Chapter 35 - Cleaving Needle

It took almost a year for Fuzan to save up the money for the journey up to Kumogakure. It was money earned through his allowance, and doing odd jobs in town, and only buying the comics that really impressed him. He sharpened his tastes, but he always kept his true intentions in his heart.

They managed to secure a ride on a trader's cart up to Kumo in the summer of his thirteenth year. Fuzan carried his clothes and his money and his last lunch from his mother with him, and Choujin-man, issue number 184. He had the page that held his justifications dog-eared, the edge of the paper slightly worn from so much use. He did not read the rest terribly much.

There had been a long correspondence between his father and the ninja academy in Kumo. There was concern over Fuzan's age—thirteen years old and lacking any ninja training would put him at a serious disadvantage with the other students his age, but his father and Fuzan both said that they didn't care.

"I'm not afraid of hard work, or humiliation," Fuzan had said, and he had not been lying.

He had a hard time sticking to his story when they placed him in a class of five-year-olds. But he learned quickly and with extreme enthusiasm—and, most importantly, he laughed at himself when the rest of the kids would giggle at his awkward, gangly body sticking out like a sore thumb in the classroom of smaller children. He knew he stood out, duh. But he was there for a reason, un-cool as the situation was, initially.

Through a complicated series of negotiations that he could never quite understand, he came to live with a distant aunt of his or… something, that was the most he could come to grasp about the situation. It wasn't terribly important; what was important was that she was going to be putting up with Fuzan for as long as he stayed in the academy, and after that, he was on his own.

"You'll start earning money once you become a genin, whenever that will be," she had said. Her name was Tsukubane, and she had wavy hair and heavy eyes, so Fuzan assumed that she was related to his mother somehow. "So you'll be able to afford your own place."

This sounded perfectly reasonable to Fuzan. He was more than happy to share a room with his possible-aunt's young son, a boy of about seven or eight years named Ichii that took to calling him "big bro!" almost immediately. Her husband was absent in the way that some husbands were. Weeks would go by without Fuzan seeing his face, only knowing he was around from his cigarettes in the ashtray, his half-eaten breakfasts and folded newspaper on the table.

"Work hard at school, both of you," Tsukubane told them, during Fuzan's first meal with them. She was a ninja, a jounin, Ichii had told Fuzan, so she was out of the house a lot.

"But I know how to take care of myself," Ichii said, with a shiny-shiny smile. "I'm responsible."

And he certainly was, Fuzan thought. The two of them would walk to school together and part ways at the gates. Ichii was already two grades ahead of Fuzan, but Fuzan didn't mind terribly. He had a long way to go, and he knew it. But he was there for a reason, and that reason was noble.

This was difficult, obviously. But, Kumogakure was even more amazing than he could ever have imagined, and that softened the blow significantly.

Once he had gotten over his shock and amazement at the sheer size of the place and the enormous buildings within it, he discovered a glorious world of rap and hip-hop, the music that seemed to make up the very heartbeat of the city. Almost anywhere he went in the city he'd be sure to find some kid with a boombox making their way down the street with a spring in their step, or a breakdancer on a street corner, spinning wildly on the surface of a broken-down cardboard box. They were strange things, bizarre things that Fuzan could not even have imagined alone. And yet, there they were, and they had their pull on his heart almost immediately.

He also discovered graphic novels in Kumo, and manga. His general store back home had only ever stocked the cheapest, most popular, accessible comic titles, the ones that would get the old owner the biggest profit. Fuzan had spent an entire afternoon just staring at the wall of titles during his first visit to a bookstore on one of his days off, after asking Ichii where he could buy comics. He'd only occasionally take one down to read the summary on the back, before putting it back and reaching for another—he didn't have nearly enough time to read them all, much less in full.

He found himself coming back, afternoon after afternoon, to browse the comics section of the bookstore. He only stopped after the owner of the place tapped him on the shoulder to ask him if he was going to buy anything, for all of the browsing he did.

"Well, the thing is, sir… I don't have much money on me, so I wanna make sure I only buy the good stuff, see," Fuzan had replied.

"Punk-ass kid, you're wastin' my time," the owner muttered, ushering him to the door. "Look, down th'street 'bout three more blocks there's a manga café, you can read all the comics you want there for like 30 ryou, a'ight? Read 'em there, buy 'em here."

"…what's a manga café?" Fuzan had asked. He didn't get an answer, so he had to find out for himself.

And that was how he found himself spending the rest of his afternoons after class, reading back issues of old comics and graphic novels with well-thumbed covers, a melon soda or two with him in his booth. Naturally he set enough time aside for studying and practice—he was in Kumogakure, in Tsukubane's home for a reason, and he wouldn't—couldn't—forget that. But there was always time for his other passions.

Ichii, he later learned, also had a subscription to a magazine called Lightning Jump—the concept of having multiple series in one publication utterly amazed Fuzan—and he was a good enough kid to lend his copies to Fuzan once he was done with them.

Another thing that Fuzan discovered in Kumogakure were the real heroes.

The Raikage was the first one he had heard of, and the jinchuuriki, Killer Bee. The very idea of a jinchuuriki, their bodies the vessels for much greater, fiercer powers, fascinated Fuzan to no end. It was like something out of a manga, but it was real. There was also Sachiko, Cloud's other jinchuuriki, the cat child—astonishingly, she was almost as old as Fuzan. Fuzan actually caught glimpses of her, from time to time, a swift form of blue and trailing sleeves that went screaming through the streets of Kumogakure in a joyous quickness. Bee, on the other hand, was a distant but a public figure, being the brother of the former Raikage and a celebrity of sorts besides. He was seen but not approachable, in a whole other social strata. But Fuzan was happy to merely admire from afar.

(Until he actually met the guy. Bee got him to relax a little bit, after that. Then again, Bee could get just about anyone to relax.)

Fuzan thought exceedingly highly of both of them, but it was the jinchuuriki of Konoha, Uzumaki Naruto, who impressed him the most. Everything about him was beyond cool, and when Fuzan caught any sight of him during visits to Konoha, he could hardly contain himself.

(Kurai and Akari had long since gotten used to Fuzan's little outbursts of hero-worship. Kurai merely tolerated it, while Akari thought it amusing how such an older boy could act like such a child over such things.)

(Though Fuzan had loved comics for far longer, he became known widely first for being a hopeless fanboy of the jinchuuriki.)

All of this—the hip-hop, the manga, the jinchuuriki—eventually came together into a cohesive whole in Fuzan's life.

Most of this had to do with BB.

But that was another story.

In another story, Fuzan was progressing well in his training; by the end of his first semester at the academy it was decided that he'd be moved up a grade and put on a more condensed curriculum, and a similar decision was made the semester after. Things after that started to get… difficult, to say the least.

Chakra and its use was Fuzan's downfall. He just didn't get it—and his teachers tried to comfort him by saying that chakra-use was the most difficult thing for people to learn, especially if they were learning it late, but it still frustrated him a little. He did well with everything else, with the sparring and projectile weaponry and such. But chakra use was foreign to him. He'd spend hours trying to gather the stuff in his hands, like he had been directed to do, but he could never seem to figure it out.

And… then he met BB.

(Fuzan would smile uncontrollably just from thinking about her.)

But that was, again, another story.

He eventually progressed enough, with her help, to be promoted to genin at the age of fifteen. His teammates, the girl Akari and the boy Kurai, were nearly five years younger than he was, but he didn't mind. They got along well, for the most part.

He eventually got his own place, a crappy little one-room apartment with dirt-cheap rent, and it worked well enough for him, allowing him enough money left over for his comics and manga collection, and the money he sent home to his parents every month. He always brought a little bit more with him when he visited for New Years, as well.

(His graphic novel collection began in that year. It was a fungus of a thing, growing slowly, but steadily. Fuzan's collection, three years later, filled up almost two large cardboard boxes completely. He had no space for a bookshelf.)

When he was sixteen, he and his (twelve-year-old) teammates traveled all the way to Konoha, to participate in the chuunin exams for the first time.

The second time, they managed to get two extra Earth scrolls, after fighting tooth and nail for a Heaven; the other Earth scroll had been stolen from a girly Leaf nin that had somehow possessed Kurai's mind, and then fallen out of a tree and knocked himself out in escaping They progressed to the tournament, that year.

Fuzan didn't stand a chance, but Akari did.

The winter after that, it was Kurai's turn.

The fourth time was the charm. And when the Raikage, Rotsuki, handed that glorious white vest over to Fuzan, once they were back in Kumo, he had to hold back his tears. Nope, he wouldn't be crying. It wasn't cool to cry.

(Some things were okay to reject, because they weren't cool. It was acceptable.)

Akari and Kurai had become chuunin long before he had. He felt jealous and a little humiliated by this fact, but he didn't care too much, in the end. Because he knew he'd get there eventually. He knew.

And he was helping people. To say that Fuzan loved his job would be like saying fire was hot, or rain was wet. It was what he had come all this way to do, and now he was doing it.

Of course, Fuzan wasn't nearly as noble as Choujin-man. Choujin-man was humble, and he hated drawing attention to himself.

Fuzan, on the other hand, loved attention. He volunteered for everything. He always wanted to lead his team—and why shouldn't he at least make an effort? He wanted people to know he was willing to help. He wanted people to know that he was helping.

But the fact remained. Fuzan just wasn't that skilled. He was talented with sharp knives and sharp rhymes, but just average at everything else.

Which was why he was assigned to surveillance instead of going in with Captain Omoi and getting all the action done.

He told himself that it was still an important thing, this grunt work and surveillance. Someone had to do it—just like someone always had to shovel pig poop back at home, just like someone always had to help scrub graffiti off the city walls. He was doing what had to be done. And wasn't that noble?

…yeah, that was… noble.

Fuzan just wished, sometimes, that he'd get the big jobs once in a while. Certainly, things got more exciting when he became a chuunin and he started doing missions with Akari and Kurai and everyone again. But it was all covert, no glory or anything.

Now, the chuunin exams, with the tournament, where Fuzan got to give his all in one-on-one combat, his favorite swords gleaming in the Konoha sun, with everyone watching, with Uzumaki Naruto, with BB watching… that was glorious.

…but that was only really helping himself, wasn't it?

…yeah, that was.

But that was okay! To show off every once in a while, that wasn't so bad. Yeah, that wasn't so bad.

Nineteen years old, a chuunin for less than a year, Fuzan smiled and assured himself, again. Yeah, that wasn't so bad. He deserved to show off once in a while.

It was five minutes to 1 AM. Everyone had their watches synchronized. Everyone was ready to go.

And when the time came, the teams went down in groups of two, leaping over the wall of the compound—civilian buildings were embarrassingly easy to infiltrate, with their lack of chakra-sensing devices of any kind. Fuzan and Kurai went around one side of the main house, Akari and Namakura around the other. Once their positions were confirmed over radio, Omoi and Sairi went in, Kanji keeping his constant watch from their base in the hills.

Fuzan knew that it wouldn't take very long for the operation to begin and end. But waiting for that end seemed to last an age.

There was very little chatter on the radio—a good sign. But it made everything else awfully dull.

In the vacuum of activity, Fuzan practiced his rhymes again.

"…sharp like a blade, harsh like a… wave? Crashin', smashin' up yo' life, Na-Na-Na-Na…"

(It was a lucky thing that Fuzan had left his beloved second-hand cassette player behind, because otherwise he might not have heard the footsteps coming up beside him.)

Fuzan dodged the incoming sword blade and flipped over the edge of the outer platform that he was sitting on, crouching, reaching for one of the three short blades strapped to his back.

In any other circumstance, he'd have the intruder disabled, knocked-out for a couple of hours, and he'd have his team radioed and informed of what had happened, and nothing more would probably come of it.

But his opponent was much smaller than him. And much quicker.

Fuzan was on his stomach in about two seconds. "Explain yourself, quickly, or I'll cut you," his attacker said, quietly. A girl. Fuzan didn't answer. He felt the sharp edge of metal against his neck, and he gulped.

"N-n-nothing, I'm just…" He was pinned down too firmly to do more than squirm. He had his arms pressed together at the wrist by one knee, with a very small, very forceful little foot on the small of his back.

"Just what."

He gulped again, and said, to his inevitable embarrassment, "…please get off me…?"

"Not for a moment, ninja. Yes, I know what you are," she added, a moment later. "I saw that plate on your forehead. Why are you here?"

And Fuzan struggled with that question, truthfully, because whatever he said would just get him in more trouble.

…hell, he was already caught. He'd be in deep with Captain Omoi if he had to be rescued—and he could imagine how much that would mess up the rest of the mission. And, shit, he didn't want to be rescued.

(Besides, he couldn't have reached the button to turn on the microphone of his radio, even if he wanted to.)

The foot pressed more insistently on his back. "Speak up, ninja. Are you here to harm my master?"

So Fuzan did what he had to do. Captain Omoi and Sairi could take care of a little more trouble, if that was what resulted.

"…is your master… Hakaza Kou?" he replied.

"…no."

"Then m'not here to hurt your master, now could you… please get your foot off my back, it's… kinda hard to breathe…" Fuzan squeaked. Man did he ever sound stupid.

And yet, to his surprise, a second later, there was no longer a foot on his back, a knee on his wrists, a blade at his neck. He sat up, breathing deeply, rubbing his forearms.

The girl with the sword stood above him, all five or so feet of her, and she glared at him. She'd taken all three of Fuzan's blades without him noticing, and they were tucked into the belt of her robe.

"Damn, chika, you are something," Fuzan said, quietly, as he looked up at her.

Her face, or as much as Fuzan could see, was surprisingly delicate, framed by dark hair that fell just over her shoulders; she wrinkled her nose in what was either disgust or confusion. "What do you intend to do to Hakaza Kou, ninja?" she said, in response.

Again, Fuzan fumbled with the question.

In hindsight, he would wonder why, at that point, he didn't just run—but then he would think further, and there were several factors against him there. Mostly to do with the girl. She was quicker than him, she had more swords than him, and she had clearly demonstrated that she was more than capable of overpowering him. He doubted she would hesitate again if he tried something.

So, he said, "We're… not gonna kill him or anything…"

"You didn't answer my question." The girl handled her own sword as if it weighed nothing, and she ran her pale fingers along the flat edge of the blade with a strange delicacy. "Also, 'we'?"

Oh damn it. "I meant me."

She didn't look convinced. "What do you and your comrades intend to do?" she said. "If you aren't going to kill him, that is."

Fuzan prayed that he wouldn't have to explain himself for this later, wincing severely. "Kidnapping."

The girl's expression hadn't changed much when he looked up again, the only addition the strange sort of half smile. "You're going to kidnap him?"

"Yes, only, I don't think we will now, since you went and caught me," Fuzan grumbled. He marveled at his idiocy—he was a damn chuunin, for heaven's sake—yeah, true, he hadn't anticipated the girl's skill, but this was just damn amateurish behavior, what he was doing. He started to think of Captain Omoi, and almost as if on reflex, he started thinking like him as well, and then, "I suppose you're going to take me in and try to stop us now, aren't you? Capture me and-"

"No. Carry on, do as you wish," the girl replied. To his amazement, she sheathed her sword and pulled Fuzan's own swords out of her belt, and handed them to him, one by one, handle-first. "I certainly won't do a thing to stop you. So long as you promise not to harm my master."

"…no kidding?" Fuzan said. His voice seemed to have gone somewhere distant in the astonishing forever that seemed to pass in the time it took for him to put his swords back on his back.

"Well, it's not my duty to protect Hakaza Kou. My duty is to protect my own master. At any cost," she replied. There was a coldness, a stiffness, a cruelness in her otherwise soft sort of voice. "That boy is none of my concern."

Fuzan shivered. He pulled himself off the ground, uneasily. "S-sure thing, chika."

"So, go, now. Attempt whatever you wish. I shall remain uninvolved."

Fuzan knew he was panicking, because you weren't supposed to get goose pimples in the middle of summer. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from rattling. He began to back away. Her dark, dark eyes stayed on him the entire time. She kept a hand on the white handle of her sword.

And then Fuzan got out of there and began on his way to Kurai's post, because he sure as hell wasn't staying on the northern wall. Not after that.

His heart was beating insanely fast, and his head felt light, hollow. He was almost dizzy.

He asked himself several times what the hell had just happened, but he found he couldn't quite answer.

The only thing he knew for certain was that crime syndicates were damn fierce, if that girl was any indication. Chika was scary.

To his relief—and in a stroke of luck—the radio crackled with Sairi's voice that Hakaza Kou had been successfully captured, and that an immediate exit was the next course of action. Kurai would think nothing of it if Fuzan caught up with him a little more quickly than usual.

They exited in groups of two, the way they had come. Akari and Namakura first, Fuzan and Kurai second, and Omoi and Sairi and—drugged into a sleep and slung over Omoi's shoulder—the limp body of Hakaza Kou.

They kept moving, silently, after meeting up with Kanji; avoiding detection, until they came to the predetermined safe-house a few miles away, a busted-up shack of a place that Omoi had set up on the journey over. They'd be bringing Kou to the Land of Lightning in the day afterward, and sending out their ransom from there. But everyone needed rest.

Especially Fuzan. "You okay, there? Something the matter?" Sairi asked him, when they were bedding down for the morning, with the sunrise.

Fuzan, apparently, was still shivering. "Just a little, uh, jazzed up still from th'mission, yeah," he replied. He held his arms tightly with his hands, to reduce his shakes.

"Adrenaline rush, huh? Don't blame you. We had a close call," Sairi replied. She was taking off her earrings, presently, casually. "Almost got seen! These guys are light sleepers."

"Yeah, I'll say…" Fuzan replied, uneasily. She didn't even look at him strangely for the comment, but he mentally punched himself in the stomach for it.

If anyone found out. He couldn't let anyone find out.

Man, he'd acted like such a moron! He was better than that, wasn't he?

But he couldn't help that he'd gotten caught, could he?

…yeah, he could have helped that. And that part sucked the most.

Even though that girl—that weird, scary girl—had come out of nowhere. He hadn't expected such skill out of someone so small—and out of a civilian, no less. Yeah, the guys from crime syndicates were tough, but they were brutish, not subtle. Not like she had been.

Damn, she must have gotten him into a hold in two, three seconds flat! Fuzan couldn't help but be impressed, despite his humiliation. But it was a private humiliation, at least. That wasn't so bad.

Because nobody knew. (So far.)

Because the mission was a success. (So far.)

Because there was Hakaza Kou, lumpy-faced and still in his pajamas, tied up and drugged in the corner of the shack where they were all sleeping. Kanji, as always, remained on alert on the roof. Watching. Spotting for them all.

There were still ransoms to be sent out, of course, negotiations to be had.

Fuzan, understandably, did not rest well that night, his thoughts too frayed for him to even rhyme himself to sleep.

If anybody found out.

But nobody would find out.

Nobody.

He'd be cool.