He didn't like how he was looking nowadays. Sasori had never been an excessively vain man, but even he would grimace in disgust at his own haggard appearance every time he looked in the mirror. The Emperor had always been a merciless man—a quality that Sasori had come to see reflected in himself—and it was clear he didn't have a second thought or shred of remorse when it came to working him to the bone.
And the weight loss. That was the most concerning. His body had never stored much fat to begin with, meaning that most of his body mass was comprised of muscle. And if he were losing weight, then—
Sasori finished pinning the wrists and ankles of the gagged man onto his dinner table.
Then nothing, he reminded himself. Work on your health later. Right now, you have a job to do.
Tonight's victim was a man who had been embezzling funds from the government. The Emperor had specifically requested a special style of execution for this one. Sasori couldn't remember his name. Didn't want to remember it, actually, because if he did, it would probably stick to him for the rest of his life like an irritating bloodstain on his shirt.
Sasori unrolled a grey scroll, unsealing it and summoning a large blade that would have gleamed if there'd been a moon tonight. Carefully, he positioned the blade over the man's waist. Then, his heavy sigh muffled by the black bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face, Sasori sank the blade into the man's flesh.
He screamed and screamed, and squirmed and squirmed, his back arching and twisting as metal sliced through his organs and pelvis like they were butter. Even after his body had been separated into two, his upper half continued to twitch. Somewhere in the process, the bisected man had ripped his wrist from the nail. With one bloodstained finger, he began to write on the floor, and Sasori did not stop him.
Three characters, he wrote with a shaky finger.
悲惨な。
Miserable.
Sasori looked away at the gruesome sight, only flicking his gaze back to the body when it was actually a corpse and not something cruelly in-between. Then, taking out his poisons, he burned his scorpion insignia into the man's broad back with an efficiency that could have only come from doing so many times before.
It was his call sign. One that the Emperor approved of and encouraged, knowing that it would instill fear and quiet obedience into the people. In a way, Sasori was like a wraith that brought the Emperor's wrath upon them.
Climbing onto the windowsill, Sasori disappeared into the night.
I am not a good man.
It was something that Sasori had figured out at an early age. Not quite when he had begun his training, or even when he had made his first kill (he remembered having pissed himself and Chiyo giving him a harsh lecture when they returned to base), but probably sometime before he started serving the Emperor of Sunagakure. He'd still been quite young, merely a teenager caught up in a world of adults and corruption.
Even if hadn't started out with the instincts of a killer, even if he never engaged willingly in senseless cruelty, it still changed nothing. In the end, he had a made a monster of himself, and nearly killed the man curled within.
If Chiyo hadn't finally interfered and taken him out of Suna, then perhaps he would be dead now. Or worse.
So it made him wonder as he stared at the back of Mifune's head, the samurai force fanned out in a purely defensive formation. These men are men of honor, or so they say. They are the largest group of samurai to ever exist, and I am one criminal.
He hadn't felt this small in a long time, though it was hard to see from his utterly impassive expression. He was glad for it—the last thing he needed was any of them taking advantage of whatever weakness he bore for the world to see. Sasori breathed out, a white cloud expelling from his lips, which were beginning to feel numb.
"Are you okay?" he heard one of the samurai ask Konan when she stumbled. She was not visibly injured by any means, but Sasori knew better. Those wings of hers—they looked and acted like paper but were actually a part of her body. Clearly, the samurai had picked up on it as well, hence their accelerated pace.
Sasori was not meant for mountains. Even if he considered them a perfect example of nature's constancy, he had grown up in the desert, and this environment was definitely not one he would thrive in.
"I'm fine," Konan said through gritted teeth.
"No, you're not," the samurai replied kindly. "I'll carry you." She opened her mouth to protest, but he talked over her, "You'll only delay treatment for yourself and the boy. Please, let me carry you."
"... Alright. What's your name?"
There was a short stop to allow the samurai to squat and let Konan hook her legs around his torso in a piggyback. Shivering from the cold as she felt the mountain wind blow down her neck from a gap in her cloak that was now exposed, she closed her eyes, her brow occasionally twitching in pain. Her wings were awkwardly folded against her back.
"My name is Haibara Hiroshi," the samurai said. He was quite a great deal younger than some of the others—twenty-five at most. "And what is yours?"
"Just Konan, Haibara-san..."
Sasori tuned them out. At least someone was making friends. He hated to admit it, but the situation now rested almost entirely on Konan's shoulders. She would have to be the one to persuade the samurai to help them.
The next time they halted, it was in the face of a sheer mountain wall. Sasori craned his neck to look up, unable to see the top of it due to the sun's rays.
"Our camp is near," Mifune announced for the benefit of the newcomers. His gaze landed on Sasori. "How good at balancing are you?"
Maybe he could have said something scathing, but for the sake of it, Sasori nodded and replied curtly, "Good enough."
"Good. You'll need to be."
Haibara shifted Konan's weight. "Hold on tight."
Sai, who had his hand injured, was being similarly carried by another samurai.
Without another word, Mifune and the samurai drew their katanas from their holsters. Then, without warning, they all rushed forward with their swords drawn, somehow avoiding cutting each other as they ran. Then they leaped, using the chakra they had focused on their feet to launch themselves to greater heights. Sasori noted, with slight awe, how they had jumped in a linear fashion, each of them going higher than the previous one. They jammed their weapons—which they laced with chakra to protect the metal—into the rock face, creating a makeshift staircase of swords.
They landed almost silently in the snow.
Mifune glanced backward at Sasori, as if he were expecting a reaction. When he got none, he simply settled for beckoning his men forward to ascend the stairs. Without waiting to be called, Sasori followed; how some of the samurai lingered behind to let him go first—to surround him—did not escape him. Mifune led the way, and Haibara and the samurai that was carrying Sai were right behind him.
"The rock will eventually be too worn for this," Sasori remarked when the he reached the top, speaking to Mifune.
"Indeed," the old samurai agreed. "But the natural chakra energy surrounding these mountains make for durable stone. By the time that happens, we would have found a new, better way, or sought out a new location."
The last samurai in the line had the duty of collecting each sword as he went up. As they made toward camp, now considerably more relaxed since they were in very familiar territory, the swords were distributed back to their rightful owners. They were high up in the mountains now, and their vision was somewhat obscured by the wispy streaks of clouds hovering past.
Sasori wasn't entirely sure what he would expect when he arrived at their camp. He envisioned the samurai to be the kind of people who could thrive on the most minimal of necessities—perhaps a hoard of tents gathered in one place to preserve warmth, or an insulated cave system. In any case, he wasn't expecting anything fancy, which was fine.
And he was right. But it was still nothing like he had imagined—
"Ah! Mifune-sama is back!"
The samurai camp was more of a small village than a camp. They had erected houses of stone, wood, and straw, and Sasori could spot remnants of designated fire pits that had been burned only last night. The population was comprised of men, women, and children, and not all of them wore the same kind of traditional armor that the twelve escorting Sasori wore. Instead, they wore sewn clothing lined with all sorts of animal furs to protect them from the cold; he could guess that underneath the typical stitched fur-lined hoodie were more garments to keep them nice and warm up in this climate.
Sasori slowed to a stop as they were crowded by more samurai, most of them young teenagers who got excited more easily than adults. There weren't many very small children—the youngest he could see was probably around eight or nine.
A low rumble came from the depths of Mifune's chest as he broke formation and squatted in front of the shortest kid standing at the front of the crowd. "Hello, Nagaoka-shonen. Have you been keeping out of trouble?"
"Yes! Today, Okisuke-oji showed me how to use his katana! He even let me hold it, hehe."
"Welcome back, Mifune-sama." A woman with long black hair and droopy brown eyes smiled, nodding to the other samurai behind him in acknowledgement. "You returned earlier than expected."
"Indeed, Hojo-san." Mifune glanced back. "I'm afraid we'll have to converse another time. We have two newcomers who need urgent medical care, so we'll be heading to Sanada-san's home."
Hojo, eyes a little wider and more alert, peered around his shoulders, meeting Sasori's dull brown gaze. "I see. I won't stop you then—I'll inform Takahashi-san about your arrival. He'll be sure to prepare a warm meal for you all, including the injured."
"Thank you, Hojo-san."
Sasori stepped aside to let the samurai carrying Konan and Sai in, ending up standing next to Mifune. The rest of the samurai had dispersed.
"You're not going in?" asked Mifune.
"Why should I? I'm not injured."
The bearded warrior gave him a curious glance, a thinly veiled look of steel in his eyes. "But they are your comrades, are they not?"
Sasori dipped his chin. "And?"
"You don't care for them?"
"We're not exactly close. We're only together... because of less than desirable circumstances."
Mifune's expression became unreadable, almost a mirror of Sasori's own currently expressionless features. "I see. Would I be correct in assuming that it is because of these circumstances that you came to us?"
"Aa."
"Hmm... Then I hope, for your sake and theirs, that we can find in within ourselves to help you."
What the hell is that supposed to mean? A cold wind blew past as Sasori narrowed his eyes, glaring at the distant mountaintop. It's not outright refusal at the very least... Tch. Is he being cryptic on purpose? What a waste of time... He sighed. "If it really bothers you that much, I'll stay with them."
"If that's the only reason you would choose to do so, then don't bother." Mifune gave him an appraising look. "There's no point." He went on, ending that conversation with some sort of finality, "I'll have a room prepared for you. For now, feel free to explore the camp. If you cause trouble, my men will cut you down before you can even scream."
Sasori smiled, but it was more like he was baring his teeth. "I assure you, there won't be any."
At least, he didn't intend to stir up any drama. It would be stupid of him, especially since he was smack dab in the middle of a potentially hostile territory full of people that he didn't have the best impression of.
"I'll hold your word for it. Now if you'll excuse me..." His long hair flowing behind him, Mifune swept away with his head held high.
Gossip about the three mysterious arrivals spread through camp like a wildfire. The kind that Nagoka had never seen before, because he'd only ever encountered contained fires in their camp's various fire pits, their locations—natural mountain walls protected them from the wind—ensuring that the flames wouldn't burn out too quickly. So, curious, he grunted as he tried to squeeze between two boys huddled in a circle with some others boys and girls. All of them were older than him by one, two, or even three years—he was the youngest in the camp, and as a result, the most untrained and therefore the weakest.
"Did you see them?"
"I think there were three of them."
"No way! Kazama-kun said that there were four."
Four, three, or two, what did it matter? Nagaoka grunted impatiently. All he wanted to know was who they were and what they were here for.
"One of them had hair as red as blood."
"Kazama-kun said one of them was our age."
"You really need to stop listening to Kazama-kun."
"I saw them," Nagaoka finally voiced, annoyed by how the gossip seemed to be going around in circles. "There was a red-haired man, a blue-haired woman, and a kid with black hair." To his dismay, he went either unnoticed or ignored. He was about to snap at them when a large presence suddenly loomed over them.
"Alright, now what do we have here?" Takahashi, the one-eyed bearded giant of a cook, growled, folding his meaty arms against his broad chest. "If you brats have nothing better to do than to loiter around all day, I suggest you go make yourselves useful! Without," he added pointedly, "blocking any pathways."
"Erk! Sorry, Takahashi-san..."
"We'll be leaving..."
"I have katana practice this afternoon anyway..."
Muttering, the kids scuttled off, leaving Nagaoka as the lone boy standing in front of the cook.
Takahashi looked down at him. "Something the matter, squirt?"
"No. It's nothing." Nagaoka scowled, and Takahashi's fierce expression softened in amusement. Clearly, it wasn't nothing. "I just wish they wouldn't ignore me like that. It's like I'm not even there."
At least Takahashi spoke to him. Nagaoka liked him, but it wasn't the same. After all, Takahashi was nowhere near his age or status—he was in his sixties, and a retired samurai to boot.
"Don't let 'em get to you," the older male advised. "They don't acknowledge you because you're not strong enough yet. You still have lots to learn, and kids your age are self-absorbed. Too interested in their own progress and getting one-ups on their peers to be bothered about a squirt like you."
Nagaoka grumbled, "Maybe I'd learn faster if Okisuke-oji weren't so busy all the time... I had to beg him for months about giving me a single lesson."
"Hah. You're lucky to only have to do it for months. Must be because of your family relations. Nepotism is worldwide, little man." Takahashi scratched his beard. "In any case, if you want to get stronger, you're better off asking some of the younger ones. They got big heads, you see, and it's hard to say no to a wide-eyed kid like you asking them to pass on all of their amazing skills."
"Huh..." Nagaoka grinned. "You do have a point. Thanks, Takahashi-san!"
As Nagaoka ran off, probably to look for the nearest young samurai, Takahashi muttered under his breath, "Fucking kid is gonna be terrifying when he grows up..."
The mountain wind blowing against his flushed cheeks, Nagaoka grinned as he dashed through camp, only slowing down when he discovered a small forming crowd. Wondering what was happening, he squeezed through the bodies and found himself at the front of the surrounding people; the numbers were growing by the second.
The red-haired man and a young samurai lady known as Saigo Konami. She wore the standard armor, and her long brown hair was pulled up into a high ponytail that lashed in the wind, held up by a red ribbon. As far as Nagaoka knew, she had become an official samurai just a year ago on her eighteenth birthday. Even for a samurai, she looked unusually fierce, a long scar running down her right eye and stopping next to her upper lip and a perpetual scowl on her face.
"You," Saigo spoke, voice chilly and grip tightening on her naginata. "You're Akasuna no Sasori, aren't you?"
"... Aren't I a bit before your time?" Sasori narrowed his eyes. "Then again, I can't be too surprised." Obviously wary, his gaze shifted left to right, but other than that, little else betrayed any nervousness he might have held.
Nagaoka held his breath, wondering what would happen next.
"Not even going to defend yourself?" Saigo's scowl deepened. "I guess it must be hard to defend all the deeds you've done. So why bother trying, right? You'll only waste your breath."
His tone was decidedly annoyed. "Did you need something?"
"What I need is to know why Mifune-sama let a man like you in here without question. Your very presence," she growled, "is defiling the sanctity of this land!"
Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd, but nobody disagreed with her.
Nagaoka had to wonder what Sasori had done to incite Saigo's wrath. She was definitely someone he would never want to mess with.
Sasori raised an eyebrow. "Don't be so over-dramatic. If you have a problem with my being here, then you can take it up with your leader."
"And let a killer walk around freely? Not a chance. Akasuna no Sasori, let me speak to you in the language you speak best." Saigo's countenance darkened, her bangs falling slightly over her face. "A battle between you and I. The training fields aren't too far away."
"... No."
"Excuse me?"
"Look, brat," Sasori deadpanned, his impatience getting the better of him. "I already told your leader I wouldn't 'make any trouble'. You're getting on my last nerve, girl. I didn't trek all the way up this fucking mountain for you do undo all of my work." With that, he turned his back on her—as if she weren't even worth his time—and started to walk away.
"Don't you dare walk away from me!"
The crowd was beginning to part for him when Saigo suddenly roared, dashing toward him with her naginata pointed to kill or seriously injure. Nagaoka gasped when he heard the clash of the metal against something, unable to squeeze his eyes shut. He could only watch—
—as Sasori gripped the sharp blade with his right arm, completely unfazed by how the weapon was biting into his flesh.
Nagaoka's stomach coiled when he caught sight of just what his arm was made of.
Was it wood? No, no, it wasn't...
"You must be a demon," Saigo whispered harshly. "Only a demon... would possess such a thing!"
Then let me show you what a demon I can be. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, but the woman had caused him enough grief for one day. Perhaps, if he were pettier and more spiteful, he would have taken the effort to actually snap the metal part of her naginata into two. "Are you scared?" Sasori asked her, tone bordering on mocking. "What do you think happens when you anger a demon?" Her pupils narrowed into slits, and Sasori knew he had gotten to her. He sighed, dropping the act. "In any case, you're nothing but an annoying gnat to me." One of many, actually, he added silently, thinking quite unkindly thoughts about Sai. "Haven't you figured it out by now? You are not my enemy—and for your own sake, you're better off that way, brat."
Sasori hated her kind.
The headstrong and stubborn kind that got riled up too easily, that had nothing else to offer but sheer bullheadedness.
It was almost ironic, he knew, but not quite.
After all, Deidara was a different breed from the raging she-demon in front of him, the woman's face far too close to his than he would have liked.
"What is going on here?"
And the last person Sasori expected to see out here all but waltzed out of the crowd, shoulders slumped and hands in his pants pockets.
"Hatake?"
"H-Hatake-san!" exclaimed the samurai who still had her naginata stuck in his Zetsu arm. Giving her a withering glare, Sasori used his other hand to yank the blade from his arm. In return, she bared her teeth at him. "You're back early," she said coolly, addressing Kakashi. "That's unusual of you."
Kakashi ignored her small talk, getting straight into the meat of things. "So," he started. "What's going on here?"
Sasori scoffed. "Nothing for you to be concerned about. Though," he added pointedly, "I would appreciate it if someone set this brat straight." As he said so, he looked around, wondering irritably why no one had bothered to intervene.
When he pinned his glare on the first armor-clad man he saw, the samurai merely shrugged. "If a man like you could not defend yourself, then you would have deserved to die."
Sasori ignored him, turning his attention to Kakashi. "You just keep showing up everywhere, don't you?" His lips curled upward in dry amusement. "Are you stalking me, Hatake?"
Kakashi chuckled. "Don't flatter yourself. Ne, Saigo-chan. Sorry to keep you from exacting justice, but you'll have to spare him from your blade for now."
"You don't order me around, Hatake-san—"
"No, but I do." Saigo gritted her teeth when Mifune emerged from the crowd, lowering her head to him. "Make yourself busy elsewhere, Saigo. Though many of us would argue his presence, he is, for now, our guest. And I expect you to treat him as such."
"... Yes, Mifune-sama. I apologize for my misconduct."
The crowd broke apart when Saigo left, everybody going back to minding their own business and getting through the day.
"Good timing," Kakashi remarked, his posture slumping into something more lackadaisical.
Sasori wasted no time. "What is he doing here?" He gave Kakashi a sideways glance, not entirely hostile. "I thought you would be Rin back in Konoha."
"Maa... Rin is a good friend of mine, but there are more pressing matters."
"You can speak to Hatake-san later," Mifune interrupted. "Sasori, I wish to speak to you in my quarters. Come."
"Hmph." Tossing one backwards glance at Kakashi, Sasori followed after the old samurai.
"ARF ARF!"
Konan, her shirt lying in a heap next to her, turned her head to the side with weary eyes when a pug dog came barging into Sanada's home. The old homeowner was currently treating the wounds on her back.
"Why, if it isn't Pakkun," Sanada said as the pug sat on his haunches in front of them. There was a piece of parchment tied to his neck, and Sanada called for her assistant to retrieve the message.
"It seems that Uchiha-san was injured on one of the patrols," the assistant read out. "She and Hatake-san will likely be returning soon to get her injury treated."
Hatake? Konan lifted her head slightly. This could be trouble, especially if Sasori is involved.
But if any commotion had happened outside, she didn't hear it, stuck in Sanada's house and away from any drama. All she could do was hope that Sasori had kept his temper in check, and that Mifune wouldn't throw them out the moment she and Sai had recovered.
Sai.
That was another issue all on its own.
A part of her was vindictive—longing to rip into him for attempting to abandon them in a time of need, especially when she had put some of little faith she had left for this world into him. She'd seen something different in him—something that set him apart from the other mindless ROOT soldiers under Danzo's control.
The small glimmer of humanity.
The same she had seen in Sasori, and the same that she had found definitely not lacking in abundance in the eyes of Suigetsu and Juugo.
So why? she asked him silently. Maybe... I was wrong. But I don't think so. Not... about this. Her orange gaze shifted to his still form. His hand had already been bandaged, and she suspected he was only here because he had nowhere else to be. A successful escape was unlikely, considering how many people were in the confines of the camp.
Konan would wait then.
Her faith in him had been squashed.
But not completely.
Not yet.
She would wait.
And if he wouldn't change, then she'd have no qualms in putting him down herself.
The sound of footsteps reached her ears, and Konan turned her head to see another woman walk into Sanada's humble home. She had eyes as black as ink, and deep, dark hair. At first, she thought that she was a samurai warrior.
"Ah, Uchiha-san," Sanada greeted.
But Uchiha was not a samurai name.
Konan hissed when Sanada nudged a particularly deep gash in her back.
"Well, well," the Uchiha mused, sitting down in the corner. "I wasn't expecting any more visitors to the camp. Your leader must not be happy, having to put up with all of us here." Grunting, she removed her ponytail, letting out a sigh of relief when her hair fell around her like a wispy cloud. With her right arm, she swept her hair to one side before removing her shirt.
"He'll manage," Sanada said tartly. She ordered her assistant to help Uchiha remove her clothes before tending to Konan's back once more. "So," she continued, addressing Konan, "What's your name, hm?"
"Konan," the blue-haired woman replied quietly. She could hear Sanada rustling through one of the medical kits. From her peripheral vision, she caught the flash of white bandages.
"No family name?"
"No."
"I've finished disinfecting your wounds," the old woman informed her. "Now raise your arms."
She obeyed, staring at the wall as Sanada bandaged her up, her stomach heaving slightly at the discomfort of having her breasts bound as well.
"Tell me, Konan-san, what brings you here?"
Konan swallowed, her throat too dry for comfort. "War," she rasped, unashamed.
"Something tells me you're not here to seek refuge from it."
She made an affirmative noise. "This is something that needs to be dealt with, or else..."
"Everything will burn to ashes," Uchiha said from her corner, her upper half now exposed. Sanada's assistant was keeled over slightly as she treated the wounds on Uchiha's ribs, but over her head, Konan could see it—a hideous, horrible scar on her shoulder. It was fleshy and thick, as if it had been slashed open at different angles during different times. "Hey, Konan-san, who sent you?"
"My Emperor's will," Konan answered, cautious.
But Uchiha had no such reluctance. "Ah. It was the Hokage of Konoha that brought Kakashi and I here. Or rather, just Kakashi. I just chose to tag along. Name's Kagami, by the way. Uchiha Kagami."
Konan knew of the Uchiha Clan. Once residents of Konohagakure, the entire clan had migrated to Amegakure around one or two generations ago, along with some other major clans of Konoha. They had all settled in Akatsuki City, a hub for martial arts and trade.
She wondered, momentarily, if the Uchiha Clan had been uprooted once more.
"Just Konan," she said in the end, meeting Kagami's gaze evenly.
"Once I'm healed, we should go train sometime." A wicked grin slashed across the Uchiha's lips. "You are a warrior, right? You mentioned something about your Emperor. Are you like Sasori then? Because I saw him on the way here. Saigo-san was pointing her blade at him."
"Oh, great." Konan sighed. "I was hoping he wouldn't stir up any trouble..."
"Saigo-san?" echoed Sanada. "Mou, if Saigo-san was involved, it was probably inevitable. That girl has a temper taller than her stature and is more stubborn than a mule. Not to mention her sense of righteousness. She'll try to cut you up first before asking questions."
Because of course there had to be someone like that in the camp.
As if everything else weighing down on her shoulders wasn't enough.
Kagami cackled. "If only I could have seen! But say..." Her voice dropped down a pitch, startling Konan when it suddenly became darker and rougher. "You and Sasori... you came here together?"
"Yes." Konan turned her head to Sai's seemingly asleep form. "We all did. What of it?"
"Oh, nothing. Just... curiosity, so to speak. The last I saw of him, he was on his way to fight in the war. Did you poach him, Konan-san?"
"Hardly. He came to me himself."
Kagami stood when her wounds had finished being treated. Her stance was now relaxed. "Ah, in any case, I don't really care. As long as he's not cheating."
"Cheating?" He... has someone waiting for him at home? She hadn't known that. Sasori had never told her. Konan couldn't blame him, of course, as they hardly knew each other, but that was an interesting tidbit of information. She schooled her face into neutrality, which wasn't difficult. "If he is, I wouldn't know."
"Yes... of course not..." Kagami cocked her head as she got dressed.
"What about you?" Konan grabbed her shirt when Sanada gave her affirmation. "Do you have anyone?"
There was beat.
"No," Kagami answered eventually. "I don't."
It's probably better off that way. Konan nodded. After all, when Yahiko died... Her chest twisted up, and she felt out of breath for a moment.
"Calm down, Konan-san," Sanada soothed. "No need to stand up so fast. You're still aching."
In more ways than one, she certainly was.
But then again—
Konan glanced at Kagami's retreating back as the other woman left the hut, Pakkun scrambling after her.
Who wasn't?
Ami tossed and turned that night, unable to get some sleep when she still felt her ears ringing from the song the bell tower had chimed. Normally, she would have been annoyed, but all she could feel was exhilarated and lightheaded. She awoke at dawn, hastily rushing out the door after freshening up to meet with Kurenai and Mirai at the bridge that connected the town with the path back to Konoha City.
Today, Deidara was leaving.
When she arrived, Kurenai was already there, a sleepy Mirai in her arms.
"Kurenai-san!"
"Ah, Ami-chan!"
Ami halted next to her, giving her a smile. "Deidara-san isn't here yet?"
Kurenai shook her head. She was without makeup today, her face plainer than Ami remembered. "Not yet, but I'm sure she'll be here soon. The only taxi that comes around these parts anymore should almost be at the stop down the road by now."
True to Kurenai's words, Deidara soon appeared in the distance, accompanied by Guitar Man and the woman who owned The Orange Bluebell—Umeko.
"Are you sure you have everything packed?" the innkeeper was pestering her, wiping her hands down her skirt.
Deidara let out a sigh of long suffering. "Yes, Umeko-san. For the last time, stop mothering me, yeah!"
"Mothering you? Oh, no, you have it all wrong. I just don't want to be sued for theft or anything; my business can hardly afford it—"
Guitar Man laughed as Umeko tried to defend her actions as not motherly but self-serving in vain. He was carrying his guitar with him, as usual, though something rattled inside it when he walked.
Kurenai nudged Mirai awake, the little girl yawning and blinking blearily. She lit up, though, when she spotted Deidara. "Deidara-onee-san!" Mirai wriggled out of her mother's arms to hug Deidara's waist.
Deidara palmed her head, ruffling her curly black hair. "Look's like you're finally better."
"Yep!" Mirai beamed up at her. "I also opened otou-chan's present!"
"Oh? And what was it?"
"A nice dress for the summer and a necklace," Kurenai answered for her. Eagerly, Mirai pulled her shirt collar down to reveal a string that hung loosely around her neck, a gleaming, smooth metal flower pendant attached to it.
Ami awkwardly stood to the side as Deidara entertained Mirai for the last time, waiting for her turn to speak. Finally, Deidara's eyes met hers, and she cleared her throat. "So."
"So," Deidara echoed, crossing her arms.
"I... Thank you. I know I wasn't the best host, but... thanks. For helping me... and... helping the whole town. There's nothing I can do to repay you for that."
"Oh, I'm sure there's something," Deidara answered flippantly. "How 'bout you start calling me 'Deidara-sama'?"
Ami's face soured. "Not a chance."
Deidara smirked. "It was worth a try." She glanced at her watch. "It's almost time."
"Wait." Guitar Man ambled forward, his guitar no longer rattling strangely with every step. In one hand, he held something that couldn't be entirely discerned due to the way his fingers covered it. Curious, Deidara raised an eyebrow when Guitar Man held it out to her.
It was a headband.
The same kind of headband worn by the patriots of a nation—in Guitar Man's case, it was an Iwa headband. The metal part of it with Iwa's insignia had been sliced through.
Letting out a sharp breath, Deidara took it from him, eyes wide. "This..."
"Something to remember me by."
Nodding, Deidara accepted it. "Thank you. For everything." Then she placed her case on the ground, freeing up both hands to tie the headband around her head. The symbol was partially covered by her hair. "Goodbye... Maekawa-san."
Guitar Man straightened. "Oho? You figured it out?"
"I did a bit of reading. You were once the scion of a noble Iwa family, un."
He smiled. "Once again, you've defied my expectations, Deidara-san. But you're wrong on one account."
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"This isn't goodbye," he told her, and Deidara swore that if he had his sight, he'd be staring at the headband she now wore. "It's merely a matter of 'see you again'."
Well then. Deidara lifted an arm in farewell. "See you again, then," she said. "All of you."
"See you, Deidara-san!" Mirai called after her.
"My doors will always be open for you!" added Umeko. "You're the best customer I've had in a long time!"
"She's one of the only customers you've had in a long time," Ami pointed out, the innkeeper pointedly ignoring her logic.
Deidara smiled to herself as the words faded with distance.
Mifune's home smelled of incense; something which made Sasori stiffened when he recalled how Danzo's compound has smelled the same. "Take a seat," the older man ordered as he got into seiza behind a low wooden desk.
Sasori obliged, also assuming the seiza position in front of Mifune.
There was already a teapot and some tea and animal jerky on the table—clearly, Mifune's wife or daughter had been here earlier. Or perhaps Mifune himself had been preparing for this meeting.
"Saigo-san is quite the hothead," Mifune remarked as he poured them both a cup of tea. At Sasori's questioning glance, he added, "There is a small village behind these mountains where we go to for supplies."
"She's an idiot," Sasori said gruffly. "Who needs to learn how to keep her temper in check."
If Mifune felt any offense on Saigo Konami's behalf, he didn't show it. "Regardless," his eyes gleamed, "you have broken your promise to me."
"It wasn't a promise. I don't make promises I can't keep."
"I see."
Sasori frowned. "Why did you bring me here?" he demanded, cutting straight to the chase.
"For generations, the samurai have considered themselves a family," Mifune informed him. "Of course, there are rōnin—wanders, rogue samurai—who have either lost their masters or cut themselves off from us." He smiled. "Technically, we are rōnin ourselves, but I digress. We are a largely egalitarian society—when we make important decisions, we consult all members of the clan except the children. However, the words of some weigh more than the words of others, whether it be because of reasoning or experience."
For the first time, Sasori picked up his cup, blowing gently on it before taking it a sip. The warmth that slid down his throat spread all over his body, but his shoulders remained tense. "And?" he prompted the samurai.
"It would be in your best interest to work things out with Saigo-san before I call for a war council." At the mention of a war council, Sasori sat up straighter. Mifune picked up a piece of jerky between his fingers. "That is why you're here, isn't it? Contrary to popular belief, we samurai are not completely cut off from the world. We are well aware of the war that Tsukigakure and Amegakure wage. But even then...
"I'm not sure if you are worthy of our help. It is a sentiment that is widely shared in our clan. Criminals and murderers... have no place in asking for our help.
"If the people you defend are anything like you," Sasori narrowed his eyes at Mifune's insinuation, "then they are not worth saving."
Mifune stared him down, waiting for a response. An outburst, perhaps, or maybe even an attack. But Sasori merely lowered his chin, meeting his gaze evenly. His voice was level. "I am no longer that man."
The old samurai put down his cup. "Then prove it."
A/N: Let Part VI begin...
Also, to address the previous chapter's Chinese diary entries, I totally forgot that on some of the sites I post this on, it can't be copy and pasted and translated for the ease of the reader.
So here's the translation:
[September 18th, sunny
Today my mother and I were looking at her flowers behind the house. I think that mother's flowers are very pretty, they have lots of colors. Some are blue, red, yellow, and white.
It was really fun! Tomorrow I want to go with mother to look at her flowers again.
.
May 3rd, sunny
Today is my birthday. This year I'm six years old. Mother said that tomorrow I have to start studying, but I feel that studying is boring, so today I'll definitely play lots of things with my friends, and eat birthday noodles and cake.
.
August 10th, rainy
I don't want to study politics! Why do I have to study such useless subjects? Mother said I have to know how to be a good princess, this way our city can prosper. But... I don't think I should be the princess of our city. When it comes to me, I like running around and playing ball with my friends outside too much. My best friend Xiao Lan told me that she also wants to be a princess. Sometimes, I feel that she's the real princess; I'm just a fake princess.
.
.
.
June 7th, rainy
Senju Hashirama wants to marry me. He sent me a love letter.
I told him: "No way."
Hmph.]
Fun fact: The waist chop execution method shown in the first part of the chapter was a method once used in China. To quote Wikipedia, "The Education Administrator of Henan was sentenced to waist chop. After being cut in two at the waist, he stayed alive long enough to write the Chinese character cǎn (慘; "terrible/miserable") seven times with his own blood before dying. After hearing this, the Yongzheng Emperor abolished this form of execution."
Old torture methods are so interesting :0