of footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned slightly. An old woman staggered past, her eyes faraway and her lips mouthing a name that Deidara had never heard of before. Shinji. Was that her husband, perhaps?

She disappeared around the corner, still silently muttering that name.

As Deidara delved deeper into the town, she found herself looking up at times to the bell tower that loomed over the rest of the city, the silver bell visible through the metal skeleton. It was motionless, though the clock face on the side of the building ticked closer and closer to two o'clock. Just as she arrived in front of her accommodation—the only inn in the town; a place called The Orange Bluebell—the clock struck two. Deidara glanced up one more time, waiting for the bell to chime twice.

Nothing happened.

It was hardly anything significant, but it added to the solemn mood she had been feeling ever since she had entered this town without color. Low morale, she concluded as she paid upfront for a room. It's because of the war. Tch. I'll eat my leg if it isn't. The innkeeper, who introduced herself as Umeko, led her to her room, Deidara pausing at the stairs to take a look outside the window wearily.

"Ne, Umeko-san," Deidara said abruptly when they were inside, Umeko in the midst of fluffing up the former's pillow. The blonde put her briefcase—which had her scrolls as well as clothing she didn't want crumpled in the scroll-dimension—down, opening up the curtains. "Is there even a single man in this town, hm?"

She would have had to been blind to miss it. Asuma had already filled her in on the details, but surely... surely there had to be at least one man.

"Ah..." Umeko hesitated, her brows knitting together. "The war and Konoha's conscription laws have taken all able-bodied men away to the battlefield. There are still men, but they are either too sick, too old, or too young to fight. The rest... are gone."

"I guessed as much." She watched a lonely woman in her twenties—in a period of mourning if her clothes were any indication—purchase groceries from a vegetable stall before drawing the curtains together again. Deidara let out a sigh. "You can go now, Umeko-san. Thanks for the room, yeah."

"Call me if you need anything." The door closed behind the innkeeper.

When she was gone, Deidara kicked her shoes off and flopped onto the bed, feeling drained from the twenty hours she had spent in the horse-drawn carriage. It'd been a long journey.

Strangely, even if it was hot today, the town felt cold.

One shower later, she had one towel draped over her head and the other across her shoulders, the back of the baggy shirt she now already soaked through. She sat cross-legged on the cushioned window pad as she waited for her hair to dry, the fingers on her left hand moving deftly yet delicately as she molded a shape with her clay—the non-explosive kind. Her right hand, fingers scarred and crooked from Kabuto's treatment, rested on her thigh, occasionally twitching as it instinctively searched for clay to sculpt.

She poked two dents into the owl that her clay became for eyes. Once it was complete, she opened the window, a warm breeze caressing her cheeks and accelerating the drying rate of her hair. Deidara pulled the towel off her head, holding the owl outside. Find Kurenai's house, she silently willed, adding the address in her command. The owl obeyed, hooting once before flying away.

The wind was refreshing, so she kept the windows opened, her eyes drawn once again to the noiseless bell tower in the middle of town. Her right hand dipped into her clay pouch, and she drew out more of her artistic medium.

Even though the town was too gray for her liking, even when the most wilted flowers stood out because of it—

There was only one word Deidara had for this.

Peace.

Peace, but not quite. There was still something in the air.

The war wasn't over yet.

But for now, she could pretend that it was. She exhaled a breath of relief as she made another clay creation—this time a sculpture of a bird-like dragon. She examined it from all angles, trying to spot any defects. There were none.

Deidara allowed herself a smile, less forced than the one she had worn when she entered Mapleflame.

With a small burst of chakra, the dragon flew into the air. Deidara stretched across the windowsill couch, tucking her arms behind her head as she observed the dragon make rounds in her inn room.

It was so quiet.

Is peace normally like this? Deidara asked herself. I always thought it was louder. Like in Akatsuki. Everybody was loud, but it was in the best way. If this is the sort of peace I have to live in, then I'm not sure if I want to. Where did all the excitement go? Hmph. Her hair was dryer now, and she brushed her bangs from her eyes. They were shorter, but still covered most of the left side of her face.

When her hair wasn't covering her face, she either had an eye-patch like Kakashi's over her nigh-blind eye or her eye-scope on—the one Sasori had given her.

Danna. She lifted an arm, and the dragon swooped down to perch on her wrist. You disappeared with it. How artless is that, huh? You're so impatient all the time, so why are you keeping me waiting? Why was the war keeping her waiting? How long would she have to wait before everything returned to normal?

Would that ever happen anyway?

There was a hoot as her owl announced its presence, resting on the windowsill. Deidara sat up once more as she received the message, the location of Kurenai's house burned into her memory now. "You did well," she hummed, brushing her thumb across its face. It closed its eyes as Deidara smudged its features away; its face, wings, tail—until it was nothing but shapeless clay again. Then she did the same with her dragon, pulling her shirt over her head as she did so.

Five minutes later, she was changed into her work clothes once more and hastily making her way down the stairs, each wooden step creaking when her boots touched them.

"We're serving lunch!" Umeko called after her.

"I'll come back for dinner, hm!"

Then she was gone, leaving a startled Umeko behind the counter.

Deidara was passing by town square when a strum of a string instrument reached her ears. She turned her head to the side to see a man with long hair pulled back into a low ponytail seated beside a lamppost, making adjustments to his acoustic guitar. His eyes were impossible to see behind his dark glasses.

A fountain bubbled and babbled in the square, a moderate amount of people trickling in and out, most—if not all—of them women and girls.

In the middle of the clearing was the towering bell tower, still as silent as the voices of those suffering in the war. Was it broken? A reflection of the town's dreary state?

The man's guitar case was open, a scattering of coins spread across the interior. Deidara tilted her head curiously, approaching him.

He shifted, glancing up at her intrigued face. "Hello," he greeted. "Would you like to hear a song?"

A song, huh? "Will you play for me?" she asked.

"Any particular request?"

There was an answer on the tip of her tongue. Mirai. "No." Play me something that my mother used to sing to, dance to, play to. Play me Kou's favorite nursery rhyme, Izumi's favorite opera, and a song that would drive Sasori-no-Danna up the wall but make Obito want to sing along to. "No," Deidara repeated. "There's nothing in particular, hm." His head lifted a little more at her speech pattern.

"Oho. Is that so?"

"Play anything you want... oji-san."

"Most people around here just call me Guitar Man."

Deidara's lips quirked upward. "Most people here aren't that creative, are they? Hm?"

Guitar Man laughed. "I suppose not."

The soft buzz of noise around them seemed to stop for a moment as the man's fingers caressed the strings of his guitar, his mouth opening as he sang:

"There is nothing quite like spring,

Not autumn, or summer, or wintry wind,

Chance a stroll in the morning,

It'll be sure to delight,

Towering trees and harmless birds taking flight,

Take away from the war,

Head instead 'round a beech-wood grove,

There are creatures of spring—creatures of peace—who you will never impose,

Creatures of kindness, not darkness or spite,

'Tis the nature of spring,

Unlike autumn, or summer, or wintry wind!"

His left hand stopped moving across the fingerboard, his right stilling above the sound hole.

Cling!

Deidara had flipped ten ryo into his guitar case. "I don't have much to spare on me, yeah," she said a little ruefully. "Your song... Is that how you really see spring, or is it just how the song goes?"

"All songs are from the heart," replied Guitar Man, calmly. "The same can be said for poetry and other forms of literature, my dear."

Just like my art. Deidara nodded slowly, understanding. Like Danna's puppets and his poetry, too. "It is, isn't it?"

"Yes. And that's what makes it beautiful. What makes it... art."

Her breath almost caught in her throat, eyes lighting up a little. "Have we ever met?"

He chuckled. "I don't believe so. How old are you?"

"Nineteen. Almost twenty. Why, hm?"

"I haven't left this place in the past twenty-five years."

"Ah." Deidara raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you seem so familiar to me, hm?"

"Perhaps it's just coincidence."

"Probably." She inched forward a little, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly as she studied his guileless expression. "I think I'd remember more clearly... if I'd ever met a blind man, hm. Especially one so obviously from Iwa." The accent was barely noticeable, but it undoubtedly was there.

At that, Guitar Man tilted his head back and started laughing heartily. "You're sharper than I gave you credit for! It seems we've both realized each other's heritage."

"Hm, I guess..."

"You don't sound too happy."

"I'm going to be late," she dodged his remark swiftly, "I'll see you around, Guitar Man, hm."

His head followed the sound of her footsteps.

Guitar Man was a little odd, Deidara thought. What was most odd, however, was the way his blind, unseeing eyes seemed to bore right into her very soul.

Deidara followed the road to Kurenai's house, almost bumping into a girl with purple hair standing in front of the bell tower with eyes closed and her hands clasped in prayer position.

Kurenai lived on the third floor of an apartment block with four floors. Laundry lines hung between her building and the building opposite it, the following buildings continuing this trend.

Kurenai also wasn't home.

Seriously? Deidara scowled. Am I destined to have absent clients all the time? Is this going to be some pattern or something?! Hm?! At least she had gotten the opportunity to write on Kiba's behalf. Relax. Maybe she's just gone shopping. I can wait.

Twenty minutes later, Deidara was still standing outside Kurenai's flat, her annoyance having grown to peak levels. "One more knock," she decided, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Just one more knock."

Just as she was about to raise her fist, the door opened.

The door behind her, that was.

She turned to see a hunched little woman in her mid-fifties staring at her.

Deidara stared back, almost defiantly.

"She won't be home for a while," the woman said eventually, her voice drawn out and slow as her legs surely were. "Kurenai-san has gone to the neighboring town for medicinal supplies. Is there something you need?"

"I..." Telling her that she was technically here on behalf of one of Konoha's major newspaper companies was probably not the wisest idea. People tended to avoid the media unless they liked the wide-spread attention. Reporters and journalists being anything but scoop-hungry vultures was a hard to break stereotype. So Deidara straightened. "I have something for her daughter." She pulled out the package. "It's from Kurenai's husband, Asuma-san, yeah. I promised him I'd give it to Mirai-chan." Good. The last statement had just wiped away any possibility of the woman suggesting that she give it to her or leave it at Kurenai's doorstep.

The woman's eyes widened before she beamed. "From Asuma-san? Oh, joyous occasion! Mirai-chan's birthday is coming up, soon." She smiled, the action a little sad. "If only she got what she really wanted..." She shook her head. "But never mind. I'm Furude Aina, and you are...?"

"Deidara, yeah." The blonde placed Mirai's present back into her pocket. "Do you have any idea when they'll be back?"

"I'm not sure about Kurenai-san, but I'm the one tending to Mirai-chan right now. Do you want to come in?"

The old woman ducked inside, Deidara slipping her shoes off. "Wait, tending to?"

"Yes. Mirai-chan is sick right now, and only medicine from outside of town can help her." Furude sighed. "For her sake, I hope Kurenai-san comes back soon. Mirai-chan..."

Furude led Deidara to Mirai's bedside. The little girl—five years old as of today—was frowning in her sleep, beads of sweat trailing down her temple as fever ran rampant. There was a freshly wet towel on her forehead, and the blankets were pulled over her frail body.

"She's so tiny," Deidara whispered, as if speaking too loud would shatter the child. "How old is she, hm?"

"Only five. Too young to be fighting such a terrible illness." Furude gave Deidara a scrutinizing look. "Before you come any closer, I ask that you wash your hands."

"Of course."

When Deidara returned, she found that Furude had been thoughtful enough to pull up another chair next to the bed. In the time that it had taken her to wash her hands, Furude had poured hot water into two cups. She passed one to Deidara.

"How do you know Asuma-san, Deidara-san?"

"He's my..." Deidara paused. What is he exactly? I was going to say doctor, but he's not quite one... "He's the one who made me a new leg, yeah." At Furude's uncomprehending expression, she pulled up her skirt just high enough to reveal her prosthetic. "Every time I need repairs or something of that sort, I go to him."

"Goodness... what happened to you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"What happened to me?" I feel like it'd be easier if you asked what didn't happen to me. "How do I even start...?"

"You don't have to tell me," Furude hastily amended. "If it's too hard, I—"

"No. It's not a secret, or anything. It's just... it's fucking nuts, alright? I already told a whole courtroom and the goddamn media about what happened." Deidara laughed lowly. That was as good as telling the whole continent, but it was worth it. For Danna. "You're not troubling me at all, hm."

Furude didn't scold her on her language, which was a relief. Instead, she merely folded her hands in her lap, almost submissively. "Then go at your own pace."

Deidara contemplated for a few more seconds before stating, "The city where I lived in—Akatsuki in Amegakure—became occupied by Tsuki soldiers. It wasn't safe to live there anymore, so I left the city along with my friends and some strangers. We crossed the wilderness to make it to Konoha City. Things... happened out there. Many of us died. I managed to get away with most of my body intact, though. Explosions can be fickle in that way. Furude-san," she turned to the woman, "I might not seem it, but I'm one of the lucky ones, hm." So why can't I just get over it and move on already? She swallowed the frustrated growl that threatened to escape from her throat.

A understanding silence stretched between them, both women occasionally taking sips of warm water from their cups. "Thank you," Furude answered in the end. "I understand we've just met, but... thank you. Are you sure this is okay?"

"It doesn't bother me if people know. I think, in a way, I actually do want people to know, hm."

"And why is that?"

"So they can look at me," Deidara stared at the Mirai's sleeping form, clutching her up even tighter as a burst of bitterness and frustration overwhelmed her for one brief moment, "And know that it was war that was ultimately responsible for what happened."

"Then what is it you hope for? That war will stop?"

Her lip curled. "Tch. I'm not that idealistic, hm. War is the enemy of the people created by the people. As long as humans exist, it will never stop. But I want it to be known," her countenance darkened, "what the consequences are." And I think that's why I even agreed to doing Fatso's assignment. Deidara leaned back in her chair, spinning the cup in her hand. "I think I can be content with war never happening again in my lifetime, hm. Whatever happens after I'm gone isn't my problem anymore, yeah. But even that's a stretch at this rate." The Ame-Tsuki war showed no signs of halting, and she had already lived through one war in Iwa.

War had destroyed her.

She didn't want to be ripped down again, not when she felt like she was still gradually building herself back up.

And the paranoia. It was always at the back of her mind. Her mother's death because of war had haunted her for years; it'd driven her to take every opportunity to live her best life, because she had seen how her mother's life had been cut short. For a while, it'd wholly disappeared, but after Kabuto had done those unspeakable things to her, it had made a reappearance. Doubly so when Hokage snatched Sasori away from her and planted him on the battlefield.

Sasori.

He had been living and breathing blood and ashes before she'd even been born.

"I must disgust you," Furude commented suddenly.

"Hm? What makes you say that?"

"You are much younger than I, yet I have never even known war. I've lived in this town ever since I was born, and the fighting has never reached Mapleflame. For many of us... it isn't even real."

The front door opened before Deidara could answer. "Tadaima!" a female voice called; it was followed by the sound of shuffling shoes.

Furude stood, shuffling away. "My granddaughter," she said to Deidara before calling, "Okaeri!"

"How is Mirai-chan? Any improvements?" the granddaughter demanded, still out of sight.

"Her fever's gone down slightly. Come—we have a guest."

"Eh? Seriously?"

Finally, Furude's granddaughter came around, allowing Deidara to see her just as she lifted her glass to her mouth. It was the purple-haired girl from the town square, the girl who had stood in front of the tower, praying.

Furude Ami met Deidara's gaze.

Then—

"When was the last time you brushed your hair?"

Deidara choked on her water.

"Geez!" Hitomi scoffed at her. "When was the last time you brushed your hair?"

Deidara flicked her forehead, rolling her eyes. "Shut up. I don't want to hear this from you, hm. Having your bangs long on one side like your sister and short on the other is fucking weird. Did you cut it yourself or something?"

"So what if I did?! At least I don't have lice!"

"Haahh?! Who says I have lice?! You'd better watch your mouth, you little brat!"

Deidara tilted her head ever so slightly, the motion languid. Her throat burned a little from when water had went down the wrong pipe, but she withstood any further coughing and hacking. "What about you, hm?" she drawled, feeling a knife slowly burying in her chest as the memory faded into the depths of her mind. "I've seen a six-year-old cut herself a better hairstyle than yours. What were you even trying to do—give someone OCD or something with your asymmetrical bullshit?"

It was the early hours of the morning when they got moving again. Sasori and Konan led the way, their steps quick and careful. Juugo and Suigetsu followed closely behind, the former carrying an unconscious Sai on the flower attached on his back, making it look like the ROOT boy was a sleeping bee.

The last two weeks had been uneventful, mostly comprised of travelling through the mountains. Konan had decided to take the mountain route instead of the river route from Sunlight Inn Town; it was better this way—less messy if they were to come to blows with the enemy. On water, only Suigetsu had an advantage.

"Let's stop here," Konan decided after hours of trekking. The sun had already risen over the mountains, gradually climbing up into the sky. "Suigetsu, Juugo. There's just a few more hours before we reach the parting point. Are you ready?"

Suigetsu grimaced. "As ready as we'll ever be. What about you, puppet-tightass?"

Sasori chose not to deign the white-haired teenager with a response, pointedly ignoring him and instead looking out across the horizon, where the wide-spread Naka River ran through the valleys, reflecting the sun's light.

They had pinpointed the two likeliest locations of the lost samurai based on their last known location as well as vague hints, but they were located on different sides of White Fang Mountain. It was dangerous enough that this meant skirting around Danzo's territory; the high, icy mountain environment would be extremely harsh. Suigetsu and Juugo would be travelling to the closest side of the mountain, while Konan and Sasori would venture further to get to the other side.

Sai would have to be passed on to Sasori later. They had gotten nothing from the boy—he had promised almost passionately not to commit suicide via his tongue seal for some strange reason that Sasori thought had something to do with the orphanage back in Rootbell Town—even if he no longer had the gag (most of the time), he refused to reveal anything of importance.

There are other ways besides empty threats, Sasori thought as he turned, watching Sai sleep on Juugo's flower back, the petals hugging his body. But those other methods would be inconvenient on the road with five bodies in total. Once the net count was reduced to two, he would begin a proper information extraction. I trust Konan will have no objections to that.

He hadn't tortured in a while.

It almost excited him.

"Why are you smiling?" Suigetsu asked.

Sasori's shadow of a smile never left his face. "Nothing of importance. I suppose I just can't wait for you to leave."

Konan gave him a brief glance at the dangerous undertone.

Ami wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, cringing at how her bangs stuck to her skin. "Thanks for coming!" she called after the last customer before she got the satisfaction of flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed'.

The sun was setting by now, and her work day was over.

It'd been especially hard today. Her father had fallen sick with a cold, and it'd been up to her to keep the business running for the day. Sighing in exhaustion, Ami hung up her apron, locked up, and pulled on her outside boots.

Ami liked sunsets. It made the town square more colorful than usually was, the fountain glittering beneath the sun. The tower stood tall in front of her, and she closed her eyes, clasping her hands to her chest. Please. Let the bell ring again. Let Mirai-chan get better. Let everyone's husband, son, and brother return safely. Let the people be happy again.

She paused.

... Let me be accepted into the Hokage's medical program again. I won't fail this time. I'll study hard. I promise. I promise.

Nothing came of her wish.

The bell tower remained a soundless shell.

Mirai was probably still sleeping her fever away.

No husbands, sons, or brothers suddenly marched into the square to be greeted by tearful relatives.

Nobody was smiling.

Feeling her spirits dip lower than ever, Ami started up the road back to her home—not her grandmother's flat, but the small cottage she shared with her father.

The strum of a guitar caught her attention. She turned to the side. There was still some light left; Ami stopped and changed directions, not halting until she was right in front of him. "Good evening, Guitar Man."

"Good evening, Furude-chan. It's going to be warmer tonight."

"It is," Ami agreed.

"Now, what seems to be bothering you?"

She sighed for the umpteenth time that day. "Otou-san's sick. It's a cold. I have to take care of the bakery myself until he gets better—I'm exhausted."

"That is a shame," said Guitar Man, nodding sympathetically.

Ami hugged her arms. "I feel like I'm tired all the time. I feel like there's nothing to look forward to anymore."

"Everyone else must be feeling the same way."

She nodded absently. "Yeah, I guess... It's almost like my own misery has poisoned the town. Well, goodnight, Guitar Man."

"Wait—don't you want to hear a song before you go?"

The girl smiled tiredly. "Thanks, but not tonight. I just want to go bed, honestly."

"I understand. I'll see you tomorrow, Furude-chan."

Ami wondered what kind of eyes were behind those glasses.

Shinichi looked up pleadingly at his father. "You don't understand, otou-sama.

"Music has opened my eyes."

"Music has blinded you!"

"I was already blind—yet, now, I see more clearly than ever. I'm sorry I cannot ever be the heir you have always yearned for. I knew long ago about your plot to send me away on my eighteenth birthday. It's nearly that time, so why don't I save you the trouble?"

Lord Daishin didn't seem to be listening. "That wretched child will pay for this... Uri... Bakuhatsu no Uri...!"

"Please. Do not harm her. Not when she has enlightened me so."

The Lord stared at his son with pure disdain in his eyes. "Fine. I will not personally harm the girl. Now go. Go and never return. If your worthless face is still here tomorrow, I'll have the guards strike you down."

"As you wish, otou-sama. There is only one person I want to say goodbye to, anyway."

He closed the door behind him. Hisaichi was already standing outside. Even though he was blind, Shinichi could imagine him clearly in front of him. Hisaichi almost jumped when his master bowed low to him.

"Young Master?" he uttered. "Please rise."

He didn't. "Hisaichi-san. Thank you for everything. I will never forget your patience or your kindness."

Hisaichi closed his eyes. "It was an honor serving you... Shinichi-kun."

"Heh." Shinichi rose. "We'll meet again one day, in this life or the next. If it's in the latter, I'll finally get to see how wonderfully or terribly you have aged."

The old servant laughed. "I'll look forward to our reunion. Until next time."

Shinichi nodded firmly. "Until next time."

The only things that Shinichi took with him were money, some clothes, and an acoustic guitar.