Double chapter upload alert! This is chapter 2 of 2 uploaded 12/10/23. Enjoy :)

My first impression of the Fang Daimyo, Kurozumi Daikichi, was...not good. I was going to reserve judgment, even though he was two days late for our rather important meeting, of which both the Tsuchikage's personal advisor and son were attending (not that he was aware of which big names he was making wait for him). Maybe something important or nation-threatening came up.

But nope. He was just an idiot. I know, shocker. A non-democratically elected ruler didn't deserve their position? It almost made me feel better about the shitstorm we were about to bring to his country. Until I remembered that he would probably come out of it relatively unscathed, and that his people were the ones that would face the brunt of Suna's wrath.

"Daimyo-dono," Jin-sama greeted the man as he entered the lobby and froze at the sight of us. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person at long last."

Daigo and Iwao weren't present—I wouldn't be either if I wasn't to take part in negotiations. If Biwa-sensei was any other jonin, even he wouldn't have been here either, but having the Tsuchikage's son present would only make us seem more sincere. In theory. It could be taken as a threat as well, which wasn't objectionable either.

Alternatively, his attendance could completely go over the monarch's head.

"I thought I was meeting with Iwagakure," he said to his aide, a simpering man beside him who seemed far more impressed by our presence than his liege. He, unlike the Daimyo, recognized both of my teachers, as we were no longer henge'd. However, we hadn't changed back into our Iwagakure uniforms, because we left everything distinctive to our village in the tunnels. If this mission went far, far worse than expected, there would be nothing tying us to our village other than our corpses. And I was sure both Biwa-sensei and Jin-sama had contingencies to solve that issue, in the unfortunate case that it became relevant.

"You are, sir," he said, nervous eyes flickering between the jonin, barely sparing me a glance. "I believe they are wearing Gakegakure no Sato," (Village Hidden in the Cliffs, the minor shinobi village in the Land of Mountain Streams) "headbands as a mark of discretion."

"That is correct," Jin-sama said smoothly, giving no hint to his true thoughts on that absolutely moronic question. "We also traveled in disguise to avoid the attention of your enemies."

Your enemies. Wordplay was important, and the strategist wasted no time.

"I am Jin Toshiaki," he continued. "A high councilor of Iwagakure. The Tsuchikage has given me the honor of speaking on his behalf, and has sent his son with me as a gesture of sincerity and good faith."

If he wasn't a shinobi, I was sure that Biwa-sensei would look quite annoyed right now. But he was, so his face remained impassive.

"And I am accompanied by my aide."

That was all the introduction I would get, it seemed.

"Goodness, it seems the Tsuchikage is taking this quite seriously," the man preened, and I got the feeling he didn't grasp the severity of the situation at all. Did he think two great shinobi nations were fighting for his approval because he was popular or something? Did he think that, if he slighted either of them—something that was now unavoidable—he wouldn't face dire consequences? He was in a lose-lose situation, but he had no idea.

And we'd keep it that way.

"Of course," Jin-sama said smoothly. "We may be ninja, but we still have a distaste for the underhanded actions Sunagakure has taken against your nation."

The Daimyo's expression wasn't nearly as schooled as my teachers'. He looked over his shoulder at a samurai, who, from his armor, I would guess outranked even the captain who secured this building in the Daimyo's absence. He looked like absolute shit despite the finery, and his face was grim.

"So you've heard?" he asked, though that annoying grin was still there. It was clear that, whatever events Jin-sama was referring to, he wasn't all that distraught about them.

"Of the assassinations in your court, yes," Jin-sama said. "The poisons all but had Suna's signature on them. They wish to weaken you, Daimyo-dono. They wish for Fang and Claw to unite again, but under Kurozumi Tenmei's banner." That was the Daimyo of Claw. "And in doing so, they will hold full control over both the mouth and the source of the Kiso River."

The thing is, Jin-sama was probably right. The reunification of Fang and Claw was likely what Suna was after. It didn't work in canon, for whatever reason, but I had no idea what background shenanigans went down to keep it from happening in that timeline.

"The notion of subservience to that buffoon is intolerable," the Daimyo said, though from his tone, I could tell that he was supremely confident that that could never happen.

"As it should be. And so, Iwagakure wishes to take every precaution." His eyes twitched to the still open doors, through which many, many samurai could be seen lining the steps. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion somewhere more private?"

We were led through the first floor, which was a veritable labyrinth of solid, wooden walls and shoji. Since it was noon, and the sun was directly overhead, the rice paper seemed to glow mildly in the light, but I knew from my brief stay in the compound that that would soon change.

The meeting was attended by us two (Biwa-sensei made himself scarce at the first available opportunity), the Daimyo, one of his close advisors, his aide and the big-shot samurai who seemed to act as his military advisor. But Jin-sama did most of the talking, while the Daimyo simply nodded along and pretended to understand what was said.

Iwagakure wanted to sabotage Suna's attempts at diverting the path of the Kiso River, but it wasn't quite that simple. The river's source was in Fang, as a snowmelt runoff met a spring at the base of the Sekitsui. Therefore, the amount of water that flowed through the river was variable, based on environmental conditions. In the grand scheme of things, Suna didn't have to do much to alter the course of the river; water followed the path of least resistance, so if they carved a relatively shallow path and blocked off the old one, the river itself would do the rest.

It would be harder for Fang (Iwa) to do the same, simply because of the volume of water nearer to the source. I hadn't seen the river in question, but it was classified as "great" on my maps, which meant it was similar to the Gin-Gawa, which I had seen and knew to be quite large. And the mountainous environment made it all but impossible to carve a sensical path until it neared the desert, where it was flatter.

Jin wanted to destroy the source altogether. To completely redirect the mountain runoff that fed into the spring, so all that water perhaps spilled onto the other side of the mountain range. If that happened, there wouldn't be enough water to reach all the way to Suna. Doing that would destroy Fang's economy—I could tell that just as a casual bystander. Jin-sama was trying to frame it as the lesser of two evils. The Daimyo's advisor wasn't having any of it, and though he was too polite (and scared of us) to interrupt, he made his opinion known through his liege.

"With all due respect, eliminating the runoff would ruin the Kiso. That's the only easy path through the mountain—with it gone, ships won't be able to transport goods from Shirakawa, or any other northern settlement. They would suffer, the farmers along the coast would suffer…we would lose out on all the taxes from that commerce!"

I suppose he would have learned which buttons to press to best manipulate his Daimyo over the years.

"Oh, you misunderstand," Jin-sama said, eyes wide. "We wouldn't dare propose anything so damaging to Fang, or to you. Eliminating the runoff wouldn't nearly dry up the river entirely. Sure, it might make it a touch smaller, but you'll still be able to use it for farming and transport. Our research team assured us that it will merely keep the water from reaching far into Claw, and Wind by virtue. Look, they have provided us data and calculations."

He pulled out a packet full of graphs, numbers and examples. Clearly, the Daimyo had no literacy on the subject, and his eyes glazed over the instant he looked at the first page. Unfortunately for the advisor, he couldn't fare much better. And it was hard to argue against data when he couldn't identify any errors and bias, and I was sure there was plenty of each to go around.

Negotiations continued for several more hours, and my legs had long since fallen asleep. I refused to so much as twitch, though I did cycle chakra through them internally, which either worked or acted as a placebo. Don't really care which. Despite the discomfort, I was glad to be included in this. It was a little captivating to watch Jin-sama work his magic, and though the surface level was boring, my inside knowledge intensified the stakes.

Conversation migrated from objections to the plan itself to the proposed logistics of enacting it. They didn't dwell on that long—with all the high-level Doton users in Iwagakure's employ, shearing off a mountaintop was child's play. But then we got to protection. The Daimyo seemed convinced that no ninja would dare try and kill him because of his divine right to the throne, a notion that his advisor tried to dissuade him from. Jin-sama, though doing so would work in our favor, didn't argue against the advisor, which was interesting. There must have been a reason—perhaps doing so would be too overt? I'd ask him later.

"What do you think, Miyamoto-san?" The Daimyo asked the samurai…general? Really needed to figure out ranks.

The man had been oddly quiet for the duration of the meeting, even in matters where his expertise was relevant. Now, he looked up.

"The sand rats have no morals nor honor," he grunted, voice hoarse and scratchy. "They will not care if you are a daimyo, an elder or a two-year-old babe. They will not hesitate to kill anyone, as long as it serves their interests. However, despite their recent actions, they have not targeted you or your blood. They do not fear my men, and they do not fear Keikokugakure. There must be a reason. Until we find it, we must proceed with caution."

What an interesting non-answer. I studied the man for a moment, wondering about the nature of his hatred towards Sunagakure. Had they had conflict in the past? They'd said something about attempted assassinations; maybe that had something to do with it.

Whatever the situation, and despite my guilt over my role in pointing them at Fang, I was quite glad that I wouldn't have to worry about Suna myself for a while. The village wouldn't play such a huge role in the third war (presumably), and that was great because their shinobi seemed troublesome, and their home even more so. My older brother in my past life toured Afghanistan, and he had nothing good to say about the climate. I was made for heat, but not dry heat.

"Iwagakure can protect you," Jin-sama said without hesitation. "Our last conflict proved it. The sand nin are all but useless outside of their desert. Their gimmicks might lend themselves to cowardly attacks, but with even odds they fold like cheap paper. We are used to their tricks, so with a detail of our jonin at your beck and call, your safety is assured."

Several additional hours later, when candlelight was the only thing illuminating the room, our meeting finally concluded. Nothing was set in stone, but Jin-sama hadn't expected a definitive yes or no just yet. The seeds had been planted and watered—tomorrow, the Daimyo would meet us back at the negotiating table. He'd probably push for more concessions, more promises, more favorable trade deals. There's no shot he would be able to make it worthwhile for his country; I was sure that, despite Jin-sama's flowery words and the data he presented, eliminating the runoff would ruin the river's usefulness to the people of Fang.

Once they realized that, they would be angry. They would demand we reverse the damage. When we didn't, they'd probably grow hostile. But there was nothing they could do to us. Their location wouldn't afford our enemies any advantages during the upcoming war. Sand would no longer be interested in the nation with the river gone—in any positive capacity, at least. They wouldn't forget the context of the situation, and they weren't exactly the understanding type. No one would have any sympathy, not when it was Fang's own dealings that put it in this position.

"So, my treasured student," Jin-sama said as we walked (I limped) a respectable distance away from the room. The Daimyo had stayed behind to enjoy a bottle of sake, and I was sure that the advisor was pleading with him to dismiss us outright. Two high-ranking samurai, including the captain who secured this palace before the Daimyo's arrival, were posted outside the doors—otherwise, we or one of my teammates would be eavesdropping. However, the highest ranked samurai who attended the meeting with us slipped out soon after we did. "How did you enjoy the meeting?"

I was sure he didn't want to know my actual thoughts on the matter at this very moment, just as I certainly didn't want to announce them. The palace, which was all but empty until today, was full of the Daimyo's servants, the bulk of them samurai. Motionless guards were posted at the corners of every hall, and all of them were well-armed with two katana. Pretty sure that was a symbol of status amongst samurai, that they were allowed to carry two weapons.

"My legs feel as if they've been cut off and replaced with convincing prosthetics," I finally decided, and he chuckled.

"You get used to it. Eventually."

My stomach also took that moment to growl. I had been treated to snacks—senbei, green tea and classier-looking pork buns to tide us through the ordeal. But that could hardly be called a meal.

"I may be summoned for dinner," he said as I flushed. I wasn't embarrassed that my stomach growled—that was natural and nothing to be ashamed of. I was embarrassed I hadn't been able to stop it in front of a jonin. I'd have to ask Biwa-sensei how to keep that from happening. The last thing I wanted was to give away my team's position during a sensitive field op.

Or in the middle of an important meeting with a daimyo. I was lucky it had decided to hold off until now.

"I'm not sure if you will be invited with me. Likely not—you will have to eat with your team. For now, I would like to take a moment to compose myself."

His eyes flickered to the side. "You should get some fresh air. There's something special about the night breeze in Keikokugakure. The canyon walls intensify the wind, but its temperature is mild from the climate. The effect is a harmonious balance that raises the hair and the spirit. I would certainly recommend it."

Let the record state that I am not an idiot. Obviously, my part-time sensei was asking me to do something here. I just had to look underneath the underneath to figure out what.

"I'm not sure that would be allowed," I mused. "Weren't we told to stay in the palace?"

He hummed as if he forgot.

"I'm sure that, if you asked the samurai, they would be able to find some compromise," he said. "Now, if you excuse me."

He left, and though I wanted to follow him to privacy and ask for him to spell it out for me, I didn't. Instead, I turned to the nearest samurai, who was nestled between two sets of armor. He was close enough to hear our conversation, but he kept his face forward until I addressed him.

"Ne, samurai-san," I asked. "Is there any way for me to get some fresh air while complying with your commander's stipulation that I remain within the premises?"

The guard pondered the question. Or, at least, I thought he did. Behind his mask, I had no idea what his facial expression looked like.

"There is an engawa on the side opposite of the main entrance," he revealed finally. "As it is on the first floor, and obscured from view, I see no issue with you visiting it."

I nodded in thanks, and set out to look for the Japanese/Elemental Nations' equivalent of a veranda. Opposite side from the main entrance should have been plenty to go on, but the Palace seemed unnecessarily winding, with far more hallways than what I considered to be warranted. I was certain that very few if any rooms built into them were utilized in any way, shape or fashion. It would have hurt my pride as a shinobi to ask for directions, though, so I set out to do things the hard way, committing the route back to memory as I walked.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for, and nodded to the four guards standing before the sliding doors.

"Do you require something, Shinobi-san?" one asked in a manner that could barely be interpreted as hospitable.

"I was hoping to catch some fresh air," I said. "The engawa is considered part of the premise, is it not? And on the first floor, as well."

They clearly didn't want to let me out, I could tell from the set of their shoulders. It was hard to explain, but it seemed combative.

"Would you return in an hour?" the same man asked, and I raised an eyebrow. I could have said yes. Normally I would have, but I was here now for a reason. Even if I didn't know what that reason was yet.

"I have obligations," I lied, not elaborating. "Please, samurai-san?"

Their agitation grew; I could see it in their posture, and hear it in his next words. But it seemed they had no reason to refuse me.

"Very well," the man said. "Be silent, and do not disturb him. Or we will be within our rights to remove you."

Him?

"Of course," I said, and they opened the left door.

As Jin-sama claimed, the night was beautiful. The acclaimed breeze caught in my hair immediately—I was wearing it down upon my specialization sensei's recommendation for the meeting, and it was tossed straight back as I faced the expanse of the ravine. There was little on this side of the palace, and the stilt's elevation plus the roof gave us a great deal of privacy. Due to perspective, neither people on the ground nor anyone at the top of the ravine would be able to see into this space, which was no doubt intentional.

All that was shoved to the back of my mind, however, because I was not alone. Two out of the four samurai were likely stationed out here normally, but they had been dismissed to give the man they referred to privacy. Holes in their security were nothing to be afraid of, because, leaning against a bamboo post was the Daimyo's military advisor, the high commander of the Fang samurai. Assuredly, he was the strongest combattant among the Daimyo's forces.

It was difficult to tell during the meeting we both just sat through, but he was quite tall (that height lay in his legs more so than his torso). He wore a lighter garb than his subordinates on duty, and that armor was clearly more ceremonial, with no mask included. But he did have his swords strapped on now—they had been given to a guard to hold for the duration of the meeting, as was proper.

He shot me a quick glance as I entered, but I ignored his searching look and leaned against another post nearest to the door, as far from him as I could be. He turned back around without acknowledging me verbally, and we shared a companionable silence as we drank in the peaceful night ambiance. The wind was loud and echoey in the canyon, and I was briefly reminded of the one time I visited Chicago. I wondered how many decades or even centuries would have to pass for the Elemental Nations to see its first skyscraper.

By that time, however, light pollution would have long extinguished the stars above. Now, though I couldn't see the moon over the canyon walls, the sky was greatly illuminated, and I could make out a myriad of constellations, so unlike any I memorized the names of back on Earth. It was crazy what I learned in this life. Just by looking above me, I could pinpoint my general location on a map, and tell which direction my home lay. If I had received such a thorough education prior to my reincarnation, I'd be the Geoguessr world champ.

Skyscrapers and technology for stars and magic. In my last life, I could have easily told you which I'd prefer. Now, at this particular moment, I wasn't so sure.

This really is a lovely little place. It's a real shame what we were about to do to it.

Movement caught my eye, and I saw the samurai, Miyamoto, try to strike a match against his armor to light his ornate, bronze kiseru. It caught flame, but only for a moment before the wind snuffed it out. He stuck the pipe's end between his teeth and tried again, attempting to shield the flame with his hands until he could bring it up to the tobacco. It wavered but ultimately extinguished before reaching the cup.

I could see in his eyes the fury of a man who's experienced a minor inconvenience at the end of an already terrible day, likely far longer, judging from the bags under his eyes. If he was someone else, he might have exploded. Instead, he simply chomped on the stem of his unlit kiseru, fuming.

"Care for a light?" I asked him, taking a chance. Because why else would I be here, if not to interact with him?

He half looked in my direction, thought for a moment, and nodded jerkily. "That would be appreciated, aide-san."

I slowly strode over to him, keeping my hands in view. Wow, he was tall—he had a full foot and a half on me. Slowly, so that he could see, I performed the hand seals—Monkey, Ram, Tiger—for Katon: Chōchin no Jutsu, and held a finger over the mouth of his pipe. I could feel the tobacco inside ignite, and removed myself before I would be burned.

He took a drag of the kiseru, pulling the fire deep into his apparatus, out of the wind's reach. Then his eyes flicked to the side and shook his head. The door had slid open a crack, and I saw from the corner of my eye, the navy blue mask of one of the guards. The door closed with a soft clack, and I tastefully ignored the interaction.

A sensor amongst the samurai, eh?

"Thank you," he said gruffly to me.

"Of course." I looked back up at the sky. "I find the breeze quite delightful. However, I do not smoke. Isn't it curious how something you enjoy a great deal can cause such an inconvenience to others? Would the world be a better place if there was no wind and you could smoke with ease? Or would it be worse, because I couldn't enjoy the beautiful night?"

I shook my head. "Perhaps it wouldn't be better or worse. Perhaps it would just be different."

Miyamoto blew a stream of smoke out of his nose. "I don't think this is what they meant with the phrase wisdom from the mouth of babes. You do not speak like a child."

"That's because I'm not a child," I said, tapping my Hitai-ate, and he snorted.

"Barbaric."

"Perhaps," I acknowledged, and his eyes betrayed his surprise at my response. I grinned ruefully. "I was born with accelerated cognitive processes, likely due to the nature of my chakra. But when I joined the academy, it became all too clear that my classmates were not. They weren't like me. They were immature, boisterous, short-sighted. They weren't soldiers. They shouldn't have been soldiers. And I saw what my sensei had to do to make them something they were not. It wasn't as horrifying as you likely think it was, but I still found it distasteful. Your feelings on the matter are valid."

He studied me carefully, but I kept my gaze up at the sky.

"You regret what happened to them?" he asked. "You regret what your village turned them into?"

"I do," I revealed. "This world needs shinobi. But I wish everyone could agree to stave off such training for a few more years, at least. Perhaps conditioning and basic chakra work early on, but everything else…ten seems like a good age to begin. Like I am now. In my perfect world, no one would be sent off to war, or even on missions until they are at least eighteen. Alas, the world isn't perfect."

"In your perfect world, there would be war at all?" he asked.

"War is an expression of free will. I would wish for it gone, but not at the expense of that."

The samurai hummed. "I suppose that's a fundamental difference in the mentalities of shinobi and samurai. We practice ninshū, though I suppose your academy wouldn't have taught you anything about that."

He was right. But here, I could lean on my foreknowledge. "No, I know what ninshū is. I'm not entirely dismissive of the practice—I am interested in chakra beyond its potential for destruction. But humans can make weapons out of anything, and it was inevitable that they would do the same with the Sage's gifts. Until chakra is gone from this land, people will continue to use it to hurt others."

I shot him a side eye.

"May I ask you a question that might sound rude? I swear I don't mean any disrespect from it."

"You realize we're each representing dignitaries from our respective nations, do you not?" he drawled.

"That's why I preface. Is that a no?"

He sighed. "What is it?"

"Samurai use chakra as a weapon too," I said. "Why are you the exception? Why does your belief in ninshū not condemn you for your practices?"

Yeah, he definitely took offense to that. No one liked being called out as a hypocrite.

"We are not exempt," he grunted. "However, it is due to our beliefs that we only act to defend. To protect. We do not—should not—wage war."

I kept the smile off my face at the addendum. Samurai waged war all the time, and he knew that I knew that. They might not wish to, deep down, but if they were truly devoted to nonviolence above all else, they would abandon the way of the samurai and refuse to participate.

"But you would. If your Daimyo ordered it."

He looked back out, straight at the canyon wall, close enough to the palace that it could be illuminated in partiality by the lantern light. This building was so unnecessarily massive that there was only around a hundred yards of clearance on either side of it.

"We would. We each swore an oath to our Daimyo, and it is not one that can be broken. Not without casting off every other tennent of ninshū. Loyalty. Selflessness. If we do not embody those, it wouldn't matter if we chose to live perfectly peaceful lives." He was growing more heated with his words. "That is what my subordinates and I believe. But I suppose a shinobi who fights for money could never understand the want to fight for someone else."

"What a hurtful thing to say to the representative of a foreign dignitary," I said mildly, and he pursed his lips.

"I apologize. That was out of line. You were merely curious."

"I am curious," I said. "You're the first samurai I've ever spoken with. Before this mission, I hadn't met any before. I've heard of the antagonism Samurai have towards shinobi, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't reciprocated. But as a shinobi, it is my job to not take things at face value. So, I withheld judgment."

I draped myself over the wooden banister, resting my chin on my forearms. "You dislike how we work for money? Do samurai not get paid?"

"We get paid a salary," he replied, more subdued. "But we do not get paid for murder. We do not get paid for dis—for acts that we would consider dishonorable."

I graced him with a smile. Positive reinforcement for amending his bias.

"A matter of perspective. We have different definitions of what honor is."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I thought ninja shunned the concept of honor? I've heard many deride us for our beliefs on the matter."

"That does not surprise me. But please recognize that you've also derided my beliefs in this conversation alone, so while I don't expect you not to take offense to those past instances, understand that such statements are merely reciprocity. If they hadn't been personally derided by a samurai, they have at least heard about how samurai deride them."

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"While we may not call it honor, we do have our own code that we follow," I continued. "And those that stray from the code are shunned, or worse. Tell me, have you ever heard a ninja speak of missing nin? Have you heard about our expectations regarding how we handle emotions? Have you heard about how we care for our respective villages, to the extent that we would willingly and happily die if it meant securing their interests?"

I turned my head to face him, and I saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

"That's why I'm insulted when you say that a shinobi could never understand the want to fight for someone other than themselves," I continued. "A percentage of us are selfishly motivated; I won't deny that. But the vast majority—that I've met in Iwa, anyway—became shinobi for much the same reason that you became a samurai. The main difference is that you chose to pledge your loyalty to a Daimyo, while we pledge our loyalty to our families, to our friends and to our neighbors. I suppose that the root of the difference between our ideologies is that I cannot value the life of a stranger over the lives of my loved ones. No matter what position they hold."

I looked back to the night sky. "That was in reference to the Daimyo, but it holds true with everyone. That is why I hold no conniptions with killing, or acts of violence during the scope of any missions I am assigned. Because I know that, in some way, no matter how nebulous the connection may be, that cruelty towards strangers is for the benefit of the village, and the people I care about who live there. Because if anything happens to them, I would rend this world asunder."

I was a cog in this world's cycle of hatred, and I'd admit it readily. I never subscribed to Jiraya's milquetoast ideology. Letting go of all grudges sounded pretty, but it wasn't just, realistic, or even always healthy, despite what popular Earth media tried to shove in our faces to the contrary.

Miyamoto, meanwhile, looked like he'd seen a ghost. The paper lanterns made him look downright ghastly.

"So, knowing that, do you still believe we're so different after all?" I asked him.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily. "I suppose not." He avoided my eye contact. "I admire your dedication to your family. I wish I could replicate it. Alas, it is too—GET DOWN!"

I reacted on instinct, pushing away from the railing and falling backwards, only catching myself in a bridge. All I saw was the flash of steel above me. Miyamoto had drawn his sword in an instant, and was parrying a heavy spike affixed to what looked like a thick, leather whipcord. With a contemptuous twist, he wrapped the weapon around his sword, which I could clearly feel the hum of powerful chakra coursing through, and sliced off the dangerous tip.

That wasn't the end. Projectiles shot towards Miyamoto so fast that I couldn't identify them while in flight, and the samurai whipped the kiseru out of his mouth and precisely batted all of them away, embers of tobacco flashing as they fell. The deflected weapons clattered to the floor, and I identified them as senbon.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for, that we could take out the Daimyo's chief retainer with a surprise attack," came a hoarse voice, and I regained my footing with a kip-up, Jackie Chan style, as the doors behind us slammed open and the other samurai rushed out with their swords drawn.

Five figures stood on the canyon wall, and I had no idea how they stayed so unnoticeable until now. Well, two of them stood. The other three floated, their unnatural bodies, still as death, facing us fully.

The one who launched the attack was the speaker, a middle aged man wearing tattered garb. I recognized him from the bingo book, so I knew just how dangerous the jonin, Nanase Otsuo, was. But still, my attention was captured immediately by his companion. Because I recognized him too, just not from any resource I'd encountered in this world.

"Kaga-san," Miyamoto barked. "Alert the others. We are under attack. It is an extermination order, and they are planning on leaving no witnesses."

Their mere presence was proof of that. If there was any intention of subtlety, nondescript shinobi would be sent under disguise. Shinobi that wouldn't use such distinctive techniques. These people could be wearing the most perfect henge, and there would still be no mistaking their place of origin.

"I think you'll find the bulk of your forces otherwise occupied," the enemy said mildly, and Miyamoto growled viciously, pure, unadulterated hate in his eyes.

"Then I'll place an extermination order of my own. I will enjoy this," he said, and I didn't have time to wonder about the extreme shift in the man, even though we just spoke at length about his creed of nonviolence. My hands itched for weapons that weren't there, as I stared straight into the cold, mud-brown eyes of the ninja's junior.

"I'll handle the samurai," the jonin said. "You take the girl."

I took a deep steadying breath, even as my mind was filled with shrieks and curses. I didn't have time to panic, even if it was more than warranted.

He's a kid. Just a kid. Like I was. Maybe he wasn't that dangerous yet. Maybe I could win.

…Yeah fucking right. I wasn't getting out of this alive. In the afterlife, I would curse whatever god decided to pit me against Akasuna no Fucking Sasori.

But for now, I'd give him the fight of his life.

- - - { ワナビー } - - -

AN: Whew. That took a lot of brainpower. But I'm altogether satisfied with it. I went back and forth on including Sasori. I don't like gratuitously bringing in canon characters without believable cause, but hey. The stakes for Suna are actually extremely high here. Why wouldn't they send the Puppet Corps, their premier assassin group? And Sasori was actually around back then, though he's only a couple years older than Kasaiki (I think, his age was hard to pin down) and hasn't created his most dangerous techniques. So…fuck it we ball.

This little break has taught me a valuable lesson. And that is…I was not made to work a traditional job. I really, really, really want to write full time. Unfortunately, I need money to support myself and my family. To that end, despite how much I really don't want to do it, I'm going to be annoying and overtly promote my published work with this story. Sorry.

Ehem—excuse me as I get on my soap box.

I don't have a Ptrn. If you've gotten five bucks of enjoyment out of this story, please consider buying my original work on amazon (information in my bio). Between the two sites this fic is posted on, I have close to 1400 readers. If even half of you choose to support me in this fashion, I would have considerable bargaining power when it comes to getting future books published. More publishing deals means I can quit my day job, which translates into more time for fanfiction. It's a one time thing, and you even get more of my writing out of it.

Thank you to everyone. Seriously. Whether you support me in this manner or not, I really appreciate all of my readers. I've had a blast with this fic so far, and I can't wait to show you everything I have planned for the future.

Tune in next week to see two future legends clash. Have a good one!