"The nation's pride and joy,
Yes, your perfect little boy,
But your daughter,
Was a monster,
In your eyes."
-In Your Eyes, Sydney Sneeden
Hiruzen leaned back in his favorite armchair, smoking pipe halfway to his lips, watching in half amusement, half pity, as his youngest son was accosted by his beloved wife.
Asuma's arms were stretched over the back of the couch, taking up most of the left side of it. In front of him, his mother held an infant out to him, a boy who barely touched toddlerhood, whose birthday it was today.
Biwako was adamant that Asuma take care of him while she peeled potatoes and cleaned the beef, a lesson in responsibility or, as she kindly put it:
"If you experience the difficulties of taking care of a child, perhaps you'll feel less inclined to argue when I ask you to clean your clothes off the floor. A task that should be easy, Asuma. Simple."
He was a chunin, a capable shinobi, but still a boy, yet.
Even nearly twenty-one years later, the armchair still smelled faintly of tobacco. Perhaps that was the very reason Hiruzen had sole ownership of the chair. It had been just as long since he stopped smoking indoors, after Biwako became pregnant with their eldest and threatened to leave him (despite what was proper, despite the scandal it would've brought down on them both).
Admittedly, he'd fallen in love with her a little more that day, and every day since.
Asuma eyed the baby, then looked up at her. "I don't want to hold him, Ma. Cleaning my room doesn't have anything to do with—"
Biwako simply dropped Naruto in his lap and walked away from him.
Asuma startled, sitting up fast, eyes flicking down before darting up to the retreating figure of his mother. Naruto, sucking vigorously on a green, frog-shaped rubber toy, appeared far more focused on it than anything happening around him.
Leaning on the right arm of the couch, Yuri turned his face away from Asuma, covering his mouth to hide a laugh. Asuma gave him a dirty look, regardless.
Yuri's twentieth birthday was two months before, but he still seemed a child to Hiruzen, the bright-eyed little boy too afraid to touch his Hokage hat like it was some fragile, breakable thing.
His inauguration into Anbu would be soon, before the end of the year, whenever Hiruzen was able to let go of his sentiments and see Yuri as the adult he was.
Today was the one day a year where they could all spend time together. And what a tragic day it was.
Hiruzen raised the pipe to his lips, his thoughts souring. It was empty, but the habitual action staved off the craving for tobacco, the urge to take the edge off the stress of it all. Despite his best effort not to smoke around his sons, Asuma still followed in his footsteps.
Naruto leaned back against Asuma's stomach, shaking the toy in his mouth, in the throes of teething, and his youngest stiffened like the infant bit him. His hand moved aimlessly on the arm of the couch.
Yuri snorted. He could hear Biwako peeling potatoes in the kitchen.
Hiruzen looked at the son of his successor, the boy forced to bear the burden of the nine-tails, and regret was bitter on his tongue. Heavy with grief, he couldn't bear to leave Naruto a nameless orphan, cared for so little he didn't carry a surname. He ended up giving the day-old newborn Kushina's name to carry, because she had far less enemies than Minato.
But the gods laughed in his face, because Naruto was nearly the spitting image of his father. And yet, yet, there was a fleeting sense of joy in his soul when he thought back to that terrible day, always followed by a stain of guilt.
His wife had survived, when so many had not. The Memorial Stone was heavy with freshly carved names, the graveyard was double the size it had been, and the village was still on its knees. There was nothing to celebrate, but he still felt relief.
Perhaps that was why it was easy for him to enjoy the company of his family, for Yuri to laugh so easily. Because all of them were alive. None of them were touched by the clawed hand of grief.
Asuma lifted Naruto gingerly, hands under the boy's arms, holding the toddler away from him. He looked at Naruto like he was of another species. "What do I do with him?"
"You're so hopeless it's sad," Yuri said, elbow on the arm of the couch, cheek propped on his hand.
How changed would we be if that day ended differently?
Naruto's addition to their household was not an intentional one, at least on his part. In his campaign to protect Naruto from foreign adversaries, he'd neglected to account for (or even consider) that the boy's greatest adversaries might come from home.
When Hiruzen donned the hat he hoped to never wear again, called a meeting of both ninja and civilians, and told them all of the fate that befell Minato and Kushina, he had no identity of the attacker, no motive, nothing to ease the desire for answers, the need to blame.
As Hiruzen turned his attention to reconstruction and comforting the families of the dead, others were left to come to their own conclusions. Some thought it impossible for a newborn like Naruto to keep the Nine-Tails contained when an adult like Kushina struggled and ultimately failed. They thought that the Nine-Tails had already taken over, wearing the face of a baby whose soul was long-dead. Hiruzen met with his generals and watched his enemies while rumors spread like wildfire behind his turned gaze, until they were too big to stamp out.
Others still who lost parts of themselves or their families blamed Naruto simply for being born, for the pregnancy that weakened the seal enough for it to be taken advantage of. There were many who thought that if Naruto hadn't been born, the tragedy surrounding him never would've happened.
Hiruzen lowered the pipe from his mouth and looked at it. There was no easy solution, but something had to be done. The village was too fragmented now, the security too tight, but one day his home would heal, and the whispers of who held the Nine-Tails would leak from their borders.
The toy slipped from Naruto's grasp, bounced off the couch, and rolled across the floor. Naruto began to squirm. "Gam!" he said, looking at Asuma, who didn't understand.
Naruto's lip wobbled, tiny hands opening and closing as he strained, and Yuri rescued the boy from Asuma. His eldest picked up the toy, rubbed it clean on his shirt, and handed it back, stopping Naruto's tears.
The toy, Hiruzen heavily suspected, was a gift from the boy's wayward god-grandfather.
"That's what he wanted?" Asuma asked, raising an eyebrow.
Yuri shook his head, patting Naruto's back. "Do us all a favor and never have kids."
Asuma waved this away and leaned back again. "I'm fine with kids that don't wet themselves."
The orphanage matron lost both her children in the Nine-Tails attack. She was cold to Naruto, perhaps sometimes too rough, despite Hiruzen's reprimands. It was only recently, as his birthday approached, that she neared anything he'd call willfully neglectful.
Biwako would claim it happenstance that a dog suspiciously resembling one of Anbu Hound's ninken managed to entice Naruto away from his peers during playtime and out of the orphanage, coincidence that said dog then led the toddling infant to a place where she, by chance, stopped to admire the scenery.
Biwako would also claim, repeatedly, that she had no idea the identity of the infant when she brought him home, and that he was merely a lost child she felt the need to keep safe until he could be properly returned to his parents (and here, she'd add a pointed look, despite 'not knowing' the child). Never mind that the matron wouldn't report Naruto missing for two to three days.
Biwako swatted the back of Asuma's head with a rolled-up newspaper and he yelped, jerking forward as he rubbed the spot. He glared back at her.
"You deserve it," she said dismissively.
Yuri watched them in amusement. He was still absently rubbing Naruto's back, the infant leaning heavily against him, sleepily chewing on his toy.
Biwako glanced Hiruzen's way. "If the council asks, remind them of all those two sacrificed for this child to live," she said, despite him never having spoken any of his thoughts aloud.
Hiruzen wondered if it was the two decades of marriage that gave her such power over the privacy of his mind. He also wondered, privately, why such a power did not go both ways.
Biwako rolled her eyes at him but turned away. She gently dropped the newspaper on Yuri's head. Naruto was asleep.
"You still haven't brought that your girlfriend of yours to meet the family," she said.
Yuri choked and Asuma cackled, slapping his leg.
"Ma!"
"What?" she asked back. "Can't a mother ask after the love life of her eldest son?"
Hiruzen took an imaginary puff of his pipe, watching the proceedings with a carefully blank mind. He could admit to being a bit curious himself.
Yuri looked suspiciously red. He coughed into his palm, looking away from her. "We're not that serious yet. Stop laughing." He shoved Asuma with one hand, who kept laughing.
"You spend an awful lot of time with a woman you aren't serious with," Biwako said idly.
Yuri squeezed his eyes shut. "Can-Can we talk about this another time? Not today."
Asuma's laughter dried up. Even households in the clan had suffered loses in the nine-tails attack.
"I didn't mean to kill the mood," Yuri sighed.
"The Fourth should've stayed with Lady Kushina," Asuma said suddenly. "If he hadn't tried to save everyone—"
"Hold your tongue," Biwako said sharply.
Asuma crossed his arms. "He believed in the same 'Will of Fire' dad does, and look what happened—"
"Asuma Sarutobi," Hiruzen said, voice cracking like thunder. He would hear no more of this.
Asuma shot to his feet, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He didn't look at anyone. "I'll be in my room if you need me," he said, walking off. He disappeared into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.
"I don't know what's wrong with that boy," Biwako muttered. Her fingers left indents in the newspaper.
"He's not the only one who thinks like that," Yuri spoke tentatively.
Biwako squeezed the newspaper. "Oh, don't you start—"
"No, I don't mean me," Yuri said quickly. "In the jonin offices. That's where I heard it the first time."
Hiruzen felt his mood plummet, like a stone in the sea. Without Minato's intervention, there likely wouldn't be a village for any voices of dissent to speak in. He didn't want talk of any disrespect on his or Minato's ideals. Not today.
Hiruzen stood. "Come, Yuri. Give Naruto to Biwako. I want you to tell me more of what my jonin have been saying of my late successor."
遊び
"You've indulged this for far too long, Hiruzen," Homura insisted, seated on his left. "You must put a stop to this."
Hiruzen sat between his councilors, at the 'head' of the table. One arm was folded across his chest, the other holding a pipe to his lips. He was dressed in red and white robes. Asuma would doubtlessly be at home, being forced to do some chore or other.
Rare was it that a chunin under the age of twenty was assigned on a mission. The village simply couldn't afford anymore senseless loss. While businesses that catered to war and the economy boomed during it, the able-bodied ninja halved. Then halved again during the nine-tails attack.
Hiruzen himself had no desire to use the younger generation to fill those empty slots.
"We staunchly denied the Uchiha's request to adopt the nine-tails child to maintain the balance of power between the noble clans, despite them having the strongest claim to him," Koharu said, on his right. "How do you think it would look if they were to learn that the Sarutobi clan is all but housing the child and exerting influence on him?"
Hiruzen exhaled smoke. Yuri would be in the Land of Waves on a covert search and retrieve mission. A-rank, if he recalled.
He used the mixed receptions to his decisions during the war to hang his hat, but Hiruzen had already long-since grown weary of the position. His commitment to value the lives of his citizens as if they were his own family had cost his sons a father.
Biwako had known the cost when she married him. Asuma and Yuri had no choice at all. Hiruzen simply wanted to spend the time he had left with his family.
"The Nara have already begun to catch on," Koharu said in his silence. "Weren't you contacted by Shikaku about this very matter?"
He was. For someone like his jonin commander, Biwako's activities had been painfully obvious.
Naruto is just a child, Hiruzen wanted to tell them, tiredly, because the council room was a constant reminder of all he had and all that slipped through his fingers.
Tsunade didn't bother answering his missive. Jiraya wrote back, but refused to relieve him of the position, thinking himself unworthy.
But even as soft as he was often called, Hiruzen could acknowledge that Naruto was not just a child. Naruto held the most powerful weapon in the village inside him. He was both heir to the lost Uzumaki clan and what remained of the Namikaze. Should Naruto exert even a little of the influence he had in favor of a clan in the future, the balance of power would shift irrevocably.
Most of the clans in the village had asserted a baseless claim over Naruto. It was the Uchiha who had suffered a direct loss to protect him. At the same time, everyone who looked at the fox that awful night saw the sharingan in its eye.
"You must put your foot down, Hiruzen. Even against the ones you love dearly," Homura told him, eyes narrowed.
Hiruzen inhaled tobacco. He knew his dear wife well enough to know that neither kind words nor threats would move her.
"I promised Lady Kushina I would look after him. I will not abandon him!"
Hiruzen exhaled smoke again, contemplative. He looked at the empty chair across from himself, where Danzo would sit. So far, they had no leads on how the masked man knew where Kushina would be, where Minato's safehouses were, who created the seal that transported the Nine-Tails.
Danzo suspected the leak came from Root. Hiruzen had no idea what he was up to in that underground facility of his.
There were many others who thought the masked man had an accomplice hiding among the Uchiha.
Hiruzen knew Koharu was frowning, saw Homura trying to catch his eye to urge him to listen to them. The situation was perhaps made worse that it looked like blatant favoritism on his part.
But what would they have him do? Tear apart his own family in a fruitless effort to make Biwako let go of a promise she made to the dead? Force the Anbu to keep them apart and sentence the son of his successor to a life of loneliness and isolation?
To his council, he supposed, it was a simple matter. The childhood of one boy in exchange for peace between the noble clans. If they knew of how the people saw Naruto, they brushed it aside. Unintended, but an ultimately minor cost when this matter was of much more importance.
If Biwako hadn't brought Naruto into his home, if there wasn't the certainty that any action to remove him would result, at the very least, in the loss of his family and, at most, the loss of the backing of his clan, Hiruzen might've caved in to what they wanted.
Perhaps then the long-term benefits of placating the noble clans would be worth the betrayal of what Minato wanted for his son.
But now Hiruzen only found that of all the solutions on hand, none of them would satisfy everyone. His own clan was no doubt aware of the blond Biwako brought to his home, and that no doubt was the same intentional accident as all else.
What would the Uchiha say, hm?
What would the Sarutobi say if he purposely isolated Naruto from its members? Did Koharu and Homura truly think his clan would fall in line because he was Hokage? That there would be no backlash at all? Or perhaps that too was an acceptable cost to them?
Hiruzen stood, having had enough. He folded a hand behind his back. "Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, honored councilors," he told them. "I'll think on them deeply."
He left the room without looking back.
お気に入り
Shisui pulled two sticks of dango apart, threads of sweet soy hanging between them, the rice dumplings slightly squished. He angled both sticks to catch the sauce before it could drop off and hit the floor.
Itachi knelt in the corner, hands clasped in his lap, mannerly to a fault. His cousin stared at him, making a commendable effort not to look at the dango.
Shisui sat with his back against his clan's stone tablet in the hidden basement beneath their shrine. He leaned an arm on his knee. According to tradition, only those who unlocked the sharingan were allowed down here. That included when Uncle Fugaku wanted to hold a meeting away from the open ears of the Anbu.
Tradition also said that the tablet was only to be touched if moving it to a new location, or to protect it from outsiders. The first time Uncle brought him to read the tablet, Shisui was left alone in the room. No others could be present to influence his interpretation of the secrets of the clan.
And what secrets they were. A dream world was an escape from reality, but not a solution.
After that, this was his hiding place. He used to hide here for months, avoiding the praise that came with his new eyes. It used to make him sick. Most knew what it took to unlock the mangekyou, but none could understand how it felt until it happened to them.
He used to get caught leaning or sleeping against the stone all the time. They'd wake him, start to scold him, then realize who he was and let him be. While he wasn't around they'd tell Aunt Mikoto, who assured them she would let Uncle know but never did. Or they'd tell Uncle Fugaku directly, who'd give him a look that was tired of his antics, but they'd never speak of it.
It was a look Shisui was particularly fond of. His smile was tinged with sadness because nothing was quite the same without Aunt Mikoto around.
Uncle tried, but it became abundantly clear over the last year that he didn't know Itachi at all. Oh, he knew the exact height and width of the biggest fireball Itachi could make. He knew where Itachi liked to train, how he didn't like the shuriken he sparred with too sharp. But he didn't know that Itachi had a sweet tooth. Or the type of books he liked.
It was painfully awkward at times.
Shisui took a bite out of the topmost rice ball and held out the other stick to Itachi. "Here, Itachi."
Itachi looked at it. His fingers curled, but he didn't take it. With effort, he moved his gaze back up. "You keep avoiding it," he said. "You said you would teach me, Shisui."
Shisui swallowed hard. The mangekyou. Right. He did bring Itachi here so they could talk freely. He pointed the stick at him. "I only agreed to that that because if I didn't, you'd practice it on your own. Unsupervised. Because you're Itachi."
The most practice Itachi had done with his mangekyou was reading the stone tablet. He'd come out of the room muttering about needing to do more research, and they hadn't spoken of it since.
Itachi didn't deny the accusation. "I need to learn control," he insisted. "What if I accidentally use it during a mission?"
Shisui looked at the wall and took another bite. It was a good point. If only it were that simple. He'd love to put in a request to take Itachi on a training mission, find a secluded area free of curious eyes, and practice until Itachi could use it on command. But nothing was so easy.
Shisui waved the stick at him. "I-ta-chi."
Itachi frowned at the floor. "I could tell Father," he said quietly. "He'd be more than happy to teach me to use it."
Shisui paused, half-smiling. "You need to learn to lie better."
Itachi wouldn't because Uncle was head of the clan first, his father second. Even if Uncle kept it from the clan, the Hokage and his council would want to know. And if it came out down the line that Uncle was hiding that from him, well, it wouldn't look good.
Uncle had talked the Hokage out of relocating them, but it still felt like there were outsiders everywhere, looking at the clan through a microscope.
And once the Hokage knew, the spread from there was inevitable. A spotlight was already on Itachi, but it would become tighter, smaller, with the attention of the council on him too. Itachi already knew precisely what would happen should others find out about his eyes.
After all, Shisui was a shining example.
Itachi shook his head. "There's a reason," he said, dropping the last topic. "I just can't figure out why. What won't you tell me?"
Shisui bounced his knee, looking away again. "You have to say my name the same way I said yours," he answered quickly.
Itachi blinked once. "What?"
"I-ta-chi," he said, still not looking at him. He took a bite he didn't taste and looked at the untouched dango in his other hand. "It's getting cold, I-ta-chi."
Itachi stared at him for a moment. His mouth opened, shut, and he looked uncomfortable.
Shisui already knew he wouldn't. He was the one who messed around, not Itachi. It was a distraction attempt, a weak effort to derail the conversation.
"Shi—" Itachi stopped, jaw locking, who he was raised to be at war with his affection.
Points for trying though. Shisui watched him fidget and raised an eyebrow, amused. Embarrassing Itachi was one of his favorite things to do.
"I—" Itachi stopped again, fingers bunching up his pants. His best friend wouldn't meet his eyes.
Shisui decided, graciously, to save him, "I'll just have to eat both of these then," he lamented, raising the untouched stick dramatically towards his open mouth.
Itachi's eyes darted to it, sucking in so quietly, so quickly, no one else would have registered it. His best friend leaned forward, on his hands and knees, wide-eyed, one hand reaching for it.
It was because he was already rattled that Itachi forgot his composure, allowing himself the briefest moments to act like the child he was. Itachi was only nine, but no one treated him like it.
Shisui let the dango hover over his mouth and shook with laughter when Itachi grabbed his knee and dragged himself up. It reminded him of Sasuke treating him like a particularly nice rug when he made the mistake of falling asleep on the floor after a mission. Except Itachi was heavier and had a mad glint in his eye.
"How much did you want—Ow."
Itachi forcibly peeled his fingers back, took the stick, and retreated to his space in the corner like nothing happened.
Shisui laughed so hard he had to bend over to catch his breath. And then he remembered that he was almost twelve. Almost—He was eleven. He was one of three mangekyou users, counting Itachi. His humor dried up like water in the middle of a desert. He still made himself keep laughing, for Itachi's sake.
He sat back against the stone and wiped a fake tear from his eyes. Itachi was already almost done with his dango. It almost brought his humor back.
"Take me with you next time you get these," Itachi said, composure restored. "Anko dango tastes better." He bit off the last piece, put the stick down neatly next to his leg, and refolded his hands. His clothes though, looked far more ruffled than they did before.
"I will." Shisui made himself grin as he held out his unfinished dango. "Take it. I'm not going to finish it."
Itachi eyed the half-eaten stick. "If you don't want it?"
"Itachi—" Shisui broke off with a laugh, a little more real than before. "I-ta-chi."
He took the offering without further protest. Itachi nibbled on it, looking at him again. "What are you hiding, Shisui?" he asked around it.
And Shisui sighed, slouching down against the tablet. Itachi should know. That didn't mean he wanted to be the one to tell him. "You can't practice the mangekyou, Itachi," he finally said. "It's too dangerous. Even if it's just to practice control, if at any point you accidentally trigger an ability with it..." he trailed off, unable to finish. He grimaced.
Itachi waited, motionless, soundless. Shisui closed his eyes and pretended he was alone.
"The mangekyou causes permanent blindness," Shisui made himself say. The air felt suddenly, unnaturally still. "The village, the clan—they think the abilities of the mangekyou are unparalleled, that it makes us unstoppable. But the cost for that power is too much, Itachi."
Shisui opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around his legs to hide his clammy hands. Itachi, eyebrows furrowed, stared down at his lap.
Shisui looked at the floor. "The more you use that power, the faster you lose your sight," he said, squeezing his legs until it hurt. "When Uncle told me it terrified me, Itachi. I haven't used it once since he taught me to control it, but he has more experience than I do. What if I push you too hard and awaken an ability? What if you lose your vision? It'll be all my fault, again."
Shisui buried his face in his arms, trying to steady his breathing, but he couldn't. His control over himself was spiraling, his emotions sand through his fingers. His hands started to shake. He thought of Kanna against his will, of how he wouldn't be able to bear it if something terrible like that happened to Itachi, too.
No, no, you can't let Itachi see—
Shisui burst into tears. His chest heaved and he couldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried. He heard shuffling but couldn't look as he sobbed into his arms.
Itachi sat next to him, their arms just barely touching, Itachi's way of telling him he was there.
"I can't do it, Itachi," Shisui managed, crying so hard he couldn't breathe.
"I wouldn't make you," Itachi said.
It was enough to loosen the knot of dread in his chest.
.
.
.
"I wish I knew. I wouldn't have asked," Itachi said quietly.
Shisui turned his head slightly, looking at him through one eye.
Itachi was staring at him meaningfully. It took three seconds before he realized it was an attempt at an apology.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Itachi," Shisui said tiredly. His voice was hoarse. "You know the whole story about how I awakened my mangekyou, right?"
Itachi nodded. Who didn't?
"It's still painful when I think about it," he admitted. "But I needed that, I think. Forgive me?"
"No," Itachi said, and stood.
Shisui blinked up at him. "No?" he repeated.
"I'm going to ask Father to make goya chanpuru," Itachi said.
Shisui blinked again. "You don't even like goya."
Itachi picked up the dango sticks and put them in his pocket.
"Wait, Itachi, what did you mean when you said no?" Shisui asked.
Itachi pushed aside the false wall in the back. "You never have me apologize when I cry. Friends, they—" he paused, looking back. "They don't do that?"
Shisui smiled a little behind his arm. "You should really make more friends, I-ta-chi."
Itachi ignored him and took a step up.
Shisui stared at the floor without seeing it. He remembered that Itachi had friends. His first genin team before...
Before they died.
What a pair they were, huh? Shisui buried his face in his arms again.
Itachi took a step up, but didn't go further, waiting for him.
Shisui took a breath. "I should really head home, Itachi," he said. "Mother wants me to help out around the house, and I'm all out of excuses to avoid it."
The truth was that his relationship with his mother was the same, if not worse, than it was when Aunt Mikoto died. Shisui put their relationship on ice when he told her he wouldn't be home as often the day after the public show of grief to help his Uncle. It turned into a deep freeze during that time, to the point that he stopped telling her when she should expect him back. Either he crashed at Uncle Fugaku's place, or he was on a mission.
It was bad, but he couldn't tell Itachi that. And he really didn't want Uncle to see him like this.
Itachi came back down and stood in front of him. "Father wants to see you."
Shisui didn't lift his head. "You should at least make your lies realistic."
"I'm only as good as you are."
Shisui jerked his head up, staring at Itachi. His cousin's gaze was knowing. Shisui couldn't help the soft, startled laugh. Maybe he hadn't been hiding his home life as well as he thought.
"You're too damn perceptive, Itachi," Shisui responded, shaking his head.
"Father doesn't know," he said. Another Itachi-apology.
Shisui scoffed.
Itachi held out a hand, non-negotiable. "Sasuke will be upset if you don't come."
"I-ta-chi," Shisui said. He really, really didn't want the clan to see him like this.
Itachi looked at his own palm for a second, reached down, found Shisui's hand in his mess of limbs, and pulled.
Shisui watched him strain, amused. "Itachi, I hate to break it to you, but you're not stronger than I am."
Itachi released him. "Then I'm going to sit with you until you move." He sat in front of him.
Shisui lowered his chin back down to his arms. "What about Sasuke?"
"I'll make it up to him," Itachi said, staring right back at him.
"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met," Shisui told him. He pushed himself up, his left leg numb from sitting for so long, and shook it out. "Alright, you win. Lead the way, 'tachi."
A/N: 遊び - Playing, お気に入り - Favorites
Nemo Mortalium Omnibus Horis Sapit - Of mortal men, none is wise at all times.
Goya Chanpuru - Bitter melon stir fry.
How any mangekyou user managed to practice any of its abilities to mastery with the whole blind stipulation will forever be a mystery to me.