Date written: 01/08/10 – 06/08/10
Posted on FanFiction: 07/08/10
A/N: It's short, but it's a onetime thing, I assure you. Also, the last scene (The second one) would probably be too gruesome for some readers, so you should read it at your own risk. I repeat, read it at your own risk.
- CHAPTER 5 -
An Enemy Closes In
Hiruzen Sarutobi expected something to go wrong during the procedure. It would be, after all, the first in Leaf history for a Yamanaka mind-walker to dive into the mind of a living jinchuuriki. There were other clans that have similar mind-walking techniques as the Yamanaka clan, and that a few had already tried crossing through unknown territory inside the heads of the other eight tailed-beast holders. What worried him, however, was that none had been successful. None.
But right now was something Hiruzen Sarutobi did not expect: the operation to be an automatic success, but something had happened that Inoichi decided it could only be heard by his leader's ears. The thumbs-up gesture was a sign of victory for most, but a sign of impending doom or elation for a Hokage. With ninjas at his disposal and information being the most vital component of success against Konoha's enemies, outside or within, the Hokage had assigned very high-ranking ninjas with specific gestures that have a very different meaning than what they represent publically. The thumbs-up Inoichi had given him happened to be one of them, so Hiruzen acted quickly for this. It was no doubt important because Inoichi had crossed his arms and tapped his elbow four times. A tap equaled B-rank, and additional taps meant an up in the ranking. Four taps meant Double-S-rank.
Hiruzen had an odd feeling in his stomach, a gut feeling maybe. Strange, that was. He hadn't had a gut feeling since October Ninth, five years ago. Hoping that the implication was just his paranoia talking, he excused himself from the observation deck and hurried to one of the secure conference rooms inside the Torture and Interrogations Department building. It was furnished with one wide table spanning almost the length of the whole room, with a total of eighteen leather seats occupying all sides. A third of the wall, the lowest part, was made of varnished mahogany darkened to a color close to ebony, while the rest of the wall was painted blue, matching the color of the carpet floor.
Inoichi was already waiting for him there. He sat on the chair nearest to the door.
"How's Kushina-san?" Hiruzen asked.
"She wanted to see Naruto," Inoichi replied, spinning the office chair so that it faced the olden Shadow. He stood up and bowed respectfully. "I had to excuse myself to get here before she started questioning me about the culprit."
"No doubt she would've breached protocol and went after the bastard herself." That put a small smile to his aging lips.
"We'll leave his identity for later. Right now, I have to tell you something much more urgent."
Something more urgent than Inoichi's main objective? This was troubling news. "All right."
"As you may know, Hokage-sama, I've been mind-walking since my early days in the Torture and Interrogations Department, so I know pretty much everything there is to know about the mechanics of the human mind." He paused, then added, "To a certain degree, that is."
"You have found something out of the ordinary?"
"Beyond ordinary, sir," Inoichi retorted. "Naruto's mindscape is an enigma. It looks nothing like all the other minds I've scanned."
"Surely you're exaggerating."
"I don't exaggerate something this monumental, Hokage-sama. Decades of research, of discovery, of experimenting, all went down the drain because of this little boy's head." He tapped his forehead twice.
"High claims, Inoichi. High claims, indeed." Hiruzen pulled one of the chairs next to Inoichi's and sat down, wincing a bit as some of the old bones in his back protested at the exertion. It was a constant reminder of his old age, and he didn't like it.
Inoichi sat back down. "Yes, but the answers were all in there." He took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I'll start from the beginning . . ."
"Hey, Mizuki, you're still suspended! You're not allowed within the school premises."
He glared at him, hands in his pockets, the right fondling on a kunai he had hidden in there.
The Ninja Academy counselor was not a very intimidating man; it'd be hard for kids to open up if that were the case. No, this man was of normal build for a chuunin, kept his raven hair clean and orderly (he needed to set a proper example of discipline, despite his mediocre role as a school counseler and disciplinarian for the troubled and troublesome kids, respectively), and looked the least intimidating out of all the ninjas Mizuki had faced in his days before settling for a teaching job. There were some moments where the two of them had clashed because of contradicting punishments for the rowdier students who couldn't keep their bullying under the radar, with Mizuki's methods sounding much more severe than what the counselor had in mind. It put him at odds with the prick, so much so that it was his entire fault that he, Mizuki, was suspended in the first place. He just had to be a little too curious in the children's business, and the heavy bruises on the boy's back and the black eye were traced back to Mizuki the sadistic teacher. The only reason he wasn't arrested was because he had a solid alibi as to where he was when the boy told when it had happened. It also didn't help the boy's credibility that he had been diagnosed with Münchausen syndrome. Regardless, Mizuki may not have been sacked, but his reaction to the accusation were more violent and suspicious than how he normally addressed these issues in the past (yes, he had been accused of abuse before) that the principal suspended him until they got this case completely figured out. Well, that hardly mattered anyhow; now that Mizuki was a wanted man (it was probably still unofficial, but what real difference did that make?), it was time for some payback.
Wanted men like him were often sentenced to a quick death.
To Mizuki, this was a lot like cancer: his time was close, inevitable, so better to go out with a bang and enjoy himself.
He was going to enjoy this, yes. Indeed he was.
"There's nothing holding me back if I resigned, right?" he told the counselor, watching his eyebrows rose from surprise. He knew that telling him this outright would immediately make him a threat due to his dark reputation, but he didn't give a damn. It was time for payback.
"Regardless you are still prohibited from stepping inside this fine establishment, and I for one am not afraid to get my hands dirty just so I can personally throw vermin like you out. Permane—"
Mizuki slashed his throat. He watched him stop mid-speech, clutch his neck, and writhe around. His eyes were darting everywhere, desperately conveying a message for help where his voice box could no longer do that honor. And they rest upon him, his mouth blabbering inconceivable sounds, as if he were speaking through a narrow tube. He pointed at him, accusing him of the crime he had done, and he fell to the ground. Blood pooled the floor.
There were no witnesses, as far as Mizuki could see. Classes were in session and the now dead counselor was only doing his usual sweep around the hallways for any truant student lurking about. His choking cries were futile from the start.
Mizuki didn't bother hiding the body. It wouldn't be another hour before lunchtime came around, but that was an inefficient reason. The real reason was because it would be a waste of time. He came here to deal with that loose-lipped brat, to make sure that the brat wouldn't tattle again. That, and he had heard that there was a new chuunin instructor who was an Inuzuka joining the staff. He wouldn't put it past a member of that dog-loving clan to sniff out the scent of blood wafting in the hallway.
"Get in, kill, get out," he whispered to himself. "That's all. Nothing else."
He took the stairs up to the third floor and went left, passing two doors and halting at the third. Like in the ground floor, there was no one in the hallway save for him, the disembodied voices of the instructors droning out lectures, and the quiet taps of his shoes on the gray ceramic tiles. These sounds echoed around the walls of the hallway, barely giving any moment of sheer peace and tranquility.
"Like chaos."
He chanced a peek on the door's small window. The classroom was filled with the bustle of Academy kids out of their seats and conversing with their respective cliques. The chuunin instructor was somehow absent to placate the motor mouths. Shifting his view, he saw writings on the blackboard big enough for even the near-sighted to read clearly: Self study. Mizuki found this situation maddening. Two or three of the kids had their textbooks out and were studying as best as they could during a storm of chaotic noise. There was no order among the other kids, like a bunch of headless chickens. How did they expect to become professional shinobi if they didn't start growing up when they were already close to graduating?
Because they're still kids, inside and outside, a part of him thought in empathy. He locked that feeling away. There was no need for empathy now. He was a dead man, and dead men had no use for such an irrelevant, human thing called morality in their short life.
This image of a chaotic classroom also spawned a primal urge for him to raze it and snap each and everyone of those kids' necks. He clenched his fists and banished the urge. Killing all of them would be too much of a hassle, too chaotic, too time-wasting. They'd shout, scream for help. The staff would be coming for him quick if he stayed to fulfill one measly urge. No, that was a futile attempt. He had to live until he made sure that the Kyuubi brat was dead and burned to ashes.
Just one dead kid would have to do here. There, sitting in the back, still sporting the black eye, was his target. Mizuki grinned, formed a handseal, and transformed into the counselor. He would open the door, address the class and ask for that boy in the back to come with him to his office, and escort him there. He didn't waste time to put his plan into action. No doubt a staff member—probably one of the civilian janitors—must've already discovered the body of the real counselor, given the amount of time that had already elapsed.
The boy was a little nervous, unsure why he was told to come with him to the counselor's office. A simple announcement would've sufficed, so the boy must have concluded that this was something big.
This was something big all right, Mizuki mused. Something big, indeed.
They stepped into the counselor's office, and Mizuki locked the door behind him, muffling the audible click successfully. The boy continued down to where the counselor's desk was and sat down on one of the seats in front of it. The counselor's office wasn't what you'd call Spartan in appearance, but not exactly plain either. This place earned the right to be described as something that bordered between Spartan and plain, because not only did the place had the bare essentials for a working environment as a school counselor, it also gave off the feeling of being nomadic, as if the counselor didn't set roots into this place. Funny, that was; the counselor had been on this job for over eight years.
"Kira-sensei," the boy called innocently.
"Ah, yes," Mizuki replied, putting up the same act that the counselor often did when facing students. He wasn't sure if he was giving off the same comforting aura as the counselor, but that hardly mattered now. His target was where he wanted him to be. Slowly, he neared the boy, taking each step with practiced ease. He breathed in and out, and fondled the kunai's handle. He waited for the perfect time to strike.
They went into silence. The boy stayed in his seat, trying to be patient but Mizuki knew that the lack of reason for him being here was gnawing at his curiosity. The boy wanted to ask but he might be intimidated to even utter the first syllable.
Mizuki smiled at him, not out of courtesy or kindness, but out of a sadistic urge to see him return the smile awkwardly before he brandished the kunai he had been hiding behind him. He would see the boy's eyes widen, ask him what the sharp little kunai was for—
"Mizuki-sensei . . ." the boy whispered, his eyes going as wide as they could go. It seemed he was a more competent ninja than Mizuki gave him credit for, if he saw the identity of the person behind the henge. Ironically, it was Mizuki who taught him and his class that skill.
His smile turned into a grin. The boy, out of fear, bolted towards the door but Mizuki grabbed ahold of him before he could come close. The boy naturally struggled and tried shouting for help, but when he positioned the point of his kunai in front of the boy's developing Adam's apple, near enough to draw blood, the only sound coming out of him was an audible gulp and a sob.
"Please, Mizuki-sensei . . . please," the boy pleaded. Mizuki couldn't see his face—as tempting as that was, he didn't want to let him go for one millisecond—but his convulsing body and muffled sobs were quite the talkative bunch. The boy kept saying, "I don't wanna die . . . I don't wanna die . . . I don't wanna die . . ."
Mizuki considered taking pity on the weak little brat.
Then he stabbed his throat, taking extra pleasure in watching him choke in his own blood as he plunged the weapon deeper into his neck.
Revenge was sweet.