"I'm not saying anything,
We'll leave it this way,
And if the silence never fades,
I wouldn't care, you see,
The hush in between,
May hold the meaning we need."
-Charles, JubyPhonic
A/N: Intended to be read after chapter 15.
Tadao tilted his cup, watching the sake (heavily diluted with water) slosh against the side. He could only see a silhouette of himself in the murky reflection. Every ten seconds, a drop of water hit the counter and dribbled down the side to join a puddle on the floor.
He sat on a stool, alone—other than the dead-eyed bartender, but he didn't really count. Since the last time Tadao stepped foot in the bar, it had gotten worse. On a shelf behind the bartender sat a half-melted candle, covered by a dirty, clear cup. Holes peppered the ceiling, though most had been hastily and badly patched over.
The walls were covered in stains (some Tadao suspected to be spilled sake, others blood), and puddles decorated the floor. The hidden backdoor had been converted into another exit. The war had not been good to this place.
For a reason Tadao couldn't fathom, the bartender refused to give up on the bar. It was only a matter of time before the roof collapsed on top of him.
He felt Osamu coming minutes before he walked into the bar. His friend had to hunch down to avoid causing more damage to the ceiling with his head. Without looking, Tadao lifted his cup. "If it isn't Ame's resident blockhead," he greeted.
Osamu, used to him and his quips, zeroed in on the glass. "You're drinking?" he asked, disapproving.
Tadao lowered his cup. "It's water." It was mostly water. Seventy-five percent, at least. It was as good a time to get drunk as any, but he needed a clear head.
Osamu eyed his drink for another moment before he took the seat beside him. He didn't say anything for a second, shoulders hunched, eyes on the counter. And then, "Mamoru betraying us still feels like a bad dream. I can't believe he did it."
He closed his eyes. They were getting right into it then?
It had been two days since he found those damning messages hidden behind a false wall in Mamoru's apartment, since he sensed traces of his old friend's chakra on the paper and no one else's, telling him that Mamoru had handled them recently.
Two days since Mamoru escaped. And he only escaped because Hanzo, coldest man in Amegakure, hesitated to deal a killing blow. Then, once Hanzo committed to ending his life, he was tricked into going after a water clone instead of the real thing.
Tadao faced forward, peering into his drink. He did ask Osamu to meet him to talk about Mamoru, but maybe he also wanted to have a drink with a good friend and not think about how much shit they were in for three seconds. "You're an idiot," he grunted.
The bartender was someone Tadao trusted, if only because the man knew enough secrets to sink at least three Kage and bring down at least one of the great nations entirely. Before the war, patrons passing through from all over would drop into the bar, seeking a drink or refuge from the rain. Some were plain incompetent and discussed their shinobi business while they were 'alone'. Others only needed a few drinks before they started spilling confidential information to anyone who would listen.
The bartender used to spy for Hanzo, but now he kept those secrets to himself.
Osamu's brows furrowed at him. "Mamoru is a traitor. Lord Hanzo himself witnessed his betrayal."
True enough.
"He wouldn't lie to us about that," he added when Tadao didn't speak.
Three days ago, Tadao might've agreed. But everything was different now. Hanzo was different. Tadao couldn't exactly blame him. If one of the only four people he put his complete faith and trust in turned out to be stabbing him in the back, why wouldn't he suspect the same of the other three?
Mamo was the invisible specter standing between Hanzo and his three remaining friends. Up until two days ago, the five of them acted as a well-oiled machine, arguing sometimes, but never lacking trust in each other. It had been that way since the middle of the last war.
"Hanzo told us what he thinks is true," Tadao drawled. The bartender quietly disappeared into the back. It was only for the peace of mind of his patrons, because Tadao knew the man could still hear every word being said.
"Lord Hanzo," Osamu corrected automatically. "You hate it when people don't say what they mean, but you won't come out and say what you mean."
That was because he was sad and weary and half-wondering why he didn't drink himself into oblivion when he had the chance. "I have to choose my words carefully. You won't understand the big ones," he said, because it was the easier answer.
Osamu huffed, turning to stare at the counter. "I thought it would always be the five of us," he admitted. "Fighting together like we used to, getting stronger, working towards peace."
Tadao looked at him again. "The cipher was still deciphering half the scrolls when Shu outed Mamo," he said. "A few are still being worked out because of how complicated the code is. It could take weeks."
Osamu frowned.
"Shu knew I was still working with the cipher when he told Hanzo about Mamo. I told him to wait. He didn't."
"He was right not to," Osamu said. "What you did tell him was extremely urgent. At any time, Mamoru could've tried to kill Lord Hanzo, and if he took him by surprise, he might've succeeded. Getting that information to Lord Hanzo as soon as more possible was more important than waiting."
Tadao sighed, but there was no Shuji or Mamoru to explain things in his place. "What if," he began, staring at the candle on the shelf. "One of the scrolls still being decoded points to Mamo being innocent?"
"They wouldn't," Osamu said firmly.
"Let's say Mamo is a traitor," Tadao said. "There was no way in hell that his goal was to kill Hanzo. He would die trying, element of surprise or not."
"We don't know what he was really capable of," Osamu said. "Everything he told us was a lie."
"His goal wasn't to steal information," Tadao continued as if Osamu hadn't spoken. "Mamo had access to the underground room for years, but never smuggled anything out of it. He didn't lie about finding a spy down there, and it was the perfect opportunity to take something. We would've blamed Root, not him."
Osamu looked troubled.
"Whatever his goal was, it wasn't something that could be done in a day," Tadao said, eyes cutting to his friend. "Mamo had already been acting as a spy for a long time. Taking a few days or weeks wouldn't have made a difference."
Osamu shook his head. "I would've done the same thing as Shu if I thought Lord Hanzo was in danger," he insisted.
"That's because you're more muscle than brains," Tadao said back. "But Shu isn't you."
"If Mamoru found the scrolls gone, he would've run," Osamu reasoned.
"You don't think I thought of that?" Tadao asked. "The first thing we did was make copies of the scrolls. We planned to put the originals back, but never got the chance."
"Did Shu know that?"
"He didn't ask." Tadao finished his drink. He couldn't even taste the sake. "The scrolls that revealed Mamo's identity were in easier code than the others. They looked older, too," he said. "Why would he write them in a different level of code than everything else?"
"If they were older, they could've been from when he was younger—"
"Why would he keep them?" Tadao scoffed.
"If he didn't think anyone would find them—"
"Then he's not only a bad double-agent, he's an idiot too," Tadao interrupted.
Osamu stared at him and Tadao could almost see the gears turning in his head.
"A man who tricked Hanzo and three other high-level shinobi for years is done in by his own stupidity," he snorted.
"If the information in the scrolls was fake," Osamu said slowly. "Lord Hanzo would've known."
"They weren't fake," Tadao clarified. "They just weren't Mamo's."
Osamu frowned deeply.
"Before the stuff with Mamo happened, Hanzo was a lot like you," Tadao drawled, folding his hands on the counter. "He trusted to a fault. It was damn difficult to earn that trust, sure, but once we had it, it was like we were incapable of betraying him in his eyes. Like it just wasn't possible. It's why we didn't hear about Shu making up stuff about Mamo for months until after. Hanzo ignored it, or, tried to."
"We don't know how long Shu was telling him about Mamo, but he did make Hanzo question his loyalty, at least subconsciously. It was why Hanzo reacted the way he did when Shu finally brought him evidence. It confirmed his deepest, darkest fear about someone he dared to care about," Tadao leaned forward. "And who was behind making Hanzo doubt Mamo in the first place?"
Osamu stiffened. "Shuji wouldn't—not on purpose," he denied. "And Lord Hanzo isn't so easily manipulated."
Tadao needed a very long nap. "Why wouldn't Shu?" he asked. "Because you think he's our friend? Because you trust him?"
Osamu went quiet. "If you think he did this on purpose, why do you still talk about him like he's a friend?"
Tadao blinked. "What—the nickname?" he asked. "I have to keep up appearances, don't I? Stay in the habit and all that. If I suddenly stop calling him Shu, he'll get suspicious. He's not an idiot."
Osamu abruptly stood. "I'm going to speak to Lord Hanzo," he said. "Alone. Without Shuji telling me his version of the situation. I'll find out what really happened with Mamoru."
Tadao opened his mouth to tell him it wouldn't work because Hanzo wouldn't agree to be alone with any of them anymore, that Hanzo wouldn't suddenly have new information because his thoughts about Mamo changed—but he didn't speak.
Osamu had a look in his eyes that said he was convinced that this whole thing could be fixed with a little talking and a lot of determination.
Osamu Nijiri was of a rare breed in Ame. The war hadn't shaken him of his belief in people. Tadao could clearly see it. He believed that if he talked to Hanzo, made him understand, Shu could be reasoned with and Mamo could come back. He was so earnest it hurt.
Besides their friendship, his earnestness was why Tadao asked him to meet instead of going to bat against Shu alone. He could've, and it probably would've been a lot less messy than what Osamu was about to do, but he didn't.
Tadao could count the number of people he could depend on on half of one hand. And he was looking at the only person that he knew would have his back, no matter what happened.
So, Tadao kept his mouth shut and watched Osamu leave. The less cynical part of him wanted to think he could do it too.
Once he couldn't sense his friend anymore, he turned away and rubbed his forehead. The bartender, having returned from the backroom, refilled his cup.
The whole thing was giving Tadao a headache. Though, he didn't come to the bar just to talk to Osamu. He dropped his hand and smiled at the bartender. It wasn't a friendly smile.
The bartender's hand slipped and sake spilled on the counter. He was a plain man, unremarkable in nearly every way—except for his eyes, but all he had to do was not look at someone—and practically born for espionage.
"You don't have to be afraid of little old me," Tadao drawled, watching him scramble to wipe it up. "I just want to know something."
The bartender turned away to grab a rag and Tadao saw him slip something sharp and silver beneath his apron. His expression never changed, but his chakra—well, he couldn't lie about that. The bartender was defensive and fully convinced that Tadao was going to kill him.
"Paranoid bastard," Tadao muttered, leaning back. "Tell me the last time the sanin were here and I'll be on my way."
The bartender added water to his cup, though it was mostly sake after the spill. "Leaf shinobi aren't allowed in my bar," he said. It was clear by his voice that the man rarely spoke.
A good answer. Tadao nodded. "Just like the Iwa shinobi I sensed in here last week, right?"
The bartender stared at him with those dull eyes of his, but carefully put down the bottle and moved his hands out of sight.
Tadao's smile became something more genuine. "I'm not Hanzo," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We can play the 'I don't know what you're talking about' game all night, but I'd never forget the chakra of the sanin."
The bartender stalled by pretending to wipe the counter for a few seconds. "Jiraiya and Tsunade haven't been here in two years," he finally said.
Tadao stared at him.
"Orochimaru was here a few days ago," he admitted reluctantly.
"He was wearing Root gear?" Tadao asked.
The bartender looked uncomfortable. "I don't do that anymore."
"Did I accidentally phrase that as a question? My bad."
The bartender looked at Tadao's cup for a long time. "Yes," he forced out.
"And he met with someone, also in Root gear?"
The bartender stared at him, but he didn't say no.
It told him all he needed to know. Tadao grabbed the drink and stood. "That's all," he said, feeling the bartender's eyes on his back as he made for the exit. "Oh, and I'm taking this."
は
Tadao didn't have much to do anymore.
Oh sure, there was the cleanup of the dead, the occasional skirmish at the border, and watching criminals be swallowed dead (or fully alive) by a giant salamander, but he used to do two of the three back when he was merely another jonin, back before he made a friend out of Hanzo the Salamander.
Before, Hanzo would have either him or Osamu accompany him during the day. Most thought it was because Osamu's size intimidated anyone within a ten-foot radius of Hanzo, or because it was handy to have a human lie detector like Tadao with him.
They were wrong.
Hanzo could intimidate people plenty on his own, and only an idiot would lie to his face.
The truth was a lot simpler. He and Osamu gave Hanzo someone to talk to—to vent to, mostly, about the lack of missions, the lack of able-bodied, Ame-born shinobi, no feudal lord giving him the time of day—but now, Hanzo only rarely asked them to go with him.
Hanzo never spoke anymore either, and the silence between them was cold and uncomfortable.
His 'inner circle' was just a fancy title now. Tadao wasn't allowed to see mission reports, financial reports, or anything important. Hanzo didn't ask him to check anything for traps or let them make decisions that would affect the village.
Tadao felt less like Hanzo's friend and more like his general, whose only purpose was to listen and take orders.
Shu kept himself busy with what Hanzo did share with them—messages from the villagers asking for food, work, or clothes, all of which they had to ignore anyway. Osamu kept up the futile effort to get Hanzo alone, and Tadao, well.
He ducked under a brown tarp and into a makeshift weapons shop. Makeshift, because the only things separating the rain from the weapons inside were earth pillars supporting a thin ceiling, covered with the tarp.
Tadao didn't specialize in genjutsu like Mamo did, but he could still pull off a transformation. Short blond hair instead of shaggy brown. Eyes the color of mud. A longer nose. He'd used the minimum amount of chakra to disguise himself and used his hood to hide the rest.
Weapons were scattered in a pile on the ground in the middle, scavenged from battles or picked off corpses. The tip of a spear was stained rust-red.
The shop owner stood behind the pile, wringing her hands. She was as tall as he was (as in, very short), and he could see her ribs through her flimsy raincoat, starvation written in the thinness of her face and the hollowness of her eyes. Her chakra painted the same picture. She barely produced any, her coils equally starved and malnourished.
"You like the spear?" she asked. "I'll trade it for food. Anything will do."
Tadao eyed the pile of weapons. He was sure he could find nearly all of them himself by simply walking around the village. "I'm looking for someone," he said. "I heard he sold a shinobi headband here."
He watched her expression dim, shoulders drooping in disappointment. "If you don't want to trade, go away," she sneered.
Tadao nodded. He pulled a five yen coin out of his pocket and held it up between his fingers. "What about now?" he asked. "Remember him?"
Her eyes latched onto it. She licked her cracked lips. "A headband?"
Tadao smiled. "He might've sold arm or leg guards too. You tell me."
The shop owner shuffled around her weapons, inching closer to him, eyes still on the coin. "I don't sell armor," she informed him. "Too heavy, never sells for much."
Tadao pulled out a second coin. "Stop talking around the question," he said. "Tell me what you know or I'll ask someone else."
She squeezed her hands. "Yes, yes, I remember being sold one," she said quickly. "It's a rare thing for non-shinobi to have. Valuable, to the right people."
Tadao ignored this, "You remember what he looked like?"
She swallowed hard. "Young, tanned," she murmured. "Like you."
It sounded nothing like Mamo, but that was the point of a disguise. Tadao tilted his head. "Me?"
Her eyes skittered away from his. "Tried to pretend he was one of us," she said. "A civilian. A peasant. But he was sellin' something a 'civilian' wouldn't have. Just like you have more money than a non-shinobi would ever have."
Tadao looked at the coins in his hand. In total, he had twenty yen with him. It was still too much. He shook his head. He'd blown his cover because ten yen was too rich.
"That's annoying," he said, more to himself than the shop owner.
She tentatively held out her hand, eyes flicking between him and the money.
Tadao clenched his fist around the coins. "What did you sell him for the headband?"
"I-It was strange," she murmured. "He wanted clothes. He could'a took everything I had, but he just wanted clothes."
Tadao nodded. The most important aspect of being a shinobi in hiding was not looking like a shinobi. He dropped the coins in her palm.
She breathed out, staring at the coins like they were made of gold. "Don't come back," she said, glancing up. "I don't want any of your shinobi problems."
Tadao shook his head. "Don't worry. You won't see me again."
He disappeared.
遅い
Tadao sensed Mamoru only once.
He crouched at the top of a small tree, watching a jonin commander familiarize a three-man Root squad with the terrain. On Hanzo's orders, he was to provide back-up in case the Root squad decided their commander was better off dead than alive.
Tadao was bored, and if the tree had any branches, he would've curled up on one and used the time to take a nap. The jonin didn't really need him (she was paranoid and distrusting of them; he was sure if one of them sneezed wrong someone would get decapitated). He knew that Hanzo only told him to do it to get him out of the tower.
Even Shuji got the short end of the stick. He was to gather more information on their Root guests, though there was nothing left to learn.
Shuji was also a damn good spy. Tadao knew that Shuji used his own backstory to frame Mamo, but there wasn't a shred of evidence to prove it. Not a single trace of his chakra was on those scrolls. The records listing the active, inactive, deceased shinobi, refugee's, and everything in between, was a mess, at best.
Firstly, only the jonin had detailed entries, accompanied with hand-drawn pictures. Secondly, those records were from before the First Great War. The record keeping effort had been abandoned when the dead started to outnumber the living. It was why they listed the shinobi now by how many were left, with little to no personal details.
The single page Tadao dug up (it practically fell apart in his hands) listing the names of refugees from the first war was pathetic. It was understandable, since his predecessor's priorities had shifted to focus on the war effort instead of sitting around asking for detailed information from everyone who came into the village at the time, but still.
The only way to tell Ame-born shinobi from non Ame-born shinobi was by the color of their headbands. The cloth around Tadao's was blue, while Root had black cloths. It was flimsy, but the best they could do. It didn't help him at all though.
Tadao couldn't prove Shuji was from Ame, but he couldn't disprove it either. Hell, Tadao couldn't even track down where the scrolls came from.
It left him in something of a stalemate with Shuji. Tadao didn't have any physical evidence against Shuji, nothing to force Hanzo to listen to him. It was annoying.
He was distracted from glorified babysitting by the chakra brushing against the edge of his sensory range. Tadao's eyes flicked to south-west. Mamo could change his appearance, but no amount of genjutsu would be able to hide his chakra. Tadao knew it too well.
That was the price of spending years around a sensor-nin.
Tadao tore his eyes away and refocused on the Root squad. If he looked for too long, they would know he sensed something. He couldn't leave with four pairs of eyes on him either. Someone would report it to Hanzo, and that was a one-way trip to becoming intimately acquainted with Ibuse's stomach acid.
Tadao closed his eyes and sighed. It was enough to know he was still alive.
降下
He needed to move Danzo's scroll.
Once a week, Tadao found a Root spy dead or wishing they were on the stairs leading down to the underground room, tangled in wire strings, filled with kunai after stepping on a trip wire, or missing a limb from a clamp disguised as the wall, floor, or both.
Each time, the explosive trap on the door was disabled, and more and more often, his more intricate traps were too. Since Mamo was gone, he'd filled that hallway with as many traps as he could fit, making them deadlier to discourage copy-cats. It didn't work. And, slowly, the Root spies were making it further and further down the stairs.
The worst part was that the more traps Shuji disabled, the more he learned how they worked. How Tadao worked. Shuji was only using Root, throwing them at the traps until he fully learned how to deactivate them so he could get to the underground room himself.
Tadao knew this, but he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He couldn't watch Shuji for cracks in the mask he wore because they were rarely in the same room together. Hanzo didn't call for him at all anymore. Osamu seemed to finally catch on to Hanzo's increasing impatience with them, how he never allowed them to be behind him during the rare occasions they did meet, because he'd stopped trying to get him alone.
More than once, Tadao thought of killing Shuji himself. And then, to avoid an immediate and painful death at Hanzo's hand, he would have to become a missing-nin.
Ame wasn't great, but it was home. His home. He didn't want to run from it. Say he did kill Shuji and run. The rat would still win. Shuji's death would make Hanzo even more distrusting of the people around him, more paranoid of their true intentions, and maybe even convinced that Shuji was the only one who was ever truly loyal to him. No, there had to be another way.
The idea that they used to be close friends felt like a fever dream.
First, Tadao needed the old bastard from Konoha's scroll. There was nothing else down there Shuji could be after. Like Mamo, if Shuji wanted to steal something confidential, he had plenty of chances. Tadao had a blank scroll hidden under his shirt, made to look exactly like the original. Shuji wouldn't know the difference until he opened it.
He would have to stash it in a swamp somewhere and use more energy than he was willing to convince Osamu to keep it a secret from Hanzo.
Frankly, he didn't trust Hanzo to trust him. He was sure that if Hanzo was told about the fake scroll, the real one would be dug up and stashed away within an hour. That would make it easier for Shuji. The less people that knew the real scroll's location, the less protection it would have.
Hanzo's chakra appeared behind him.
Tadao's head jerked up. It was the only move he could make before a sickle was rammed through his chest. His body exploded into white-hot agony. He choked when he looked down and saw the tip poking through his front.
Hanzo had used Teleportation Jutsu. It was the only way he'd ever be able to sneak up on him.
Tadao stumbled forward when Hanzo jerked the sickle back, sending another wave of fresh hell through him as it was yanked out. Breathing burned. A lung, Hanzo had to have pierced one of his lungs. His shirt felt slick with blood.
The fake scroll fell out from under his shirt and rolled across the floor.
"How long were you working with the traitor against me?" Hanzo rumbled.
Somewhere between the confusion, the shock, and the denial that this was happening, Tadao noted that Hanzo's chakra was a tightly controlled maelstrom of fury. It almost smothered the deeper note of disappointment, and the quiet, suppressed sorrow.
Tadao made the snake seal. He knew that if he didn't do something to plug the holes in his chest he would bleed out before he could answer. He pulled earth-chakra to his wound, stretching his chakra over the hole like an earthy web and hardening it against his skin. The intense and unforgiving pain that sizzled through his veins made him collapse. He'd done it too fast and his body would make him pay for it later, but he stopped the bleeding.
Hanzo's eyes bored into his, demanding he speak.
Tadao slumped against the wall, coughing blood into his palm. "What did Shuji tell you?" he rasped, defiant. He knew he was only still conscious because of adrenaline.
Hanzo pointed the sickle at him. "Don't blame others for this," he said. "You searched for information on the traitor. You hid your identity, knowing you would face repercussions if you were found conspiring against me."
Tadao's eyes went wide.
Shuji didn't do this. Did the shop owner report him? How much coin did she get for selling him out? He'd fucked up once, and he was paying for it with his life. Tadao stared at a man he once called his friend and saw just how low he'd fallen.
Tadao chuckled, "I wore a disguise because it would've ended the same way."
Hanzo looked down at him. "I've shown you more leniency than I have with anyone. I let your insubordination and blatant disrespect go far too many times. I now see how mistaken I've been," he rumbled. "And still, you come here as a thief to steal a precious scroll right from under my nose."
Tadao's gaze slid to the empty scroll. He could make excuses, tell Hanzo what his plan had been, but it would all be a waste of air. He was a dead man walking.
"Well," he drawled. He jerked a senbon out of a holder in his pocket and threw it, hissing as pain shuddered down his arm and across his chest.
The senbon slid through the tiny crack between the secret door and the floor, slicing through one of two trip wire. The first held two kunai, positioned so that they would scrape against each other or the back of the door if the wire was broken. The second held gunpowder in a thin sack.
Tadao heard the scrape of the kunai, imaging the slight spark, and raised a hand to shield his face as the gunpowder ignited and the door imploded. The blast was enough to knock him off his feet and send him careening into the back wall.
He fainted before he hit the floor.
His ears were ringing when he regained consciousness. The pain in his middle told him that he'd managed to tear some of the chakra-web holding his chest together. He coughed, a wet, racking one that shook his whole body. It felt like he was breathing through a puddle of water. Black smoke covered the area.
At the very least, the blast took out most of the room and some of the floor above them. Tadao couldn't use any ninjutsu to defend himself. Not only might his lungs collapse if he attempted to use an air bullet, but his coils were shot. He wouldn't know how bad the damage was until later, but the way everything hurt when he tried to focus his chakra made him stop trying.
He had to escape. Tadao forced his arms to hold him, to push himself to his knees, and then wobbly to his feet. He pressed a hand against his wound.
Hanzo was behind him, chakra keeping his feet firmly against the ground, having prevented him from becoming a human ragdoll like Tadao. The explosion had moved him approximately three feet to the right.
Panting, Tadao ran through his options.
One - Attempt to take on the most powerful man in Ame, fail, and die.
Two - Get to the bar, staying only long enough for him to stitch his wound closed with wire strings and assess the state of his lungs. Then he would make a break for the border before he brought the bartender down with him.
Three - Find Mamo's hiding spot. He knew the general area of where he was. He was probably the only person that could find him.
Though, before he could do two of the three, Tadao had to focus on the present, and avoiding another sickle through his chest. He shook his head.
What was the chance that Mamo's clone trick would work again? Would making the damage to his coils worse be worth the effort? He forced himself to turn his back to Hanzo and drag himself towards a hole in the wall.
Tadao pulled out a long string of experimental wire and held it between his teeth as he hobbled forward. He tied senbon around each end, slicing his fingers open in his rush.
He could hear Hanzo's footsteps behind him.
As soon as he was done, Tadao threw it at him. Hanzo stepped out of the smoke and made no move to stop the wire as it tangled around his legs. The senbon tied to it dug deep into each ankle. Hanzo stopped for half a second, staring murderously at him, and then he kept walking.
The wire stretched taut and snapped. Half a second later it exploded.
Tadao pushed his body to move faster. Originally, he created those wire strings to add a second layer of security to the secret door. Shuji would've been in for a surprise the next time he tried to deactivate it. It would've created a small, concentrated explosion. Not enough to kill Shuji, but he'd have to disguise the burns.
Hanzo kept walking.
Tadao dared to look back. Burns circled Hanzo's ankles, but the man simply didn't care. Hanzo had discarded his face mask, filling the air with poison every time he breathed. Tadao instinctively held his breath, though he didn't know what good that would do when he had open wounds.
He didn't have any more wire. His mobility had been crippled. The senbon he had left were useless against a man that shrugged off explosions. Tadao grappled for the frame of the door, hearing the crash of rain that signaled he was almost outside.
Tadao felt Hanzo's chakra coming at him fast, but knew he could neither outrun or dodge him. He sighed and turned around, staring down his would-be murderer.
Was this how Mamo felt, knowing he was about to die?
Tadao breathed in. He didn't want to die, but he wouldn't cower away from it. "Fuck you," he spat. Because if he had to die, Hanzo was going to stare into his eyes as he did it.
He couldn't have had better last words.
Except... he didn't die.
Osamu threw his tanto up in front of him, stopping Hanzo's sickle from taking his head off. Tadao looked to the side.
Osamu was breathing hard, tense, eyes full of confusion. "Lord Hanzo," he began, hesitant. "Why are you attacking Tadao?"
How many times were you dropped on the head to be such an idiot?
But all Tadao felt was relief when he'd usually be annoyed.
Hanzo's eyes were bottomless pools as he stared at Osamu. "How long have all of you been against me?" he asked harshly.
Osamu reared back, whether from the poison or the question, Tadao didn't know. "We—What?"
Tadao gave Osamu's back a quick pat, a wordless thank you. Then he turned and hobbled away from them, ignoring the rattle in his lungs, the blood dripping down his front.
Hanzo paused. "Prove your loyalty to me," he said. "Stand down."
"Lord Hanzo, Tadao is one of us," Osamu insisted. "He wouldn't—whatever you think he did, he didn't do it!"
Tadao felt Osamu's chakra waver, moving more sluggishly than before, and looked back. Hanzo breathed thick clouds of purple at him, but Osamu still stood his ground.
If he was anyone else, he would already be dead. But he was Osamu. The only one Hanzo would ever believe was making an honest mistake. Tadao kept running. His chest was staring to go numb, but he would only stop when he was dead.
Thanks for saving my life, blockhead.
.
.
.
The rain was cold. Tadao used that chill to keep himself awake as he dragged his body forward.
I'm not going out like this.
He couldn't feel his legs.
A little more.
Far off behind him, he felt two chakra signatures.
Tadao knew they were from Root, because they all felt the same. Cold and unfeeling like they were objects instead of people. Mamo's chakra felt so close. He was almost there. Tadao repeated it like a mantra as he dug his fingers into the dirt.
This'll be worth it when I see that idiot.
Mamo's shock would be the highlight of his week. And he'd finally get to meet the people that saved his friend's life. He felt four smaller signatures with Mamo. The medic-nin would fix the mess he'd made of his chest, and he and Mamo would have a good laugh about how shitty their lives were.
Tadao wasn't going to die. His hand slipped, and he barely caught himself before he lost consciousness.
If he had to be a missing-nin, his first order of business when he was back on his feet would be to kill that bastard Shuji. They all would've been better off if he never showed up in Ame. Then Tadao would go somewhere warm, like Suna.
His head drooped.
Tadao would get out of this damn village and leave it behind.
He fought to keep his eyes open, even as a black haze darkened his vision. He urged his arm to wake up and move, to pull the rest of his body forward another inch.
He couldn't feel his arm.
Tadao swore that he would lay in the desert under the sun and name himself something ironic like Ameyuri, his own private joke.
He lost consciousness.
A/N: は - A, 遅い - Slow, 降下 - Descent
Osamu is the goodest boy.
I don't know if it was anime-only, but I reject the idea that Hanzo isn't fully immune to his own poison. He breathes it, but still needs an antidote? Come on.
The song that helped me write this chapter is a straight bop, by the way.
Fun fact: Tadao was originally supposed to live.