We spent all day at Nanny Yumi's apartment.

During that time, we got to learn more about her own story. Her family came from a place that was now called Ame. In her youth, she too had been recruited to be a child soldier.

She showed us her old ninja headband. The metal plate was crossed out. I traced the deep gash against the insignia.

The headband was a reminder that no war was without its traitors. Just as there were non-ninja who defended the military, there were ninja who sought to end it.

"There are more ninja in Akatsuki than you'd think," Nanny Yumi said, eyes gleaming. "You can even say there is an entire country of them."

When it came time for us to go, Nanny Yumi told us we would need to block today's memories. She pointed out that there were many techniques that allowed someone to look into memories with just a touch or glance. If anyone ever saw ours, we'd be in serious trouble.

At first, I thought she was going to put us under a genjutsu to make us forget everything, like what Tomoe did to me. I panicked.

But Nanny Yumi had no intention of casting a genjutsu on us.

She'd rather teach us how to block our memories ourselves. Whichever path we chose, we would need the skill.

"But I can't use chakra," I said. I looked strangely at Mayu. "Can you?"

"What's chatora?"

"Chakra," I corrected.

"Yeah, what I said."

I facepalmed.

"You don't need chakra control for this," Nanny Yumi clarified for me, looking very amused.

My brows furrowed. "But I thought…"

Memories, as I learned in school, were like spiderwebs. If you wanted to forget something, you had to cut off all threads that led to it. Memories that were lost were called floating islands, because all paths to get there were gone.

Most of the time, you did not want a memory permanently lost. In that case, you'd leave one thread intact. That lone connecting memory is called the recall trigger. Shinobi would often choose something strategic, like a very specific object or person or place, that would allow them to remember at exactly the right time on a mission.

All of this is to say, memory blockers were only something that genjutsu masters could do. The thread cutting mentioned in the textbooks was an insanely difficult surgery. You'd need at least A-rank level of chakra mastery to do it safely without causing general amnesia or really bad brain damage.

And just like any other surgery, it didn't come without costs. Even if a memory blocker was done perfectly, you'd still get horrible, splitting headaches. Like mine.

I didn't see how Mayu and I could learn how to do it in a day. I didn't see how we could learn how to do it without chakra.

"All living things have chakra," Nanny Yumi reminded. "Just because you can't control your chakra doesn't mean it's not running through you. Just because you don't understand how your heart works doesn't mean it stops beating."

One of the greatest follies of shinobi is believing they were smarter than their own bodies.

Any true genjutsu expert would tell you that the human body could already hide and reveal memories to protect itself, even from its own mind. And the body could do it much more elegantly and safely than any shinobi and their chakra cutting ever could.

If we wanted to store a memory for safe keeping, and do it better than any genjutsu, all we had to do was…

"Ask our bodies?" I echoed.

"No way it's that easy," Mayu said, raising an eyebrow.

"Both trivially easy and also impossible for many," Nanny Yumi told us.

Because the body needed to say yes.

It would only say yes if it trusted you. Many bodies did not trust their person. Their person would beat them, or berate them, or hurt them in general. Their person did not love or care for their bodies the way their bodies loved and cared for them back.

Even more importantly, it would only say yes if it wanted what you wanted. You'd think you and your body would want the same thing. Yet, most people lived in lies. They told themselves something was important when it was not. They told themselves something was unimportant when it really was.

But if you lived in compassion and in truth to who you were, if you and your body were best friends, if you were one, then…

It really was as easy as saying pretty please.

.

I stayed with my mom's side of the family for the rest of the week.

Mayu had a big fight with her mom.

Aunt Benadetta was very upset that we kids had uncovered "Muwana's project". She immediately told Mayu to drop it. Mayu was upset that her mom knew about Akatsuki the whole time and hid it from us.

"It's one hell of a thing to leave out!"

"We didn't think you'd need to know!"

"Um, that's kind of on me to decide, no?"

It ended with Mayu angrily leaving the house, skateboarding away.

Uncle Farusha then tried to comfort Aunt Benadetta, who sat in dismay at the kitchen table.

I stayed inside my bedroom. When I sensed someone coming, I stopped eavesdropping and hopped onto my bed. I pretend to read one of the children's books.

There was a knock.

"Come in!"

It was Grandpa Sudi.

"Would you like some warm rose milk?"

I saw the mug and graciously accepted.

"Thank you!"

Grandpa Sudi saw the caterpillar book I had open on my lap.

"You like that one," he said, joining me.

"It's okay." I sweated. "I think it's the first book I remember reading."

"It's the first book my nephew read too," Grandpa Sudi said, laughing. "One of the few he can."

"Does Uncle Farusha have trouble learning? If I remember correctly, we started reading at the same time, but I felt he learned so much slower than I did, even though I was just a kid, and he was an adult."

Grandpa Sudi shook his head. "You misunderstand. It is because he is an adult that it is harder for him to learn. Very few people who grew up alongside your mother can read or write. If they can, it is likely their home language and not the one here. Your mother is a rare exception. She learned because she persisted."

My mom needed to read and write because as an adult, she was the representative of one of the city's outer districts. She was an important person who met with government officials. At least, that was the cover story.

The real reason was, she was stuck behind the massive stone walls that was the Fire Capital, and she needed to talk to people worldwide. She needed to talk to the people who weren't even born yet.

My mom was quite well known for her arrogance. Here is this child of nothing, who when given a crumb, will spit it out and ask for bread, and when given bread, will ask for dinner, and when given dinner, will ask nine courses alongside an audience with the daimyo. And after the meal, take his head.

She cannot be satisfied. She cannot compromise. People hear the story of Ibunshi and see a happy ending. My mom only saw a practice round.

"No doubt it has created rift inside her very own family, who are satisfied with the fortune she has brought them, who can compromise with injustice, if it means keeping the peace for them and their loved ones." Grandpa Sudi sighed tiredly. He rubbed his knees. "I am sorry, child. We regret keeping this hidden. I would tell you more, but in truth, Muwana, knowing she did not have our support, did not tell us much."

I was quiet.

"If everyone were to go back, would they want to support her this time?"

Grandpa Sudi thought.

"I don't think anyone wanted to lose your mother. They were best friends, those three. Even if their presence would have done nothing to change the outcome, I believe your aunt and uncle regret not being by her side."

I inhaled.

"And what about Mayu and me? Do the adults support us too?"

We heard Aunt Benadetta raise her voice in the other room. Uncle Farusha said something that calmed her back down.

Grandpa Sudi turned to me.

"Within the Kiira tradition, support is family. Family is support. They cannot simultaneously claim you as their niece and not stand beside you." He made a show of looking at my very pink bedroom, very different from Mayu's blue one. "I think they would strongly want to claim you as their niece. I, for one, would not mind another grandniece."

Moved, I hugged Grandpa Sudi. He was small so my arms could wrap around and squeeze tight. He smelled of sweet spices.

He gave me a warm hug back. He patted my back.

"I'd been living in Konoha," I confessed. "That was where my dad brought me."

Grandpa Sudi recovered. "Well that explains many things."

I told him my full story.

"I need to go back," I said.

"Then you shall."

I was Muwana's daughter. He had no doubt in my ability to do what I set my mind out to do.

Or to be the biggest pain in the ass the world has ever seen.

.

Aunt Benadetta and Mayu made up. I was very surprised by how fast. In two days, Aunt Benadetta had made Mayu an Akatsuki cloth patch to sew into her jacket. The colors of Akatsuki were black, white, and red. The symbols were usually the morning star, the dawn, or the clouds.

Like most underground symbols, they were obvious enough that any other member would know you were an ally. But also generic enough that if the police asked about it, you could just shrug and say you thought it looked cool, denying it meant anything.

It helped if kids did think you just looked cool and copied without knowing. The trendy kids helped the troublemaker kids blend in.

And the government would look very silly if they went around banning the color red. If they got to that point, it meant they were desperate and losing.

"No matter what, I'm here for both you girls," Aunt Benadetta said grimly, gripping our shoulders. "Whatever you need. Whenever you need it."

She gave us a big hug.

Uncle Farusha then picked us up for an even bigger hug.

Grandpa Sudi was right. We were family. We supported each other.

As for getting me out of the city, Mayu tried.

Really hard.

But it didn't matter how sneaky we were, ninjas were, like the definition of sneak. And we couldn't outsneak a hundred kunoichi.

After our billionth failed attempt, everything from underground sewers to hiding in orange carts, Mayu kicked up her skateboard and, hugging it, collapsed on the park grass.

"I think I might have underestimated the enemy," she grumbled.

"You think?"

I gladly reminded Mayu that these kunoichi were out to protect me too. If we had just faced one who was seriously out to kill us, we'd be dead. And she wanted to take on all shinobi.

Mayu turned her head in the grass. "You're such a downer."

"And you're such a bonehead!"

She giggled when I rubbed her head.

"Anyway, they're only giving us this slack because we're useless," I sighed.

"I guess outpowering the powerful is an oxymoron," Mayu sighed.

We stared at the clouds.

I hated this.

I hated these stupid power games.

I didn't want strength. I didn't want power. I hated that without them, people with strength and people with power could decide for where I could or could not be. How I could live or could not live. Whether or not I could live at all.

In the end, it didn't matter if I wanted power. I needed it. I needed it as much as I needed water and air.

I felt bad for judging Itachi.

I felt worse knowing that my life was only as good as it was because people like Itachi had been clearing the way for me. Or cleaning up after me.

I stared at his identification card in my wallet.

Finally, I gave in.

If Tomoe wanted me to prove my power, fine. It was time that I showed my power.

"Mayu… I think I'm done trying to sneak out. It's time to just get all these ninja out of my way," I said.

The wind blew through the trees. I could sense the tension in the shadows.

"Out of your… way?" Mayu echoed.

I nodded.

I got up, extending a hand. I pulled her up.

"You made a good point. You don't call upon the powerless to match the powerful. You call upon the even more powerful."

And my mom's books had been surprisingly useful in teaching me how power flowed in this world. Of who sat at the top of the pyramid, pulling all the strings.

Mayu's expression slowly changed.

"You know someone."

I had really hoped I didn't need to ask them. In fact, I had been very happy with my time at the Fire Capital without paying the visit. But I was desperate to get home, and Tomoe forced my hand.

"Yes," I said, gritting my teeth.

"And they'll help you?"

"Only one way to find out."

.

After casually skipping school for a week, I came back and asked for a solo in the Royal Spring Performance. Some of the students looked at me in outrage. Some looked at me in awe. Most were a mix of both.

Teacher Ekkusu gave it to me without a blink.

I asked Mayu if she and her band would like to do my music.

"We don't do traditional," one of her bandmates warned me.

"That's okay," I said, shrugging. I juggled my dual swords, testing out all the different combos. "No one paying to see me is looking for traditional."

Then it was just practice until the day of dance.

The Royal Spring Performance wasn't like the New School Expo. The Expo was for anyone wealthy who was a patron of the arts. It was prestigious, but, at the end of the day, still experimental, still a competition. Only the best dances made it to the Royal Spring Performance, which was saved for, as the name implied, the royal family and higher feudal lords.

These were famous, fancy dances, with hundreds of dancers on the stage at once. I was supposed to be one of those hundreds, debuting the background, working my way up.

Instead, I was center and solo.

I had the attention of the entire audience, who had heard about my success at the Expo, who wanted to see the next prodigy of dance.

It really was my moment. It was my moment like the Chuunin Exam had been Itachi's moment. I wasn't copying him anymore. I didn't need to play catch up. I had found my own moves. And by now, I had refined them, to command the eyes of the whole crowd, to control the auditorium to my will.

It just sucked that none of my family or friends from Konoha could see it. Not even my dad.

I wasn't surprised. But maybe it was better that he couldn't. After all, if he saw my performance, he'd have a heart attack.

Because a swords dance was cool and all until it got turned on the audience.

The music stopped.

To her credit, she didn't flinch.

"Little sister."

In the balcony, I held my swords at the neck of the Princess of Fire, a ring of guards pointing their weapons at me, Tomoe's kunoichi pointing their weapons at them.

"Big sis," I greeted, straining a smile. "I, ah, need a favor."