"No matter if I search our darkest days,

And no matter if I curse the lack of change,

These words that dance up across the sky,

Will not be enough to save you at all."

-veil, Studio Yuraki

I sat beside Mamoru-sensei, looking over his prone form. Halfway to the hideout, he started to pass out again. He made it just inside before Konan couldn't carry him anymore and he hit the floor. He was facedown, and I watched his chest rise and fall.

"Is he okay?" I asked, poking his side. Mamoru's fingers twitched.

Namekuji slithered closer and climbed on top of him. I glanced back. Naga was curled up against the back wall, a brown blanket thrown over him. It was old and spotted with holes, but it helped to keep the cold away. Naga had woken up just long enough to insist on re-summoning Namekuji in case anything happened, then fell back asleep.

"No, not really," Namekuji said. "But he's not dying. Nagato did his best. He closed the wound and patched the worst of the damage. The rest will have to heal on its own."

"How long will that take?" I asked.

"Hard to say. It was a bad wound. You sure you want this one as your sensei, boy-wonder?"

On the other side of the room, Yahiko bit into a half-rotted peach. "You don't have to call me that. I answer to Yahiko, or," he let the silence linger, a slow grin spreading across his face. "God."

Namekuji decided to sit on the back of Mamoru's head. "Yeah, yeah, boy-wonder," he dismissed. "You gonna answer the question or not?"

"I don't think I like your tone," Yahiko said back.

Namekuji's tentacles shrunk a bit, which was the same as an eye-roll. "Oh, glorious leader, would you tell me why Nagato and I went through so much trouble to save this one-armed man? Please, Yahiko," he said.

I giggled. Yahiko ignored me and pretended not to notice that Namekuji was oozing sarcasm. "Well, since you asked so nicely, I'll tell you," he took another bite. "We've learned everything we can on our own. We need someone to teach us stuff no one else will, like new jutsu—"

"No, not that part," Namekuji interrupted. "Was this one the best choice for that? I'm sure there are lots of less injured shinobi roaming around Amegakure who won't kill Oka on sight."

"It wasn't just that he didn't attack Oka," Yahiko explained. "He activated that complicated genjutsu with only one hand. I've never heard of anyone else who can do that."

"Yeah, but, one-hand," Namekuji emphasized. "How is he supposed to put on clothes like you do, or cook or fight or do anything."

Yahiko blinked. "He can use his other hand," he pointed out. "And if he couldn't fight with one hand, he wouldn't have gotten away."

"Well," Namekuji faltered. "How am I supposed to know that? I don't have arms."

Yahiko stroked his chin. "That is a good point."

"You guys use them all the time for everything. They seem pretty essential," Namekuji said, turning his tentacles doubtfully down at Mamoru.

"Not everything," I said. "We do plenty of things one-handed."

"No, you don't," Namekuji denied.

"We throw shuriken with one hand."

"Another excellent point," Yahiko agreed, wiping juice off his chin with the back of his hand.

"You don't do many things one-handed," Namekuji amended.

"It doesn't matter if he's missing an arm, or a leg, or something else," Yahiko said. "He adapted to his injury to survive. That's what people do. What would you do if someone cut you in half?"

"I would split into two parts?" Namekuji answered, confused.

Yahiko took this in stride, nodding. "And what if you couldn't split?"

"Why wouldn't I be able to split?" Namekuji asked, even more confused.

"What if the enemy was holding you with their chakra so you couldn't split easily?" Yahiko asked, revising the question as he popped the last of the peach in his mouth.

"I would de-summon myself?"

Yahiko stared up at the roof.

"What if the enemy was using lightning natured chakra?" I asked.

Namekuji 'looked' at me. "Why would that matter?"

"What if," I stressed. "You couldn't leave or Naga would be in danger?"

Namekuji didn't immediately answer. "I would..." he trailed off. "I don't know."

Yahiko slammed a fist against his palm. "We're making progress."

"I finally finished it!" Konan said. She appeared out of the hallway, holding my old flower crown delicately between her hands. It had started to wilt, the last time I looked at it, the edges turning a wrinkled yellow.

But whatever Konan had done made it look brand new again. It looked a little bigger too. "What did you do?" I asked, standing.

Konan only smiled. She came closer and knelt in front of me, carefully placing the flower crown on top of my head. "A crown, for the Princess," she announced dramatically.

I reached up to touch it. It was soft, and I liked to think that was what real flowers felt like. "But I can't wear it outside."

The look she gave me—her happiness was infectious. I couldn't help but grin back at her. "Now you can," she said. "Know why? 'Cause I made it waterproof!"

My eyes widened. "You did?"

Konan pressed a hand over her heart. "I did. How else would the people here know of the royalty among them?"

I laughed and wrapped my arms around her neck. "Thank you!"

開始

Konan, Yahiko, Naga and I stood on the surface of the pond, while Mamoru stood on the bank, just out of the water's reach. He'd traded his flak-jacket for a simple dark green shirt with baggy sleeves. He sold his headband too but wouldn't tell us where.

"If I'm really going to be your sensei, I need to see what you know first," he said. "And this doubles to prove that you're not all just talk. Especially you, Yahiko. You might be one hell of a charismatic kid, but if you're really going to become a god of peace, your actions need to speak as loud as your words. So, show me your strongest technique, jutsu, or whatever else is in your arsenal."

Yahiko grinned. "Got it." Without hesitation, he flipped through hand-signs. If I hadn't seen him do it dozens of times, they would've been too fast to follow. Dragon. Tiger. Hare. He took a deep breath and water made his cheeks puff up.

A second later it burst from his mouth like a waterfall, shooting towards Mamoru. Sensei held his hand up to shield his face as it crashed into him, knees bending as he held his ground. Konan cried out as water sprayed back at us, throwing her hands up.

Namekuji hid behind my brother, who coughed and fanned the water away. I held a hand over my eyes, but otherwise didn't move. The water surged against Mamoru. It didn't look like it was moving him, but I knew it would. I believed in Yahiko's power.

Yahiko's eyes narrowed, just slightly. The water intensified, creating a stronger spray of mist as it clashed against Mamoru's body. Still, he didn't move. Yahiko held the jutsu for four seconds, and then the water sputtered out. He took a step back and dropped to one knee, breathing hard.

I slowly lowered my hand. I watched Mamoru's feet, waiting for the water to dissipate away. It took a few long, long seconds before I could see the marks where Mamoru's sandals dug into the mud as he was pushed back. It was only two feet—but he did it. I threw my arms up and cheered.

Konan knelt beside Yahiko, a hand on his shoulder. Namekuji cautiously peeked out over Naga's shoulder and thanked him for being a good meat shield.

Mamoru glanced down at the marks, then up at Yahiko. "So, you're not all talk," he said, shaking the mud off his sandals. He sounded reluctantly impressed.

Yahiko's laugh was wheezy. "Damn right I'm not." He stood, wiping his mouth. He shot me quick grin.

The longer Mamoru watched him, the more he seemed to realize something. "You used up all your chakra in that attack?" he asked, incredulous.

"I wanted to make an impression," Yahiko said. "Did I?"

Mamoru didn't answer that. His eyes flicked to Konan. "You, less strange girl," he said. "You're next."

I huffed.

Konan straightened. "Nagato?" she asked, turning towards him with a smile.

Naga pulled out a kunai from a pocket he'd stitched into his pants, spinning it around his finger. "Ready."

"Can't I just spit acid at her?" Namekuji asked.

"Please don't," Konan said. "Okay. Do it. I'm ready."

Naga threw the kunai. It would've struck Konan in the chest—had she not burst into a fluttering spiral of paper before it touched her. Naga pulled another out and tossed it before she fully reformed, but it only sailed through the folds of her paper body and sunk into the water behind her.

Naga threw a handful of shuriken with the same result. Konan pulled the paper back into herself, her body folding together like a giant work of origami. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

I clapped.

Konan laughed and spun towards me. She curtsied, holding out the edges of her imaginary dress. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Oka."

Mamoru was silent. He pointed at her. "How did you do that?"

Konan spun again to face him. "That's a secret too, Mamoru-sensei."

He didn't seem surprised with that answer. He scratched the back of his head. "Strange, extremely talented kids," he muttered to himself. He shook his head and glanced at Naga, then me. "You're up," he said.

Naga paused. "Not me?"

"You showed me all I need to see from you already," Mamoru said. His empty sleeve fluttered at his side.

"Konan," Yahiko said. "Spar with her." He ambled over and leaned a hand against Naga's shoulder.

Naga frowned at him. "I can do it."

Yahiko shook his head. "You'll go easy on her and the way I am now, I'll collapse before she can hit me. It has to be Konan."

"You okay with that, Oka?" Konan asked.

I glanced at sensei. He was barefoot, using his toes to wash his sandals in the pond. "'Course I am," I said.

Naga sighed. "Okay—"

Yahiko took a step back and sat heavily on the water. He pressed a hand against the surface, his arm shaking. "So this is what it feels like to go past my limits," he said to himself, almost too quiet for me to hear.

Namekuji dropped away from Naga and landed squarely in Yahiko's lap. Yahiko blinked down at him.

"You don't look very grateful," Namekuji tutted. "I'm the only thing standing between you being on top of the water and you being under it. Were you going to keep using chakra to water-walk until you died, or what?"

"I wanted to see Oka win," Yahiko defended himself. I'd never seen Yahiko this tired, but it had been a long time since he tried to impress anyone like this.

Konan didn't take his bait. She glanced uneasily at Mamoru. "Should we keep going?" she asked.

"It's not that bad," Naga reassured her. He grabbed Yahiko by the arm and hauled him up, Namekuji sticking to his stomach.

Konan looked dubiously at Yahiko.

"It's pretty bad," Namekuji disagreed.

"He just needs sleep," Naga insisted.

"All of that he brought on himself," Mamoru said with a dismissive shake of his head. "Keep going."

I waited until Naga half-dragged Yahiko onto solid land and laid him down on the sand before turning back to Konan. "I won't go easy on you," I announced, dropping into a mixture of the three styles I'd been taught to fight in.

Naga, hesitant and careful, never made the first move. He kept his hands tucked in, close to his face. Konan, precise and unpredictable, had a looser stance. She liked to keep her arms away from her body to use the paper hidden up her sleeves. Yahiko, who hit hard and fast, kept his body low, his vitals protected. Unless he knew his opponent, he didn't like to make the first move either.

My body was loose and relaxed, one hand held close, the other out.

"Me neither," Konan said. "Just don't be too mad at me when I win."

I didn't know any elemental ninjutsu. No one I knew had earth-natured chakra. Naga only knew one wind-style jutsu, and that was only because he'd seen a shinobi in a red flak-jacket do it and Namekuji remembered the hand-signs. Konan used her wind chakra in her paper. That left me with taijutsu. It was the only thing I was good at, other than shurikenjutsu, but that didn't really count.

Seeing that I wasn't making the first move, Konan rushed forward. I waited until she made it halfway before I ran to meet her. I was smaller, weaker. I would still win. Konan threw an arm out and paper slipped free of her sleeves.

I spun out of the way of the paper shuriken, twisting to face her. She was there—in front of me, her hand raised in a fist. In the moment she reminded me of Tsunade.

I planted my feet and threw myself at her. The fist came down—off-kilter, but it still hurt bad when it connected with my shoulder. It would bruise later. My small arms latched around her waist, pushing as hard as I could to knock her over. Instead, she burst into paper and my hands were empty. I fell, landing hard on the pond.

I pushed myself up. Konan was reforming. I kicked off the water and ran, channeling Yahiko as I planted my left foot and twisted, swinging my right heel through the paper. Konan scattered again.

I grinned even as I fell, wide and wolfish. My elbows hurt, but I got up again. I lunged at her, only to fall through her paper projection again. By now, Konan caught onto what I was doing. She didn't have enough chakra to stay paper forever.

I would beat her in a game of endurance, every time. If she wanted to beat me, she would have to take a hit—and, eventually, she did just that. Konan stumbled back with a cough as my foot collided with her stomach, fighting not to double-over. She was breathing heavily, but her lips quirked up into a smile when she looked at me.

My grin widened. I went for her ankles next, and Konan keeled over with a sharp cry. She was laughing as she landed, lying flat on her back.

"I win," I said.

"I didn't give up," Konan pointed out.

I stood up and decided to stand on her.

"Ack! Ow, ow, that hurts, Oka," she twisted, but I didn't move.

"I know," I assured her.

"Ow. Okay, okay, I give up!" She was laughing again.

I stepped off her.

Konan held a hand over her stomach. "I don't think Mamoru-sensei learned anything about you from this," she whispered, as if telling me a secret. "Other than that you're vicious and cruel."

I sat beside her, inspecting my scraped elbows. "Not my fault. You didn't fight me seriously."

"I did!" she protested. "At first."

"We're going to fight again," I decided. "For real."

"Right now?" Konan squeaked.

I turned and stared at her. "Right now."

オーバー

I hummed as I leaned over the table, holding a plank still with one hand while I painted the back red with the other. It was covered with bumps and grooves, and a little too big, but it was the closest Naga could find to the planks Jiraya painted for us.

Yahiko had traded two small fish for a handful of red paint and one big fish for a cupful of white paint. I dipped a finger into what was left of the red paint and smeared it over a brown spot.

"When the hideout burns down, I'm going to remind you of this moment," Konan said.

She sat on a counter in the 'kitchen'. Below her, Yahiko crouched over a small black pot filled with cut pieces of fish, water, and half a tomato. A fire simmered beneath it. One Yahiko started from all the planks of wood that weren't good enough to be painted.

"So negative all the time," Yahiko said, seemingly to his pot. "No wonder she can't cook."

Konan flushed. "You started a fire in the middle of the hideout with no protection just so you can cook stew."

"I promised Nagato," Yahiko said, looking up.

"He doesn't even remember that," Konan pointed out.

Naga sat beside me, leaning an elbow on the table. He smiled but didn't join their argument.

Mamoru, across from us, shook his head. "Don't they get tired of arguing?"

"No," Naga and I answered at the same time.

"There's plenty of protection," Yahiko went on, ignoring what she said. He gestured to the rocks he put in a circle around the fire. "When did you become so paranoid, Konan?"

"It's not paranoia," she said. "It's a real, justified fear."

Yahiko stirred his fish stew with an old fork. "I didn't know you had such a crippling fear of fire."

"I don't," Konan said. "I'm only afraid of it when it's in your hands."

Yahiko turned and gave her a flat stare. "I have water-natured chakra, you know."

"So?"

Yahiko sighed deeply. "I try to do something nice for a friend and I get so much sass," he told his soup.

I flipped the plank over, holding it against my palm to keep the paint from staining the table. I tapped my cheek. "What should I draw for Mamoru-sensei?" I asked Naga.

Naga turned. He blinked at me and reached out, attempting—and failing—to wipe the paint off my cheek. He glanced at the blank side of the plank. "Hmm," he said. "Any thoughts, Mamoru-sensei?"

Mamoru was still watching Yahiko and Konan. He stared blankly at the plank, then lifted his gaze to Naga. "What is it for?"

"It's a secret," I chirped, mimicking Konan.

Mamoru's expression didn't change.

Naga pulled the plank out of my grip, holding the edges with the tip of his fingers. "It's a system to detect imposters," he explained. "If this is turned to the red side, it means the person it belongs to is here. If it's flipped to the white side, that person isn't in the hideout. But Oka hasn't drawn that side for yours yet." He handed it back.

Despite his efforts, there was red paint on his fingers.

"You're burning it," Konan pointed out.

Yahiko stirred faster. "Does doing this make you happy?" he asked.

Naga sniffed. He pushed away from the table and went over to them. He crouched beside Yahiko and put a hand on his shoulder. "I think you are burning it," he said solemnly.

Yahiko paused. "This is how it's supposed to smell," he protested.

Naga shook his head slowly. "No," he said. "It's not."

"You love this smell!"

Naga patted him. "Let it go," he said gently.

Yahiko looked between him and the pot. He backed off and Naga took his place to try and salvage the stew. He plopped down next to me.

I tried not to let him see my smile.

"Don't laugh at me, Oka. Your brother broke my heart," Yahiko said, seeing it anyway.

I patted his head. "It's okay if you're a bad cook. I can't cook either."

Yahiko's stare couldn't have been flatter.

"At least I've never burned soup," Konan said, sticking her tongue out at him.

Yahiko groaned and dropped his head on the table.

I held the blank side of the plank out to him. "What should I draw?" I asked.

"My misery," he said.

I looked at the plank. "What does that look like?"

Yahiko waved his arms vaguely.

I consulted the plank again. "I still don't know what to draw," I told him.

Yahiko groaned again.

"Namekuji," Konan called in alarm, hopping off the counter. "Don't go on the table. Please, please don't go on the table."

I glanced down. Namekuji was halfway up the table leg closest to me. Konan had commandeered all our clothes that didn't fit anymore and laid them in paths on the floor so Namekuji didn't leave slime everywhere.

He turned to look at her. "Why not?"

Konan knelt next to the table—beside Yahiko's old pants—and clasped her hands together. "Because it takes ages to clean. Please."

Namekuji seemed to consider that. Then Konan suddenly tumbled backwards with a muffled shriek, a slug abruptly attached to her face. Between one blink and the next, Namekuji had launched himself at her. "You're welcome," he told her.

Yahiko laughed so hard he tumbled off the table and hit the floor.

Mamoru looked somewhere between amused and heavily disturbed.

Naga didn't turn around, though his shoulders were shaking.

I stood up as Konan rolled on the ground to try and dislodge him. Planting a foot on her side to keep her still as she shouted gibberish, I wrapped my arms around Namekuji and lifted him. He came off easily, and I stumbled back under his weight. Though if he didn't want to come off, he wouldn't have, no matter how much I tugged or pulled at him.

"Don't be mean," I said.

"She said to get off the table. I got off the table," Namekuji said.

"She didn't mean to go on her face," I chastised him. With effort, I returned to the table. I plopped him down in my lap as I sat.

"Well," Namekuji huffed. "She should've been more specific."

For the third time, I picked up the plank. "What should I draw?" I asked, shaking it a little more aggressively than I meant to.

Namekuji made himself comfortable in my lap. "It's for that one-armed guy, right? Why not... one arm?"

I dropped the plank and gave up.

A/N: 開始 - Starting, オーバー - Over

My original idea for the last scene involved a serious discussion. But then my brain spiraled, as it does.

Oh, by the way:

Yahiko - 10/11

Nagato/Konan - 9/10

Oka - 6/7