Chapter 35: The Hardest Day
Dreams of battle and death welcomed Shoryu into his restless slumber. Around him men lost will to fight as the final horde of the Senmatsu legion swept over them as an unstoppable flock of rabid beasts. The world turned to smoke and dust and decay around him, so visceral and intense that the thought of it being a nightmare never occurred to Shoryu.
No one around; both Ayako and Kazuya were nowhere to be seen – nor any familiar ninja for that matter. A friendly face might give him all the courage he needed to face it, but for now all he could do was give a half-hearted fight. Pain from his wounds flared up whenever he stretched a muscle too far. As enemies closed in around him Shoryu felt his head go numb.
He awoke into darkness sweating and disorientated, unsure yet of what had been real and what he imagined. At first he saw nothing but a pitch abyss, but after a time the silhouette of a bed appeared around him. The drapes were closed and the hum of an air conditioner clicked and rattled every now and again.
Finally Shoryu returned to the world. The burn at his hip throbbed and the shuriken scar at his shoulder made him wince as he pushed himself up. Memories of both the dream and what happened before came back to him, and after sorting them both out he found himself truly happy with the result. It felt good to be alive - there was still so much more he had to do, and with his Alpha Gene they had an early advantage still unknown to the enemy.
Then Shoryu remembered Ayako – her last confessionary act before he'd sacrificed himself. Yeah, he thought to himself. Definitely glad I survived that one.
"So you're up."
Shoryu's sudden jolt made a flash of pain race up his leg as he turned to the sound of the voice. Kazuya stood by the window, staring out into eternity.
"I was expecting someone prettier!" answered Shoryu.
"Ayako went to get some sleep. She's been watching you day and night."
"Day and night?" Shoryu's question clued itself at once as his stomach gave a long, uncomfortable growl. He was hungrier than ever before; it must have been a while. "How long have I been unconscious?"
"Two days – going on three," said Kazuya.
Lazily the Jonin swung himself out of bed, ignoring the numerous aches and itches springing up over his body. Plasters and bandages hugged at his skin where the doctor patched him up, although Shoryu was more than confident in Jinga's work. He got to work right away on tearing off all those he deemed were now unnecessary, leaving only the scorch across his side and the shuriken wound in treatment.
He grumbled as he dressed. "Figures; you lose an eye and get up straight away. I go down and I'm out cold for this long,"
"I'm a samurai. I'm more used to pushing my chakra to its limits than you are," Kazuya replied. It was the best explanation he was likely to ever get.
At this Shoryu sat up to look at him. Kazuya hadn't yet turned around, he stood staring blankly out the window, and whenever he responded it was in a dull, cold monotone – like he was only half-aware of their conversation at all. Even at his most focused Shoryu knew the two of them could still openly talk; four years together made sure no subject was off-limits, and yet Kazuya was definitely hiding something.
"What is it?" Shoryu asked.
At last Kazuya turned. The scar painted across his left eye had closed up nicely to a thin slit running vertically through his brow. To Shoryu it looked cool, but the rest of his face had seen better days – in two days he appeared to age ten years. "What do you mean?" Kazuya asked, oblivious.
"Oh come off it," snapped Shoryu, certain now, "something's the matter. Tell me."
The samurai scoffed a hollow laugh. "Not bad. You've only been awake two minutes and you're already getting on my nerves. How could you tell?"
Shoryu replied with another question. "When was the last time you ate or slept? You look like hell Kazuya. And you don't let yourself get like that; you spent the last few years always making sure you're ready for a fight. If it's really been two whole days – and you're still in that state – then something's definitely wrong."
Kazuya sighed and slumped back against the wall. He never slumped; that was Shoryu's job. With a hand covering his forehead the Taisho shielded his eye from Shoryu's as he stared at the floor. He breathed slow and heavy to calm himself, but whatever meditation method he used didn't seem to work this time. His hands began to tremble.
"The mission was a failure," he spat.
"What?" Shoryu found his remaining sword and fastened it to his belt, waiting for an answer. When Kazuya said nothing he pressed further, "What do you mean? If something happened with the mission I'd have you tell me."
"Is that an order?"
"No." Cautiously the ninja decided to approach him. With his eyes covered and his expression unreadable Shoryu had no clue how to act. Usually one of them would slap a palm on the other's shoulder. He'd do it now if he didn't fear it would be removed, for Kazuya's free hand hovered dangerously close to his sword.
"I'm asking as your friend. Please Kazuya," he finished.
The samurai gave another deep heave as the rhythm of his breathing returned. "It's the ninja. The ones we rescued."
Shoryu felt dread wash over him, asking a question he thought was rhetorical. "What about them?"
". . . Dead or dying. Jinga says they won't last the weekend."
As Shoryu shrank back down to the bed he allowed the full gravity of Kazuya's words to sink in. In truth he was prepared for it, but in the wake of their victory he'd forgotten all about the barbaric experimental treatment those ninja had undergone. When they found them, all fifty or so were plagued by an uncontrollable Alpha Gene – it had killed most the moment they woke.
Shoryu remembered hoping that the effects might subside with rest and medication, but that wasn't the case. At any rate the root of Kazuya's despair was now apparent. Shoryu hardly dared to ask, fearing the worst. ". . . And Fujiko?"
Kazuya shook his head. "She lives. . . For now."
"There must be some way to save her," he argued.
"Jinga says the Alpha Gene bonded itself with each of the patients. Their bodies reject it, causing incredible pain and a loss of motor control. It's fixed in place – like a Kekkei Genkai. Know any way to remove one of those?"
Shoryu felt his reason escape him. Was it really so hopeless? It had to be; if there was any chance to save her Kazuya would've taken it during these two days.
"He said their minds are gone – irretrievable," the samurai went on, every word of the doctor's diagnosis getting harder and harder for him to regurgitate. "The pain of the Alpha Gene coupled with the experiments they underwent was so intense that their minds shut down, retreating to some corner of consciousness. . . They're totally comatose – Jinga says he can't detect any brain function left at all; when they wake up, they only feel pain."
"And that's how most died?" Shoryu asked.
"Yeah. Some passed in their sleep. Some died from the Alpha Gene after waking up – those were the worst – explosions of fire and water and dust," explained Kazuya, fearing the same might happen for Fujiko. "Others were awake and just started screaming in pain for whole minutes, but in the end they all seized the nearest sharp object and buried it in their throats."
"That can't be. . ." The Jonin trailed off, crushed beneath the weight of the news. After all they'd sacrificed – after they'd put everything on the line and ventured into an unknown stronghold in full force, it all amounted to nothing. He thought back to the mission – to the warzone of those underground tunnels – when another thought struck him.
"What about that substance?" Shoryu asked. "That purple liquid they were injecting them with?"
"The contents were analysed. It just turned out to be a catalyst, keeping them unconscious and 'alive' for future tests."
Hopeful, Shoryu pointed out the obvious. "We could go back and get some more – enough to save everyone!"
"Hotaru set the place ablaze, remember? And besides, even if we did find some it wouldn't change a damn thing. That gene is still inside them, forever crippling them no matter what we do. They will never again return to themselves, only experience suffering. . . Never again will we be able to speak to them." By the time his sentence was over Kazuya's voice croaked to a higher pitch. He righted himself with a clear of his throat, but the damage was done; he'd accepted the awful truth.
Shoryu took in the news. Speechless, he shook his head and released a sigh. There were others too – ninja he'd fought beside in countless battles; they were all gone now. He felt then that he could never understand the depths of Kazuya's despair. "There are no words. . ." he managed. "To tell you how sorry I am."
"It's alright, I've had some time to deal with it. I arrived at a decision just yesterday," the Taisho explained. "If it's all the same, I'd prefer it if you came with me. I need. . . Someone."
Furiously nodding, Shoryu straightened himself up. "Of course. Anything you need."
Without a sound Kazuya turned and marched from the room, his long, determined strides making it difficult for Shoryu to keep pace. As they traversed the winding hallways the Jonin took in his surroundings.
They walked through a hospital of sorts. To both his left and right numbered white doors with each a window provided a glimpse into the horror this mission had unveiled. In every room ninja lay motionless in their beds, most waiting to die. Up to the second floor they climbed. Every now and then Shoryu would spy a family in the rooms either side; a relative or a spouse crying over the still body of a loved one.
A clock through the next lobby told him the time was eleven fifteen, and he glanced darkness outside coupled with the vague outline of a few houses. He wanted to ask where they were, finding he didn't dare distract Kazuya in his current state. At a guess he imagined they were in the Land of Lightning again – some fringe town across the border. No other village would risk providing shelter for them so openly.
At last they arrived at the right ward. Stopping first, Kazuya's hand lingered on the doorknob before he finally summoned the courage to open it.
Fujiko lay beside the window, a pure white quilt draped up to her shoulders. A machine to her left beeped in a steady rhythm to monitor her heart rate, and a tube feeding into her wrist kept her heavily sedated. She looked peaceful in sleep.
Shoryu made his way into the room, but as Kazuya shut the door behind them he waited by it, as though he wouldn't dare move any closer. Shoryu said nothing; whatever it was he had in mind, Kazuya had to do it at his own pace. He shrunk down the doorframe until he was sat, his arms hugging his knees.
"She was all for equality you know," he told Shoryu, eager to put his mind off it. "Samurai don't let women into the ranks of their warriors, but still she dedicated herself to our ways, learning our skills and upholding Bushido better than most of the men in my clan. I think she would've gotten along well with Ayako, had they spent more time together."
Shoryu agreed – that sounded about right.
"As samurai we cannot live without a conscience. It is considered. . . Wrong. . . To let the body linger in suffering when the mind has fled. In the end Fujiko wanted to die an honourable warrior's death; like her father's – like the kind I will have someday." As Kazuya stopped for a moment Shoryu realised exactly what he'd come here to do. He continued, staring down as if the plain hospital tiles might inspire him. "Who now can give her that?"
Just then the sheer horror of Kazuya's problem dawned on Shoryu. Just minutes ago he'd professed that the samurai's grief must be beyond comprehension; and now this? As her significant other it fell to Kazuya to make the final call about her death. He could betray her wishes and let her succumb to the Alpha Gene like all the others. Or he could do as she willed, and take a sword to his own beloved.
"Kazuya, you don't have to do this," said Shoryu, words spilling out of him. He wondered whether even he had the will to take Fujiko's life. Offering to do so was his only option however. The thought of it destroyed Kazuya; and seeing that, Shoryu felt he'd give anything to lighten the load.
But Kazuya refused. "No, it should be me. Whoever passes judgement should be the one to deal it."
It was an old samurai tradition; Shoryu recognised it immediately. If someone was put to death in Samurai villages it fell to the Taisho to swing the sword, as they died under his law.
Shoryu knew there was another reason as well. If anyone else put Fujiko to death, no matter how focused he remained, there was always the chance of Kazuya's rage getting the better of him. At such an emotional moment he didn't trust himself to think clearly; he was half-likely to kill whatever executioner he deigned fit for the task in his mad despair.
As his eyes wandered the room Shoryu noticed something else of particular intrigue. No doubt Kazuya had seen it already, but a sequence of deep-set scars crisscrossed up Fujiko's left arm – she'd wrote a name into her skin with some sharp object. A closer look showed the blood beneath her fingernails.
"Kansuke," Shoryu read aloud. "What is that?"
"She scratched it on herself, no doubt before she lost herself in the experiments," explained Kazuya. "She knew I would find her – but at the same time I think she knew she wouldn't make it out alive. Kansuke is the message she chose to give me. It's an old samurai name."
"For your son," he assumed.
Kazuya nodded.
"That's a good name. How is he?"
The Taisho looked up at last. "The nurses are giving him a few final blood tests before he's clear to leave. I only get to see him two or three times a day, but come tomorrow we should be free to go."
"I see," said Shoryu. So he was going back to his village after all. In the end there was little else he could do; with the old Taisho gone and his daughter nearing death the Village Hidden in the Glacier would take time to recover – morale was at an all-time low. Leaderless they would fall, and as the rightful heir responsibility fell to Kazuya.
The two contemplated for a time, silently were it not for the ever-present beep of Fujiko's pulse from the monitor. Wisterias flowered by the windowsill, and to pass the time Shoryu gave them a sprinkle of water with the can left at their side.
Two doctors walked past the door carrying phials, then a crying family of three followed shortly after. In the distance Shoryu even thought he heard the sound of an Alpha Gene reaction; far-off bangs and a haunting wail of agony were quickly silenced by a single, louder crash.
Eventually the new Taisho rose to his feet. He shuffled over inch by inch, like a worrisome teenager about to ask a girl on a date. When he reached Fujiko he sat on the bed and took her hand in his, leaning close as their foreheads touched. Neither Kazuya nor Shoryu – nor even Jinga – knew whether or not the patients could hear them in some way. Kazuya liked to believe so; this would be his last chance to ever talk to her. Even if she couldn't hear, there were things he wanted to say.
"I'm sorry," he told her. "I did everything I could. The waiting – the journey – the battles. I did everything right, and still it wasn't enough. I failed you, and that alone will forever be my greatest shame."
Shoryu fought the urge to berate him – to tell him it wasn't his fault. Cutting him off might be unwise though.
"I wish, more than anything, that I could join you. But I can't right now. I still have responsibilities: the village; this war; Kansuke. To turn away from them would be cowardly, I know, but part of me is tempted. Staying strong is proving difficult without you. . . But at the very least, I can muster up the strength enough to carry out your will."
Then Kazuya leaned in closer to whisper three short, inaudible words in her ear. Shoryu didn't have to ask what they were. When the Taisho was done he kissed her forehead and took his position.
His breathing hitched in random intervals, hands shaking as his eye glazed over. He sniffed and cleared his throat again, doing whatever he could to appear in control as his whole body shuddered against his command. As Kazuya's hands moved to the strap of his sword his fingers fumbled twice on the knot of string keeping it covered. On his third attempt the leather case slipped off, unsheathing a single edge of his clan's sword.
The Taisho held the blade over Fujiko's sternum. One swift movement and it would all be over – instant and painless if he got it right. Yet Kazuya's hands stayed in place. Listening closely Shoryu heard the rattle of steel as they quivered furiously. His first instinct was to look away, but conscience kept his gaze fixed. However hard this was to watch, it was nothing compared to Kazuya's task.
"I'll see you again soon, I promise you that," he whispered.
Looking now Shoryu saw a different side of his friend – one he'd never seen even in their most desperate hours. He bit down hard on his lower lip, taking sharp inhales through his nose as he tried to fight against his own will. There Shoryu saw not a samurai, a comrade or a great leader, but something stripped of all that – Kazuya's true nature. Here stood a boy of just seventeen, unable to cope with the grim fate life had thrown his way.
Tearing himself from her, Kazuya threw an arm across Shoryu's shoulder, collapsing on it like a crutch.
"I can't do it," he confessed. "I can't – I just-"
Shoryu gave a nod. "It's alright. No one's forcing you to do anything."
The Taisho looked to understand for a few moments. His eye found the floor once more as he trembled, turning it over again and again in his head. Whatever rationale he applied didn't work though; no matter how he looked at it there was no escaping this.
"No." He turned away, levelling the sword a second time. "I have to do this. I owe it to her – I could never forgive myself otherwise."
You'll never forgive yourself for this anyway, was Shoryu's first thought. However necessary this was, the moment would haunt Kazuya's nightmares for the rest of his life.
An instant later and it was done. The Taisho's blade plunged through cloth and flesh to pierce the heart of his beloved in a brief eruption of blood. She bucked forward for a moment, her eyes opening as Kazuya cradled her head against his chest in silence.
The once predictable tone of the nearby machine changed suddenly. Three short beeps were followed quickly by a longer one, drawn out to echo around the room as Fujiko's pulse disappeared. Moving slowly, Shoryu made his way over and flipped it off; the sound would only annoy Kazuya now.
As he turned back around the weight of the samurai nearly knocked Shoryu off his feet. Kazuya careered headlong into his chest, his shaking hands covered in blood clinging to Shoryu like he was his last foothold from falling to oblivion. Muffled sounds and heavy pants against him told Shoryu he was crying, and again he saw the young boy, ill-equipped for the enormous burden.
And then Shoryu's sympathy was replaced by anger. Not a single opponent – not in four years of surviving countless battles and life-threatening wounds – had ever brought out the tears of this samurai. It betrayed his entire persona; someone so stern and proud reduced to a miserable crying shell of his true glory. No one does this to Kazuya, thought Shoryu to himself, his fists balling up.
"We'll get them, you hear?" He muttered. "Whatever it takes, I swear to you we'll make sure someone answers for this." It was the only consolation he had. No amount of killing would bring Fujiko back to him, but once he recovered, bringing the scum who'd taken her away to justice would be the only penance the Taisho could get. As Kazuya cried harder in his embrace Shoryu could only hope his promises were not empty. Teijo; Shoren; Masaru; the Senmatsu would pay dearly for this.
Out in the open Shoryu felt sick. Fresh air hit him for the first time in days, and after what he'd just experienced nothing could be more nauseating. Kazuya wanted to be alone, so Shoryu assured him that no one would disturb him unless absolutely necessary, ordering his men to do the same.
It was dark outside, but even after midnight the market stalls still bustled with the activity of the dying weekend. After getting something to eat (a chicken sauté and some noodles) and talking to the locals, Shoryu discovered he was in Karathane, a small town just north of the Land of Lightning's border. Never before had he passed through here, but the residual snow hugging only the shadows told him they were close to Kazuya's village – a day's march at most.
Once he'd seen enough Shoryu found himself a quiet spot on a hill overlooking the town. Like Kazuya he preferred some solitude in this situation. There was much to think about. Now that he was recovered they could set off tomorrow – back to the Cloud. Kazuya would go his own way and Shoryu would have to deliver a mission debriefing to Reizo – if he was still here.
Out with only his thoughts Shoryu withdrew his flute and began to play. So much lately had prevented him from using it, but as the clear notes rose higher and louder he found himself content. With everything happening at once it felt good to relax – to blow the troubles of the world away with a cheery melody.
As he continued to play Shoryu noticed the grooves on his hands – twin lightning bolts etched into his skin just deep enough to trace a finger down, the same marks that covered his entire upper body. In the chaos he woke to he'd forgotten about the battle completely, finding now that his mind wandered back to the events that transpired that day. Wouldn't hurt to try it, he figured. Shoryu stopped his playing and rose to his feet.
"Kanzen Raikyogan."
With such an open view of the town the sight that met him was one of splendour. As the world shifted to a blue haze he saw the life-force of every individual living there, lit up like a thousand tiny fireflies in white. With the Raikyogan his sight pierced rock, roof and wood. Out to the south he saw the encampments of the ninja and samurai at the outskirts, gathered around fires swapping food, banter and cards. Most of the lamplights he saw were horizontal – civilians abed in their homes, with no idea their privacy had been compromised.
Feeling guilty, Shoryu disabled the jutsu and sat back down. Again he thought back to the battle, the events replaying themselves to him. His memory strolled back to before the Alpha Gene activated, and again Shoryu found himself stumped by another question left unanswered. What happened to Kyoh? Why hadn't the dragon showed up? Determined to find out, Shoryu leapt back to his feet went through the hand signs.
"Summoning Jutsu!"
Just as always the dragon appeared in a puff of smoke. Up here in the countryside no one would notice his arrival; Shoryu and he could talk all they wanted. With his mood still sour the Jonin wasted no time with a greeting.
"Where were you?" he demanded.
The dragon bowed his head, ashamed and apologetic. "Shoryu I-"
"-You always talk about how you love fighting. All those battles we went through together – and you bail on me when I need you the most? You had better have a good excuse for leaving me to die!" As he patronised the poor creature Shoryu realised he was probably taking out his anger on the wrong person, but the day had left him too weary to care.
"I can explain it to you, if you'll give me a minute," said the dragon.
"Oh please – be my guest. I'm going to love this."
"I was summoned by another," he insisted.
"Don't lie to me," reasoned Shoryu – the excuse was so transparent it pissed him off more. "There's no one else alive who can summon you! Who called you if not me?"
"I was sworn to secrecy; I can't divulge their identity."
The ninja threw up his hands. "Well that's very convenient for you!"
"I'm telling you the truth."
"You know, I don't mind you taking a day off! But next time could you at least let me know first?"
"Knock it off Shoryu," called a voice from the darkness.
Shoryu jumped in fright as he realised they were far from alone. He prepared himself to activate the Raikyogan again to flush out their intruder, but a silhouette began to form from the trees; whoever it was, they didn't intend to hide themselves for long.
"It's not his fault," said the figure. "It was me who summoned him."
"Stop! Show yourself." Shoryu drew his one remaining blade and stood poised for an attack. A torch in the stranger's right hand lit up the grass around him, though a hood thrown over his head concealed his identity. People who bore no ill will had no reason to hide their face. Shoryu decided he'd attack if the man got too close.
"You are Shoryu Aizawa, right?" Taking further strides, the man put his hands in his pockets and walked right up to the dragon, ignoring the boy's demand.
"I said show yourself. Hands where I can see them; take one more step and I fire." Shoryu looked to Kyoh for support, finding only a bashful look of apology on the dragon. Angering Shoryu most was that the man appeared deaf to his threats; the stranger continued all the same, resuming his line of inquiry.
"Of course you're Shoryu Aizawa. Bit of a stupid question really – I can tell just by looking at you."
The Jonin's patience reached its limits in a whirl of folded steel. His left hand, hovering behind his back, suddenly flipped out in a quick-draw of his windmill shuriken. Having practiced it to perfection Shoryu watched as the eight-inch throwing star raced in a straight line towards the throat of his attacker.
A cluster of sparks lit up the hills in a flash. It took Shoryu seconds to realise what happened, with his own shuriken spinning to a halt just three feet away. Looking at the stranger it was easy to see; he'd thrown his own projectile in defence, and as the two collided they bounced back to the feet of their owners.
Shoryu narrowed his eyes, wary of the man. A regular shuriken would've been swatted aside by his heavier one, but just like Shoryu the man wielded the larger windmill variant. Just who was he? Was he about to attack? And if his words were true, then how had he managed to summon Kyoh? Shoryu kept his sword and eyes trained at all times on the mysterious newcomer.
"Who are you?" he asked at last. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage."
"Were you followed here at all? Does anyone else know where you are?"
Shoryu didn't know whether to answer. On the one hand the stranger could simply be a paranoid, undercover ninja demanding privacy. On the other hand he could be an assassin, making sure there were no witnesses around to catch him in the act. They were alone – no one else was out here. Eventually Shoryu decided to comply; if the stranger turned out to be a hitman he'd just have to fight.
"We're alone – though I kinda wish we weren't," confirmed Shoryu.
"I've a feeling you might take that back soon enough." With that as his only declaration the stranger threw off his hood, letting the orange glow of his torchlight play across his features.
He was a man in his thirties, with windswept hair of a chocolate brown; sideburns and neat goatee to match it. His eyes shone a youthful green like the shores of some tropical sands, and as he beamed a genuine smile Shoryu found himself looking into his own future. A white headband of the Cloud was strapped across his forehead and a sword hung by his belt. It could be no one else.
Shoryu had seen the man before; growing up he'd looked at photographs of him as a younger man, heard stories of all he'd accomplished as a ninja and been told day after day just how much the two of them looked alike. He only saw the true extent of the resemblance now – their accents, mannerisms and expressions were all the same. After seventeen years he was back.
". . . Dad?" Shoryu managed to breathe. No – it couldn't be. Shoichi Senmatsu was long dead. He redoubled his grip on the shortsword and pointed it to the imposter. "If this is some Transformation Jutsu then-"
"It's not a Transformation Jutsu Shoryu," said Shoichi.
That's right, he admitted – that wouldn't make sense. He summoned Kyoh. That means he's the real thing. Logic took over as Shoryu shook his head and tried again. "But you're supposed to be dead!" he complained.
Shoichi clutched his heart as though he'd just been dealt a mortal blow, gasping in shock. "Don't sound too disappointed!"
Poorly timed attempts at humour; Shoryu recognised those all too well, but he wouldn't bite this time. As Shoichi took another step closer his son waved the sword like a warning light. "Even if you are my father you've still got some explaining to do! How come you're here? You mean to tell me you've been alive all this time? You left my mother all alone!"
"You know our enemy – you've seen what Teijo and the others are like. I pretended to be dead to keep you and your mother safe. Make no mistake, it wasn't a decision I took lightly, but if my brother knew of my family he'd kill you both for the fun of it."
Listening to his story Shoryu knew it made perfect sense; the Senmatsu were ruthless and indiscriminate when it came to revenge. Even so, something inside him couldn't accept what Shoichi told him. For seventeen years he'd been robbed of a father, and poor Yuuko had lost her husband so young, left to raise an outcast by herself. It wasn't fair.
At last Shoryu sheathed his sword. Satisfied, Shoichi made right for him, hugging his son for the first time. Shoryu expected a sword through his belly at any second. None came and their embrace parted. The man took to gazing at him with a look of wonder, his eyes almost twinkling.
"Just look what you've grown into: a Jonin and a war hero. You've made me the proudest man on this earth, Shoryu. I only wish I could've been here sooner." He was nearing tears now as Shoryu gave a groan and flushed in embarrassment. Shoichi's look then turned to astonishment - something caught his eye. "And would you look at that!"
Faster than he could follow Shoichi snatched something from his son's pocket, turning and holding it to inspect. He waved it above his head out of Shoryu's reach – a thirty five year old man acting like a child. As the light passed over it Shoryu realised what it was.
"Hey that's my flute!" he argued.
"I think you'll find it's my flute!"
Grumbling, Shoryu accepted defeat and gave his father time to reunite with it – just as long as he didn't plan on keeping it. Shoichi looked at it like an old friend, his fingers drumming rapidly over the dentures as he grinned to himself.
"I lost this years ago! I knew I left it in my jacket pocket!"
Shoryu fought the urge to confess he had the jacket too. The last he saw of it, it was being used as a bandage to wrap up Kazuya's extensive wounds, the blue fabric turning red. Surely it must've been washed now, but would the stains come out? He didn't want to mention it just in case.
Shoichi played the flute with such mastery. Shoryu had no idea the simple instrument could produce such a beautiful sound – like a choir of hummingbirds chirping a morning song. Shoichi fingered out his incredible symphony only for a matter of seconds; that was all he needed to display his skill with it. Hearing that, Shoryu immediately strived to be as good one day.
"Michio gave me this long ago. He heard the melodies of the Village Hidden in the Glacier and knew right away I'd want one," said Shoichi.
"Michio. . ." Shoryu remembered the name. "Kazuya's father. You two were cousins right?"
The older ninja nodded. "I heard rumours that you knew his son, but I never got around to confirming them."
"We were in the same cell out of the academy – I've known him ever since."
"Well now that is an odd coincidence. I suppose the universe just has a way of putting these things in order. I take it you already know that you share a family?"
"Yeah," Shoryu admitted. "It was a shock for both of us."
"No doubt. It's funny how these things work out. His father and I were inseparable at the best of times. We were the only ones to rebel against the twisted doctrines Shoren and Masaru laid out for us. All our siblings succumbed to their will, Teijo most of all."
"Michio – is he still alive?" asked Shoryu, vaguely hopeful. If his father survived the wrath of the Senmatsu family then maybe Kazuya's did too.
Unfortunately the case was not so. Shoichi sighed. "No. He's dead – I saw it with my own eyes." On his face was a look of regret – of an old memory he wished to forget. Shoryu decided to pursue it later, as right now he had a more urgent question to ask him.
"So. . ." he began. The elephant in the room bared its tusks. Shoryu found he couldn't let himself enjoy another moment without some answers. "Mother has no clue you're still alive. One minute you were there and the next you were gone. Something happened – what changed to make you leave? And how come you're back? Why now of all times?"
Shoichi sank down beside a tree and buried his torch in the earth. He said, "Eager to know everything, aren't you? You get that from me."
"You said it yourself – our enemy will stop at nothing. I've seen Senmatsu deception and brutality sink to levels I can barely call human, and you're one of them. I need the truth – about everything. I want to believe you're my ally, but to do that you're going to have to help me understand just who it is you are."
"I suppose that's fair enough," Shoichi admitted, indulging his son in his tale. "Well where do I begin? My father and I were never exactly best buddies in my childhood. Michio and I used our abilities to escape Magnus Sanctum once we were old enough – quite straightforward to be honest; the tricky part is finding it again."
"Magnus Sanctum?" Shoryu asked. The word was new to him.
"The Senmatsu Island. Anyway a few years later came the missing chapter – the part no one knows about save for me and them. It happened seventeen years ago, just before you were born. . ."
Author's Notes: Hey guys! Alright so this chapter came in two major halves really.
That first part was without a doubt the most emotionally trying piece I've ever written, I literally had to take breaks between paragraphs to get my shit together. I knew the entire time that I could easily just rewrite it and make Fujiko survive, but I always wanted sacrifice to be a major theme in Legacies – victory doesn't come without cost when the stakes are this high. Plus it acts as a serious motivator for Kazuya. His character is pretty much set now because let's face it: no other event in the story could possibly impact him as much as this mission did.
The second part confirms something many of you suspected for a while. Shoryu's father Shoichi is alive and well. I originally planned for him to be a kind of mentor figure but Reizo is already in there for that. Instead I settled on making him act like just an older Shoryu; I thought it was more fitting considering how Yuuko always goes on about how similar they are.
As some of you might have guessed from that closing line we get a flashback chapter next time. Yes, that's right, after thirty-five chapters of a Naruto fanfic we finally arrive at our first ever flashback chapter. It's a miracle when you think about it! So yeah, look forward to learning more about Shoichi next time.