When Shinobi Lose Their Way | The Stranger


"Shinobi are tools for their Village. They are valuable; both as warriors able to defend her, and as mercenaries capable of generating her wealth. Often, the two are intertwined: a Village with a reputation of capable shinobi is less likely to be attacked, whilst also more likely to gain customers. Therefore, for the sake of the Village and all her people: Shinobi must always put their mission first."

-Tobirama Senju, the Second Hokage


When Shinobi Lose Their Way | The Stranger


The watchman released the safety and fingered the trigger guard of his rifle. Slung in front of his torso, it was made of a mixture of wood and cool steel. An older model—it did not transform into a melee weapon—it had a simple scope zeroed at three-hundred metres. With no aura to protect himself, he was dangerously vulnerable to anything that got within thirty metres of his person. A melee weapon would be all but useless; he'd be dead before he could make use of it.

Double checking that he had a round chambered, he peered down from his tower to the stranger that had been steadily approaching through his optical rangefinder. The tower was placed away from and slightly in front of the gate of the town. From his position, he had line of sight with the gate to his right, and the entirety of the fields up until the Forest over a kilometre away.

The stranger was at one-hundred and three metres, and closing. He marched slowly onwards. A black cloak with blood red clouds covered his body, a sharp contrast to the green fields behind him. The collar of his cloak hid his face up to his cheeks. A yellow, cone-shaped hat covered his head, blocking the watchman's view of his face. The stranger stopped roughly sixteen metres away from the gate, and roughly fifty metres from the base of his tower.

"What'dya think?" a voice from behind asked. The watchman jumped, nearly dropping his equipment. Trust the Arc-boy to startle a watchman while he was on duty.

"I think yer a tyke, that's what!" he snapped back, lowering the rangefinder and shouldering his rifle.

"You know what I mean," the boy whined. "About him!"

The watchman hummed in consideration before answering. "Dangerous, I'd wager, given 'e came from the Forest."

The boy squinted, looking to the stranger and then to the watchman. "He doesn't have any weapons…" he half stated, half asked.

"No," The watchman rebuked angrily, "just 'cuz you can't see 'em, don't mean they ain't there!"

The boy leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the watchman.

"Even if 'e has none, if someone has aura they are always armed," the man continued lecturing, no less harsh in his tone.

"Why'd you think he's got aura?"

The watchman snorted. "Use yer brain and tell me, if ye've got one."

Jaune paused for a moment, pondering. "Well…" he drawled, not quite certain of his answer, "he came from the Forest, like you said. So he's got to be strong, right? You think he's a huntsman?"

The watchman hummed. "Can't say fer sure. Huntsman… not a huntsman… no matter, he probably has himself an aura if he survived the Forest."

Jaune nodded, even as he came up with another question. "But if he's got aura, what's a bullet gonna do to him? Won't it just bounce off?"

"Sure, if 'e's channelling it. Otherwise it'll blast right through 'im, same as anyone," he answered. "Now, off with ya. I've got a job ta do, and so do ye, methinks."

Jaune meandered down the narrow steps of the wooden tower, wanting to stay and watch, but not wanting to raise the watchman's ire. He paused when he reached the bottom. On the one hand, he had chores to do. On the other, the gate was just down the road, and a small crowd of others had gathered, wanting to be the first to meet the stranger. He'd be damned if he didn't get a good look at the man that survived the Forest. What stories must he hold! What mystery! With a grin, he made up his mind, raising his hood to hide his bright, blonde hair.


Nicholas Arc approached the gate to his humble town with a thoughtful frown. Tiny had told him there was a stranger approaching; a rather irregular occurrence for a village as small and insignificant as his. It was closed more often than not as a precaution against Grimm and bandits. Only after inspection were people let in. He stopped just short of the group of villagers that had already begun to crowd around the closed gate.

"He should be just beyond the gate by now," Tiny informed him. He stumbled after the taller man, trying to keep up with the swift pace that Nicholas set.

"You sure he came from the Forest, and not the road?" he asked in response.

"Yeah, Jaune and the watchman both saw him. He sent Jaune to fetch you, but…" the man trailed off, not wanting to badmouth the man's son to his face.

"No need to mince your words, it's his own fault nobody believes him," the Arc patriarch answered with a sigh. "Best get this over with," he muttered. The crowd quickly moved out of his as he began to push his way through. The gatekeeper, who had tried and failed to keep everyone back, nodded when he saw his leader approach.

"No aura or dust," he told him. "If he is armed, it'd have to be with a blade." Nicholas hummed in thought as he opened a small latch in the gate. Channelling aura to the front of his body—a habit from his younger years—he looked outwards.

There, twenty paces from the wooden gate, was the stranger. He was still, and his cloak billowed in the breeze. Nicholas patted the guard on his shoulder, and opened the door of the gate, slipping through to meet with the stranger. The gatekeeper shut it after him. Those that waited behind the gate murmured quietly in excitement. A few of the more daring edged closer to the wall and gate, eager to hear them talk. All that could be heard was the deep voice of their leader—but they could not make out his words, as he was too far from the gate. A few moments later, the door opened again, and Nicholas Arc and the stranger both stepped into the town. The crowd, which had moved closer to the gate, hurried back to give the men some space.

"I told you!" Jaune exclaimed, a vindictive grin on his face. "I told you a man was here!" Those among the crowd who had denied him earlier nodded absentmindedly, not caring to hear his crows of victory. Their attention was much better placed on their visitor. Covered as he was, all they could see were his attentive black eyes, and the painted nails of his sandal-clad feet. After a moment passed, the stranger took off his hat and lowered the collar of his cloak, revealing a narrow, pale face. A plated headband covered his forehead.

"This is Shisui!" their leader bellowed as a way of introduction. "He has survived a long and difficult journey; he is no doubt very weary. I only ask that you leave him be until he's recovered.

"Tiny," Nicholas barked at the rotund man, "go see about a doctor; best we give our guest a look over, just in case. Everyone else, disperse! Excitement's over!" He paused as he noticed his son. "Jaune!" Hearing his name, the boy instinctively snapped to attention. Nicholas sighed. "Do your chores before your mother gets too upset at you, please." Jaune nodded, and took one last look at the foreigner before scampering away. Nicholas watched until his son turned the corner.

Once he was sure his son would not disobey him, Nicholas gestured for Shisui to follow. He led him to a small, empty inn. Ducking under the low-hanging sign, Nicholas entered, and Shisui meandered on after him. Motioning for the man to sit at one of the tables, Nicholas strode up to the bar.

"Rufus!" he called. He heard a small crash of dishes and a curse before the man came out of the kitchen.

"Arc. What can I do for you? Bit early to be drinking, don't you think?" he asked with a teasing grin.

Nicholas simply motioned behind him to the stranger, who was keenly observing the two.

"The stranger from the Forest, eh?" Rufus answered. "I figured he might show up."

Nicholas nodded. "His name is Shisui. You got a spare room?"

"A couple," he replied, filling up a glass with some water and setting it down at the bar. "For you, Shisui," he said, throwing his voice so the stranger would hear.

"Don't bother," Nicholas said, taking the glass. "He's not from around here; doesn't speak a word of Valean." He set it down in front of Shisui. The man still hadn't made a sound. His hands stayed at his sides, and a blank stare adorned his face. He seemed content to simply sit still and watch the two men interact.

"Can you fix him something to eat? I'll pay for it."

"I'll get some bread. He'll want something light if he's not eaten for a while… it's no skin off my back."

Nicholas nodded, and looked towards Shisui. He had yet to touch his glass.

Rufus followed his gaze. "Most think he's a huntsman. Some are even saying he slew a Goliath, or that he must be a runaway," Rufus whispered conspiratorially.

Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Well, he's got no aura so he's no huntsman. The gatekeeper confirmed that the most he has is a blade or two." Nicholas leaned forward slightly and continued, his voice lower than before. "Keep an eye on him for me, hm? He did come from the Forest."

Rufus leaned forward in kind. "You think he's dangerous?"

"I think he may be desperate."

Rufus nodded, satisfied with the reasoning. "I'll give you a heads up if I see anything strange."


Itachi couldn't help but feel a small measure of surprise as he stepped into the village after the taller blonde man. He had not dared to use a transformation technique; any small flare of chakra risked bringing a horde of monsters upon the small town. For all he knew, the village could very well be the only civilization for many miles. It would be foolish to risk such a valuable source of information. And so, he had expected at best a fearful people, eager to cater to his every demand, and at worst, open hostilities.

He received neither; rather, they had looked upon him as a child would observe a new toy. There was fear—but not true fear. Not the fear born of knowledge, the fear of knowing what a shinobi of his calibre was capable of. It was a curious sort of fear, the kind that often accompanied feelings of awe and mystery.

He followed the man into the inn, and did not duck under the hanging sign. He was too short. Taking a seat, he kept his face plain as he watched the man and the barkeep converse. He fought to keep his eyes open; he dared not fall asleep.

Did they truly not recognise his cloak? After the incident in Konoha, the whole world had been on the lookout for him and his ilk, with bounties specifically pointing to their uniforms. Perhaps they were unfamiliar with shinobi as a whole? That would explain why they had not recoiled away upon seeing the slashed headband he carried.

Still, he could not be sure. As it stood he had no way of knowing if their goodwill was honest. Mind sluggish and clouded by paranoia, he barely noticed his host put a glass of water on the table.

His throat burned at the thought of water. He hadn't had any for at least twenty-four hours, possibly more. Should he drink it? No. He had too much to lose. He couldn't test for poison without using chakra; and chakra had drawn the monsters to him like moths to the flame. The wooden palisade and singular guard tower would not stand a chance against such a horde.

His thoughts stilled for a moment, his fingers curling around the kunai at his hip. So what if he brought those beasts? He'd have enough time to get what he needed—mental techniques transferred intent; so the language barrier wouldn't matter. In the chaos he'd be able to escape. Why not? He'd get information and he'd be able to test for poison, ensuring his own safety. It wouldn't be worse than anything he had done before. What were a few more innocent lives? It would take but a moment.

He was pulled from his darker thoughts by Nicholas, who yanked the chair back and sat down in front of him. The man snatched the glass away, and poured half of the water into his own and loudly drank it in one gulp. Folding his hands under his chin, set the glass back down with a thunk, and then looked him straight in the eyes.

Itachi's lip tugged slightly upward. It seemed the man had made his choice for him. Delicate hands reached out, lightly gripping the cup. With a few small sips he quenched his thirst, and relaxed, if only a little. This continued, with Nicholas taking small portions of Itachi's food to prove it was safe, and Itachi following suit: taking small bites and smiling politely at his host.

After the meal, Rufus led him up the steps and into one of the vacant rooms. He began to speak but trailed off with a slight stutter, quickly realising Shisui wouldn't understand. He cringed, clapping his hands together before sheepishly closing the door behind him, leaving Itachi alone in the room. A small bed stood alone in one corner, and a single glass window adorned the wall opposite to it. A short stool and desk sat under the window. He put his hat down on top of the desk, and looked out. It was hardly late; the sun was only just beginning to descend from its place in the sky. It wouldn't set for several more hours.

His eyes turned to his bed. Carefully, he sat down on it, and he found himself marvelling at its softness as he sunk into it. The pillow, he quickly found, was just as soft as the bed. He felt his eyes grow heavy as the weariness and exhaustion he had been suppressing manifested itself with an ugly yawn. His bones ached, and his mind pulsed angrily. His paranoia and fear began to drift away as he quickly succumbed to his weakness, falling into slumber.

The soft silvery light of the full moon filtered through the window. He sat up, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. How long had he been asleep? The desk and stool were gone, as was his bed. Itachi stood up, alone, dressed in the grey-black armour of his ANBU blackops uniform. His cloak and hat were nowhere to be seen. He was in a small room; an inner chamber of sorts. There was no furniture—only a wooden floor and a window to the outside. Instead of a view of the road below, it looked out to the courtyard and garden which were defiled with the corpses of those who had been slain.

His weasel mask lay among the carnage of the courtyard.

He felt something wet at his feet. Looking down he saw two bodies, blood pouring from their wounds and staining his sandals red. They had been decapitated in a single stroke. A sweaty hand choked the handle of his tantō; the blade shook with anger and disgust. He did not remember drawing it. His vision grew watery: tears welled in his eyes as he remembered that night.

He had left them for last, and they had called him kind. The door behind him creaked open, and a small boy stumbled into the room.

"Itachi…?" the child asked, terror shining through wide eyes. His entire form trembled with fear.

"Someone killed—someone—they're dead! They're all dead!"

His eyes shifted from his elder brother, to the blood, and finally, to the bodies on the floor. Shaking, unsteady legs gave out and the boy fell to the floor in anguish.

"Mom! Dad!" he cried. He did not understand. He did not want to.

Itachi would make him understand. Turning slightly, his eyes met those of his younger sibling. He did his best to hide his tears.

"How foolish…" he whispered, malice and disgust rising as he spoke.

The boy cowered back, in fear and shock. His eyes widened and his breath stilled, understanding blossoming in his mind. He tried to run. Itachi did not let him. Holding his brother's gaze, he channelled chakra to his left eye; it morphed from black to red, forming a three-bladed pinwheel. Sasuke was helpless underneath the power of his brother's gaze.

Tsukuyomi.

The world twisted and changed; the boy found himself outside his home. Lamps illuminated the street, and people—his family members, he realised—bustled about. It was as though the massacre had never happened. His Aunt Sarada, whose body he had found just a few minutes ago, laughed as she spoke with one of her friends.

"Aunt Sarada!" he cried as he saw her.

"Sasuke!" she replied with a warm smile as he stumbled up to her. She made to embrace him.

A kunai tore through her throat before she could take a step. She collapsed bonelessly. Sasuke froze, falling down paralysed at the sight. Trembling, he pushed himself to his knees and crawled to her crumpled form. He put his hands on her throat—to stop the bleeding, like the older shinobi had taught—but it was to no avail. Her eyes, once so full of warmth and love, were empty.

"No… no!" he whispered, not wanting to believe what he had seen. His hands and fingers were stained red, and they trembled as he lost control of his breath. His vision swam. "Help! Somebody help!" he cried out, looking up to where her friend had been just a moment ago. The once bustling street was now empty; her friend and the people that occupied it were replaced with their corpses. "No…" he whispered again. Who could have done such a thing? Why?

A low, even voice rumbled from somewhere behind him. "Foolish little brother," it mocked.

The boy bore witness to the murder of his clan. Over and over, and over and over he experienced it. The men. The women. The children. Shinobi and civilian; Itachi did not discriminate. He did not waver in their execution. Each met a violent end. Sasuke screamed as he was forced to watch.

Itachi awoke abruptly in a bed that was too soft. His eyes were opened wide as they darted about, examining the room. He was still wearing his cloak. The desk and stool had not moved; his yellow cone hat remained where it was. His sword was still sealed. He ran his fingers over the handles of the kunai on his hip. They were all there. The only difference was the darkness: the sun had set many hours ago, and no moonlight illuminated the room.

He laughed softly at his earlier confusion. He hadn't had such night terrors for a long time; he must have been more worn out than he realised. Standing up, he put on his hat, and slipped through the window, climbing up to the roof.

Looking up, he tried to make sense of his location. Anything to keep his mind far from that night. The stars, for one, were all wrong. The constellations he had relied upon for all his life had betrayed him: he did not recognise a single cluster. He frowned in thought. To change constellations he'd have to have entirely changed hemispheres. Yet, that still did not explain the abomination that he supposed was the moon. If the moon he had known looked like a small dinner plate, this moon looked like it had been hit with a small hammer: it was mostly intact, but it had somehow crumbled into pieces on one side. Gradually the pieces decreased in size as they neared the circumference of the moon, until they became a cloud of debris that slowly trailed away.

He did not sleep for the rest of the night.

A doctor came sometime the next morning. They had been quite alarmed to see him on the roof, and had beckoned him back to his bed. Itachi endured a quick, surface-level examination and nothing more. He already knew what the diagnosis, if any, would be. He was dehydrated and fatigued, and would need to eat and rest to recuperate his strength, but he was not feverish or visibly injured. Itachi was glad for that. When the doctor left, a young woman came through his door. She brought with him a tray of food and a tall glass of water. She was blonde—the same bright yellow blonde as the Arc man—and had small reading glasses on her nose. She left the tray and the water, and returned with books. Piles and piles of books. Itachi did not recognise them. The script on their covers were straight and blocky; quite unlike any alphabet he was familiar with.

The woman, who was out of breath from carrying so many books, pointed to herself, and spoke with a grin, "My name is Lavender! Lavender Arc!"

Itachi raised a brow at her name, not understanding anything else. It was only when she began to speak in other tongues that he realised why she was there.


Jaune wiped the sweat from his forehead and set his axe down, griping under his breath over his workload as he did. The sun beat down angrily on his back. His shoulders and upper back ached and protested angrily with every movement. His legs and lower back were stiff from maintaining his posture; his hands blistered from the long hours of chopping. Being the last of his chores for the day, his body was more sore than normal. With so much to do, he had not had a chance to try and approach the stranger. Lavender had been able to; she had spent almost the entire day talking to him. It was unfair! He had been the one to spot him first.

Yesterday he had been tasked with helping prepare the fields for sowing. Today he had been tasked to help chop firewood. Tomorrow he'd probably be told to help with the cows. It was boring! And worst of all, nobody cared what he thought of it. He lamented the unfairness of it all as he continued to chop logs.

"It's important work," Dad would tell him solemnly.

"We all have to work together, Jaune," Mom would rebuke softly. His sisters would pat his head and tell him that he'd learn to enjoy it. It didn't matter that he wanted something bigger. Something better than this tiny town. Everyone else seemed content to live and die in this boring, meaningless place. He sighed, and stretched in an attempt to soothe the soreness in his body. Picking up his axe, he continued his work.

Having your chores violently interrupted was nice, Jaune decided. He had been chopping logs when a vicious monster nearly snapped him up from the ground underneath him. Leaping away, he narrowly avoided being swallowed whole. Somehow, it had dug a tunnel from outside the village walls and straight to his position.

The Grimm was massive—nearly ten feet tall! Its claws were long—longer than Jaune's fingers. Segmented bone armour covered an inky blackness that swirled and swelled with power. It stood upright on wide hind legs, leaning slightly forward on massive forelimbs that were designed to crush and slice. Eight red eyes shined with malice and rage, promising a painful end.

Jaune felt no fear. The promises of death meant nothing to one as strong as he. Why should it? Huntsmen were the Grimm's natural predators, after all. Twirling his axe with a flourish, he grinned.

"You want to go?" he taunted as he took his stance. A single hand in his pocket, he rested the axe over his shoulder. The monster roared in a fury—revealing a gaping maw filled with rows of rotating teeth.

Jaune rushed forward, eager to slay the beast. Leaping, he aimed to decapitate his foe in a single strike. The axe head hurled toward his foe, and with a—clang!—it struck the monster across the face. Bone armour held strong. The monster had pulled its head back just in time to save itself, changing a deathblow into a glancing hit.

Twisting away, Jaune barely sidestepped a retaliatory slash. More careful the second time, he aimed between the gaps in the armour, and chopped the offending forelimb right through the joint. The vile beast roared back in equal parts pain and anger, and Jaune struck for the head again. This time, his aim rang true.

With a groan and a whimper, the monster's head rolled to the ground. The beast had been slain. Triumphant, Jaune watched with a smirk as the corpse faded into ash. The ground around him shook. His eyes widened. An ambush! All around him, the ground erupted, revealing a horde of the tunnel boring monsters. He was surrounded.

He laughed, and chambered a round. Little did they know… his axe was also a shotgun. With a cry, he descended upon the Grimm, ducking, twisting, weaving his way through their attacks with ease as he blasted them to oblivion. His ears picked up a sound. It was a shrill, piercing sort of sound. A cry for help!

"Jaune Nicholas Arc! You had better be chopping that wood if you want any dinner tonight!" his mother yelled from the kitchen window. Jaune froze in place, the axe slipping from his hands. His fantasy had not gone unnoticed.

"Sorry mom!" He scampered back to his pile of logs, grumbling under his breath as he returned to his chores.

Who was he kidding? He had never even seen a Grimm! Not to mention, a simple woodcutting axe would probably not be a good weapon to fight them with. The only thing it was good for was chopping wood.

Grab log from pile. Put log onto stump. Chop log. Move chopped bit to pile of chopped bits. Repeat. Now, Dad's weapon… Dad's weapon was another thing entirely. It was a massive mechashift greatsword. The most action it ever received was a monthly cleaning, which was a sad thing in his opinion. How could you have a giant sword and never use it?

It was hung over the mantle of their fireplace, but he had heard stories. Stories of Nicholas Jaune Arc—the mighty Huntsman—slayer of a Goliath! He didn't even know what a Goliath Grimm was. If the name was anything to go by, it had to be a dangerous foe.

He vowed that one day, he would kill a Grimm, and become a great huntsman. Just like his Dad. For now, he resigned himself to getting his other chores done.


"Jaune! Did you finish with the wood?"

Jaune looked up at his mother, who was calling out to him from the kitchen window. He had just finished a few minutes ago, and was resting on a nearby stump. "Yeah! I just finished!" he yelled back.

"Can you bring some in?"

"How much do you need?" he asked.

"We're all out; so enough for the oven, and for the fireplace," she replied.

"Several baskets worth, then…" he muttered to himself.

"Oh! And once you're done with that, there's something I need you to do for me!"

"Of course there is," he continued griping.

"I hope those aren't complaints I'm hearing!"

Grabbing a large bin, he filled it with the logs he had chopped last season. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he brought it inside through the side door.

"Thanks Jaune," his mother thanked him with a smile.

He sighed. While it was boring to chop logs, at least he wouldn't have to do it for a while. He had done enough to last the rest of the month.

"I'll go get the rest," he eventually answered.

Once he finished his task, he approached his mother in the kitchen. She had cloth tied around her hair, and a flour covered apron covered her dress. She tossed some dough up into the air in a familiar fashion. Vegetables, cheese, and a few meats had been diced, grated, and chopped respectively. An open jar of tomato sauce sat next to them.

Jaune quickly deduced what was for dinner. "You're making pizza?" he asked, excited at the thought. It wasn't often that Mom would make any. Too much work, too little food, she'd say. It was difficult to make enough pizza for a family of eleven. Stew was much more efficient in her opinion.

"Yup! Speaking of," she replied with a grin, "can you go pick up your little sister? If she's not home soon, she won't get to put the toppings on her part of the pizza," she mused.

"And we both know she wouldn't like that," she finished.

"Can't you just do it for her? We all know that she only likes peppers on her side…" Jaune complained.

"Jaune…" his mother responded, raising a brow.

"Alright, alright! I'll go. Where is she?" he placated, hand raised as though to shield himself.

"She should be at Amber's house," she answered.

Jaune groaned. That was on the other side of town! "I'm going, I'm going!" he exclaimed preemptively in order to avoid a scolding. His mother watched, an amused smile on her face as he scampered back out of the house.

Jaune had not wasted any time grilling his older sister for details about the stranger. "Where's he from?" he demanded as soon as the food had been served.

"It's strange," she began, and at once she had the attention of the entire table. "I don't know where he's from. I went through every modern language, and even a few dead ones. We could not understand each other at all."

"Really?" her mother asked. "I would have thought he was from Atlas, with his pale features."

She nodded. "That's what I thought, too. He didn't understand Atlesean, or any Valean either. I even tried a few of the desert languages, in case he came from there. In the end I had to use a picture book to learn a few of his words. He didn't seem to recognise any of the written words, and he wrote next to them with an alphabet of his own. It'll take a long while, but I think eventually he'll get the basics. He seemed bright enough."

"You sure you aren't just wrong?" Maria, the youngest of the family teased.

"No, I'm sure. His language didn't originate from any root I know. It must be some local language that evolved alongside ours. Maybe a village that was cut off before the war? Who knows."

"Maybe I could write about this…" Olivia mumbled to herself as she wrote down what her older sister said.

"Olivia!" her mother scolded. "Don't write about the man, not yet anyway."

"But mom…" she whined.

"What about weapons? He must have had something interesting!" Jaune asked.

His father answered this time. "No, just a few knives," he said simply. "He doesn't even have an aura."

Jaune deflated at that, sinking into his chair a little bit. He sulked for a while, slowly eating his pizza as the others talked about the stranger; speculating where he had come from, why he was here, and so on. Eventually, he perked back up, his eyes brightening. "Dad!" he interrupted. "If he had no aura, how did he get through the Forest?"

Nicholas shrugged. "Luck, probably. It is exceedingly difficult for a man without aura to kill a Grimm," he answered simply. Jaune remained quiet for the rest of the meal.


That night, Jaune snuck out through his window, bringing a sword with him. It was a dull, useless thing; it was only good for training. Even if it was a proper sword, he would hardly be able to use it. He felt a surge of annoyance at that fact as he gripped the sheathe. No matter how much he begged or pleaded, his father steadfastly refused to teach him. He refused to teach anyone.

He opened the window and it creaked loudly. He cringed at the noise and stopped, freezing on the spot. In the quiet darkness of the night, any noise, no matter how small, seemed to be orders of magnitude louder than in the daylight. A few moments later he sighed in relief; it seemed nobody had heard it.

"You know, I should tell mom you're sneaking out."

He cursed and whirled around. His youngest sister stood in her pyjamas, arms folded together, and a positively smug look on her face.

"Maria! Don't be a snitch!"

"Why not?" she asked innocently, a finger on her chin.

Jaune grit his teeth in annoyance. She intended to blackmail him! If his parents found out…

He pushed the idea from his mind, trying to come up with a counter. Maria saw that he had no response, and she turned to tattle.

"Wait!"

She paused, and looked at her brother. "What?"

"If you tell them… I'll tell them you skip class! Amber told me all about it!"

"No you didn't! Amber would never tell you that!"

"Amber wouldn't, but you just did," Jaune replied, rather pleased with himself.

It was Maria's turn to be upset at her brother's smugness. "Fine! If you won't tell, I won't. Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

She returned to her room. Jaune waited, and when he was sure the coast was clear, he slipped out the window and into the darkness.

So the days went in the small town of Ansel. Jaune was denied teaching, and so snuck out to try and teach himself; Maria skipped her classes with Amber; and Lavender slowly and painfully taught Itachi whilst he recovered from his journey; and Rufus reported that nothing was amiss. For two weeks, nothing changed.


End


Monstrr: Glad you like it! The animation is a bit wonky in the early volumes, but the fights are good. The show's biggest problem is it's writing, I'd say.

Golbez4: Continued!

Guest: No promises, but I'll do my best to keep everyone in character. Itachi not trusting weirdos in towers is a part of that.

Mukade993: By all means, keep nitpicking! This one was quite helpful. Nitpicks have a bit of a bad rap. The only time I think a nitpick is wrong is if it is used to justify saying something is wholly bad. If you see something you think is a flaw, please, feel free to point it out. Although, some 'flaws' in the future may be foreshadowing, or simple worldbuilding changes.

truthful one: Let's hope I can keep the rest of it interesting…

andresskorskiruiz: It was fun to write less directly than I normally do.

Ateist: I feel you. If you've read my Obito crossover, you can expect something similar—that is, Itachi keeping most of his powers and using them appropriately (therefore staying in-character). I also aim to keep the others in-character, given their circumstances (although their circumstances may be changed).

Fatswordman: I hope you enjoy it!

gogo bananas: Thank you.

MZ1116: Now, now, those would be spoilers! :)

SandiaVida: It was fun to come up with. Hope you enjoy what I've got planned!

mastercheif1229: Enjoy!

Gwynx19237412: Thanks!

RedDucky: I hope you enjoy what I have planned!

Superjukes2: You're too kind! I'll do my best to keep the writing levels up.

TheWaterKid: Thank you! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.

vernacularthecycnic: Looks like I'm willing!


Thank you for all the feedback! I didn't expect to get so much so quickly…

Sorry for the long hiatus. It was purely unintentional; college applications and then a long vacation with my family came more quickly than I had anticipated. I have outlined the major 'Arc' of this story, if you'd like to call it that, so it's not a question of if I will update, but rather a question of when. If you've been waiting for my Obito story to get updated, I should be getting to that one next. I just wanted to finish this chapter first.

All feedback—nitpicks included—are welcome and appreciated. Feel free to leave a review, or to PM me with your thoughts and criticisms.