Note : That's it, I've caught up with the original story, now I'm going to reread and correct as much as I can, then I'll resume writing and translating each completed chapter. Thank you for taking the time to read this far. As I do with French version, I always leave comments and annotations at the end of the last chapter to keep you up to date with the progress of the next one and to respond to guest reviews.
Chapter size : 13000 words.
The tower that lights up the valleys
Part 1
Neji
January 2 1021, 10 :34pm
Land of Fire, Konoha
The sky was black and starless, the ground humid and cold, as was the wind. As was the atmosphere lately.
Motionless in the middle of the deserted neighborhood, he watched the fine rain, the gray clouds, and the mountain on the horizon. Dressed in a drenched, patternless black kimono, he clenched his numb, frozen fists. He stood there for almost a full minute, taking in the harassing drops.
A time to stay home, a time to gather with family and friends for a meal.
With a steady step, despite the downpour, he made his way along the path that skirted the many traditional buildings of the neighborhood, most of them bathed in the half-light of this moonless night. He continued his slow walk for about fifty meters before stopping in front of the largest house on the street. Black-tiled, oak clad, and the only one lit in the vicinity, the half-century-old building dominated the area with its height and splendor.
His lonely sigh vanished in a ephemeral smoke.
Following the small gravel path, he ventured inside until he reached one of the many sliding doors visible from the outside, then raised his hand and, his three taps echoed off the wood. A flash of lightning ripped through the distant sky, far beyond the village, far beyond the walls of Konoha. A second before the door slid open and the light inside wrinkled his eyelids.
In her thirties, with short, fir-green hair and opaline eyes, the woman who opened the door wasn't surprised to meet his. Dressed in a black housewife's dress, a white apron and a thin black cloth around her neck, she bowed respectfully before standing up to observe him, to hear the reason for his visit on this late evening.
He gently bowed his head in greeting before speaking.
"Is Mistress Himawari here?"
After asking his rhetorical question, he watched as the woman made several very precise hand movements, three of which - out of a dozen - he partially understood.
An index finger resting on her lips, a hand open from chin to eyes, two fingers glued together and moving down from shoulder to hip.
Silence. Sleep. Princess.
He nodded a second time and stepped into the building as the woman stepped aside. Removing his sandals, he climbed the single wooden stair and stopped after three steps in front of a closed room. A room where dust and time had covered part of the canvas inside.
Passing into his field of vision, the maid's fir-green hair took away even the slightest of his thoughts and made him follow her footsteps on the floor.
A second canvas room, a third, then a fourth half-open. He only had time to catch a glimpse of the obsidian teenage hair lying in the darkness before the fifth door forced him to focus on the reason of his visit.
Silently, the maid tugged at the wood, begged him to enter, and bowed her head before closing behind him when he did.
Partially lit by a chandelier covered with rice paper, the room was sober, beige, and devoid of the slightest inappropriate decoration. With no view to the outside to hide what was inside, the room had only two pieces of furniture. An imposing one made of marble, leaning against the canvas wall to its left, where a black and white photo and flowers stood, and a smaller one made of wood, which, in front of the marble and filled with sand, let out the smoke from the last burning incense stick planted inside.
He inhaled discreetly, so as not to disturb the person sitting in the middle of the room, and the scent of jasmine intoxicated him.
Dressed all in white, kneeling in front of the sandpit and the incense, a woman, probably in her forties, stared unblinkingly at the imposing black and white photograph of the little girl. With long, obsidian hair and opal eyes, the woman's back was straight and her gaze deadened.
If this hadn't been the hundredth time he'd seen her, he'd have thought the forty-year-old was the girl on paper, since they looked so much alike, but that wasn't the case at all, and he knew it.
Tucking his hands into the sleeves of his black kimono, he joined them before bowing reverently to the woman, then slowly turned to the photograph and straightened to bow a second time. Then he walked over to the sand, retrieved one of the many incense sticks, and lit it with the candle provided for the occasion. Placing it next to the half-burned one, he stepped back and knelt beside the woman. With his back straight, he looked in turn at the little girl in the large photograph.
With her inexpressive, porcelain face and short, obsidian hair, she couldn't have been more than four years old when the flash of the photo caught her eye.
"What are you doing here at this late hour?"
The woman's monotonous voice echoed through the room. It was so flat that it didn't sound like a question at all, but more like a sigh. Everything indicated that she wasn't exactly thrilled with his presence.
It was a good thing he had good hearing, otherwise he would never have heard her as the rain pelted the outer walls.
"Hanabi has been asleep for over an hour. She won't be in a good mood if you wake her up for training."
He didn't see it directly, but just from the change in volume in the voice of the forty-year-old beside him, he knew that she had just turned her face in his direction. A gesture he didn't return.
"Didn't your mother teach you how to use an umbrella?"
Once again, if he hadn't been in this place, with his current thoughts, and if it hadn't been Himawari-sama who had said it, he would have smiled at the veiled joke, no doubt. But this was no time for jokes. He knew that too.
"I'll give her your best if I see her before I leave."
Silence returned for a few seconds and, following her reply implying that he'd be leaving on a mission shortly, he broke it with a tone as flat as ever.
"I've heard of a story, a fairy tale. It may be the closest I've ever come to finding her."
What he had just said replayed itself several times in the woman's mind, and when she gently brought her attention back to the picture, the words that came out of her mouth were most incisive, or at least that was the intended effect.
"It has been over sixteen years since you promised to bring her back to Hiashi, and three since I asked you to end it. Do you think it's pleasant for me to have to look at Hizashi-san and Hiroyumi-san when I'm responsible for their son's disappearance? Find a wife, start your own family, and stop worrying about mine."
A long silence followed, during which his countless failures came back to haunt him. Despite the violent, intense feeling this thought gave him, at no time did he cease to overcome the gaze of the little girl towering over him.
"When did you lose hope? Since when do you believe what the Council says, what that cursed land called Lightning says?"
He paused, and the silence that returned told him the answer to his question without the woman having to say it: none.
She had never given up hope. This was just a facade, a way to get him to stop. Of all the skeptics, utopians, and realists, she was the one who had never given up hope. And even if she made everyone believe otherwise, it would never happen, that's for sure.
Kumo had lied, the Council lied. Everyone was lying. She was alive, somewhere. Princess Hinata Hyūga was not dead. That was inconceivable and of all of them, he was the one who shared that opinion with the most conviction.
"The life I lead is not healthy. I'm conscious enough to know that. And I'm aware enough to be willing to sacrifice what's left of my life if it means I can get her back."
"But why?"
For the first time, he took his eyes off the girl to stare at the mother. What had just forced his inappropriate gesture was not curiosity, but surprise.
Grief.
The matriarch's voice had ended in a sob.
With moist eyes reflecting the light from the chandelier, tears streamed continuously down the woman's face, and this was indeed a first, even for him, even though he had rubbed shoulders with her more than any other member of the Bunke.
Himawari Hyūga had never cried, never. She hadn't mourned the kidnapping of her eldest daughter, she hadn't mourned the three miscarriages that had followed the birth of her youngest daughter, and she hadn't cried when she had learned of the death of the Crown Princess. It was just the way things were. Crying when one bore her name, her title, her stature, was not an option.
Realizing the lack of respect he was showing, he immediately turned his opaline gaze to the two incense sticks and, clutching his fingers to the bottom of his kimono jacket, waited. Waited for the tears to stop. Until there was no more evidence that this had happened.
Himawari Hyūga didn't cry, never, at least no one had ever seen her cry.
"I was born for it, I was trained for it from my earliest childhood. From the moment I learned to count, I was taught Hinata-sama's age. From the moment I learned to speak, I was taught to protect Hinata-sama. And you, do you think it's pleasant for me to have to overcome the gaze of Hiashi-sama and the members of the Sōke? My parents? Yours? Every time I see their eyes, your eyes, it reminds me of my failure, your expressions remind me that I failed to protect her, to bring her back. That I've done absolutely nothing, that I'm not doing anything concrete, that I didn't see anything coming, that I don't see anything happening. Did you know that I slept peacefully that night?"
"You were only six, so how could you think you had any respon-"
"At six, some people are Chūnin and carry out A-rank missions, while others are in the special forces. At six, some people save entire villages, while others wipe them out. In this world, on this peninsula, age is no excuse.
Taking a breath under the Matriarch's silence, he expressed what followed with a slight sigh.
"Every day I ask myself. What if? What if I had taken my duty more seriously, what if I had been less driven, what if I hadn't collapsed from exhaustion that night, would it have changed anything? Would it have changed her fate? Recently, I found something like an answer."
Intrigued, the matriarch turned her face in his direction for a second time as he dipped his hand into his kimono.
"This village holds many secrets, and if one day I were to learn that it was somehow involved in this night, I wonder where I would stop."
With the object in his hand, he held it out to the lady of the house, who took it hesitantly. Her mind still on what he'd just said, she paid it little heed.
"What do you mean by that?"
He didn't answer right away, and a single second was enough to raise the tone a notch.
Grief was gone. Authority had replaced it.
"Answer my question, Hyūga Neji."
With his back as straight as ever, he turned his attention back to the opalescent pupils of the mother of the family and, for the first time, overcame them.
"How could a procession of twenty men and women single-handedly pull off this kidnapping in front of more than twenty thousand shinobi? Why did Natsu-san lose her memory without being diagnosed with head trauma? Is it because we found her first, otherwise she would be dead? That would have been easier. Why did they disappear after leaving the village? Why didn't anyone see them go through the gates, the Fire Nation, the border? Why did the Inuzuka lose their scent two kilometers from the Leaf walls, why am I the last person who seems to want to find her? Even our own clan..."
Realizing that he had already said too much, that he had gone way too far, he stopped abruptly, despite the hundred or so arguments he had left.
Mouth agape, the forty-something watched him wordlessly, completely stunned by what he'd just said out loud. Then, after she had gotten over her surprise, she forgot what she had been thinking.
"What you're peddling here is very serious. Do you understand the implications of what you are saying? If someone were to hear you, I wouldn't be able to do anything to protect you, do you understand that?"
He looked back at the picture and the porcelain face.
"So you've thought about it. I've been wondering about that for a long time."
For the third time, there was silence. For ten seconds or so, a multitude of thoughts ran through his mind, including one in particular that recurred every time he realized someone knew: the inability to change anything, no matter what name you bore, what title you proclaimed, what stature you represented.
There was nothing they could do about it. Even if it were true, even if the Council declared it in public, no one would do anything. No living being was strong enough, brave enough, determined enough to stand up. No one could stand up to an indoctrinated army. If you lifted a finger, you'd die. It was simple and ingrained in everyone's mind. Even so, it wouldn't change anything, and the minds would remain the same, the thoughts would remain the same. The same thoughts, the same indoctrination.
What's the point of rising up, what's the point of overthrowing the established order? Life is much worse elsewhere.
"Why are you showing me a photo of the Fourth and Kiseki no Kyariā? And why such a montage?"
With a calm look, he continued to stare at the little girl.
"This is not Haruno Sakura in the photo, nor is it Uzumaki Minato. The photo was taken two days ago at the Buranketto Tower in Natoma. Have you heard anything about what happened there?"
The umpteenth silence answered him. Looking at the photo, the lady of the house seemed to find it hard to believe.
Any citizen of the village holding this photo in his hands would shout out loud that it was the Yondaime. Any citizen. One only had to look up at the mountain to see it.
"The woman in the photo is nothing more than a look-alike. The man is Minato's son. The child who died in Kushina's womb."
At that moment, following his words, a second tower collapsed. This one was psychic and represented the beliefs Himawari believed in. What the whole village believed. That of another lie that Konoha had peddled.
"The son... of Minato-kun?"
Even though the Matriarch wanted to look at him to make sure he was telling the truth, she couldn't take her eyes off the photo. She couldn't take her eyes off the golden hair and the azure eyes. She couldn't stop staring at the ghost of Minato Namikaze Uzumaki.
"Do you believe in coincidences, Himawari-sama?"
Again, she didn't answer him, and his second question rang out.
"Do you know the tale of Yuki Onna?"
Naruto
December 31 1020, 10 :39 pm
Land of Fire, Natoma
"May I ask what you're laughing at?"
Slowly, he regained his seriousness and moved away from the furniture to take a step toward the bay window, then another, and another. His final advance forced the pink hair to stick to the glass in a last, futile hope of moving away.
Leaning dangerously toward her bitter, peony red face and wet hair, he gave her another friendly smile.
"I was just wondering what kind of journey you might have been on. How hard life has been on you to make you decide to go to such extremes. Wealth, youth, beauty. You have everything that women your age dream of, yet the only thing you want is to end it. Why?"
Intimidated by his words, but more so by his sudden closeness - the closeness she had dreamed of only a minute before - she swallowed painfully, this time pressing the back of her entire body against the glass.
The thud of her skull against the glass triggered her stammering.
"I-I thought you could read minds, shouldn't you know that?"
Pulling his face away to let her breathe out, his smile curtsied and never returned.
"Oh, I know it. I just need to hear you say it. I want to make sure I don't feel remorse when he begs me to stop."
Gently, so as not to frighten her, he unbuttoned the suit jacket he was wearing as her panicked emotions almost immediately overwhelmed him.
He had to admit that he hadn't been very clever in this case, but after silently removing his jacket, he didn't stop and slid his hand between the bay window and the young woman's back to pull her away from the glass. As gently as he could, and taking care not to touch her further, he then draped the cloth over her bare shoulders, hiding the damp skin from his view. He then proceeded to button the jacket from top to bottom.
She opened her silver irises again and looked at him, lost. Several emotions rose from her, but one in particular. One he was used to feeling in many people who had just met him, and which resulted from the first thought they all had. Who was he?
"I'd like to ask you the same question."
He didn't know why he did it, why he said it, but from the way she couldn't control her startle, it had been a long time since someone or something had surprised her that much.
Her candy pink hair hit the glass for a second time, causing her to grin in pain. A second thud that wasn't loud enough and walls that weren't soundproof enough to cover the elevator noise.
His azure attention focused on the corner of the room to his right, or more specifically, on the many men exiting the elevator and heading for the front door. The one across the room and the bay window.
"Wh... you... how...do?"
His focus on the men in the corridor was short-lived. Another problem had arisen. A problem of such magnitude that he hesitated for a moment to activate the seal present in the deserts of the Wind.
Why had he focused on the surrounding energies only now?
Like the woman's sharp words, his thoughts began to drift. One by one, until he spotted it exactly four hundred meters below his feet.
Running away, surviving - he hadn't felt those feelings in a long time. And he knew they were intensified by the fact that someone in a hovel was waiting for his return, if there was such a return.
The whole situation he was going through suddenly became irrelevant. The reason for his presence in this place, the suicidal thoughts in front of him, the nine men in the hallway. Everything. Nothing mattered.
Without a moment's thought, his field of vision went from plunged in darkness to bathed in luminosity. It wasn't the seal in the tavern southwest of Suna that he'd just activated, but the one he'd left in the bathroom on the hundredth floor of the Iron Tower an hour earlier.
"What the...?!"
Paying no attention to the man relieving himself in the urinal behind him, he disappeared just as the door on the other side of the bathroom corridor swung open. The iron handle slammed into the wall to which it was attached, drawing the startled attention of the two hundred guests on the hundredth floor. But far too slow in their anxious reflexes, they had no time to turn before his fist slammed into the closed doors of the nearest elevator, distorting them with a second deafening squeal.
Once again, the two hundred faces had only time to observe the deformed metal doors, as his free fall headfirst down the elevator shaft had already taken him to the ninetieth floor. Eighty-fifth. Eightieth.
The green nightlights on each floor began to scroll faster and faster, and just as quickly, the elevator coming up the shaft came closer to him.
The air resistance hissing at his eardrums, he placed the palm of his right hand toward the lower floors as a blackish shape formed in the center of it. The opaque ball of chakra propelled itself at breathtaking speed toward the elevator six floors below, colliding with it in an almost surreal silence. In the next instant, the inky stream spread around the iron frame before resorbing and reaching the underside, invisible to his free fall.
A blink and a flash later, the elevator was behind him, and his way down continued unimpeded.
Two hundred meters above ground, he began to feel the deep perfidy of the chakra source, and at a hundred, he detected the second one at his side. His apprehension only increased.
There were two of them.
With the ground less than fifty meters away and approaching faster and faster, he changed position and found himself with his head up and his feet down. Once again, he moved the palm of his right hand toward the iron structure that housed the elevator shaft, and the gravity on his shoulders gradually returned to its usual strength. The green lights became less and less erratic, dropping from five per second to two, then one. And in a gust that ruffled his hair and wrinkled his eyelids, he finally landed on the first floor.
Or so he thought.
Jumping onto the metal structure that held the elevator when it arrived, he raised his hands above his face and opened the iron door. He used very little force in his gesture, yet the doors opened with disconcerting ease. With a simple leap, he landed on the lowest floor of the building, and although he hadn't come in through the entrance a few hours earlier, but directly from the roof, he had no trouble realizing that the first floor was thirty meters above his head.
All he had to do was focus on the twenty or so souls above him and the two stunned faces on the other side of the immaculate corridor to figure it out.
Looking up at the white ceiling and the light fixtures embedded in it, he turned his attention back to the cleanest corridor. With its white tiles and white walls, it was immaculately clean, almost comparable to a clean room, although its warm atmosphere suggested otherwise. With its mild, air-conditioned temperature, there were no smells, not even from the products used to clean it, which surprised him. He himself, who didn't use soap so as not to be easily detected, had a stronger smell than this place.
Either the people who did the cleaning were very good at it, or very few had the opportunity to come down here.
Of all these astonishing points, only two stood out, and not the least: the two men in suits and ties, dressed in black, standing in the middle of the corridor, fifteen meters away.
Both looked at each other for a moment, wondering if they were hallucinating, before the smaller of the two grabbed the walkie-talkie from his belt and held it up to his face. The crackling sound resounded, as did the man's deep voice.
"He's in the third sub-basement, I repeat, he's in the third sub-basement."
And the surprised tone from the other side of the device echoed the next moment.
"In the third sub-basement? That's impossible, we didn't see him on the cameras, he can't be there, are you sure?"
The second guard grabbed the truncheon hanging from his belt and unfolded it completely with a quick flick of his arm. With the pressure of his thumb, the black object emitted several electric shocks before fading away. Without thinking, the man charged at him while his colleague answered his superior's question.
"Yes, it's him, no doubt about it, we'll bring him to you as soon as..."
The guard's voice stopped, as did the man charging his way. Angry for the former, surprised for the latter, they stared in his direction with only one question in mind. The only logical one at the moment: How was this possible?
"Please repeat. Is the target still in front of you? Please repeat."
Still standing in front of the open elevator doors, he had raised his left arm and palm in the direction of the two men, stopping his attacker in his tracks. Not because incomprehension had stopped him, but because he literally no longer touched the ground.
As soon as he raised his hand, the man began to... float. Completely off balance between floor and ceiling, the man struggled against the atmosphere, trying to get his feet back on the ground.
"What the hell! K-Koisuke, don't just stand there, help me!"
But nothing helped. Gravity seemed to have no effect anymore.
The caller took a hesitant step forward just as his hand began to move to the left across the hallway, and the man he was levitating was thrown violently against the left wall of the hallway with a groan of pain. The baton fell to the floor, and the pale face of the man with the walkie-talkie faded into the immaculate background.
A bounce of the truncheon, a movement of his hand to the right, a crash against the right wall, suddenly scarlet. A second howl of pain and disbelief.
Two bounces of the truncheon, a movement of his hand upwards, a crash against the false ceiling that distorted the rails and caused several plates to fall. A third complaint, a little less audible, a little less painful.
Three bounces of the truncheon, a downward movement of his hand, a crash on the floor that welcomed the white plates which covered the guard's body. A breath cut off, a gasp in perdition, a conscience gone.
Four bounces of the truncheon. Silence.
The so-called Koisuke never took his eyes off him, not for a moment. Even when he recoiled from his suffocating presence, more than seventeen meters away, twenty meters, even when terror spread over his face. Even as he gasped and let go of the walkie-talkie as the noisy object vibrated.
"What's going on?!"
The walkie-talkie fell to the ground with a thud. The guard only had time to blink before he too left the ground with a grin of disbelief.
This time, it was his right arm that he raised and his right hand that he moved, but unlike the first time, he didn't use any of his chakra natures.
With his feet dangling more than thirty centimeters off the ground, the brown-haired, brown-eyed young guard stared at him with a look that was both frightened and suffocating, less than fifty centimeters away. In less than a split second, he had closed the distance between them and grabbed him by the windpipe, lifting him up and choking him.
With a detached, azure gaze, he didn't release the pressure on the man's throat, even when the man continued to struggle, choking, drooling, turning peony red. He didn't let go even when his skin turned purple, even when his brown irises turned red, when his unruly hands let go, when his arms fell heavily down to the floor.
It was only after this last event that he decided to release him without even putting him down. Disjointed, the man collapsed to the tiled floor with several ominous creaks.
It didn't make him feel hot or cold.
Normally, when he had to deal with ordinary people, he was careful, using only a tiny portion of his strength so as not to kill them accidentally, but these two did not deserve that treatment. They deserved to die, plain and simple.
That kind of person, that kind of emotion, that kind of thought was despicable. Those who feigned ignorance, those who pretended they didn't know, even those who didn't care. Those who supported wrongdoing and were only in it for the money. Those who knew.
He'd felt it as soon as he stepped into the hallway; he knew what was going on in that basement. The kind of activity that went on there.
Though certainly crippled from what he'd just done to them, these two guards could count themselves lucky to be alive once they regained consciousness.
Bending down, he retrieved the walkie-talkie and immediately switched to the link channel, allowing him to hear the last words of a monologue.
"It's... a ninja. He... He just... I didn't even have time to see him move. They... They're dead..."
Stoically, he turned his attention to the upper right corner of the corridor, about twenty meters away, just above the elevator shaft, to observe the security camera. Black, oval, and built into the ceiling, it began to move to better capture him as he released the walkie-talkie.
He had been seen, that was a fact. But it had been over half an hour now, and hiding wasn't what he wanted to do right now. He would visit the people behind their screens later, but for now, something more important had to be done.
The child inside him, robbed of a part of his adolescence, wanted to greet the camera, but, thinking twice, he turned around and simply resumed his walk before stopping a few meters further on, where a second camera was watching him from the wall facing him. Where the corridor offered him the opportunity to choose his path.
Gently, he turned his face to the left, where one hundred coils lay, before turning his face to the right, where three more lay. Where the malevolent energy he had felt and still felt was, along with its accomplice.
He swung his leg to the right before retreating from the idea. Looking behind him, toward the left corridor, the many emotions only drew his attention, screaming for help. The same emotions that had made him show no mercy to the two men.
It wasn't the excited, the treacherous, or even the helpful who aroused his curiosity, but the frightened, the dazed. The ones who hadn't asked for it. The lost ones, the ones who didn't want to be here.
He sighed as he moved his hand along the wall. A web of ink appeared on the wall before dissipating and disappearing.
For the second time of the evening, he was about to digress. Once again. But unlike the first, this digression would end very badly. And he didn't speak for himself.
Turning on his heels, a clone appeared at his back. He took the left path and his clone took the right. Soon his clone's footsteps were no longer audible, and he found himself in a glowing maze, as immaculate as ever. Soon the guards waiting for him at every turn lost consciousness... and their jaws.
The pattern was simple, and it repeated itself. Every time he was given a new choice, every time a corridor split into server and storage areas, he created a clone, which created a clone when the opportunity arose. And in each corridor, two or even three doors were locked. If the first ones were empty rooms or contained nothing more than frivolous items, he soon realized that he had arrived at his destination when the guards in front of these doors suddenly multiplied.
These guards had nothing to do with the Iron Tower. They were personal and answered to the men behind the sealed doors. Each room contained a man, but also a woman, sometimes several. And their consent didn't seem to be something this place cared about.
That was what he'd heard when he reached the hundredth floor. These were the late night batches.
At each door, the lock didn't resist him and he entered the soundproof room to put an end to the activities. And each time the reaction was the same.
The man - often naked - would turn to him with an annoyed expression on his face, before quickly sobering up. Especially when he heard the cries of pain and anguish coming from the rooms he'd just visited, the ones with the doors open and smashed. But most of all, when he saw his bodyguard sprawled on the floor and his curiosity fell on him, dripping with blood, he realized that the crimson liquid didn't belong to him at all.
The men, often naked, would turn to him with angry expressions on their faces before quickly sobering up. Especially when they heard the cries of pain and agony coming from the rooms he'd just visited, the ones with the doors open and smashed. But most of all, when they saw their bodyguard sprawled on the floor, covered in blood, and their curiosity fell upon him, they realized that the crimson liquid dripping from his fingers didn't belong to him.
He hadn't killed anyone yet. He was content to break legs, arms, and sometimes jaws, before coming to the aid of the victim, sometimes conscious, sometimes asleep, drugged, sometimes mutilated. But this time, after more than nine rooms, twelve women, he lost control of his body, of his humanity.
Not that there was any measure of suffering that one living being could inflict on another - there was not such a thing. He believed that as long as one wished to harm another for the sheer pleasure of it, it was reprehensible and he had a duty to act. But this was... too much.
In the middle of the pink bedroom, he looked at the toys on the beige carpet, the white bed, the red furniture, and then at his reflection in the mirror above the closet to his right. His face and hair were covered in blood, as were his clothes - though his black shirt hid it well - and he understood why the little girl curled up on the bed, who couldn't have been more than six years old, was watching him with an expression that was both tearful and terrified.
But that wasn't what was on his mind right now. In fact, it was the least of his worries. All that mattered to him was simple. He had arrived on time.
Nothing had happened. At least in this room. But... how long had these events been going on? Years? Decades? How many lives had been shattered in this way?
The straw that broke the camel's back, the tipping point.
"Who the hell are you?!"
Slowly, his gaze returned to the shirtless individual to his left who had just climbed out of bed. Wearing several gold chains and equally heavy rings, the beast still wore his pants and was somewhat thin, though his swollen belly suggested he had been drinking more than just water. Must have been a dozen times the child's age, the clumsy creature approached him, pointing a white weapon in his direction.
Ignoring it, he turned his attention back to the child.
"Close your eyes and cover your ears." he commanded in a calm yet authoritative tone.
Once the order had been given and carried out by the frightened little girl, the predator's excitement vanished. From the simple timbre of his most calm voice, despite the situation, he realized that the roles had been reversed: he had become the prey. A feeling that gave rise to the cowardice in the foul brain that made him turn back to the little girl.
The monster only had time to think about putting the weapon to her throat before he lost the use of his arm. Or so he thought. Just lost the use of it, but it was shorter than that. He'd just lost it.
The limb hit the carpet with a thud.
Blood splattered on the sheets, the box spring, the clothes on the floor, and the creature's howl joined the orchestra of the many rooms of the corridor. The beast fell backward, staring into the void to its left, stunned and disbelieving. The adrenaline wasn't enough to dull the pain.
The second, much louder howl accompanied his advance into the pool of blood.
"W-W-Wait! I-I-I don't wanna d-die! S-Spare me, I'll-"
The sharp chakra in his left hand reabsorbed, and his circular kick struck the floating ribs of filth, shattering them cleanly. As well as a dozen other bones he could not name. As well as the spine... and maybe even the neck.
The dresser to his left caught the thing he'd just sent and didn't resist for a moment. The wood shattered and blood splattered once more on the fuchsia-pink wall. Despite the force of the impact, the creature's breath was still there. Weak, but still there. And it would gasp for several more minutes before the blood poured into its remaining lungs and it drowned, before its suffering finally came to an end.
Its terrible pain. It was in pain, suffering like never before.
He couldn't have asked for more.
Straddling the knife, the arm, he tugged lightly on the white sheet of the mattress. The childlike emotions in the middle of the mattress gave way to a muffled cry. Gently wiping his hands and face, he tucked the scarlet under his knee and leaned over the bed to get closer to the little girl.
With long black hair and blood-stained teddy bear pajamas, she sat between two pillows, her legs curled up. With her eyelids closed and her hands over her ears, she rocked back and forth, humming an almost imperceptible tune if he wasn't paying attention.
"You can open your eyes, just look at me, okay?"
She didn't nod, but her movements stopped and so did her humming. Fearfully, she opened one eye, then the other, before looking at him with her brown eyes. He had no doubt that he'd wiped his face badly, and the wide-eyed look she gave him only confirmed it. He smiled all the more kindly.
Hesitantly, the little girl pulled her hands away from her ears, and despite the timid, frightened tone she gave him, the smile remained on his face.
"Are you... are you going to eat me?"
"No, I'm not going to eat you. I'm here to help you. Do you want me to help you?"
The child's face, a mixture of sadness and fear, took on a hint of hope as, between two tears, she spoke again.
"Will you...take me...home?"
"Yes, I'll take you home. Do you know where home is?"
She opened her mouth, and although he recognized the first syllable she tried to utter, he had no answer to his question.
"Are you going to eat...my mom and dad?"
His lie followed on its own.
"No. They asked me to bring you back."
Gently, he reached out his carmine hand to the dried tears, and despite a slight hesitation, the tiny fingers clung to his words. Hope sprang naturally behind the brown irises, making the tears all the more intense.
Permission having just been granted, he immediately walked over to the bed and retrieved the still clean bottom sheet, wrapping it around the little girl before taking her in his arms.
"I need you to close your eyes and cover your ears again, will you do that for me?"
Surrounded by the sheet, she nodded and did it a second time.
He took his first step on the carpet before stopping in shock. With one hand behind the child's head and the other under her hips, he looked at his reflection again, and this time he couldn't look away.
He couldn't take his eyes off the crimson irises split in two by a black pupil. His eyebrows furrowed inexorably. He inhaled deeply, exhaled calmly, and the azure took control of his emotions once again.
Now he understood why he was the monster, why he ate children and parents. He would have a deep conversation after all this was over.
He resumed his walk and passed over the unconscious body of the guard in front of the wide open door. His advance, accompanied by the scarlet imprint of his shoes on the white tiles of the corridor, made him listen to the melodious moans of pain present in the rooms he had previously visited, and quickly brought him back to the first corridor he had crossed, where seventeen women were waiting for him, where his clones were waiting for him.
In their twenties, sometimes a little older, those who weren't trembling and whose legs - or the substance in their bodies - allowed them to stand, helped themselves to the wall so as not to fall. The others, still conscious, sat on the icy tiles and tried not to choke. All of them, without exception, dressed in white sheets, stared at the floor in an angry silence, interrupted only by sniffling and crying. Some of them had waited here for more than ten minutes and had become accustomed to seeing an increasingly bloody copy of themselves pass by, as well as the arrival of another victim, but they still gasped as he passed by for the sixth time.
The few glimpses of the being he was carrying in his arms sank further into disarray.
He stopped in front of the elevator, which had already been lowered and was held open by one of his clones. As he stepped inside, his clone spoke without taking his eyes off the other four copies and the women.
"I felt his chakra. Did you talk to him about it?"
Turning back to the corridor, he leaned against the elevator shaft before sighing.
"Not yet."
"I can't afford it, not here. We need to tell him to-"
"Can I... have this conversation later?"
As he cut off his own voice, a sniff rose from between his arms, making his other self understand the subtext of his request. His clone said nothing more, and without him having to give any orders, his other copies began to bring in the women. Passing over the two lifeless bodies of the first guards he'd encountered, they quickly swarmed into the elevator.
At that moment, his temper took a turn for the worse. Much worse than it already was.
He'd been so focused on the upset emotions around him that he'd almost forgotten about them. That he hadn't felt them coming. With a simple thought, the four clones in the hallway disappeared in a puff of smoke, and memories of the many bones he'd broken came flooding back. Only the clone in the elevator remained.
Gently, he stepped between the group of women and gently carried the little girl into the arms of his clone, who, like him, understood what was coming next.
Memories of the very first clone he'd created came flooding back. The one who had taken the right corridor. The one who had gone to meet the two chakra sources. The two monstrous chakra sources.
He took another step and the elevator doors closed behind him, leaving only the many glances behind the cameras for company. Motionless, the footsteps echoed from the other side of the corridor and his every thought came to a halt.
With his arms at his side, a drop of blood trickled from his shirt onto his fingers which, trembling slightly, only accentuated the scarlet's fall onto the white tiles.
He was shaking. For the first time in years, he was shaking, but not for the same reasons. If his heart was beating so hard against his eardrums, it wasn't because of fear, or even the unknown of what was to come. The idea that this night might be his last.
The footsteps stopped on the other side of the corridor.
No. If he was shaking, it was from excitement.
His gaze cold, his face impassive, he watched the two men in their silk coats. He scrutinized the black clothes with their red clouds.
Sakura
January 2 1021, 9 :57pm
Land of Fire, Konoha
Sitting in one of the three chairs, she watched the smoke from her tea dissipate into the heights of the kitchen. Pensive, her hands clutching the cup, she remained still, staring straight ahead for over ten minutes now.
Dressed in a green t-shirt and brown pants, as her eyes and hair were, she had been waiting patiently for over three days. Word had spread through the village like wildfire, and of course it had finally reached her door.
The war in the Rain had been raging for over two months, but on Wednesday, a cataclysm that could only be read about in books had occurred. The battlefield of Doroppu had been ravaged by an immeasurable force. The dead numbered in the thousands, and no one knew who was dead and who was not. Everyone waited for an answer from the Council, but none was forthcoming.
Everyone was waiting for the return of a father, a mother, a brother, a sister, a son... a daughter.
A tear rolled down her face and she brushed it away with a wave of her hand. The ticking of the clock on the wall opposite the table caught her attention before she lowered it to the portrait just below.
A man with ocean eyes and blond hair smiled in his direction.
"What should I do, Inoichi? What if she doesn't come back?"
Three knocks sounded in the entrance hall and as she turned to face it, on the other side of the wall to her left, she gasped.
She rose to her feet at the hope that followed. The blows were soft and sounded like those of a woman. A young girl.
In an instant, she was out of the kitchen and past the windows overlooking the street and the many flowers stored in front of the house. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her, standing in front of the entrance, her face lowered.
Her legs gave way almost immediately and she had to grab the wall to keep from falling.
No...
She stopped in the middle of the corridor, flushed and nauseous. She shook her face violently.
She couldn't believe it, she didn't want to believe it. She had no right to believe it, to even think it. Why should she think such a thing?
Using the wall, her hands, and what little strength she had left, she made her way to the entrance and, hesitating for a moment, unlocked the door. The cool night air poured into the entrance hall.
The face that greeted her on the other side of the door chilled her blood and caused her tears to flow uninterrupted this time. Finally, her arborescent thoughts overcame her and there was nothing she could do about it.
The young woman watching her didn't need to speak to understand. All she had to do was look at her desolate face, her sad expression.
Her black clothes were covered in dirt and blood, and she could smell the sweat and rotting flesh from here. The traces of her tears, which had been flowing for hours, were still visible on her cheeks, on her sticky, dry, candy-pink hair.
She couldn't... believe it.
Her vision blurred, and she frantically shook her face again as the woman in front of her stared at her for a moment, then lowered herself in shame until her knees touched the ground. The sound of her fall to the concrete landing sent a shiver of fear down her spine. And just as she had feared, the harsh words came.
"I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I... couldn't save her. I couldn't find her..."
She raised her hand, ready to slap the young woman kneeling in front of her, in front of her house, in front of her late family's home, but she managed to stop herself at the last moment. With her face still lowered and unable to look her in the eye, the kunoichi seemed to want only one thing: for her to slap her.
She deserved nothing less.
She did nothing. An umpteenth tear rolled down her nascent wrinkles, and her expression broke with grief. The strength in her legs left her and she fell onto the doormat. Made of straw, it reflected a life gone by.
Welcome home.
She put her hands in front of her face and shook them for the third time, which helped her not to pass out.
"I'm sorry."
The broken voice echoed through the house again, a tone that could no longer reach the grief that seemed to have abused it. The memories her daughter had shared with the young woman crouched before her came flooding back and without thinking, she removed her hands from her field of vision to observe the emerald eyes.
An adolescent, indoctrinated conscience that could only say one thing.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Without realizing it, she moved toward the young woman and, without realizing it, embraced her. Surprised by the gesture, the young woman didn't react at first, but then she let go and let her forehead rest on her shoulder as she began to stroke her hair and back.
Grief could be heard all the way down the street. Whether it was hers or her daughter's friend's or both, she didn't know, but it woke up the most curious neighbors. This is where the rumors started. Rumors that soon spread by the thousands.
The first reported death. The first victim of the divine punishment that had befallen Doroppu. One of the many people Haruno Sakura could not save. Yamanaka Ino, childhood friend of Kiseki no Kyariā, was dead.
With tenderness, she ran her fingers over the cheeks of the little girl lying in bed. With her bald head, calm breathing and closed eyes, she was fast asleep.
She lifted the notebook she was holding and wrote a few words before checking a box. Then she turned to the numerous machines next to the bed, looked at the data on them, wrote again on the notebook, and checked several boxes. Repeating this gesture several times, she took one last look at the child's face before leaving the dimly lit room.
The light from the corridor blinded her, but after several hours in the dark, she wasn't surprised.
Having heard her arrive twenty minutes earlier, she wasn't surprised either when she met Hana's gaze on the bench facing the room. Always the same posture, always the same accusing look.
History seemed to be repeating itself for the last time.
"You're leaving work an hour early today. You're working four hours overtime a day instead of five? What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"
Motionless in the middle of the corridor and the stretchers, she smiled tenderly at her friend's spade. Under other circumstances she would have answered willingly, but her current thoughts didn't give her the opportunity.
Approaching the brunette, who stood with crossed arms and a look of "What have you got to say for yourself?", she stepped forward and hugged her, gently at first, then firmly when her surprise had passed.
Her chakra disturbed, the woman uncrossed her arms and hugged her back.
"I was just kidding, you're not going to die, are you?" she asked in a somewhat worried voice, a far cry from the sarcastic one she had used five seconds earlier.
Taking a deep breath, she let go of the Inuzuka and stepped back.
"I'm fine, don't worry."
The woman who had been worried about her in the days after the police had visited her apartment was a little skeptical about what she had just said, but she didn't let it bother her.
Her emerald eyes crinkled into a half-smile as she slipped her only free hand into the pocket of the white blouse she was wearing. She pulled out a small notebook and held it out to the brunette, who didn't have time to consider the situation any further.
"What's in it?"
"Can you keep it, please?"
The building manager picked it up without the slightest hesitation. Then, of course, she flipped through it... and opened her eyes. Ink-black eyes that immediately lifted from the paper to her friendly expression.
"Where... where did you get all that money? And why are you suddenly asking me to keep it? What's going on, Sakura?"
She continued to smile and answered the first question.
"It's not dirty money, well, from a certain point of view it is. It's what I put aside when I was in the Special Forces."
The second answer took several seconds to come, but it did.
"I have to go away for a while. That's why I'm giving it to you. For her. To pay for her care."
She turned her candy pink attention back to the room, and when she returned it to her friend, she was met with a frown.
"What are you talking about? Going away for a while, what do you mean? And where are you going? What will I do without you here? Besides, there's enough money in there to buy a whole building, that's nonsense."
Her smile gradually faded until it was replaced by a neutral expression.
"I don't know how long it will take. It could be weeks. It could be months. I have no idea."
At that sentence, she realized her hypocrisy. She was about to do exactly what she'd accused Sasuke of doing a few weeks ago. She was going to a place without knowing exactly what she was going to do or how long it would take.
She'd blamed him for it, and now she was repeating behavior she didn't like.
During her answer, she had lowered her eyes and Hana hadn't missed it. With a pat on the shoulder, the woman managed to regain her attention. The thirty-year-old didn't try to find out more, because she understood that she was telling the truth. No, all she wanted to know was simple:
"Reassure me, you are planning to come back, aren't you?"
Her smile, false this time, returned. For the first time since she had known the doctor, she did something serious, something she had reproached the Uchiha for: she lied.
"Of course."
Her tone betrayed her and she coldly lost the touch of the woman on her shoulder. Her friend's voice immediately changed from calm to reproachful and this time, the desire to know was stronger than anything else.
"Who gave you the mission? Is it for them? You said you wanted nothing more to do with them. It doesn't make sense."
She understood now. She understood the position she'd put him in in front of the elevator in her apartment.
"This isn't for Special Forces. This is personal. I've made my decision. I spoke to the Restricted Council about it less than three hours ago, and they're going to replace me here, so you don't have to worry."
She knew perfectly well that Hana didn't believe her - all she had to do was look at her expression - but she didn't give anything away, and the complex manager did the same when she realized that the Four Leaf Masterminds were part of the equation.
"I'm warning you, if I don't hear from you in the next few weeks, I'm going to come looking for you personally, and if I find you first, believe me, I'm going to kick your ass like no one's ever kicked your ass before."
Her sad expression quickly changed to one of amusement.
"Don't be silly, if you leave this place, it will fall apart in a day."
Her interlocutor suddenly opened her mouth, but paused for a moment before nodding nonchalantly.
"Yeah, that's true."
Before she resumed her seriousness and her inquiry.
"When are you leaving and with whom?"
"Right away, with Neji."
"Neji? As in Hyūga Neji? And you're leaving at..."
She glanced quickly at the clock in the hallway.
"Midnight? What kind of plan is that? Does it end with benefits?"
Without warning, she smacked her notebook against her friend's blouse, causing her to burst into a controlled laugh. Needless to say, all Inuzuka had a gift for lightening the mood.
The face that crossed her mind crushed her mood, but as had become her habit, she managed to hold back her grief. The big sister of her reminiscence didn't give her the time anyway.
"Just kidding, no need to be offended. But just be careful, okay? I don't trust this Hyūga. Even if you don't believe me, there was a time when he was close to you. It was after such a mission that this Uchiha finally managed to get his claws on you, wasn't it? I don't remember what you told me, but it was two years ago, when you were still in the Special Forces. Or maybe it was wh-"
"I think I got it. Thanks for the warning."
The extravagant Inuzuka returned the smile she had just wiped off her face.
"You know you can always count on me."
Before holding out his hand. Which raised her astonished eyebrow.
"'For once you're dressed, you're in a hurry to leave, aren't you? So give me your blouse and your notebook and join him."
She quickly lowered her eyes to her clothes.
It was true that she hadn't changed her clothes. On the one hand, because she wasn't supposed to work today, and thanks to Kami, the woman in front of her seemed to have forgotten that, and on the other hand, because it had only been an hour since she had arrived. She just wanted to visit Miko before she left.
She didn't like to think about it, but she didn't know how long she would be gone, and that was a problem. It could be literally a week or five months. It all depended on what she found out there. On who she found. If it took that long, this room would be empty when she got back. That was why she'd given all the money she had.
She had to admit it. It broke her heart and made her feel miserable. Less than nothing. She didn't even know if she would dare to come back here.
How could she look at herself in the mirror after such a decision? She didn't know, but she took off her blouse anyway and gave it to the Inuzuka.
Today, she didn't seem to know anything and that was why her anger toward this person, this man, had increased tenfold in the last three hours. She wasn't even looking for answers to the last remaining question, her existential question. Right now, she just wanted to find him so that she could fix his face.
At least if what she feared ever happened, she could blame him. It would all be his fault. She'd hate him even more. Then it would be easier, everything would be easier.
"Thank you."
As Hana picked up the blouse and notebook, she took the opportunity to grab her hand through the fabric, preventing her from turning to the windows on the other side of the hallway.
"I don't know what you're up to, but you better come back, you hear me? It's not a request, it's an order from your superior."
For the last time, she smiled at the Inuzuka.
The young woman wasn't afraid of anything happening to her; she knew she was competent enough not to let it happen, but to decide on her own not to come back. And of course, the fact that she'd given away all her money didn't help her think otherwise.
"I'll be back, don't worry. And you'd better not use this money to go out at night or to buy alcohol, understand?"
Releasing her, her friend placed her only free hand, the one that was not holding her blouse and notebook, on her chest before looking at her with a falsely offended expression.
"How dare you think I'd do such a thing? Even if there is enough money for me to go out every night without you noticing when you get back, I won't do it, who do you think I am?"
She remained motionless, her face down.
She'd already thought of it. It had only been thirty seconds since she'd given it to her and she'd already thought of using it that way. Clearly, this woman liked alcohol too much.
Her sober sigh spread through the air-conditioned atmosphere of the corridor.
A battle lost in advance.
"At least try not to forget to pay her fees... and at least have the dignity to toast me when you use my hard work to get drunk."
"You can count on me. I mean, for this kid. Of course, I don't intend to use your money to go out every night hahaha..."
With one hand over her open mouth, the fake laughter of the woman echoed through the corridor, making her smile for the umpteenth time.
She was lucky to have a friend like Hana.
With her left hand, she reached into the pocket of her black jacket and pulled out the keychain.
"Here are the keys to my apartment. Could you get Akamaru's cookies and give them to him for me? I was supposed to visit him, but I didn't have time, so I'll make it up to him. I don't want him to eat me when I get back."
Picking it up, the brunette nodded.
"I'll do it."
She stepped forward to give the Inuzuka a last hug.
"Thanks, I owe you one."
And the latter returned her gesture.
"Go now, I don't want any problems with white eyes."
She let go of the thirty-year-old and stepped back.
"Take care of yourself, Hana."
"You too, Sakura."
Then she went to the window across the corridor. Half opening it, she gazed for a moment at the storm clouds in the distance before leaping from the thirteenth floor. The free fall against the humid air buzzed in her eardrums, but not enough to muffle the sound of her superior closing behind her.
She landed on the sodden ground in the middle of the courtyard in front of the hospital, about ten meters from a woman who was quietly smoking her cigarette. As soon as she hit the ground, she jumped again, this time onto the roof of a building about thirty meters away. As a mere civilian, the woman saw nothing, heard nothing, and the smoke she exhaled did nothing to help her see her third leap into the night, the one that took her out of the medical district for good. A district that would soon see the construction of a new thirty-story building.
The vote had taken place two hours earlier at the fourth annual council meeting. The Gatō company would be in charge of the construction, just as it had been for more than half of the Leaf's infrastructure. Just as they had been the ones to build the Buranketto Tower. A shame, since the tower's poor fire protection system seemed to be the cause of the collapse.
No one knew what had happened, even three days after the tragedy. The Council's report, as well as television reports, stated that several explosions had taken place on the sixtieth floor, resulting in an unstoppable fire.
No one but the Utatane seemed to know he had been there. In fact, the Utatane hadn't moved a finger for more than two hours. Sitting next to Fugaku Uchiha, Hiashi Hyūga and Homura Mitakodo, Koharu hadn't flinched. Even when the facts had been recounted, even when she had volunteered to go to Natoma as the septuagenarian had requested.
Needless to say, the faces of the forty-six council members seated in a circle were taken aback by her request. Nevertheless, and knowing that Natoma's hospitals were struggling to care for the incredible number of wounded, thirty-seven hands out of forty-six were raised in her favor, including the four members of the Restricted Council.
They had given her permission to take her leave, even after she had failed to comply with her latest summons to the Council. Maybe it was a way of dismissing her, of letting her know that she was dispensable, but she didn't care. She had gotten what she wanted, and that was the truth.
She was dispensable. Everyone was. She'd be much more useful there.
Two birds, one stone. Since Natoma had refused Konoha's help and had used its own police force and resources to begin the search for the cause of the disaster, she was the ideal person to go there to help the wounded and make her own report on what happened.
The Miracle Maker travels to Natoma to help heal the wounded.
Natoma could not refuse, and in fact hadn't refused. One did not refuse the help of the disciple of the Great Sannin Tsunade.
Another way to bring Konoha to the forefront of the Fire. The umpteenth way to prove its superiority over metropolises like Natoma and neighboring cities that wanted to be militarily independent and had their own armed forces. Even though ninety percent of the ninjas in the country obeyed the Leaf.
A decision that had caused quite a stir at the end of the war when the Daimyō had approved it.
In theory, Konoha did not belong to the Fire. Like the other hidden villages on the peninsula, the Leaf was independent and rented its services to Hi. In fact, that was why many of the major cities, including Natoma, had rushed to demand Shimura Danzō's removal after the kidnapping of Heiress Hinata Hyūga.
The country did not seek war. Only Konoha wanted it. Despite all that, and despite the fact that he was the head of the country, that he himself had appointed the Hokage, the Daimyō had no choice but to comply with what the Shimura had declared.
More than half of the Jōnins were on his side. The Uchiha were, the Hyūga were. Only a fool would have disagreed.
If it had come to a conflict between the Country's Armed Forces and the Court, it was certain that the Fourth Great War would have taken place anyway. A war that Fire would never have seen the end of. In other words, Hi had gone to war without wanting to, and the resentment of the Fire toward Konoha had never reached such a level. Even when Hashirama had offered the Beasts to the neighboring countries.
Landing on a deserted street, her tired breath ended in ephemeral smoke.
It was all complicated. Very complicated, and Danzō's allies were making the situation impossible to resolve. Just today, the Mizukage had declared his alliance with Danzō. It was an unbelievable, unprecedented situation.
Sound, Wind, Water. An army that no alliance had ever assembled. One that no country could dream of. The man was untouchable and seemed to be planning something. Something out of all proportion.
Needless to say, the great nations of the world sensed it as well. Things were about to get out of hand. It was no longer a question of how, but when.
Dressed in black pants, black shoes, a dark green round-necked t-shirt, and her black silk jacket half open, she walked slowly toward the equally dark door of the mansion. She raised her fist against the wood, but stopped. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the wilted flowers and empty pots to her left, just below a long window overlooking a dark hallway.
Her second sigh made her hesitate before her thoughts caused her knocks to echo in the entrance hall.
She had to do it. She had to do it, no matter what.
The silence lasted more than twenty seconds before she heard someone coming down the stairs. The steps creaked a little, revealing a woman she knew to have awakened. The light illuminated her vision through the murky panes, and she only had time to inhale before the deformed figure approached the door to open it, leaving her to observe a tired look.
Dressed in white pajamas, the woman's expression changed from sleepy to surprised, and when she looked behind her to see that she was indeed alone, in the middle of the night, at minus two degrees, she wasted no time in expressing herself.
"What... what are you doing here so... late?"
She immediately bowed to the forty-year-old and apologized for the thousandth time on the doorstep.
"I'm sorry to wake you, but I'd like to talk to you."
"Talk to me? Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?"
"I'm leaving right after this, I... decided to come here at the last minute, I apologize."
Why now, why in the middle of the night, why just before? Because she was a coward. It had been two weeks since she should have come here, but she had done nothing. Only now, just before leaving, had she decided to do so.
An act of cowardice just before an act of bravery. The balance was respected.
Stopped for more than a minute, she shivered, and the sweat that ran down her back did nothing to calm it. The woman stepped out of the doorway and raised her arm inward.
"Come in, you'll get sick."
"Thank you."
She stepped inside, and as the door closed behind her, the welcoming warmth warmed her ears and cheeks. Hands clasped, she didn't dare look at the decor, let alone the family photos hanging on the wall. She just watched the mother's movements as she made her way to the coat rack by the door. Lifting one of the jackets, she took out a white scarf and, putting back the first piece of cloth, moved closer to her.
With a beaming smile, the woman delicately wrapped the wool around her neck, then grabbed some of her candy pink hair to release it and brush it with her warm fingers.
"Where are you going, huh? How can you be so careless with your health? I'll have a word with your mother."
She did not answer. She did not smile. She did not cry.
She remained motionless, letting the woman continue to cover her neck perfectly. She admired her fine features, her tired expression and her radiant smile. No longer surprised by her sudden visit, the forty-year-old was happy to see her.
A fact that was completely beyond her comprehension.
It had been over three years now. Three years of daily visits. That she came to help her clean the house. That she avoided looking at photographs and meeting the ocean's gaze.
Three years that the woman behaved like this, that she compensated the sudden disappearance of her only daughter with her.
"Are you hungry? I've got some food in the fridge, I'll get it for you."
Needless to say, the rumors of the Uchiha's police visit had not reached this place, otherwise she would have asked her thousands of questions by now, and for that, she thanked gossip and recent events.
"I am not hungry."
The forty-year-old took her icy hands and warmed them with her own.
"All right, then. So, what did you want to tell me?" she asked her in a honeyed tone.
Her arm outstretched, she admired the smile one last time. After what she was about to reveal, it would surely disappear.
"I... it could be... I don't know how..."
At least if she could express herself.
"What is bothering you? Please tell me.
She took a deep breath and lowered her eyes to the parquet floor, which helped her find her words.
"It could be... that she's alive.
First the pressure on her right hand eased. Then her left. And their skin contact disappeared. Then she let her hand fall back against her shameful self before turning her attention back to the gaze that was staring at her.
"What... what do you mean?"
She clenched her jaw so hard that her muscles tensed.
Now that she had started, she had to finish. But no matter how many hours she thought about it, she didn't know where to start...
Did she have to explain everything?
"When you are promoted to Genin, the first thing you do after collecting your headband is to inject your chakra into a scroll. This scroll is then placed in the palace's database, so that if one day you were to disappear during a mission, it would be given to the Special Forces to help them find you".
She took a short breath, but she could see in the forty-year-old's eyes that this little pause was already too long.
"What I am trying to say is that the chakra signature of... your daughter, of Ino, is known to the Special Forces. I had access to it myself when I served there. It turns out... that someone I trust reported seeing her, feeling her. "
The heartbeat less than a meter away quickened, breathing became erratic, and eyes went wide.
Hers fell back to the ground.
"For days I doubted that it was true. That he was wrong, but knowing the man who reported the facts to me, that's not possible. I said she might be alive, but in reality there's no room for doubt. She was alive two weeks ago in Tsuchi. Ino is alive."
She looked at the woman's face again who was tearfully clutching both hands to her chest.
For her part, with a mechanical gesture, she clutched the scarf that had just been offered to her with her left hand, arming herself with courage and honesty.
Why did she only want to be hated? Did she deserve it after all she had done?
With a pulse of chakra, she scanned her surroundings to make sure no one was listening, and as she did, she sighed softly under the mother's confused, attentive gaze.
"Ino... before she disappeared, before she was pronounced dead... she was in trouble. The group that attacked us that day was not part of Earth's Armed Forces. They were paid or ordered to kill your daughter and make it look like a war crime."
Unable to escape the eyes staring back at her, she lowered her face for the umpteenth time.
"I've known for over two weeks. I didn't have the courage to tell you before, so I have no excuses. In about ten minutes, I'm going to Natoma to find out what happened there, and once I've done that, I'm going to Tsuchi, where she was seen, to try to find her. I don't know how long it will take, but I-"
Her monologue came to a screeching halt. Stunned, she lifted her face to shift it slightly to the brown hair on her right and had to fight back tears. Despite everything she'd just said, despite everything she blamed herself for, her second mother had just hugged her, comforted her.
Without a word, she grabbed the back of the white pajamas before lowering her face to the shoulder beneath her. Then she let go, and silent tears soaked the previously pristine fabric.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't realize. All... all these years she's been alive and I didn't know. I just..."
The broken voice to her right didn't let her continue.
"You have no idea... how many times I've dreamed of this moment. The day... you'd come and tell me you'd found her. I never... believed she was dead. Not for a day, and I never blamed you... so don't be sorry. It's not your fault. I only ask one thing... bring my daughter home, safe and sound, please. Bring Ino back.