Jiro had watched the battle progress for quite some time, roughly an hour by his estimate, but he had been known to miscalculate the passage of time. "Hmmm, seems Hitori-Sensei is as sharp as ever" the young swordsman whispered to himself, his hand curling into fist as exhilaration raced through him, inspiring less than well thought out plans. Rushing forwards, footsteps quiet as a human could be, Jiro closed in on the unsuspecting thirty-something year old who had once taught him how to properly wield a blade. He struck before Hitori could notice, making sure to pierce through the exhausted man's chest just as he raised his blade to deal the beheading blow to his partner, Kaito. He could tell that the killing strike had been accurately aimed by the way Hitori's body stiffened and his hand rose to investigate what his brain was telling him was a fatal wound. "Even if we failed to destroy the village, at least we can take one of its major components." Jiro whispered, referring to Hitori, who had been the sixth of the seven Swordsmen of the Mist to be killed by the young swordsman.
Kaito had woken from his coma only to find that Hitori had captured him. Having utilized wire, Hitori had tied all of Kaito's limbs together in a hog-tie fashion while he simultaneously ran Raiton chakra through the thin string, thus numbing his extremities past the point where escape was possible. A Simple plan, but obviously very effective as it had worked out perfectly, having left Kaito open for questioning, but otherwise, immobile. While Hitori might have expected Kaito to crack under the pressure, he did no such things and when Hitori had resorted to "convincing" him with physical force, Kaito had only grit his teeth and rolling back his tongue to stop any outburst of pain or information. It had continued on for 2 minutes and 32 seconds, according to Kaito's count, and now, with his blade held high over his head, Hitori aimed to behead the young man, assuring that the man died and stayed dead. It had been at that exact moment that Kaito had noticed Jiro's blade and, by extension, Jiro.
Jiro was one of the most attractive men Kaito had ever met, physically, anyway. But it was what lay under that shapely face and light blond hair that made Jiro seem unattractive to Kaito. Jiro had a soul of ice. There was no kindness in him, he faked kindness well enough that those who spent little time in his presence believed him to be gentle and courteous, but after having spent the better part of a month and a half with him, Kaito had discovered and begun to hate the cold and callous man that lay beneath. Pushing aside his dislike for Jiro and his actions, Kaito offered his thanks to his subordinate as he cut away at Kaito's bindings. Rubbing his wrists Kaito looked into Jiro's eyes before inquiring about the progress of the mission he and Kaito's other subordinates had been given. Jiro frowned heavily as he responded "Well. We got as far as the village gate, but that woman and the little kiddies got there first, so when we arrived there were already, like, a dozen hunter-nin there, ready to brawl. Even the Mizukage and his bodyguards were there. I didn't see the point in dying so I told the brats and those three retards you recruited to retreat, but those three battle crazed idiots rushed in without a second thought. I watched for a bit before I took the brats and returned here, you know, to go back home and all that bullshit" Jiro, like always, held nothing back in his language as he gave his report even going so far as to stick up his middle finger as he mentioned the Mizukage. Frowning in both distaste for Jiro's choice in wording and confusion, Kaito raised his eyebrows at Jiro "Where are the twins?" Kaito asked him, referring to the pair of children who had only recently become a part of the Shimekukri. Suddenly appearing, as if on cue, the children rushed up to stand beside Jiro, the both of them watching Kaito limbering up with worry in their eyes.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since the boy that he had idolized as the ideal for all young shinobi had brought about the death of Hikaru's father, Hitori. The two weeks had been the hardest of Hikaru's life. Plagued with guilt, horror, anger and grief, Hikaru had been suffering from nightmares so frequently that he had begun to fear sleep, for he had never had dreams so vivid that they had forced him to awake to the soundtrack of his own screams. It was only when he sat, staring at the blank, white walls before him as he clutched his father's most prized possession, his monstrously large blade, did Hikaru ever feel safe from his own dementia. Not even the pleasure of becoming a Genin did much for Hikaru, it felt shallow, unimportant even. It was as Hikaru was lost within his blissful unawareness that the knock came at his door; he had a visitor, a visitor with a very important message, and a grand proposition.