prompt word: collectivity
Kabuto faded into the crowd, meandering from one end to the next, keeping his eye on the target without indicating any interest. He would stop at shops, duck inside to buy something (three spools of wire, genin Kabuto hummed, just what I needed), and allow the target to move on a ways. One had to use all their senses when tailing—relying too heavily on one or the other would get you caught.
Though he was not a sensor, he could pick up on the quiver of stilted chakra, like a flame suffocating under a vase, a dying flower.
He smiled at the salesclerk as he left and received a jaunty wave in return. He didn't think the man even knew his name, but he knew that he stopped in to buy miscellaneous supplies whenever he happened by. (In actuality, Kabuto carefully timed his visits so that they only fell into a pattern for a few weeks, interspersed with visits on either end of two hours from the normal time, always on different days. He could not afford to be a 'regular' anywhere; he was supposed to be invisible.)
In the last decade, he hadn't been remembered by anyone he didn't want to recall him.
Kabuto indulged in pride sometimes. Or, what he thought was pride—a sharp needle in his heart that jabbed into his throat. It wasn't a pleasant feeling but it had a certain satisfaction to it, so he indulged. When it didn't get in the way.
He found a nice, tall tree with protruding roots. The earth was spongy, the sun was warm, and it had a half-slanted but serviceable angle on the clearing in Training Ground 7. He folded his hands in a silent prayer before opening his lunch box.
Intelligence gathering was often boring work. He would spend the next few hours pretending to work in the sunshine, writing down notes on the last Uchiha's ability and temperament. Then he'd pretend to fall asleep for however long the rookies were slated for training.
A second preteen surged from the corner Kabuto couldn't see and was promptly pushed into the dirt. The redirection of force was textbook; a wonderful deflection on Sasuke's part. It was, however, too forceful. He wasn't conserving energy that way. A thirty percent reduction in muscle tension would grant him at least point eight more seconds of control over his opponent.
Kabuto's pencil wavered.
When had Naruto gotten to that side of the clearing? He'd been in the pond when Kabuto had last noticed him and he hadn't looked away. Kabuto, Orochimaru's spymaster and righthand man, had forgotten about Naruto Uzumaki. For a child who wore an entirely orange tracksuit and shouted more than he spoke, Naruto was surprisingly easy to overlook.
How dangerous. Kabuto made a note to observe Naruto in different environments and different outfits. He needed to disassociate the color from the boy so he could better incorporate him into his environmental awareness. Relying on heuristic approaches like clothing style was a slippery slope.
Kabuto knew Naruto was the container of the mighty nine-tailed fox, the chakra beast that had decimated Konoha on the child's birthday. More than that, he knew that Naruto displayed physical strength and stamina characteristic of someone twice his age and three times his height. His chakra reserves pushed the boundaries of medical possibility—and that was just his own chakra, not the Kyuubi.
By all rights Naruto should be a force to be reckoned with. Even if he had no talent he had power. He could brute force his way through almost any problem (well, any problem below B rank) and yet…
Yet.
He was a clown. Easily overlooked, so he acted out to get attention. Kabuto wondered idly if he participated in self-sabotage, subconsciously pulling his taijutsu forms out of alignment, telegraphing his movements, making as much noise as possible. All to draw the attention of teachers who would rather pretend he didn't exist. Childhood neglect that would get him killed on the battlefield—that was Konoha for you.
Kabuto had seen people look through Naruto like he was air. He'd seen them walk right into him, then stumble away with irritation in their faces and words like it was the kid's fault they hadn't seen him.
Part of it was probably the collective effort of the village to forget about him. The mob mentality was overpowering in a place as collectivized and community-oriented as Konoha. But part of it was just Naruto.
There are those who stand out in a crowd without effort, those like Sasuke Uchiha. They catch the attention of the wrong sort of people (or the right sort, depending on who was writing the mission report).
Then there are those who fade into the collective. Without something to set them apart they are little more than backdrop. Kabuto was that sort; it was only the conspiracy of coincidence that had deprived him of a meaningless background existence where he may have been dull but happy.
Naruto was that sort too, despite his best efforts.
Kabuto noted the degree to which Sasuke's fireball had intensified since the last time he'd performed the jutsu. He was practicing on his own, and that was good. Kabuto couldn't always watch him; he had to play the part of the dutiful genin as well as furnishing his master with new information. He couldn't do the latter if he didn't do the former, unfortunately.
Kabuto didn't mind.
It didn't matter what mask he wore, they were all masks. Here in the sunshine, letting the heat make him drowsy (make him look drowsy, at least, his mind could not and would not stop), or there in the sterile labs with their acidic tang in the back of this throat: it didn't matter. Each was as good as the other.
Lost him again, Kabuto noted as Naruto reappeared with a roundhouse kick. Sloppy form. He'd never break Sasuke's defenses like that.
In the privacy of his own mind, Kabuto was thankful that Naruto was the way he was. That he was on that team with That Uchiha. The farther from center stage he was, the more outshined, the safer he would be.
He didn't know it yet. He was young and foolish. He didn't know not to answer questions from strange men, even if they wore your colors and your symbol and seemed mildly interested in you as though you were something special.
He didn't, but he would.
If Kabuto had to teach him that himself, well, cruelty was sometimes a sort of kindness too.