"But as always, 'Concentrate' I say and stay working,

Scissors clutched tightly while I cut deep into the deed,

Even if these scissors have a habit of bleeding,

Sharpen them well and they'll sweep cleaner to your needs."

-The Tailor of Enbizaka, Oktavia

Kota sat next to me.

Her hair was short, barely reaching her ears, all uneven ends and loose strands that curled down to her jaw. She wore my old sandals and black, fingerless gloves.

She punched my shoulder, but not hard enough to hurt. "Next time, don't leave me behind."

Joji moved soundlessly, no movement wasted as he kept Yahiko on the defensive, following him as he was forced back, slicing deep nicks in his practice sword.

Yahiko coated it in a layer of chakra at the start, making it as hard as stone.

I hummed, wondering what she would've thought of Hidan. I bet they would've argued all the time.

"You were tired," I defended. "And Yahiko was too excited to wait."

Yahiko focused on Joji's arm instead of the nagamaki, reading the twist of his wrist, the tensing of his arm muscles. Yahiko blocked a quick strike on his left side, twisted the practice sword sideways, and deflected a slice on his right.

His chest heaved, his cloak in a forgotten heap next to me.

"So?" Kota asked. "I would've come if you woke me up."

I shrugged. "You did enough. If it wasn't for you, we never would've known about Suisai at all."

She stared at me before ducking away, making a frustrated noise. "How do you always make me feel so..." she trailed off and waved her arms at me.

Joji's nagamaki twitched to the left and Yahiko responded, practice sword halfway there to block when Joji sliced straight up.

I heard Yahiko suck in as he jerked his head back, using the movement to flip backwards, one hand pushing off the ground to throw his body into the air, the other still clutching the sword. He flashed through one-handed signs, inhaling hard. He held his breath for a second, then spat a small fireball at Joji.

Joji leapt back and up as it hit water and exploded, shooting fire in all directions. The water hissed and roiled, but the fire persisted.

I watched a thick curtain of steam rise between them, even as Kota lost interest.

"Do you think people should say sorry when something bad happens to someone else?"

Kota looked at me oddly. "What for?"

I felt relief.

Joji's nagamaki shot through the steam, pinwheeling, a red-silver blur.

Yahiko's barely yanked his sword up before it reached him—but it met no resistance. It cleaved through his practice sword like it was paper and the handle whacked him hard in the face. His head snapped to the side. I frowned.

The nagamaki slid into the sand behind him.

Kota leaned close. "Who told you that?"

Yahiko stumbled to the side, raising a hand to his cheek as Joji stepped through the steam. He winced. "A little higher and Konan would've had to make me a paper eyepatch," he mused.

"Only if you were sloppy," Joji signed.

Yahiko laughed. He threw the broken sword away.

"He's fine," Kota insisted, shifting closer to block my vision. "Couldn't Nagato just fix him, anyway?"

"He can't grow a new eye," I told her.

Kota looked nonplussed. "Not like it would change anything."

I sighed. "There was a girl in Suisai. Hanako," I answered. "Her mama was sick. Someone else was there and he said he was sorry for her. They looked at me weird when I asked why."

"They're the weird ones," Kota said. "Why would he be sorry for that?"

"Or we're weird."

"Nope," she denied, and that was that.

I smiled. "I really missed you, Kota."

Kota stared at her feet. "I... Yeah," she stammered. "Me too."

My smile widened.

Joji batted away a punch, dropped into a sweeping kick, and Yahiko leapt to the side to avoid it. His cheek was a deep, swollen purple. He rolled, pressing a hand to the sand to push himself backwards as Joji pursued him, but instead his hand slid, and he flopped backwards with a startled shout.

Joji raised his foot and Yahiko, eyes wide, rolled frantically as it came down. Sand and earth cracked apart under Joji's heel.

Yahiko made the Hare seal, tilted head back as water gathered in his mouth, then spewed it out in a massive wave that put out the fire and overflowed the pond.

Joji was swallowed by it. Two seconds passed before his hand broke the surface, he found a handhold, and he pulled himself up on top of it.

Yahiko cut off the jutsu. He wiped his mouth, rolled to his feet, and dived for—

"That's enough," Joji signed as the water evened out.

Yahiko paused, hand outstretched towards the nagamaki. "I passed?"

"Don't be cocky," Joji signed. Ignoring Yahiko, he picked up the nagamaki himself and wiped sand off with his shirt.

Yahiko looked like he wanted to respond but held himself back. They'd only argue if he did.

Joji closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and got down on his knees in front of Yahiko. He bowed his head and raised the nagamaki to him, holding it horizontally with both hands.

Yahiko looked surprised, rubbing the back of his head. "Sensei, really, you don't have to—"

"The passing of a weapon from master to student carries much more significance in the Land of Iron than here, I'm aware," Joji signed. "There, the tradition is seen as the master handing not just a weapon, but a part of himself to his student."

I looked at Kota. She shrugged and drew stick figures in the sand.

Yahiko looked at the nagamaki, at Joji, and dropped his hand. "What do I do?"

"If we were in the Land of Iron, you would earn the respect of your peers by wielding your master's blade in combat against whoever completed the tradition last, watched by the elder samurai," Joji answered.

Yahiko blinked. "I could spar with Maho and everyone could dress up as samurai and watch."

"There is much more to the tradition than that, but none of it is important. I only wanted to perform this small piece," Joji said. "Take it, understand the significance, and that will be enough."

Yahiko carefully took it from him.

Joji stood. He looked both proud and incredibly sad. He untied the strap holding the sheath. "Once you've sheathed it for the first time, no one else may claim ownership to it."

Yahiko paused. "Are all traditions from the Land of Iron this heavy?"

Joji looked amused despite his best effort to keep a straight face. "Traditions around the world tend to have weight behind them, no matter their origin."

"Don't fall asleep," I chastised, poking Kota as her head dipped.

"I'd rather be training than watching," she muttered. She stretched her arms above her head. "Why aren't we sparring?"

"'Cause I wanted to watch Yahiko," I answered. "Can't focus on them if I'm trying to hold back."

Kota blinked. She shoved me. "I'm almost as good as you are in taijutsu," she hissed, but she was smiling.

I carefully didn't reply.

She shoved me harder. "I am!"

Yahiko sheathed the nagamaki.

トワイライト

I woke up to Namekuji nudging me, his slimy head pressed to my face.

I rolled away and sneezed slime out of my nose.

"I expect a 'thank you' worm when you come back," Namekuji said as I used my sleeve to wipe my cheek, peering at him sleepily. "One of the big ones from the bottom of the lake."

I blinked and remembered what day it was.

Mamoru-sensei, Osamu, and Joji sat in a circle playing cards. Etsudo leaned close, peered over Mamoru's shoulder at his hand, then held up two fingers to the others.

Mamoru lowered his hand and sighed deeply.

Maho was curled up at the base of the staircase, hands shoved under his armpits, shivering.

I didn't see Naga or Yahiko.

My breath caught.

They left me.

I shot to my feet, but they weren't upstairs either. I clenched my fists, stalking over to Mamoru-sensei. "Why?" I demanded.

Why didn't you wake me?

Why did you let them leave me behind?

Mamoru abandoned his cards in the middle and picked out a new hand from the excess pile. He didn't look up. "Nagato and Konan can be persuasive devils when they band together," he answered.

Osamu looked up, apologetic. "They want you to be safe," he said.

I felt a burning, red-hot stab of anger.

Training, becoming strong, chakra—all of it was to keep up with them. All of it was so I'd never be left behind.

"They'll be fine," Etsudo said, leaning back. "I've never met a bunch of kids more stubborn than those three. Even if it doesn't go how they think it will, I bet they'll walk right through that door like it was no big deal with a new, even crazier plan."

I stared at her until her easy smile faded. She didn't get it.

Mamoru glanced sideways at Namekuji. "This would've been easier if a certain slug did what his master wanted," he said.

Namekuji rolled his eyes. "Master," he repeated with a scoff.

I turned and ran for the door.

Osamu half-stood, about to protest or try or stop me or both when Namekuji threw himself at them and landed in the middle, sending cards and slime into the air.

I heard Etsudo gasp, Joji's noise of protest, and I bolted out into the rain.

.

.

.

I was lost.

I bent over and caught my breath.

I left without a plan, with only a vague idea of where Shido Valley was, driven only by the desire to be there.

I stood in a marsh, surrounded by walls and bits of concrete submerged in the mud, covered in moss. It was near where Mamoru-sensei took us to train, close to where Naga was attacked by Root.

The only sound was the white noise of the rain and the sound of my own breathing.

I'd never been out alone since then.

I glared at the mud and wanted to scream.

All I ever wanted was to be included.

It was only me, my thoughts, and the remnants of a battlefield.

Was it really a surprise that Naga and Konan wanted me to stay behind?

I thought of Yahiko stopping me from walking into a wire-trap, Minato Namikaze and the threat of death at my neck. How I showed Hanzo I wasn't afraid of him, but it ultimately meant nothing.

I grimaced. I would leave me behind.

I crouched, arms around my knees.

I just wanted to help.

"Hello there," a deep, gravelly voice said behind me. "Are you the one they call 'Oka?'"

I left my weapons pouch back at the hideout, but I still had three kunai in my pocket. I gripped one, looking back at the thing sticking out of the ground. Only its head and shoulders were visible. The left side of it was completely black, vaguely person-shaped, but the right side was white and wrinkled and deformed.

"Maybe," I answered.

It had a single yellow eye and its teeth were rows of sharp triangles. "A friend sent me to help you," he said. Green, plant-like spikes poked out of the ground around it. "He wants me to take you to Shido Valley."

I stared at the thing.

How did it know about—?

"Are you a plant?"

The thing's lone eye widened. "You're certainly an interesting one," it mused. "What I am doesn't matter. But if I don't take you right now, everyone you care about will die."

I looked at it, searching for a lie, a trick, but I couldn't read its face.

Yahiko wouldn't let that happen.

It knew my name.

I didn't know who sent it.

It knew about the others.

I had to believe Hanzo cared more about the people here than himself, even if only a little.

I wouldn't find the valley by myself.

I stood. "Take me."

It dipped its head and rose to its full height, man-shaped with a mangled right side. "You can call me Zetsu."

.

.

.

I climbed to the top of the hill, rocks digging into my heels, mud under my fingernails.

Zetsu quietly sank into the ground behind me but I could only focus on Hanzo, standing on the cliff opposite of me, a small army of shinobi behind him.

He held Konan by the ropes binding her arms, his other hand pointing a kunai at the back of her head.

I fell back, eyes wide.

Why?

Why isn't Amegakure important to you?

Yahiko and Naga were far below, alone, standing in the middle of the valley.

My fingers twitched. If I threw kunai, he'd kill Konan.

Why does it always have to end in blood?

I grit my teeth. I couldn't reach them with Headhunter.

They were too far away to hear, but a shinobi beside Hanzo threw a kunai at my brother's feet.

Why does it always go wrong?

It was my deepest, darkest fear, the only thing in the world I never wanted to come true.

Someone I loved was in danger, and I couldn't do anything to help.

Naga picked it up, hesitant, shaking, staring at it like it he'd never seen a kunai before.

My heartbeat roared in my ears and I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood.

Peace... is it really a dream?

I had to—

He'd spot me if I made an earth clone.

I watched Yahiko turn, fists clenched, a look on his face I'd never seen before, and I knew what would happen next.

Four steps and he'd angle his body so the kunai sank in his chest, lodging deep enough to slip between his ribs and pierce his heart.

Naga's eyes would fill with horror, they would stumble back together, and then Yahiko would slip off his shoulder and die, just like that.

And then it would all be wrong.

And then I'd destroy the place that destroyed him.

I blinked once. Yahiko was alive, turning to look at my brother.

Even so, I felt the grief, the anguish. I still felt like I'd just watched him die.

Yahiko took a step.

I raised a hand, automatic and stiff, and had one thought:

You're not allowed to die.

The only way to describe what happened next was with one word.

Power.

It was a door clicking open in my head, the release of a breath I never knew I was holding, the flood of indescribable, incomprehensible power setting my chakra on fire.

I flexed my fingers and pushed. I didn't move, didn't breathe, but an invisible, almighty wave pulsed from my hand and careened straight into Yahiko when he took that second step, throwing him back and gouging a chunk out of ground he'd been standing on.

He crashed into a wall. Mud and rocks rained down on top of him.

My palm burned, the tips of my fingers going numb.

Too much chakra.

I didn't care. I didn't think.

I aimed my hand at Hanzo the Bastard—

His hand was around Konan's throat, her feet dangling over the edge of the cliff. There were two of her for a brief second. One face down on the ground, hands still bound.

Genjutsu.

Blood leaked from the mouth of the Konan in his grip, one hand limp and twisted the wrong way, the other prying and scratching at Hanzo's wrist. She glared at him, even as she choked.

Konan.

There was only time for that single thought before he snapped her neck.

Konan instantly sagged, eyes rolling up. Her hand fell away from his and went limp. The 'Konan' that was tied up melted into soggy paper.

Something screamed. It might've been me.

Power exploded from my palm and pain tingled down my arm, but he was too far away. A handful of shinobi skidded back but Hanzo didn't move. He looked at me and tossed Konan away.

He made a gesture towards the shinobi with his free hand and they threw two volleys of kunai. One aimed at me, the other at Naga and Yahiko.

I watched her body tumble down the side of the cliff, rolling end over end. I waited for the genjutsu to lift on that 'Konan' too, for her to appear somewhere else, maybe hurt, but not—

Naga slammed both hands against the ground, a sound of rage and grief tearing out of him.

I stumbled back, a sudden sharp pain in my shoulder. I looked at the kunai buried hilt deep. The sky was filled with metal.

Thick clouds of white smoke filled the valley.

My hand rose, palm up, and an invisible, impassible barrier forming right above me, sending the kunai into the dirt around my feet. I held it for three seconds before I fell to my knees and threw up.

A shadow with purple stripes on its back towered over me.

Konan, Konan, Konan.

I jerked when I felt a bolt of pain in my back and stared up at a second volley of kunai. Half of them lodged in Namekuji, but half of them didn't.

I couldn't feel my arm.

I wondered if this was where I died, too.

A pair of sandaled feet landed in front of me, and a wall of water shot up and swept the kunai away.

Yahiko.

I was barely awake as Yahiko pulled me onto his back, arms looping around my legs. He stumbled as he straightened, and I felt him tremble. He was bruised all over.

Namekuji craned his neck back, yellow gushing from his mouth, and acid rained down on Hanzo's army.

The valley filled with screams.

A volley of shuriken and kunai shot through Namekuji's massive body and dropped out the other side, covered in slime. Bodies around Hanzo collapsed, rivers of blood running down the cliff.

Hanzo made a quick hand sign and vanished, reappearing behind his army, away from the spray. He pressed a hand against the back of the shinobi closest to him and Ibuse appeared in a puff of smoke, crushing whoever was still alive.

Ibuse answered Namekuji with clouds of purple smoke.

Yahiko tightened his grip around me, jumped, and met no resistance as we sank into Namekuji's body.

A/N: トワイライト - Twilight

A Girl Named Konan next week.