Winter Friday 11:24 am
x11 ANT (Eleven years after Nine Tails)
Negotiations were bleak; even if he could gather the attention of any other village, they would try to consume Konohagakure whole. The air was heavy with tension, the villagers' anxious whispers mingling with the distant sounds of bustling activity. Over the years, while Konoha was losing power, everyone else was reaping the rewards from them. The sight of other villages flourishing, while Konoha faltered, was a bitter pill to swallow. From his knowledge, the cloud and stone were reigning with sand behind by a slim margin. The Mist, which was recently the weakest, rose above them by a sizeable gap. It was only a matter of time before one village wanted absolute control, and when that came, they had to be ready.
"Nara, Aburame, Akimichi, and Hyūga ended up tossing us to the side, which, on one hand, is scummy, but I can see where they were coming from." The aftermath of the Nine-Tails left many out of their homes, the wall Konoha held with glory torn. Most noble clans suffered casualties, some losing loved ones and valuables to estates and comrades. The scent of loss and grief hung in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of burning incense. After sealing the bastard away, the Hyūga clan was the first to discuss uncertainty, finding blame in the deceased Hokage, and the third. They were not the first to disappear. The Nara clan left without a word, settling down in god knows where. "If the attack was the bomb, the catalyst was the disappearance of the noble clans."
Swirling his index finger in the cup of green tea, he pondered his next step for his father. The warmth of the tea seeped through his fingers, offering a slight comfort amidst the uncertainty. He would need to start a path that the children can take. From a diplomatic standpoint, they had other options. For one, marriage. Before his father's name burns up completely, it will open doors if he finds an alliance with the promise of kin. Yet even that option had backlash to his situation. Sliding the door open, Asuma glanced at the dirt road. The sun cast long shadows, the dust particles dancing in the rays of light. Even in his current state, his father would clean the trash around the village. "Guilt is damn near impossible to thwart." Stepping out, his lips parted, a yawn escaping. Before he could do anything, Konoha needed the funds to expand. The library had standard techniques one could learn, the basic formula of chakra control, and military taijutsu. The musty scent of old books came to mind as he contemplated selling those for the bare minimum. Then again, there were the 'slums.' Near the west of the forest, people sync around to gamble in fights and other activities. Crippling that segment would bring them usable funds; the issue was the surrounding Intel was vague. No one knew how large their numbers were or who was supporting them. It was becoming increasingly clear that Konoha was morphing into a sanctuary for criminals, leaving them with few alternatives.
Exhaling, a strong gust of wind brushed against Asuma's cheek, leaving a tingling sensation as it blew the wrinkles out of his shirt, making it feel crisp against his skin. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass, a reminder of the vibrant life that surrounded him. Looking out at the Hidden Leaf village, he felt a sense of urgency weighing heavily on his mind. If he didn't take action soon, all of Iruka's efforts would be in vain. The fate of the village rested on his shoulders, and he knew he needed to get the Hokage on board for any chance of survival.
As he searched his pockets, frustration crept in, realizing he had no cigarettes to alleviate his stress. The pressure of the situation bore down on him, creating a heavy weight on his chest. The absence of his usual stress reliever only intensified his overwhelming feeling of failure, making him question if this was what Iruka meant by hard work.
Lost in his thoughts, Asuma pondered if Danzō, despite his controversial methods, had a point before his departure. Maybe there was something to be learned from his approach.
Turning his attention to the old man who stood before him, Asuma adjusted the strap of his bag, feeling the rough texture of the fabric against his palm. The sound of the strap tightening filled the air, a subtle reminder of the task at hand.
"The village keeps dwindling, Asuma Sarutobi, and I want to know what you think the reason is," the old man's voice rang out, carrying a tone of expectation.
"Our lack of understanding," Asuma replied, his words tinged with a hint of resignation. He knew deep down that his response was not entirely accurate, but his mind was preoccupied with other pressing matters.
The old man scoffed, dismissing Asuma's answer. "The Will of Fire is what will bring about the end of this village. If only they had listened to me, things could've been different. Such outdated philosophy."
As the old man moved his luggage, the sound of his heels kicking up dirt echoed in the air, creating a dissonance against the backdrop of the village. Asuma couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness towards this man, who had forsaken loyalty, trust, and family in pursuit of power.
"You may have desired to rule with an iron thumb, but even if the Third were to die, no one would have ever nominated you for the position. Your ideals kept you from achieving your goals. No one will miss you or remember you," Asuma retorted, the truth stinging his tongue. He couldn't deny the flawed sense in Danzō's words, no matter how much it hurt.
Years had passed since that strange man had left. For someone who cherished Konoha, Asuma assumed his father's old friend would at least keep in touch. The sun's rays beat down on him, forcing him to shield his eyes with his hand. The intensity of the sunlight reminded him of his father's admiration for the morning sun, its golden arms stretching across the land, illuminating the world.
"I need to impress my father and comrades with this generation," Asuma muttered to himself, feeling the weight of responsibility settle upon his shoulders. It was a daunting task, and even if he could secure the funds, the success ultimately depended on the abilities and dedication of the children.
Speaking of which, Asuma realized he had little knowledge about any of the students. No names, no faces, no understanding of their skills. Thankfully, Iruka was diligently working on it while he was lost in his thoughts, waking up to the refreshing, serene atmosphere of the morning.
"I see you have convinced Iruka to stake everything," Hiruzen said, a mix of admiration and concern in his voice.
Taking a deep breath, Asuma shook his head. Despite the state he was in, his father's skills remained intact. "It's not a gamble, but a final push towards glory," he resolved, uncertainty and determination conflicting within.
"Konoha was the center of peace when we reigned; now that people have a taste of power, they won't let it go." Turning his eyebrows knitted, was it a warning or a predetermined threat? "I'll indulge in your behavior; you may take one item from the treasury to make a profit. After that, crawl the rest of your way up," watching him disappear, Asuma sucked in his teeth. It was a flicker of hope, which meant the spark could blaze again. As his hand grazed his beard, the male embarked on a quest to locate his clothes, eager to start the day.
Hiruzen Sarutobi crumbled the edge of the paper, feeling its delicate texture between his tanned, wrinkled fingertips. The sound of the paper folding filled the room, echoing off the walls. The scent of aged parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of ink. Konohagakure, once a thriving village, now stood on the brink of collapse. The weight of diplomatic offers with their horrible clauses lay heavy on his shoulders.
Kumogakure and Iwagakure, locked in political disagreements, loomed stronger than ever. Their presence was felt even from afar. They yearned for alliances, their desperation evident. Iwagakure, the very village that offered a place at the table, had ulterior motives. Their offer of alliance came with the cost of slavery, a proposition that sent shivers down Hiruzen's spine. Iwagakure desired complete control over Konoha, their intentions sinister and unforgiving.
Staying neutral in this treacherous game of power was no longer an option. Even Sunagakure and Kirigakure watched from a distance, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hiruzen understood the implications of the letter before him. Iwagakure was not just observing Konoha; they reveled, knowing that they held the power to erase them from existence.
Hiruzen kicked the chair aside in frustration, the sound of it scraping against the floor echoing in the room. "Stone, Sand, Mist, and Cloud," he muttered, his voice filled with despair. Three of the four villages posed no immediate threat, leaving Kirigakure as the potential enemy. The past relations with the Mist had been turbulent, and fraught with difficulties. If the political struggle escalated into war, Kirigakure would align themselves with a side or seek power for themselves, ultimately targeting Konoha.
Leaning forward, Hiruzen sighed, his breath leaving a faint trail on the paper. The situation was unfavorable, and causing too much commotion would only worsen their position. However, the looming threat from Kirigakure could not be ignored. If Asuma's gamble failed, Hiruzen knew he would have to choose a side to ensure their survival.
As he hung the letter loosely, his eyes scanned the words absentmindedly. The prospect of a battle with Kirigakure seemed bleak. Konoha lacked the resources for war, making the outcome predictable. Their only hope lay in the progression of their students, their potential determining the fate of the village.
The sudden issue of Jōnin came to mind, their importance magnified in this critical moment. If the students fell short, it would shatter the faith placed in them. In frustration, Hiruzen slammed his hand on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Pencils and ink brushes scattered, their clattering noise adding to the chaos. The wood of the desk chipped and fell to the floor, creating a mess.
Every night, Hiruzen would pray for a sliver of luck, a glimmer of hope. The weight of their circumstances pressed down on him, but he had to find a solution. Alongside Jōnin, he also had to address the need for textbooks and proper materials for Iruka. With a heavy heart, he made the difficult decision to cut the budget for sending more genin, a necessary sacrifice in these desperate times.
It seemed simple, but it set lots of factors in stone. Shortening the budget for the children at the time allowed Konoha to gather some needed resources. In addition, it fixed the problem of producing failures and deaths. The active Jōnin had a slight increase in workload, but they bought some good karma and much-needed help. "I'll have to hold a meeting before anything happens." He slammed his head down in frustration, and he contemplated the possibility of smoking and the potentially damaging effects it could have on his health.
Winter Friday 8:12 pm
As Iruka shifted the bookshelf, the sharp screech of wood against marble echoed throughout the space. With every stroke of the broom and sweep of the dustpan, sweat rolled off his chin, evidence of his hard work. Engaging in cleaning activities brought him as much mental relief as drinking did, and to avoid the looming guilt, he made sure to stay occupied. Evaluating each student was challenging, as he had to carefully assess their strengths and weaknesses. "The number is already low, but if I classify them by clans." While sweeping the floor, he let out a deep breath, paying no attention to the curious head poking through the door.
"Hey, Iruka," his friend Hayate called out, the sound of his voice cutting through the quietness in the empty room. "Some of us are going to drink; want to join?" With little thought, Iruka dropped everything, the clatter of his belongings echoing as he hastily tagged along.
Sitting at the table, Iruka listened to his comrades speak and drink, the unpleasant laughter and clinking of glasses filling the air. The room was dimly lit, a haze of smoke lingering around them. Part of him knew he was using alcohol to mask his troubles, but the savory taste was an indulgence he couldn't resist.
"I'm paying for the drinks today; everything is on me," Kotetsu Hagane declared, the sound of his voice confident as he threw a wad of cash onto the table. However, instead of cheers, confusion filled the room as everyone exchanged puzzled glances. His best friend, Izumo Kamizuki, picked up the money and handed it back to Kotetsu.
"Your paycheck will never be that good," Izumo laughed, the sound joining the chorus of amusement around the table. Iruka smiled, clearing his throat. Izumo and Kotetsu were fellow Chūnin like him, forging a bond through their shared experiences. As for Hayate, the man who had invited him, they were friends to a certain extent, but they had never had the opportunity for one-on-one time.
"Well, today is a special day!" Kotetsu exclaimed, nudging Izumo and causing his cup to topple over. "My training is finally paying off! Asuma has reignited the dying fire within me. Before this last batch of students become genin, I will receive a promotion!" Kotetsu boasted, his voice filled with anticipation.
"You idiot, he asked both of us," Izumo slurred, his words slightly unsteady as he searched for a napkin to clean up the spilled drink. "And everyone knows, I have a better chance of becoming a Jōnin than you. I take my duties seriously!"
Feeling the need for some fresh air, Iruka excused himself, stepping out of the cramped room. The cold air hit his face, making his cheeks turn red, and a mixture of drinks swirled in his stomach. He glanced down at his sandals, now covered in a layer of snow, wiggling his toes to regain some feeling. As he stood there, an aggressive cough caught his attention, but he lacked the strength to address his friend.
"Do you think I can become a jōnin?" Iruka finally mustered the courage to ask, knowing the answer deep down.
"Frankly, no," Hayate replied, stepping out past Iruka, the dark circles under his eyes hinting at a persistent medical condition. "I am merely a tokubetsu jōnin, specializing in my strengths. I can't see Izumo or Kotetsu coming close either. Well, maybe one of them could make something happen." Hayate's boots left a trail in the snow as he shook his head. "Everyone is making sacrifices, even I am. That's how deeply we care for this place, ya know?"
Gazing at the back of his plain Konoha flak jacket, Iruka let the soft snowflakes delicately kiss his face, their icy touch leaving a tingling sensation on his skin. The sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick layer of snow beneath his feet. He couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. Becoming a chūnin took immense effort, but no matter how much he pushed himself, the gap between him and it seemed to stretch endlessly.
It reached a point where he couldn't go on. He knew deep down that he would never be the most formidable in combat, but he possessed the wisdom and experience that only time could provide. Yet he felt stagnant, trapped in a state of perpetual mediocrity. It was a constant reminder that his mind far surpassed the capabilities of his body. No matter how diligently he trained, how many hours he poured into honing his skills, it seemed impossible for his physical self to keep up with his relentless ambition.
The urge to drown his sorrows in another drink suddenly overwhelmed him. With a heavy sigh, he turned on his heels and made his way back inside the warm, dimly lit establishment. The scent of sake and the murmurs of conversation filled the air, enveloping him in a comforting familiarity. Passing down the Will of Fire and imparting his knowledge to the next generation was the best he could do, ensuring that those children would never have to experience the same stagnation he did, no matter the limitations they may face.
Navigating through the bustling crowd, he sought solace in the room, hoping to clear his troubled mind. After all these years, perhaps that was where he truly shined. Was it his role to show others the limits of their potential, the ceiling they could reach? Were some born with innate talent, or was it solely through unwavering dedication and hard work that one could surpass their limitations?
"Iruka! Pour us another drink!" Kotetsu's voice called out, breaking through his thoughts. He turned to see his friend holding out his hand, a warm smile gracing his lips. Iruka returned the smile, reaching for the nearest bottle of sake. As he poured a glass, his hand trembled slightly, causing the liquid to spill over the rim. He couldn't help but let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle.
"Let's give it our best for Konoha and the future," he said, his voice faltering, the weight of his unfulfilled ambitions clear in his tone.
Winter Sunday 10:11 am
"Are you sure about this?" Asuma yawned, stretching his arms as the crisp winter air filled his lungs, causing his breath to form small puffs of mist. The snow-covered landscape stretched out before them, sparkling in the early morning light.
"Well, this will be the outcome of my decision," Hayate responded, his hand latching onto the hem of his blade. The sound of metal scraping against leather filled the air as he unsheathed his weapon. The cold steel glinted in the sunlight, sending flashes of light dancing across their faces.
'This battle will help me conclude and prove whether I am adequate to lead a cell,' Hayate thought to himself. He could feel the weight of the impending fight settle on his shoulders, a mix of anticipation and determination coursing through his veins.
Asuma's fingers tightened around the trench knives, their cool metal pressing against his skin. He could sense the tension in the air as they prepared for the clash. The sound of snow crunching underfoot echoed as they shifted their stances, the soft white powder brushing against their boots.
As they lunged forward, the clash of their blades shot through the air, accompanied by the sparks that flew from the collision. Hayate's dark-brown eyes squinted in concentration as he kicked off Asuma's leg, his heels digging into the snow to maintain his balance.
Despite his best efforts, Asuma swiftly closed the distance between them, his speed surprising Hayate. The impact of their weapons meeting sent vibrations through his arms, momentarily shaking his grip. Snowflakes fluttered down, landing on his shoulders and melting against his skin.
"Few people can block a close-range attack of that magnitude," Asuma taunted, his words mingling with the falling snow. Hayate removed his navy blue bandanna, the fabric feeling damp against his skin as he bent over, coughing uncontrollably.
Ignoring the pain and exhaustion, he pressed on, positioning himself next to Asuma. The sound of their weapons clashing filled the air once again, accompanied by the thud of Hayate's kick landing on Asuma's chest.
Asuma stumbled back, the force of the kick knocking the wind out of him. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he regained his footing. Hayate's eyes burned with determination, his muscles screaming with exertion.
They circled each other, the intensity of their gazes locked in a battle of wills. The snowflakes fell faster, swirling around them like a furious storm. Hayate's blade sliced through the air, narrowly missing Asuma's shoulder.
Asuma retaliated with a flurry of strikes, his knives a blur of deadly precision. Hayate dodged and weaved, his body a testament to his agility. Every strike Asuma made was a calculated attempt to overpower his opponent.
The clash of steel echoed through the forest, ringing in their ears. Each blow shot through their bodies, the pain fueling their determination. Blood stained the pristine snow as their battle raged on.
Hayate's vision blurred, sweat dripping into his eyes. He knew he was outmatched, but he was determined to prove himself. As they continued their fierce exchange, the scent of sweat mingled with the cold winter air, creating a sharp, metallic tang.
Their blades collided once more, sparks erupting in a shower of brilliance. Hayate's muscles strained, his body trembling with exhaustion. But he pushed through, his resolve unyielding.
Asuma's face contorted with a mix of frustration and admiration. "You're stronger than I thought," he grunted, his voice strained.
Hayate's eyes gleamed. "I won't let you underestimate me," he replied, his voice steady despite the fatigue creeping into his bones.
Just when Asuma thought the battle was over, Hayate's swift movements surprised him. The clash of their weapons echoed again as they parried each other's strikes. Suddenly, Hayate transformed into a cloud of smoke, his form disappearing into thin air.
Emerging from the ground with a forceful punch, Hayate put Asuma on his backside. The taste of blood lingered on his lips, mixing with the metallic scent in the air. Asuma's jaw throbbed, a dull ache spreading through his face.
"Your win," Hayate gasped, his voice strained. "Now buy me some food."
"Yeah, after you tell me the point of this," Asuma replied, rising to his feet and adjusting his jaw, feeling the soreness intensify with each movement.
Replaying the events, Hayate ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair, feeling the strands slip between his fingertips. "You asked me to take a cell soon, and I don't doubt my abilities, but I work alone. Meaning the idea of me protecting and training three brats while maintaining a clear head is harder than it seems," he pondered a moment for his next words, "this was a personal test above all." Everyone knew Hayate for his calm demeanor, but the chaos of battle could easily cause anyone to make a fatal error.
The sound of his sigh filled the air as he tossed the empty box of cigarettes onto the cold, hard ground. Deep emotional talks were never his thing when he was sober, but the weight of the situation lingered in his mind. "Uh, listen," Asuma began, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Those genin make you push yourself beyond your limits," he continued, his words carrying a hint of reassurance. "The bond and experiences you'll face with them will erase such thoughts. Don't force yourself to do something from my words." He never pondered the pressure of adopting newfound brats; perhaps it was a matter of pride or confidence that locked away destructive qualities. Not taking it to heart, he let his gaze drift onwards, taking in the sights of the bustling village. The inviting aroma of ramen filled his nose, tempting his growling stomach.
"So, ramen?" he suggested, his voice laced with a hint of longing.