NONCONFORMING
CHAPTER 2
The maelstrom of tides swirled and frothed against Uzu's main island. Behind him its ruins stood. Skeletons which used to be grand towers with rubble littering their feet. Even here on the beach broken seashells mixed with shards of steel and remnants of Iwa's claymore assault. Uzushiogakure no Sato was proof anything could be broken with enough pressure.
It was a good lesson, Sakumo thought. Sometimes instead of meeting an advance head on it was wiser to step out of the way. A force determined to go forwards would harm anyone standing there, but it could be redirected from the side. It could be powered down or derailed from behind. Any confrontation was littered in choices, most of them preceded the actual attack. He often wondered what would have happened if this city had made pacts with multiple shinobi villages. Instead, they'd aligned with just the one and put all their strength into backing that single relationship.
The tide was coming in, waters lapped closer and closer. He looked down at his uniform pants he'd tied tight that morning, scorched and wet. Next to him Jiraiya pulled out book after book from the ridiculously large scroll he insisted on carrying. His feet bare on the sharp but warm sand. Jiraiya's geta lay discarded along with his jacket on a nearby boulder. His friend's voice pitched.
"Mito said she added my signature. I swear."
"Then it must be her fault," Sakumo wasn't convinced.
The other man squinted up against the sun and muttered, "Not everyone can flawlessly reproduce jutsu."
Sakumo's mouth tilted, "Clearly."
"Next time I'm bringing an Uchiha. At least they have the perfect memory to assist."
"But can they actually do it? Just because they see someone tree walk, it still takes them just as long to learn."
The prodigies of the Uchiha clan were just that: extremely smart and willing to work their bodies till they functioned as needed. Sharingan didn't mean anything unless they had everything else to back it up. To do a jutsu a nin had to understand it.
It's how Sakumo copied other's techniques quickly. A swift breakdown of what he saw them doing, theorized just how it worked to produce those results, and the ability to rebuild it using his body's own biomechanics. Sakumo's grandfather, Hashirama, Madara, those were some of the few which could do it.
Sunlight streamed warmly on Uzu's destroyed beach. They'd arrived to the island in the early morning hours. Yet here they had retreated, unsuccessful. Their last attempt to open the archive had exploded in their faces. The next explosion, while expected, had been several magnitudes worse. It had blown them out of the ruins and onto the beach. Thank everything for chakra dampening, tasukatta. As it was their hair was still smoking and Sakumo was going to have to replace his uniform. The bottom of his sleeves had been burned right off.
"Oh fuck off and come help me. It's the reason I brought you."
Sakumo squatted down with a heaved breath, "Wakarimashita."
He would get it, despite the fact he'd known nothing of Uzu's techniques this morning. He didn't enjoy fires being lit under his ass. The experience had been pristinely motivating. He reached for the closest book. They must be doing something wrong. Jiraiya was bound and determined to learn sealing and if the hidden Uzumaki archive could help, they'd get it open.
6 hours and 8 attempts later they had unlocked the first array. Per Mito's instructions they stood outside what might have looked like a shack or underground food storage shed. Only it was made of marble. Clearly no Uzumaki ever understood the beauty of restraint. Even their sheds and secret entrances were built with excess. His mouth tilted, amused. He couldn't stop himself from teasing.
"Jiraiya you're lusting after a princess."
The man protested on his teammates' behalf, "Ade isn't a princess."
"Her grandmother thinks it's appropriate to store all their documents in there. They've inlaid gold art above the door. You think she's not a princess?"
They got the second array open by evening. The third array required a flake of Mito's blood, one of the many she'd provided the week before she passed. When Sakumo placed it in the middle of the circular entrance, it glowed bright then disappeared. The hard stone beneath their feet began to shake. Rocks around them groaned and shifted with sharp scraping edges sliding against each other. The prestigious shack rose and kept rising. Going up and up till the shadow of it's towering structure completely blocked the sun and darkened the entire ruined street behind them.
They stood before it with heads craned. Their hurried steps backwards to avoid the large stairway forming. The two tall shinobi seemed tiny in comparison. Sakumo's eyebrows rose with the stairway. This was ridiculous, even by Uzumaki standards. Every inn and brothel along the adjoining coast would be able to see the white marble and gold shining in the sun. The definition of discrete. They'd have to hurry and close it up for the night if they didn't want to alert scouts from the other villages.
Sakumo estimated they'd be able to look through the first level, grab what they needed most, and close it up by the end of the hour. If chakra enhanced speed and reading comprehension could cut his report time in half, it could do it here. He was getting hungry. The nutrition bar in his pouch seemed as appetizing as sand.
"What a bother," Sakumo muttered. After eyeing the steps he wondered if it was safe now to step forward. He stated, "You're bringing Tsunade next time. She'd like to see this. Probably be proud as a kitten to see her family so renowned after their death."
Jiraiya admitted, "Maybe she's a bit of a princess. Just don't tell her I said it."
Sakumo snorted, remembering their team's last spar. Princess or no, she'd kicked Orochimaru so hard the man had a huge bruise over his chest. Tsunade kept whining about her chakra levels being so much lower than Mito's. Saying she'd Uzumaki her way out of that one too, once she thought of something.
Sakumo nodded to Jiraiya's point. He empathized with his friend not wanting to anger the woman he'd been pining over for the past year. The best nin knew how to play a long game. If 'Ade is what he wanted, the man would do his best to avoid pissing her off. Diplomacy was the bread and butter of a long game, either for your allies or your target.
He nodded again, "She's getting strong. Better at Taijutsu too. Someday she'll be great."
Jiraiya's shoulders slumped at those words. To bolster them Sakumo wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.
He continued, "You don't give yourself enough credit. Didn't she say she might go on a date with you after her medical training's complete?"
"Yo, that might be two more years."
Sakumo shrugged, released his friend, and walked backwards to face him. He skipped up the steps with little bursts of chakra. Forcing Jiraiya to follow and a chuckle rose up at the display. Sometimes his friend just needed a silly distraction. His moods never stayed down for long. A happy and leering Jiraiya was a better mind than a depressed and distracted Jiraiya. Sakumo wasn't anything if not pragmatic.
He pushed the other man's shoulder in challenge. Then hopped backwards onto the railing, his singed nin boots gripped light and easy. It was gaudy iron. Wrought leaves and vines had been molded into the railing surface and fastened at the swirling next stair landing. He perched there so he could look down at the man and tease.
"And what are you going to do until then?"
Jiraiya grinned. It slanted the red tattoos on his face. The Sannin suggested, "If you're willing I'm pretty sure I can think of something."
This is why, hours later, he had a decent enough looking companion and a room Jiraiya insisted on sealing. Because they should be able to relax without having to defend themselves, so Jiraiya blocked the area with an array. Well, Sakumo thought, it seemed a mostly stable array. He didn't know any more about sealing than his friend, but was willing to let him practice. The man who currently had all his hands full with a dusty blonde and golden blonde pair. Sakumo was happy with the one he'd chosen. One who trailed her fingers across his shoulder, leaned in, and whispered in his ear. She promised to give him all his dreams.
It had been a long time and even if she said it to everyone, he was just happy to have company for the night. Her words were a bit simple, but her eyes remained kind. Her silver hair was distinguishable. Sakumo always did appreciate exotic features. Hair you could pick out from a crowd, reflective enough to catch the colors from all angles of the sun, even as it set.
He paid her well. With gold ryō in advance her smile became genuine. Sakumo's attention remained sharp even as she undid his pants. He noticed she fumbled with a condom from the side drawer. He didn't see anything wrong with it, not from that angle. Afterwards, when Jiraiya opened the first sake bottle he noticed the condom hanging out the side of the trash was leaking. A sinking feeling hit his stomach. Only then a giggling woman sat in his lap and Jiraiya threw the blankets and pillows off the bed. The woman sitting in his lap swirled her hips and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. What happened was done. He'd put the condom on himself this time.
The others were asleep when the air began to vibrate. It generated a noise so high pitched a human without his family's senses wouldn't be able to hear it. He whipped his head around and his concerns about Jiraiya's sealing attempt proved accurate. One of them they'd put directly on the wood floor had begun to shake. Its pre-charged chakra structure spluttered and sucked energy from the area.
Then the room started to sink in on itself. Magnetic and gravitational lines warped the mood lighting. The prior reflections bent. Light from the lamps arched. It skewed his already drunk perception.
He looked over the side of the couch where he'd been holding a half full sake bottle to read the label. He might have ingested something that was definitely not alcohol. The air around him tugged and warped. His body felt heavier against the damn crimson couch.
The crimson appeared to bleed beneath him. As if everything he touched turned to blood. Fitting. As Jōnin Hanchō his actions saved their own and wiped out teams from other villages. He'd a flair for disentangling events so no one knew Konoha had even been interested in that area, let alone present. He'd killed so many. Hand heavy he pulled the sake bottle up away from the bleeding red reflection of the couch and took a drink. It required more effort than it should have. The vibrations shook harder. His companions slept right through it as if it weren't happening. Maybe it wasn't.
Then everything righted itself. A dull colored woman appeared with a settling of suddenly frigid air. Civilian clothes and grandma bag hooked to her waist. Only she used chakra on the landing, expertly so. No civilian this.
Sakumo blinked. What coincidence or plan brought her to the exact brothel and touching the exact seal of Jiraiya's? Was she intentionally messing with it?
He could smell her menstrual cycle, no matter what her henge might suggest she wasn't old enough to be in menopause. It was craftily hidden though. She'd put an exacting amount of effort into being uninteresting. While he wasn't willing to try that hard, he was vaguely curious.
He wove a genjutsu so she wouldn't see his hands moving. Then he copied the technique the Nara had contributed to the forbidden scrolls. He always had been good at mimicking the exact flow and forms someone else used. That this one had been written down with meticulous detail was almost like cheating. He guided the jutsu and released it on her, flawless, not immediately noticeable.
The henge around her face dropped first. Then the edges of what could only be an ANBU uniform appeared. However, what held it's disguise proved much more solid than a henge. He could sense it, but could only block its main chakra storage. A seal on the uniform?
When he mentioned this she jolted. When he guessed her family name she looked sick. Harunos were everywhere, though most had extremely muted, more forgettable coloring. Not like this one. This one who'd been hiding her bright features so well and walked around with enough chakra stored on her forehead to seal a Biju. The moment he felt it there, he knew he had to sever the connection.
The next technique he placed her under had been from the Yamanaka Clan, though he frankly always thought the base idea had been stolen from the Uchiha. Not that anyone was going to point that out. The whole purpose of their village was inter-clan cooperation. They couldn't go around admitting they'd been stealing techniques from each other for centuries. Most of the Yamanaka's developed skills required sending a strong wave of spiritual energy at their opponent. Enough to overwhelm their mind. It took over the victim's mind in a manner very similar to the genjutsu Tsukuyomi. However, the Yamanaka invested not just their emotions but tended to push most of their consciousness into it. Sakumo had no desire to get that close.
With her trapped and locked away from her major chakra stores placing the mind walk was laughably easy. Unlike the Yamanaka, who enjoyed chatting with their victims like little sadists, he kept to the fringes and let the jutsu do it's work. Just as genjutsu pulled forth the victim's memories and emotions, this one traveled down recent impactful paths of the compromised shinobi.
What he found were a series of memories in a mind which had clearly been breached before and currently sat fractured. Unlike multiple personality syndrome hers presented as long standing repression accompanied by past trauma. The dominant personality covered one, interacted with it, and had ultimate control. How much was true, how much was fabricated to pass such a Yamanaka mind walk, remained to be seen. He wasn't going to kill her yet. First he'd find out what she wanted. Or, if she really came from another Konoha and held information of terrible wars to come, then he'd recruit her.
Sakumo still hadn't decided which.
Sakura's forced calm pushed to its edges and threatened to burst. He trapped her in a mind walk. She knew it, but unlike when Ino did a mind transfer she couldn't see where he was standing. She couldn't fight him if she didn't know where he was. She wanted to scream. Only it was in her head and instead of screaming there was just an echo of Inner Sakura who used to make so many appearances during her early years. This wasn't like when Ino did it.
It clung to her own attachments. The thought of Ino moved the jutsu along and changed her mental landscape. It swam, like viewing an image from underwater before standing on the shore of a river. This landed within her most recent memory of the boisterous blonde.
Sakura watched herself as if she were an observer. It was on one of the less ruined streets of Konoha, but the building above the shop was still cracked. It was superficial, had been approved sturdy and the work crew went on to more important projects. In the man's pseudo mind walk she saw herself, a very pregnant Ino, and Hinata.
Over green tea ice cream last week Hinata and Ino teased, "You're supposed to retire from ANBU. Not retire into it."
Ino's swollen belly and increasingly sore feet forced her to take the last month off from T and I. Sakura secretly wondered if she'd go back. Just like Sakura felt content, Ino's recent happy smiles told their own story. A sort of bliss no other moment could copy. Sakura chuckled and carried her poor, unsteady, pregnant friend when the ice cream parlor's stairs became too steep. Ino and Hinata giggled as she trotted up the steps to the second floor.
Hinata muttered in a very real threat, "If Naruto gets me pregnant before the age of 35 I'm neutering him."
It sent them into another peel of laughter and jokes on their Rokudaime Hokage's performance. Hinata, blushing and spluttering, demanded they stop. She looked around as if there might be a diplomat, or worse another Hyuuga listening in. Then, assured of their relative privacy Hinata leaned over, elbow on the table and spoon to the side to tell them the latest clan gossip. How shocked the elders were when she'd declared Neji her heir and his daughter the heir apparent. It set Sakura on another joke about Naruto's exuberance and had Ino in titters. This time Hinata chuckled, nodded, and they all threw their heads back laughing so loud the cranky old couple seated nearby grabbed their uneaten ice creams. Then they got up to relocate, leaving the kunoichi that entire seating area to themselves.
It was a good memory. She had so many of them. People Sakura loved. People she'd lost and couldn't save. People who'd smiled at her as they'd passed on or transitioned out of the ninja life due to lost limbs or damaged chakra networks. The latest war had a lot of those. The peace was solid enough for the moment, but the Konoha they had now had half the population. The buildings were still being rebuilt from Pein's attack. Their people still used temporary restrooms and bath houses as 30% of Konoha's streets required new water and sewage pipes.
The mind walk flickered through memory after memory, stopped at significant ones. Paused at others she didn't know the significance of. Like that time in her dingy apartment bathroom, in her towel, looking dismayed at the frayed ends of her hair. Her ANBU gear strewn at her feet and slashed as bad as her hair. Her tattoos stark on her shoulder. Just after she mused aloud at the shampoo options, "Strawberry or Honeysuckle?"
It flipped to the next memory. This one was in a hospital hallway, bright lights shown off freshly sanitized surfaces. Even though she only came to the hospital for these special days, she was happy enough to look back on this and see that even in last week's memory they were upholding the standards she'd put in place.
The Sakura in her memory looked distracted. The last Uchiha stood before her, hands in his pockets, and said in a bored tone, "Marry me."
She huffed. Sakura had been carrying files around the hospital in preparation for the onslaught of her kids. 78 check ups in one day always meant a 13 hour day. Her nursing staff and floor doctors were running around like chickens expecting their heads to be cut off.
Distracted by watching them she stated, "You're supposed to be dating first. You're supposed to be marginally interested."
He scoffed.
"You don't have anyone else. Have my kids. We don't even have to live together. Just some fucks and then you'll have a family."
"Not interested."
Her memory self had gone back to reading. Sakura watched herself. She remembered this day. It was the day 40 of the kids had a cold and needed allergen friendly medicine. She flicked her gaze back to the man who still strutted around with open shirts reminiscent of Orochimaru. Sakura watched the scene play out, already fuming slightly at the memory of what happened next.
"What's wrong with you. Are you a feminist?"
The Uchiha never did take rejection well. Her reasons, beyond having outgrown him, were valid. Unfortunately he didn't empathize.
He looked particularly affronted when she told him "no" in very clear language. No she didn't have feelings for him. No she didn't want to wait years while he kept traveling. No she would not marry him. No she would not agree to a separation arrangement yet carry the future generation of his clan. The fact she had to be firm about this was astounding.
"What does it matter if I don't want to rent out my vagina to children? Sex is fun. Life is fun. I want to keep it that way."
At that moment the double doors of the floor banged open. An excited horde of chattering erupted from the room beyond.
He scoffed, "You try so hard for them. I've heard you feed them. How can you love one that's not yours?"
Her memory self turned on him, truly and utterly angry. She hissed, "Shut up."
"My-"
She cut him off, "Uchiha I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last man on earth. Get out of my hospital. If you say anything to those kids on the way out I'm going to pluck your eyes out and give them to the first promising one through the door."
He stared at her, cold and dense as a brick. Then he walked away. The other direction as the now screaming kids.
"Sakura, Sakura, I have muscles now. Want to see?" A little girl was the first one to reach her. She pulled up her sleeve and squished her face up in an effort to flex. The muscle remained reed thin as any 5 year old's arm might be.
Sakura squeezed it gently anyways, "Woah."
"I've been working really hard. Just like you said."
The mind walk played through the entire day. Sakura's face remained soft, watching the chaos around her. Her counterpart in the memory became increasingly tired and the staff incrementally more stressed as one kid spilled their drink and another stole one of the admin's chairs.
Keeping up the sole medical responsibility of 78 war orphans makes her all too aware kids need homes. To 78 little sprites she's an auntie, a medic, and an underqualified therapist. She wished she could be more for all of them. Sakura remained as spread thin as the village's post-war treasury. There was never enough of her. She realized they need homes and that most will likely never get one.
That life isn't perfect even if she would willingly conform, even if she quit her ANBU and medic jobs to become the Uchiha's house wife. How many kunoichi mothers died in the 4th war? How many bodies they still haven't found nor heard accounts for? No, Sakura had a hundred other things she wanted to do and popping out more children who might be orphaned if she died wasn't on the list.
Next she felt her memories forcibly pushed backwards, back to her latest directive, back to her latest mandate of all ANBU reviewing past missions. It paused and played through the mission analysis, mission failures, mission successes. By then her frontal cortex felt as if it was being stabbed. It's portrayal of her personality and complex cognitive behaviors began to fail. The pain became so sharp she couldn't pay attention. Her last efforts to throw him safely out had failed.
If she didn't do something she'd be out for days. She refused. This asshole wouldn't beat her. She wouldn't be trapped here. She wouldn't let that spike of killing intent anywhere near her. It was that man's. Similar to Kakashi's yet so much worse, the sort which came from Orochimaru, the true pointed intent which came from someone weighing her life. The White Fang's instinctual K.I. could be felt like a heavy wave washing over her as he processed her memories.
Sakura, in a risky move which would have hurt anyone short of the world's best medics, pushed any and all foreign chakra out of her system. She wasn't aware when she passed out.
If he was a Nara he would have been able to know when their technique was almost finished draining someone. If he was a Yamanaka he would have been able to better steer the mind walk. He was neither and without any of their training or natural predilection. No doubt either would have handled this differently. Working together in an interrogation they would be able to strip a mind raw. As it was the moment she began to slump he terminated both jutsus.
His throat and head felt raw from the overuse of spiritual energy. His head began to pound. Sakumo was too drunk for this. If only she'd broken through their seal after dawn. He yawned, stretched from his seat on the couch and wondered if he should stand and do something with her.
By then the tan lug in the corner woke up. Still holding a naked girl and a sake bottle Jiraiya stood, then swayed his way across the room. He stopped to look at the one whose edges were blurred, the shape of armor just visible along the shoulders and thighs. More was becoming visible. As he watched Sakumo almost whistled, impressed by this nin who'd broken into their room, by the upgraded armor and the way she'd chosen to hide her shoulder tattoo under an additional bandage.
Jiraiya came to stop next to him, almost tumbled over their visitor before stepping back again. Before their eyes the rest of her disguise shuddered and began to fade. The jutsu he set on her finally overpowered the seal. ANBU uniform appeared, its form matched just as he guessed. It was artful, her long pink hair splayed out on the floor. Matte black armor of a grade and fabrication he'd never seen.
She was pretty, but that's not why he wanted her. Even passed out from chakra exhaustion and severed temporarily from that seal on her forehead, she was dangerous. He was pretty sure if they tried to remove her armor it wouldn't go well for them. If the great lumbering lug at his side wasn't drunk. No scratch that, if he was better at seals in general...then maybe.
Speaking of the lug, Jiraiya leaned forward. The girl in his arms grunted and went back to sleep. A searching little smile on her face and a mumble of, "More Jiraiya."
His friend however looked very intoxicated and very confused.
"I'm pretty sure we didn't pay for her."
"Jiraiya meet Haruno Sakura."
His friend asked, "Do we have any Haruno in Konoha?"
His eyes bounced from the forehead protector to her hair and back.
"An old couple and some young children. They sell fruit in the market. They're always chatting about how much nicer it is than Suna. Less heat. No sand. They moved in three years ago."
He'd had to review their entrance papers. Everyone on the Hokage's staff looked through the bio of every permanent arrival approved.
Jiraiya's gaze turned cold, "Spies, always spies."
The Sannin's killing intent swamped the room. In response his own killing intent, which Sakumo hadn't yet noticed, smoothed out. He needed to think. He needed to consider what use this woman could be. They didn't have a team of interrogators ready to be called out on short notice, so he'd have to do it himself. As his eyes flitted back to the foreign shinobi he caught the way she'd fallen. It would be useful if she could be turned to their favor. There were so many things he could think of for someone of this skill level. The fact she was gorgeous and strong and could give him a good fight had his blood running hot in an entirely different manner. It stood at odd's with his desire to be done with her, quick and clean. It would be an extreme bother if she couldn't be recruited.
They lived in a world of expert infiltrators. The Harunos, a well known merchant clan, had members spread across the elemental nations. They'd be a perfect choice. Whichever village she was from had done a decent job, but they'd gotten details wrong. The headband had a regulation tie, which this woman was missing. Close enough to almost pass, but not quite. He supposed it was her bad luck running into him of all people.
Haruno Sakura was a huge investment, for them or against them. Someone spent millions of ryō in training, skills development, and equipment. Spy or not, displaced or not, he couldn't afford to leave her alone. Someone so equipped at passing unseen, Konoha couldn't let her loose.
He was almost happy she was so drained. At the rate her chakra stores were filling it would be a while before she was functional enough to talk. Most nin couldn't fight with their reserves below 20%, most nin couldn't walk if they dipped below 10. Hers was less than 5, probably closer to 1%. It was hard to tell without a Hyuuga to confirm.
He still tied her wrists tight and bound them to the couch. Her skin was pretty, even as he tied her up he could recognize that. Sakumo liked tying her up. He liked it more than when the silver haired one who was on his lap last night. Pink was better he decided. He took out the trapped spikes she wove in it and it fell through his fingers like silk. Honeysuckle blooms had been crushed to wash it several days prior, their scent almost gone but not quite.
Her muscles taunt under is hands as he tightened the restraints around slim wrists. Her skin so smooth and flawless. This strong lithe thing who wore armor which zapped his fingers when he tried to take it off. He was satisfied that he'd been right about that too. He grabbed a chopstick, attempted against and this time it zapped his whole arm. The electrocution was mild but increasing in intensity. He kneeled and reveled in his find.
His other hand, he found, still wound around part of her hair. Her hair reflected a dozen shades in the lamplight. He was too drunk for this. Sakumo stood up with a lurch. He blatantly ignored the now half hard length between his legs.
"Spies are everywhere," He agreed.
Jiraiya went on only slightly off topic, "I should write a book about peace. It'd be the shocker for the century."
Sakumo smiled as his friend, still holding the waking woman, went to rummage around in their packs for clothes.
"Dirty. Dirty," He tossed them aside. Jiraiya's nose wrinkled and threw something in the trash with spot on accuracy, "Burned."
Sakumo moved to the bed. On the way he grabbed up his discarded pack, pulled the cleaning cloth from it, and reached for his tantō. His clothes had been discarded several hours ago...In the hallway? No, behind the couch? His thoughts were slow and meandering. Right about now the bed was looking extremely soft and inviting. The stress of his job, the knowledge he was one of the few people who'd been holding off a war for the past year, the knowledge that if he made one mistake it could cost them thousands, it was all too much. Now this shinobi...spy...infiltration specialist planning to take over someone's role in ANBU...displaced war hero from an alternate Konoha. Around him the room got a bit blurry around the edges and he had to force himself to breathe. He gripped his weapon and cleaning cloth like a lifeline and gingerly sat on the mattress.
From across the bed Jiraiya's killing intent decreased. The drunk Sannin glared one more time at the shinobi tied to the couch. Then his friend abruptly turned. Just like Sakumo, Jiraiya had been buried in responsibility, the sort which would make a break a lesser shinobi. They didn't have the option of breaking. If they messed up tensions would break and not a single person would be able to fix it. They barely held it together as is.
"I don't like this."
Sakumo agreed, "We have to deal with her."
"Not as I am now. I can't even put my geta on without help," With his admission the Sannin's killing intent dissipated entirely.
As if to prove the point his head began to swim. So much for their night off.
Jiraiya muttered, "I'm going to find some bangohan."
"You'll have better luck with asagohan. I saw a kissaten 3 km southeast." His last patrol hadn't shown much else of interest and definitely no signs of foreign presence. The woman tied to their couch either had a well hidden team or was working alone.
"Ugh, I'll find something."
Jiraiya woke the girls. Between the two of them and an obnoxious amount of flirting they dressed the Sannin in a robe and tugged him from the room. Before they could get too far into the hall Jiraiya had to stop and make a clumsy attempt at turning the seals off.
Sakumo watched them go, then turned his gaze towards the foreign shinobi. Her armored chest raised and lowered. Her chakra visibly dim. High level nin built a sensitivity to it. Not nearly as precise as the Hyuuga or Uchiha genes allowed, but close enough to sense how much and where it was building on any given part of the body.
Those who couldn't develop chakra sensitivity would never keep up in a fast paced fight. Wouldn't be considered for promotion beyond generic Chūnin ranks. A-rank and S-rank fights moved too fast, relied on too many tricks and traps. Situations where senses mattered more than visual queues subject to genjutsu. Only sage's could effectively transform chakra and even then they couldn't alter their intrinsic signature. In those fights sensing became critical.
From where he sat he watched her and contemplated how to get what they needed. Who sent her? Their objective? Who in the elemental nations was equipping ANBU with sealed pockets and disguised armor. It'd taken a long time to drain that armor disguise. There were murmurs of war, one which might be worse than the others since their armies we're bigger and better organized. Konoha's situation remained tenuous. They'd lost their closest ally in Uzu. Hashirama, Madara, Tobirama, and Mito were gone. Their heavy hitters weren't quite to the strength they needed for a drawn out confrontation. They had more enemies than friends and those had begun to post up on three fronts.
Sakumo sat on the bed and gripped the sheath and circular hand-guard he usually strapped to the top of his leg. His grandfather had this tantō made and presented it at Sakumo's Jōnin promotion. The man who walked and talked with Hashirama, Izuna, Madara. Who kept their family away from Tobirama and Hiruzen when it became obvious they were all too willing to allow off-the-book black op missions. The chakra conducting metal gave off a white streak when he swung. The blade pulled the barest amount every time he channeled his network to move quicker, be stronger, and cut harder.
He honest to goodness expected her to remain passed out. Most would be knocked out for 42 hours before regenerating the chakra needed. Being drained and cut off from auxiliary stores shocked the body. So when she popped up 5 minutes after Jiraiya left and punched the floor he was floored. Literally, his bed and his body crashed through the floor. Wood shattered around him. It shattered, must have broken most of the beams in their room and he fell. While landing with a bounce and the cry of the room's occupants below he saw her break a wall and her pink hair disappeared out the opening.
"Kuso. Fucking Kusoyarou."
He jumped up on his bed, tantō and pack in hand, and ran after her. He jumped through the hole she'd made in the wall and, balls dangling, attempted to recall the last time he'd had to work this hard. Not that it mattered. He was running naked down a beach after a woman he was seriously considering just killing.
She ran, ran damn fast for someone who didn't have 95% of their chakra restored yet. Her ANBU armor glinted in the moonlight, hardly distinguishable from the dark waves beyond. The ties he'd used on her wrists sliced clean through and dangled behind her like white streamers.