With the knowledge that I was to enroll into the academy at four, I found myself in a mad dash to get through the most demanding training plans I had created for myself while I still had free time.
I wasn't sure if the Iwa academy would be more akin a regular school, like the Konoha academy in the anime, or like the ridiculous and violent institution they had in Kiri. My guess was that it would fall somewhere in the middle, so I should probably try to be in peak physical condition at all times.
Which meant I wouldn't be able to risk utilizing my chakra inflating technique. At least, until I had a better grasp on the academy standards and my peer's conditioning levels. As far as I knew, I was so far above them that I needed to give myself a handicap to fit in.
Ha, as if. I had to admit, my canals weren't the only things inflated these days; being able to see my progress in such great detail had done terrible things to my ego. I hoped there were a few people in the academy that could cut me down to size, because if not? I was going to be absolutely insufferable.
For now, I had to make due with Kazuhiro, who actively tried not to knock me down as many pegs as he probably should have. I had asked him for training, especially in regards to taijutsu, as I didn't want to enter the academy with no knowledge on the subject. I knew martial arts basics from my past life, like how to put the power of my entire body into strikes, how to maintain stability and how to disarm attackers, but I had never been in a real hand-to-hand fight whilst in the navy.
Kazuhiro was happy to help, while he was in the village at least, and began teaching me the principles of the Stone Fist, the unimaginative name for the Iwa standard taijutsu style that prioritized defense. It was the only style my god-brother knew, which was a shame because defense really wasn't my thing.
It fit Iwa's modus operandi, however. The ideal exchange for an Iwa nin was to use earth ninjutsu to hamper and otherwise crush the enemy, so taijutsu was usually just used as a buffer. Once the shinobi had warded off the enemy, they would disengage to attack from another angle with their ninjutsu.
To me, it seemed like a defeatist mentality. Enemies were going to get in close; you could try and stop it all you want, but if there was anything I had learned in my last war, it was that enemies would always find a way to get where they weren't supposed to be, no matter what technology or tools you had at your disposal.
It still burned that I didn't know where that torpedo came from.
So no, I wasn't going to rely completely on traps and mid to long-range ninjutsu to fight. I wasn't going to play defense until I could flee, or until someone came to save me like a damsel in distress. I was going to ice the motherfucker.
That being said, I was never going to be a taijutsu prodigy, and I didn't particularly want to be one either. I needed a short range weapon. Not a sword or blade of any kind—I had those in my old world, which, to me, made them boring. Plus, they inhibited my ability to form hand seals. I wanted a signature, short range ninjutsu, one that wasn't as intensive or conspicuous as the rasengan or chidori.
That was a long way off, though. For now, I could settle for impressing the academy sensei.
…that's what I told myself, anyway. At first. But again, patience was never my strong suit. So, I badgered Kazuhiro into teaching me the Kawarimi no Jutsu.
Physically performing the jutsu wasn't hard, and it wasn't incredibly chakra intensive either (about two and a half hikari). As Kazuhiro had explained, it was more of a mental exercise than a physical one, as aiming and firing the projectile tether was what made it difficult, especially without looking at the target (hat was a big no-no, as it would announce where you were going to end up).
I could see now why people didn't spam it to get around in the anime, even though it looked so cool and convenient. There was much discussion in the fandom on how it worked, as it seemed pretty broken. In fact, the reality of its workings was pretty tame.
It did teach me a little something about how jutsu in general worked, which I learned when I asked Kazuhiro how to stop when executing the technique, and not fall prey to inertia like I was certain I would.
"I'm not sure what you're asking, Kasaiki-chan," he said with a frown. "You just…stop."
"Yes, but, if I'm being flung in a direction, I should have momentum, right?" I pointed out. "I can't just choose to stop and stop, can I?"
"You don't have to do anything consciously," he answered, finally seeming to understand my confusion. "The function of the Kawarimi no Jutsu is to swap you with an object, and bring you to a clean stop. Unless it is executed improperly and with different hand seals, it will do just that."
I'm not sure why it hadn't clicked until that very moment. Jutsu were kind of like computer programs; instructions were written into the code itself, and the resulting function would produce the same result every time it was executed. Which meant the fanfic prevalent concept of underpowering and overpowering jutsu, as well as tweaking their function in some ways, was complete bullshit. This information, to me, was revolutionary, and would be incredibly valuable in the future.
For now though, I could enjoy using my new jutsu, and holy shit was it fun. It was like experiencing lag in real life, but on command. I was always a bit of a thrill seeker, and sometimes, if I was bored, I would simply rubberband myself around a room until I got sick or used up too much chakra. It was great for comedic effect as well, to both Akane-obasan's and Kazuhiro's exasperation.
On the subject of my god-brother, he had changed a lot over the last year. So much so that even Akane-obasan noticed. He wasn't quite as depressed all the time, which I hope I could take credit for. He was also more muscular, and I found him training frequently. He was only a chunin, but I was still in awe of all the earth jutsu I watched him perform. Especially one in particular.
"That was Doton: Doro Nami O Tsukamu no Jutsu," he said, a pleased smile on his face. "I'm not surprised you gravitated towards it. It was your father's signature jutsu, after all."
The jutsu was rather formidable, as long as the enemy wasn't expecting it. Basically, it loosened the ground, sending up a wave of mud almost taller than I am (not that that was saying much, as I was currently only a little over three feet tall). It would part around any obstacle that was remotely rooted to the ground, which would have made it almost useless if that was all there was to it. However, at Kazuhiro's will, it could freeze, trapping whatever it had conformed around in solid stone.
"My tou-san used it?" I said in wonder, mostly because referring to Hisashi as my tou-san made Kazuhiro happy.
"He invented it, in fact," Kazuhiro confirmed, his smile getting a touch morose. "It was the only jutsu I was able to learn from him above C-Rank. I wasn't skilled enough back then."
"That's okay, nii-san!" I said, trying to bring him out of his melancholy. "It seems really versatile." Assuming the target wasn't aware enough to simply jump over it, although that wasn't strictly the point. I knew its true utility would present itself with allies at my back; few targets could change their trajectory in mid-air. "I would love to learn it and carry on my tou-san's legacy."
His grin returned, and I mentally gave myself a pat on the back. Imai Hisashi wasn't here, though I probably would have loved him if he was. Instead, I had Kazuhiro, who I had no doubts about.
"It's not something I can teach you right now, I'm afraid," he said regretfully. "Mastering Doton: Moguragakure no Jutsu is a prerequisite, which is something you'll do in the academy."
Ah. The Hidden Mole jutsu. In retrospect, I wasn't surprised to hear this was a derivative of that.
"I'll learn it the first chance I get," I promised. Kazuhiro was still sent on missions extremely frequently, and I didn't want to attempt to learn this particular jutsu without a devoted supervisor. It kinda scared me.
He ruffled my hair. "I know you will."
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
Iwao was a strange kid. He reminded me quite a bit of young Sasuke, from the brief clips I'd been treated to. You know, before Itachi killed the rest of his family and literally tortured him with his tsukuyomi for three days straight. As young Sasuke was devoted to his brother (who was too busy to give him the time of day), so too was Iwao devoted to his father (who was also too busy to give him the time of day).
It kind of broke my heart a bit to watch. After most of our play dates, the older Ishida sent a subordinate to pick Iwao up, but the few times he was able to show up in person, the little guy was so overjoyed.
I tried to be there for him, to help maintain his innocence a little while before this harsh world stripped it away. I began to get very little out of our "meetings" (as Iwao seriously referred to them as), and I tried not to get annoyed with the distraction from my own training. I was basically performing community service, though I supposed, from another lens, I could call it networking.
But then the little shit did something I didn't expect. He broke the rules.
"Iwao-kun," I said hesitantly. "Are those shuriken?"
"Mhm!" He said excitedly. "I took them from my tou-san's supply closet!"
Live weapons were strictly prohibited by Iwao's father and Kazuhiro, and not just for safety's sake. To be any sort of proficient at thrown weaponry, one had to devote a lot of time in developing muscle memory. However, a kid's muscles (even those of a ninja kid that trained a lot) were deficient in a multitude of ways, and factors like limb growth and brain development weren't far enough along either. It was a well-researched fact that any training in that area would have to be unlearned later in life.
"I don't know, Iwao-kun," I said hesitantly, trying to steer him away from the idea. "Your tou-san and my nii-san wouldn't be happy with us."
"Well, they're not here, are they?" The boy asked, a hint of bitterness on his face. I winced.
Yikes. We reached that point already, huh?
I should have tried to convince him better, but he didn't like it when I used grown-up words like studies and experiments. I was pretty sure he'd mess around with them if I was here or not, so I thought it was my moral duty to at least supervise.
"Okay, Iwao-kun," I said finally. "But we have to do it somewhere people can't see us. I don't want to get in trouble."
"I know," Iwao said. "I'm not stupid. I found an abandoned training ground we can use—it even already has targets. Or, well, some logs people have been using at targets I think."
I sighed heavily as my inner warning bells rang loud and clear. "Lead the way, then."
To Iwao's credit, the training ground, more like a small park, did look abandoned. It was near the base of one of the mountains, this one about as far away from the Tsuchikage's Palace as it could be. There were three rectangular boulders, obviously lifted out of the ground with earth-style ninjutsu, and upon each of them was a slightly rotten log, all rent with gouges. I doubted the injuries came from thrown weaponry, but I supposed it didn't matter. They would make decent enough targets; better than stone, at least.
Between it and the nearest cliff-face beyond were a couple of small shacks that looked just as derelict. I had no idea what they could have been used for; certainly not as residences. Perhaps as storage of some kind? I decided I didn't care enough to investigate.
"Do you know how to hold them at least?" I asked Iwao, because I sure as hell didn't.
"Yeah," he replied, to my surprise. "It's like this."
He sandwiched the weapon between his index and middle fingers. Though he clenched it tightly, there was no chance the sharp edges could pierce his skin.
I was willing to believe that he was correct in that this was a technically correct way to hold the shuriken. What mystified me was how anyone was supposed to pick them up with any decent speed in the midst of battle. That would be a question for my academy sensei when the time was right.
"Hiii-yah!" he let out a yell, throwing the star with all of his might at the log in the middle. It went almost straight down into the ground, piercing through a tuft of sod that was almost as brown as the dirt beneath it. He flushed in embarrassment, but I pretended not to notice.
"I think, when my nii-san throws them, he does it from the side," I said instead. I don't recall ever seeing Kazuhiro throw a shuriken—this was just logic. If you throw the star vertically, from up to down, it would tend to go down. If you threw it parallel, it would be more likely to veer to the left or right, or, with some practice, hit straight on.
"Yeah, okay," he mumbled. He tried again, and missed the target by a wide margin. It didn't nosedive this time, but the four-year-old didn't have the strength to get it all the way either.
"That was much better, Iwao-kun!" I tried to praise. "Maybe if you stand closer, it might be better?"
"Shinobi have to be able to hit things from far away," he argued, and I frowned. Iwao didn't usually act like this.
"You will be able to Iwao-kun," I said placidly. "But wouldn't it be easier to improve our accuracy at a shorter range first? Then, we can take a step back, again and again, until we can throw them from far away and hit the center every time."
He took a deep breath, obviously annoyed, but followed my suggestion. His temper seemed to abate when he began to hit the target. Every once in a while, at least, and those that did make contact all bounced straight out.
"Only because the wood's so hard," he claimed, and I nodded emphatically in agreement, even though I could probably pierce the rotting wood with my thumbs if I had the desire.
"Do you want to try?" he offered magnanimously after half an hour.
"Oh, no, it's okay, Iwao-kun," I said hastily. "I don't think I'll be very good at it. I'm not very strong, and I'm scared of getting cut."
"You can't be scared of getting cut if you want to be a shinobi," he pointed out, which was a fair point. Of course, I had only said that as an excuse.
"I know," I said. "But I'm not ready yet. You keep having fun, Iwao-kun."
He frowned slightly. "I'm not having fun."
…Okay? That was a bit out of left field, especially considering how full of laughter he was just minutes ago.
"You're not?" I asked, a bit perplexed.
"Well, I am," he backtracked. "But I'm not doing this for fun. I'm doing this to become a great shinobi."
"Oh," I said awkwardly. "I get it, Iwao-kun. Ganbare!"
That didn't exactly appear to be the response he wanted either, but Iwao wasn't as outspoken as most kids his age would be. He simply frowned and returned to his throwing stars.
I could all but hear the your reputation with Ishida Iwao has decreased by one notification in my head.
Eventually, he decided that his accuracy at a distance of twenty feet was sufficient (it had barely improved), and doubled the distance. It went just as poorly as his second attempt, and there were even more breaks in between as Iwao had to search for all the shuriken he missed.
Bored, I allowed my consciousness to retreat partially into my canals, specifically the ones in my chest. The region was just as complex as my hands were, and it was many times the size, which meant my mental map-making was extremely slow going.
The unexpected sound of a creaky door opening partially roused me from my daze, and a curse of frustration finished the job. I snapped to alertness and watched in horror as Iwao, so frustrated he was almost crying, flung his remaining shuriken with all his strength, putting almost no effort into accuracy. Much more unfortunately, he had chosen the exact wrong moment to let loose.
"You fucking brat!" another kid, several years older, cursed at the top of his lungs. He hadn't even fully closed the door of the nearest shack, and was clutching his wrist in pain. I could see the barest traces of blood, and my heart froze.
He bent down to scoop up the shuriken, and in doing so, I saw he had only been hit in the back of his wrist. I sighed in relief; the wound was merely superficial. It wasn't even bleeding that much.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Iwao apologized profusely. "I didn't know anyone was in there, I didn't…I'm sorry!"
"You cut me, you piece of shit!" The boy yelled, anger not quelled in the slightest by the younger and much smaller boy's apology. "What's a little baby doing with real shuriken anyway?"
"I…I was just practicing," Iwao stuttered, his eyes welling up with tears.
"P…p…practicing?" the older boy said mockingly. "What, practicing for when you'll be kicked out of the academy?" He stepped forward threateningly before peering at the wooden log that served as Iwao's target moments ago.
"I should beat the shit out of you just for using my training ground, much less hitting me. But it looks like you didn't even make a scratch on my targets. How can a failure like you ever be a ninja?"
"He said he was sorry," I spoke up, taking a step forward. "Accept the apology, and we'll go."
"What, you need an even shrimpier girl to fight your battles?" the kid said, ignoring me completely. "No, no, no. A real shinobi—no, a real man—wouldn't run away just like that. You drew blood, so I gotta return the favor. Shuriken for shuriken."
Whoa there.
"Stand there and don't move. If you do, you'll bring shame upon yourself and your family. And you'll never be able to call yourself a shinobi."
"Don't listen to him Iwao, let's just go," I pleaded. "And you! What would your academy sensei say about this?"
"What, are you gonna snitch?" he sneered at me. "You'll be next if you don't shut your mouth."
"Iwao, just—"
"Shut up, Kasaiki," my friend told me stoically, and I flinched. "He's right. I messed up, and I don't want to shame myself or my family." He looked at the kid, trying to meet his gaze squarely. He couldn't quite manage to. "You…you can do it."
I could have screamed. Why were fucking boys like this? And what was all this talk about honor—we were ninja, not samurai!
"Yeah, listen to the little shit stain," the bully goaded. "Go back to your house and find some dolls to play with. And you, don't you dare move."
He geared up to throw the shuriken Iwao had nicked him with, and it was clear he had actually received training. It was also clear that his retribution wouldn't be proportional—his eyes were cruel, and they weren't focused on Iwao's limbs. From the way he wound up his shot, I knew he was looking to maim.
Okay. Enough was enough.
Ram, Boar, Ox, Dog, Snake. Kawarimi no Jutsu.
In a flash, I substituted myself with the decrepit log, snatching the shuriken from his shock-loosened grip. An instant later, I levied the razor sharp edge, one prong already tinged red, against the soft skin of his neck.
"He said he was sorry," I said softly. "And he only gave you a scratch to begin with. Don't be a baby."
The kid didn't so much as breathe.
"A word of advice," I continued, because the little shit was an opportunist. He was looking to hurt someone weaker than him, and Iwao hadn't come along with an excuse, he would have just found someone else. "In the world of shinobi, you can't trust your eyes. You never know who you can get away with pushing around, and who will gut you if you try. Watch your back."
I withdrew the shuriken and backed away, keeping my body language carefree to distract from my unwillingness to let him out of my sight. In a fair fight, I didn't relish my chances against him; he was a full head taller than me, and quite a bit more muscular.
It's a good thing that bullies were cowards, because the moment I was far enough away, the boys scampered off as if I was the devil.
I sighed and turned back to Iwao, who was looking at me with…oh no.
His face was flushed deeper than I had ever seen. The tear tracks were still fresh, but the eyes they led to were dark with fury and shame. His posture was defensive, his hands were clenched into tight fists and he was breathing heavily.
"You can do the substitution jutsu?" he asked rhetorically, an emotional tremor in his voice.
I hadn't told Iwao that I had learned the Kawarimi, because I suspected this would be his reaction. Only a more mild. But he was already fiercely ashamed, both from his lack of success with the shuriken and the display after it, and his embarrassment and helplessness needed a target. With the bully gone, I was the only option.
"I…yes." I didn't know what else to say.
"Teach me," he demanded.
"I can't," I replied. The Kawarimi wasn't like the Chisana Hikari; there was a lot more risk, more skill required to use, and it was more chakra intensive. Iwao wasn't mature, talented or self-aware enough to be trusted with it. Frankly, Kazuhiro shouldn't have taught me at this age; if I wasn't so in tune with my own chakra, I might have seriously injured myself in my attempts to perfect it.
"My nii-san made me promise not to show or teach it to anybody," I lied. "And your tou-san said you're not allowed to learn it either, remember?"
"Well, my tou-san and your nii-san aren't here, are they?" he said hotly, and a bitter resignation welled up inside me.
"I can't break my nii-san's trust, Iwao-kun," I retorted. "He's the only family I got left."
I didn't like playing the orphan card, especially to a literal child. But I needed to get out of this, and it worked each of the few times I brought it up.
But not now, apparently.
"Bullshit," he snarled. "You just want to keep looking down on me. Being miss perfect kunoichi like everyone thinks you are. You want me to keep being useless so you can look better."
"That's not true!" I insisted. "I've never looked down on you!"
Privately, I was ashamed to admit that that wasn't true at all. I literally called our playdates community service in my head. But come on! I was an adult, and he was a child; how could we ever be on even footing?
"Yes you do!" he shouted. "You just want to make me look worse in front of tou-san so you can take my place!"
Oh, fuck. That one was a bit out of left field. But clearly a long time coming.
"Your tou-san isn't going to replace you with anyone," I said firmly. "You're his flesh and blood; he might be busy at work, but he loves you. And I don't want to be…adopted or whatever by him either. Why would you even think that?"
"Because you keep showing off in front of him!" he said hysterically, tears flooding down his cheeks. "You keep showing off, and you're all he ever talks about anymore. Whenever I see him, he always talks about you! Asks what you can do now! Tells me to get training advice from you! He doesn't. Care. About me!"
Holy Moses. Ishida senior was a bit of a shit father. And had I really left that big of an impression on him? I don't even recall showing off anything major in front of him.
Then my blood ran cold. I didn't show off anything major to him. But, while I didn't know exactly what his position was, I knew from Akane-obasan that he was high up in the chain of command, and that he did something with internal affairs.
Iwao's dad was keeping tabs on me. Maybe even sending people to spy on me. That…wasn't ideal.
"I don't want him to do that!" I exclaimed. "Let me talk to him, I'll—"
"No!" he screamed. "Stay away from my tou-san! He's mine! Just because yours is dead, dosen't mean you can have him."
Okay, that wasn't an acceptable thing to say to anyone.
"That was very mean, Iwao-kun," I said, trying to maintain my compassion. "I thought we were friends."
"You never wanted to be my friend," he claimed. "And I never want to see you again!"
With that, he ran away, leaving me frozen in a derelict training ground. Despite his words, I still gathered the scattered shuriken, bound them together and left them on the outside of his windowsill. Hopefully he'd notice them before his father discovered they were missing.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
Years after the disastrous battle with Konoha, Iwa's famed Explosion Corp hadn't recovered. Formed in the midst of the First Shinobi War by the Bakuhatsu clan, who wielded the explosion release, the elite unit was tasked with fending off the more dangerous threats Iwa faced with extreme force.
Even the most powerful shinobi couldn't take a well-placed explosion head on. The Shodaime Kazekage could attest to that, and so could Lobo, the rogue jinchuriki of the nanabi, along many other infamous names throughout history.
But now they themselves were shattered, having lost their commander and heir to the Bakuhatsu clan. Leaving Bakuhatsu Gari to pick up the pieces.
"Damn you, Gorou," he cursed, not nearly for the first or last time. "Couldn't you have at least trained a successor before you went and blew yourself up?"
His cousin was a once in a lifetime prodigy. He had been the first in three generations to successfully take the Mittsu Shita Kinjutsu, transforming his already deadly explosion release into something with unparalleled range and versatility.
The Bakuhatsu clan had forgotten what it was like to have someone with that kinjutsu. The glory, the devastation, the power. Then Gorou came along and reminded them. And worst of all, he died.
Impossibly few people could be like Gorou, but all the hotheaded youth of the Bakuhatsu clan thought they were among that number. They all attempted to gain the kinjutsu, and while Gari tried to discourage them, many of their parents did the opposite. They all thought their child would be exceptional, but they were all wrong.
The Mittsu Shita was labeled as a kinjutsu for a reason. It required the corpses of two earth natured shinobi, which were hard to get, since the majority of earth natured shinobi were comrades. Gorou earned his fame by slaying two Senju, and perhaps it was their vitality that allowed the operation to be a success.
Yes, operation. At its heart, this particular kinjutsu was a body modification, one that implanted the corpses' mouths into the hands of the Bakuhatsu clan member. The chakra network in a person's hand, obviously, was incredibly complex, and so was the chakra network in a person's mouth. That was the reason so many ninjutsu appeared to be spat out. But if the recipient of the Kinjutsu didn't have the chakra manipulation and medical skill required to implant the mouths and marry both chakra networks (a third party had never successfully facilitated the procedure), the operation would fail. And in the process, the recipient would lose the ability to use jutsu forever.
At least the process didn't sterilize them. From a purely genetic perspective, the Bakuhatsu clan may bounce back in time, but with an entire generation functionally missing, their descendants might never possess the skill and finesse that resulted from personal apprenticeship.
Already, they were losing a significant amount of sway in the political arena, and Gari was fighting to keep the Explosion Corp from being dissolved entirely, now that it was down to a measly six members.
They needed more recruits. So, with regret, he made the choice to open up enrollment to shinobi not belonging to the Bakuhatsu clan. In doing so, he surrendered a great deal of his clan's remaining influence.
Truthfully, it was barely a stop gap solution. Who would join the Explosion Corps if they didn't have the explosion release? People who were obsessed with exploding tags?
Possessing the explosion release granted some resistance to the explosions themselves. Additionally, the explosions they created were directional. Explosive tags could barely be aimed and they couldn't be resisted, so they were not ideal in most situations. Any new additions to the corp wouldn't have nearly the same utility; they might have to stop being a frontal assault unit altogether and become saboteurs instead.
Maybe that would be for the best. Gari couldn't afford to lose any more of his kin now anyway.
Decision made, he went to seek out a colleague. Finding him wasn't a problem; he barely left the basement of the Tsuchikage's Palace these days. Getting him to realize Gari was present was, and he had to detonate a tiny explosion just to get his attention.
"Bakuhatsu-san," he said at last, his voice hoarse from disuse. "What brings you to my workshop?"
Before he could answer, the man cut him off. "That is what I would say if I hadn't anticipated your arrival. I expected you weeks ago."
He stood up from the table he was hunched over, revealing that he wasn't the diminutive, hairbrained scientist he often presented himself as. He towered over Gari, and was twice as wide. A non-shinobi might have thought he had a gut, but Gari knew that this is what great physical might truly looked like.
"I can't help you," he said simply.
"I know you can," Gari began, but the rest of his words were cut off.
"Of course I can, in the most literal sense," he replied, shoving a long list in front of Gari. "But I have no time to add any more projects. You see this? These are all the things Lord Tsuchikage has asked me to complete. Oh, my mistake. I lied; this is just the second page."
He sighed at Gari's stony countenance. "I'm sorry about what has happened to your clan, and what has happened to the division you now head. The Explosion Corp is a unit that has been renowned throughout all of Iwa's history, as infamous as the Seven Swordsmen in Kiri and the Puppet Corp in Suna. I want to see its resurgence, I really do. But the Tsuchikage's orders come first."
Gari knew, but he didn't have to like it.
"If I can convince him to insert it somewhere in that list, would you help me?" He asked instead.
"Of course I would." Then, he snorted. "It would likely be a hell of a lot easier than the other tasks he's assigned me. I swear, all the other division heads bitch and whine about how good I've got it since the incident, but look at me." He gestured to himself and the room around him. "Does it look like I'm having a party down here?"
Gari snorted. "If you hung up the scrolls, you could use them as streamers."
The man grimaced at the thought of his precious scrolls being used in such a way. So many Iwa shinobi had died to get them.
"Get a better idea of what you want. Make it as specific as you can. I'll give you a estimate of how long it will take—if it's short enough, it might help convince the Sandaime."
"Thank you, friend," Gari said. "I hope I can look forward to a close partnership in the future."
"A partnership works two ways, friend," was the retort. "I may be sympathetic, but I do not run a charity."
"We're ninja. You don't have to remind me." That said, Gari left the man to his own, arcane devices. True to his words, he had some old favors to cash in.
- - - { ワナビー } - - -
AN: Aww, Kasaiki is back to having zero friends. It's too bad we'll never see Iwao ever again in future chapters; I'm sure he'll have no relevance to the story moving forward.
And I'm sure the Explosion Corp won't have any plot relevancy either. But pretty cool to see Gari alive, right? For those of you who don't recognize the name, he was Edo Tensei'd by Kabuto in the Fourth Shinobi War alongside Pakura of the Scorch Release, Haku and the Seven Swordsmen.
Do you like my explanation of the clay explosion kinjutsu? The incapacitation of the Bakuhatsu clan's younger generation led to it being completely banned by the Tsuchikage, and it will remain banned until Diedara steals it. Hopefully, that explains why there aren't a million kamikaze pilots flying around on massive clay dragons.
I also found it ironic that Gorou, the prodigy well-versed in body experimentation, was killed by Orochimaru. May the best body horror enthusiast win, I guess.
Some personal news; I finished my second book! Now I just have to send my manuscript off to my publisher. I wish I could say I'll have more time to focus on this now, but I have to start on the third. I'm already behind.
Lastly, I say this every time, but thank you so much for all the kind reviews! I hope to continue to live up to your acclimations. See you next week!