Transmission # 9-8-1-5. Designate: Symmetry
Kowloon City, Hong Kong; Victoria Harbor Overlook
Subject embarks on eighth straight day of training
17:30 hrs; November 12, 1963
Since the moment he arrived back home, he made sure to pay his respects every day...
It was only right that he did.
And that meant breaking his body every hour, sun rise till sun down, seven times a week; even at night if the moon was bright enough. His muscles would burn, his knuckles would crack, and he'd be so very tired. One hundred push-ups, one-hundred sit-ups, he would run five kilometers, and then do one back through the city on his hands. He would train and train, sweat, and eat, and then train some more. Ten-Ten was there for him watching, making sure he finished his counts. He did.
For Rock Lee wasn't a quitter, and never gave up. Guy-sensei never did. The Dashing Green Beast of Kowloon was famed around these parts for his indefatigable pedigree. Something Lee hoped to match one day. It would be dishonorable if Lee gave anything less. So as to ensure he made good on the promise made to their sensei, the best man he ever knew, that his trust in Rock Lee wasn't misplaced.
"Jiǔ Shí Qī!..*thunk*... Jiǔ Shí Bā!...*thunk*...Jiǔ Shí Jiǔ...*thunk*..." At this point the wooden the block is near whittled to splinters by his fists. Trickles of red stain here and there where his knuckles wore through the bandages, but pain only fueled his resolve.
A few scrapes and blisters were nothing compared the fire of youth. It burned like the sun, and ever warmed the world with its glow.
Sweat glistens off his bare chest as sunset hits; bathing the beach, the overlook, and the city in an orange hue. His muscles are taught, primed as he brings his right arm back. Traps bulge, deltoids grow tight, his arms shakes as his biceps wind like a spring. Chest heaves as he takes in a breath, Lee concentrates, and closes his eyes. "Remember, Lee," he murmurs to himself, recalling the unwavering spirit of his beloved mentor. Channeling chi into his fist, he envisions the block in his mind. Its center, the point of his attack, draws all his focus.
That's where I will go - right there. In the middle, straight ahead. As always. As ever.
Go forward, ever forward. Tomorrow can be brighter day than today, but only if you have the will to make it so. It is one of the first things Guy-Sensei taught him. Back when he was a young boy with no skills, no training, and no one else. But once they were together, every tomorrow of Rock Lee's life since was one unbeatable smile. Until two weeks ago...
Saigon.
A city in chaos.
A masked madman with skills Lee had never faced before, and who possessed a glee for violence he found unsettling.
Might Guy taught Rock fighting a worthy opponent could be a door into the other's soul. A way for rivals to understand one another when come to blows. A measure of conversing without the futility of words getting in the way. Meanings and feelings can be masked with words, but fists never lie. Yet, the man who fought Rock made him uneasy. In that fight Lee felt nothing, found nothing, except a sick feeling where the joy of combat became polluted by doubt, fear, and worrisome of all anger.
Anger which ate away at his fire and turned him cold; where the only definite truth lay in the defeat of a mangled victim at his feet. Master told him such feelings clouded the mind of a warrior, blinding him to only see half the world. And when the warrior's sight is clouded, his fists run the risk of no longer being virtuous.
Chi channels into his fist like water, flowing and bending to the contours of his body. He is fueled by a verdant green presence strengthening his resolve, telling him the way is forward. Ever forward. Do not look back, it says. There is nothing for us in yesterday. Youth is wasted dwelling in the past, but can be used to grow for the future. Tomorrow, Lee, become one with your tomorrow. See it before you. Strike forth!
"Uuuuuuuwwwwwwuuuuugghhhhh, Guy-Senseeeeiiiiiii!" Rock's punch lets fly as the power of youth overtakes him.
But, suddenly a voice breaks through his concentration, her call echoing across the overlook, pulling the strings from his intense focus.
"LEEEEEEEEE! SHUTUP!"
"Bwaa! Ten-Ten!"
In that moment the final blow lands with an unexpected force. The grass beneath him shivers and a great whoosh of air blows him back. In a shower of splinters the wooden blocks explodes, scattering debris every which way across the ground. "Errm - Oh my..." He's stunned and dumbfounded by embarrassment, eyes as big as dinner plates as the last remnants fall into his disheveled bowl cut. That would make this the seventeenth this week he's destroyed. Ten-Ten will be upset; he'd left her none for her own training, making her very course with him.
Plus, it was dinner rush.
"Aiya! Lee! Training again?!"
You could tell how angry Ten-Ten was depending on what she held in her hands. A blade or any sharp object, she was moderately perturbed. Something dumb and heavy like a mallet, kinda maybe sorta would be smart to avoid her. A frying pan or any sort of kitchen utensil? By the eight gates, even the great Guandi would think twice about crossing her. So when Lee spots a frying pan clenched tightly in her hand, all the blood in his body turned to ash.
"你玩我呀!? Do you have any idea what time it is - We have work to do, Lee! Put your shirt back on! Aiya, get your butt to the kitchen IMMEDIATELY!"
Not even the Buddha could comprehend the speed by which Lee gathered his things, slipping on his canvas shoes and dark green muscle-shirt, lest he be hit with Ten-Ten's Super Ethical Reality Climax technique. He's already survived it once, but as she paddles the pan giving him a death glare, he knows he probably won't be lucky a second time. The air is filled with "Aiyas!", and threats, and more "Sorry's" as Ten-Ten chases Lee down the hill, sweat tussling a few strands of loose hair from her buns, all the way to where a hungry crowd gathers.
There, a simple little restaurant rests. Nestled on a side street leading out of Kowloon city, it runs parallel along the glistening water of Victoria Harbour. Here the Wok 'n' Roll - the best bite in Hong Kong as advertised by Ten-Ten herself - became a staple for the tired and hungry. A humble, open-air, two story shack kitchen modeled in the same vein as a Ming Dynasty pagoda; their sensei cobbled the restaurant together from ramshackled driftwood and whatever else Might Guy could find.
Ornate lattice work patterns ran along the woodwork of both floors, as simple yet elegant geometric lines of rose colored wood interlocked within each other. Screens and banners of famous works abounded in colors of faded gold, red, green, pink and white; ever colorful to match the eccentric tastes of their curator. In the center was an open octagonal space, whereby a large mat displaying a peacock furrowing its feathers was. Here, it allowed Ten-Ten to carry out the orders to each and every table directly from where the kitchen was situated. "The dungeon" she called it, but for Lee it was anything but.
The triple burners ovens made sometime in the nineteenth century still needed to be lit with a long match and bit of coal; the gas installment didn't work so well, and normally gave off the stink of old pipe metal if left on too long. The Red and green paint was faded here, and the dark wood floors were scuffed and stained after years of Lee prepping meals. In the corner, a tower of dark iron iron woks were stacked, right beside the old medicine cabinet where the blue and white chinaware were kept. Dried mint, rosemary, and ginseng hung upside from the ceiling, giving off an odd "spicy fresh" aroma; mixing along with the onions, garlic and rows of bright red chili peppers waiting to be plucked.
And tucked off into the far corner, right below a haphazard set of step leading to an upstairs storage, a tight, but cozy crawl space big enough for a child to comfortably sleep silently rested. A rolled up sleeping bed was there. Where neatly placed above it was a dilapidated and lumpy pillow. Lee had fond memories there. Of waking up to the smell of searing scallions, rich beef, or a hearty pork fried rice tossed in a pan. Remembering a larger than life figure in nothing but a stained white t-shirt, back turned as he chopped vegetables silently, till he'd realize the boy was awake and flash Lee the brightest smile he could muster...
"LEE!"
"Ahh! Yes, Mistress!" Lee nearly jumps out of his bus-boy outfit, head bumping hard against the top of the window.
"Orders for tables 1, 7, 10, 23, and 30 are ready." With a swift brush of her knife and surprising strength, Ten-Ten slides about a seven or eight plates. Lee's able to catch them all, including one nearly dropped to the floor by balancing on his knee. With a swift pop, he lifts it back into his arms. "Careful. And be quick; I've more orders set for pickup," TenTen urged, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Lee nodded, determination shining in his eyes as the dishes balanced precariously in his arms. "Shall I fetch the rickshaw?" he asked, keen to assist further.
"No, it's fine," TenTen replied. wiping a few strands of brown hair from her face. "Just set them off to the side there and I'll-"
Before she could finish, a loud bang shattered the restaurant's lively ambience. The doors exploded open with a powerful kick, startling the diners and sending a wave of tension through the room. Standing in the midst of the doorway stood a band of men, not particularly well-dressed, but carrying a swagger and arrogance which made them seem like they own the joint. They barged through, their leader a lean young man taking point. He had a sharp face, sharp undercut, and sharp everything else. Long trench coat dragged behind him, and his virile eyes passed over Lee and TenTen as he made his presence known.
Tokuga and the Triple Threat Triads have come to pay a visit.
"Well, well, well, so the rumors are true. You're back, 𨳍頭," Tokuga announces with a smirk, voice ringing out over the tentative hush which had fallen over the Wok 'n' Roll.
Lee instinctively attempted to make himself small behind the plates, and tried whistling a tune to pretend Tokuga was addressing anyone but him. Problem was he didn't know how to whistle and the gang were making a bee-line towards him. "Oh, y-yes, Tokuga. Hello. Very nice to see you," he stammered, forcing a smile despite teh unease settling in.
Tokuga scoffed, those razor sharp eyes gleaming mischief. "I'm sure it is, but not so much as seeing this sexy minx again, right?" He gestured toward TenTen, his gaze lingering far longer than it should have on her chest, tanned arms, long muscular legs, the way her deft fingers held that chopping knife.
"Mind your manners here, Tokuga!" She threatened with a disgusted look and a newly sharpened blade. Raising it up, she waves it front of Tokuga's face while giving him a defiant look of disgust. "You were a brat then and a brat now. Get lost! We have a full house tonight."
Tokuga lets his eyes linger on TenTen a moment longer before addressing the four thugs who followed him. "You know my woman waited on the pier for nearly a whole day last week? Yeah, all for this bumpkin to come home. Stood there. All alone. Like a lost little dog wanting a bone."
"你以為你係邊個呀? How dare you!"
The clatter of plates chime in as Lee moves between TenTen and a possible homicide. Tokuga smiles as Lee reassures TenTen to calm down, put down the knife, that there are too many people watching. "It's okay, TenTen. We're fine, we're fine." Still doesn't stop her from spitting down at Tokuga's feet.
He laughs, unbothered by the spite. "Heh! That's right, that's right! Everything's fine. It is. I just wanted to come by, say hello for old time's sake, and remind you things around here haven't changed. Rent is still due."
"Are you still on about that shit? I swear you come by here again with that nonsense and I'll-"
"Tokuga it was good seeing you, but I think it best you leave." Lee sees the other four Triads spread out, pushing the edges of the octagon. The plates bobble with a slight shake when notices they're surrounded.
"Leave? Leave, huh..? Yeah..." Tokuga rubs the bottom of his chin, and pretends to think; though he's hard-pressed because he'd never done much thinking at all in his life. "I should leave. You're right. Like you did," Tokuga steps toward Lee, sizing him and TenTen up, circling like an eel creeping out of its crevice. "Leave like you left Hong Kong, what, three years ago? To be some hotshot bodyguard for a president. How did that go? Oh right, he's dead. He's dead, and you're alive. And you left there, too. To come back here, aaaaaaand...What? Serve egg rolls?"
With a crunch, Tokuga takes an obnoxious bite from a puffed up roll he steals off one of Lee's plates.
Lee doesn't wish to give him the satisfaction of his shame - or his anger, for that matter, but Tokuga was always a bully. From when Might Guy brought him into the dojo, till the day he kicked Tokuga out. He was never a good student; Tokuga never smiled, and was too enamored with the riff-raff found on the streets. Lee found out all he needed to know about Tokuga after fighting him once, and he trounced him hard that day. Lee remembered that day quite well, and how satisfied he felt.
Unfortunately, Tokuga didn't either.
Nor did Neji.
"The hell do you fools think you're doing?"
Lee's and TenTen's hearts skip a beat as the air seems to freeze, and the shushed breath held in the room before finally gives way. Even Tokuga flatters when he sees the shadow fall over the doorway, and the commanding presence of Neji Hyuuga steps through the threshold. Dressed in simple yet striking attire, Neji's pale eyes shine like cold steel in winter, scanning the room with a discerning gaze which holds everyone in their grip.
It's been three years and a little more since Lee and Neji shared the same room with each other, and that time wasn't pleasant either. Memories flooded back - the training sessions under Might Guy's watchful eye, the camaraderie they had shared, Lee professing it is destined Neji be his one and true rival. But alongside those fond remembrances came a sober realization: while Lee left to Saigon, Neji remained behind, his path overshadowed by the infamous legit of his Hyuuga family.
Neji's white eyes, pale as death, fall upon Tokuga and his henchman, tension palpable in the air. "If my uncle finds you're wasting your time here, it'll be your scalps on his wall, Tokuga." His voice is clam yet laced with authority demanding respect.
"Your uncle's business is why I'm here," Tokuga's bravado wavers only slightly, because he thinks he's safe with the numbers brought with him. Yet, one look behind would've told him none had the will to meet the young Hyuuga's stare. Even if he was from a lower branch of the clan, Neji wasn't someone you crossed.
"I don't take orders from a half-breed." Tokuga says, not backing down. The edge to his bite is sharp; same as it was back when they were all kids, and doubtless, always leading towards a similar outcome.
"But you will obey when I'm the one giving them, Tokuga." Neji's face was a picture of serenity. Save for the popping veins bulging from his eyes, and the deadly even tone in his voice. Lee and TenTen knew that look all too well; having seen it twice before in their youths. It was the look Neji had when his anger simmered neath the surface like boiling water. First time was when Neji's father passed. He was inconsolable for two months and barely spoke to anyone. And the second was when Lee said he was leaving.
When Neji got this way, there was only one person who could meet him and come out unscathed. It wasn't Tokuga - everyone knew that. But he was nowhere to be found, his absence echoeing a million miles away. And made Lee miss him all the more.
"Always nice to have people watching your back. Just like the old days, eh, bodyguard?" Lee looks away from Tokuga's words, though TenTen still looked about ready to spear him. The gangster nods over to his goons signaling their exit. They let up, get going, and trail behind Tokuga's flourishing coat. "I'll be back for my egg rolls some other time. Till then, see ya around, beautiful."
Atmosphere settles into something between a long sigh and sudden hitched breath, nerves pounding still before the first customer is comfortable enough to ease back into their meals. By now the food in Lee's hands has grown cold, to which TenTen apologizes for vehemently to all around, as she helps him back towards the kitchen window. Though, of course, because she had to, because Neji once had meant as much to her as Rock or Guy-Sensei or anyone else in her life, a small glance lingers on the Hyuuga as he watches Tokuga retreat.
Lee, too, is hesitant.
Neji always was untouchable, even as kids. Back then Lee didn't really have a clue about who his family was, nor did Neji ever really make it known. When he did, it was always a matter of contempt. TenTen figured that was because it was the only thing he'd ever gotten from them in return. That and something else, something Neji revealed to them once only once. When he did though, Lee thought his and Neji's friendship would last forever. Now, the man looked to barely stand being in his presence.
"O-Oi, Neji?" Lee's voice carries a pleading tnotene as he calls out as Neji turns to leave. He stops - a small courtesy, and waits for Lee to blurt out whatever's he's got choked up in his lungs. When he does, the only word that comes to the Hyuuga's mind is typical. "I still mean to surpass you one day."
The moment of silence between them feels like an eternity before Neji scoffs. He continues to the door, leaving behind his two former teammates, to go down the road fate had decreed for him so long ago. Nothing could change that. Might Guy believed there was another way for him, but those were lies, and he was a fool. "Tokuga's right about one thing," he tells Lee, a wave of condescension showing leagues of respect still dividing them. "Some things don't change."
The buzz of the usual faire continues when Wok 'n' roll returns back to normal. TenTen tries her best to forgive and forget, but Lee notices she's having a a hard time. Ghosts were a normal thing for their lives, but this one haunting their doorstep again left a pall which couldn't be easily undone. She gets through the hustle of the shift, takes the pride of a job well done for the day, and thanks Lee for his help.
"Besides everything else, I'm just glad to have you back here with me safe and sound." She tells Lee with a tired, soft expression.
He smiles a bright and unyielding grin, and gives his trademark thumbs up. Whether it was the glint of a shooting star, or the impervious perfection of his smile, TenTen laughs at the brightness of it with a small blush. A quick hug, and she bids him good night. She walks home alone. Not because he wants her to go alone, but that in this moment he doesn't want to let these feelings pass him by.
"Jiǔ Shí Qī!..*thunk*... Jiǔ Shí Bā!...*thunk*...Jiǔ Shí Jiǔ...*thunk*..."
The block is being pummeled down, and worn to kindling with every blow. In the shade of a large banyan tree as the moonlight shines down, sweat polls around his tired, yet impassioned muscles. He draws back his fist for his last blow, concentrating the chi in the center of his knuckles. Lats and trapezium burn with anticipation as he twists and holds his body, the final strike predicated on precision and desire.
The weight of Neji's words lingers heavily in the air, inflicting a profound emotional wound on Lee. The skin of his rejection and the harsh reality of their divergent paths pierce Lee's resolve, yet he doesn't succumb to despair. A fire of determination ignites within him. He recognizes the necessity of training with newfound intensity, propelled by the memory of a familiar name etched onto the tombstone beside him.
Lee vows to honor the legacy it represents, pledging to transform himself into the warrior he needs to become. It is a commitment driven not simply by the desire to prove his worth to Neji, but also reclaim the bond they once shared. With a renewed sense of purpose fueling his spirit, Lee sets his sights firmly on the path ahead, resolute in his quest for strength and redemption.
"Yì bǎi!" Lee yells. A crack is heard, but no explosion. Effortlessly his fist runs through the fire-hardened block, and pierces the other side, a perfect tunnel forming around his forearm.
Tenten won't get mad at him, he thinks. She'll have at least one dummy leftover for her to practice with at least.
Transmission # 9-8-1-5. Designate: Symmetry
North Side of The Wall, Tokyo Urban; Hidden Village: "Leaf"
Training Grounds E "Stadium"; Subject has completed probation, and contests in friendly sparring session
13:30 hrs; November 13, 1963
Naruto had to believe the only reason Sasuke was taking it easy was because he felt sorry for him.
That had to be the case, for why else was he holding back?
In all the years they sparred with one another, not once has the Uchiha ever given him a leg-up in any of their sessions. Sasuke's method of attack was always methodical, yet rapid; intentional, yet chaotic; tactical, yet borderline vicious whenever he got momentum. The ibari blade was a whirlwind in his hands as he would slash out, defend, prod for openings, and he wasn't unusual for Naruto to go to the infirmary with more than simple cuts and scrapes. Sasuke always held on to a killer instinct which made him dangerous, even when they were just "practicing".
Today, though, his focus was off.
"Shishi Rendan!" Sasuke's upward kick is easily dodged, negating the Lion Combo before it even starts.
It leaves Naruto with an all too noticeable opening, which he capitalizes with by delivering a powerful sidekick. The shot rocks Sasuke hard, and would've broken a rib or two if he hadn't brought his shirasaya up at the last second. Digging his heels hard into the dirt of the squared fighting area, Sasuke's driven at least four feet backward. Naruto presses the advantage as his kunai dances along Sasuke's steel, driving him further back till his heel hits the edge of the ring.
This isn't right..., Naruto thinks as the kunai is blocked, run down to the hilt of the blade, but drawn back in before Sasuke can organize his defense. He's quicker than this - should be quicker than this..., Sasuke tries to poke Naruto off-balance with the point of his sheath, hoping to gain distance. Naruto doesn't let the prod confuse him, instead catching the black shirasaya in the crook of his armpit and tugging hard. Sasuke's grip slackens as its pulled and thrown across the ring. What the heck is going on in your mind? You never let me win this easy..., flipping the kunai around to his backhand, Naruto stabs up towards the overly pretty, yet befuddled face.
This oughta get your attention, Naruto thrusts upward, the bitter point of his tool aimed right square between those normal, unfazed, boring black eyes. Just before the strike hits home, though, sparks fly out; the ibari turns Naruto away with a counter-clockwise parry. Its force so great it causes him to spin about. "Fuck," Naruto curses, hating himself as he await for the sharp bite of steel in his shoulder.
But it doesn't come.
Instead, Sasuke's busy forming hand signals.
This pisses off Naruto beyond all reasoning. Twisting his body around, he uses the momentum from the block to spin himself about. Sasuke isn't even able to form "ram" before a fierce elbow nearly takes off his chin. Clumsily, he's able to avoid that. Yet, not the spinning edge of the kunai. Naruto had inserted his pointer finger into the metal catch at the weapon's end. Naturally quick, sleight of hand was one of the few things he excelled at, and got better with as his days of smuggling grew more prominent.
Still, not so fast that Sasuke wouldn't have seen if if he'd activated the Sharingan. If he had maybe wouldn't be a nasty red line running now across his pale cheek.
An outcry from out of Sasuke's personal peanut gallery goes up, along with tears and curses for Naruto being shouted loud and clear where they stand amidst the bleachers. Sakura was among them, along with Ino, Ami, Fuki, Kasumi and any other girl - pre-pubescent or otherwise in the village, who fawned over the Uchiha. Which Naruto rarely felt assume deserved or wanted; for a guy who's been all alone for most of his life, you'd think he'd appreciate the attention he'd get so freely. Naruto on the other hand had to scrounge tooth and claw for it. And when he did it was a month's worth of correctional probation for reeducation purposes.
"Kisama!" The ibari's blade slices down in a swift arc, cutting through Naruto's collarbone down to his navel. Anyone else it would've been a fatal blow. Luckily, Naruto substituted with a shadow clone long before this exchange. Sasuke's stunned when the body double explodes into a quick puff of smoke. Even his cheerleaders are stumped. So much so they don't notice the conspicuously ugly blonde girl with pigtails sitting next to them.
"Oh, Sasuke-kun! You're soOOOOOooOooOOO STRONG!" The voice is terrible and absolutely doesn't match, being a lot easier to do when he was younger. Puberty was a helluva bitch to him, and certainly to Naruko as well. Her makeup was bad, tits lopsided, and she definitely had more hair on her than last time. Cobbled together over the years of smuggling more "feminine" items over The Wall, was Naruko worth squeezing into a size 10 dress and matching thong, just to see the priceless look on Sasuke's face?
The answer is "yes".
Yes it was.
"OoooOOooo, I bet you know how to treat all the ladies, huuuuuuh?" Sakura jaws wants to unhinge itself, along with the rest of the girls present. Sasuke, however, looks about ready to cast a fireball in the stands, uncaring who gets hurt in the process.
"You damned motherless bastard, get down here now!" The Uchiha heir yells at his now laughing opponent.
"Oh, my, so forceful."
"I mean it, Naruto." Sasuke's cheek bleeds and his eyes burn when the Sharingan becomes activated.
"Haha, take it easy. You used to like Naruko." Says Naruto, dropping the voice and pulling off the wig. "Hey, whoa, where do you think you're going?"
Naruto's laughter falter when he sees Sasuke moves to pick up his scabbard. "You're wasting time my time." He says with an audible *click* of his sword running into the the sheath. "And I'm done here."
"Oh, really?" Naruto huffs as he rips off teh disguise, expression hardening. All the while the girls can be heard chirping in the background, even Sakura telling Naruto to get back in the ring. "You haven't been taking this seriously from the minute we started. Everyone knows you've been holding back, Sasuke, so mind telling me what's got your panties in such a friggin bunch?"
"Mind finally telling me what the hell you were doing on the other side of The Wall?"
Naruto's eyes narrow, aa disgusted looking taking over his face. Probation meant isolation. Meaning the only beneficiaries of Naruto's gracious company were Comrade-Sensei Iruka, and a resident moral officer at his heel. She would come in and out, ask him questions after every five hour session, only to see if his answers would stay the same after repeating himself ten or more times. Right now was the first time he was let out of his cage in a week, and only because of a dispensation granted by Kakashi orders.
In that interim, though, would sneak into his dorm room whenever he could. Conversation was lacking for. the most part, as ASsuke's sour mood wasn't helped by Naruto's lack of want to delve further into his own business in Tokyo Metro. Naruto relented telling Sasuke for the same reasons he was wary for Sakura; both believed in what they were, who they are, and where they were going. Naruto couldn't bother them with his feelings - he wasn't a kid anymore, crying, or sitting alone on some shitty swing asking questions no one bothered giving him an answer to. From then on, he hid his truths behind a smile and a lighter than air demeanor.
'Course, though, Sasuke didn't buy it.
So, instead of attempting futilely to talk it out, Sasuke decided a friendly sparring match to would get Naruto to open up. Because since they were kids this was easier. It was all a part of their "super special" bond, evolved over years from a petty pissing contest hedged from a schoolyard rivalry, to an almost ideological debate now over who's ninja way was better. Was it Sasuke's - the overconfident asshole everyone swooned over, possessing all the God-given talent in the form of the giant figurative stick shoved up his ass; or Naruto - the consummate idiot you could never peg to be the absolute worst (though he could be damn close), only because the jury was out on whether he was stupidly lucky or innately brilliant.
Over the years, Sasuke wanted to see which one of those two things proved more true. As iron sought out iron to sharpen itself, the last of the Uchiha looked to test himself against Naruto. At first subconsciously, but as the years went on it became more apparent. Till eventually Sasuke came to the sad realization Naruto was not only the friend he probably never expected, but the rival he needed to beat in order to finally validate himself. There were a lot of thing Sasuke Uchiha was, but a lot more Naruto Uzumaki could be. And in a way that bothered him. Not because it made Sasuke doubt his own skills, but afraid of the thought of what would happen the day Naruto does finally surpass him.
...What would happen then?
...Where would Naruto go?
...And will the loneliness Sasuke's choked back all his life, too, return?
His eyes narrow, irritation transforming them to something darker. It was apparent in Sasuke's face as the sunlight bounces off him from the trees and rock face of the stadium they were in. The chilled breeze became even more frigid when Sasuke stares daggers at Naruto. "I refuse to take you seriously if you insist on using clones to do your dirty work. If you wanna prove yourself to me. Fight me!"
"I don't got to prove you shit," in a whirl Naruto hops back into the ring, disguise thrown off and sharp kunai back in his hand. It spins deftly in his hands while his jaw clenches, and knuckles crack. Cerulean eyes lock against the Sharingan with a fierce intensity, the air and the tension between the two throbbing like a live wire. "Don't underestimate me, Sasuke!"
Sasuke feels a surge of energy licks against his fingers, flitting about as tendrils of electricity and the cry of what sounds like a thousand birds sing throughout the area. "No more games then. No more excuses. Got me?" Lightning sparks and crackles within Sasuke's left hand; he breaths steadily, his sweat pulsing through his pores, and his head becoming lighter than air; when Kakaashi taught him the Chidori it was massive a drain on his energy. Afterwards, though, the high it gives becomes almost akin to a drug. "Show me what you got."
Naruto curses before he charges, feet ripping along the dirt as he pumps chakra deep into his muscles. With Sasuke activating the Sharingan, Naruto knew he didn't stand a chance. Still, he wasn't going to give duck-butt hair the satisfaction of seeing him sit back, wait, and letting Sasuke dictate the end. This fight would be over when Naruto decided it was over. The surging blue tendrils whipping from the massive dust cloud Sasuke kicks up doesn't scare Naruto, because Naruto Uzumaki wasn't;t afraid of anything.
He smiles in the face of danger, as evidenced by the determined, toothy grin donning his face now.
With a final burst of speed, he leaps into the air, kunai poised to strike, and ready to defy the expectations of his friend and rival, and his fan-club cheering him on in the background. In that moment he feels more a shinobi than ever before: unyielding, fearless, and always betting on himself to beat the odds. Sasuke had his way, and he his; and he was going to follow it no matter what. Even if it meant needing to charge headfirst and taking a fistful of lighting smack in the face.
The end result was always the same.
Sakura had lived through it for more than 10 years.
Naruto had all the energy to keep up with Sauske, but Sasuke never had the patience to make the fights last long enough for it matte.
They didn't bother to stick around as the EMT's tended to the lying heap of a mess which consisted of their teammate. Licks of electricity still bounced up and away from his body minutes after the rest of the Chidori dissipated. Sasuke still looked visibly angry, so with a flick of his heel he turns to leave as Naruto was lead off on a stretcher unconscious. Despite the lone hope that he might actually pay attention to one of them today, Ino and company decided not to press their luck.
When his moods were this foul, best to leave the Uchiha alone.
But Sakura wasn't afraid of Sasuke; he might look tough, but there was more beneath his frosty exterior only she could figure. In this moment he didn't want to be alone, he needed someone there to talk him back from his hateful attitude. She felt like she owed it to the team to at least try and reason with him.
Making his way to the center of town, Sakura caught up with him just as Sasuke crossed the bridge leading to the market district. He paid no mind to the hustle of the busy village - for what reason? It was business as usual from his standpoint. But if you look closely, which Sakura always did, one couldn't help but notice all the little quirks which felt off. Food stalls were full, but barely. Prices were okay, but high. Shinobi moved like well-oiled machines all over Konoha, but for menial tasks for want of real work.
Missions weren't as much a priority anymore as they were a luxury; Konoha barely having enough to outfit a full-team for border checks, let alone long expeditions. Sapporo did what they could, and the Party Committee ensured the shinobi were at least better trained and provisioned than the rest of its armed forces. Didn't mean the Village Hidden in the Leaves was well off, however. Far from being the tip of the spear in the case of the Revolution finally seeing the unification it so desperately yearned for. Instead, Konoha seemed more a relic than a practical military outpost.
At least, that's what Sakura gathered in her role as Intel Officer.
Yes, the war years fighting to rid themselves from the Shogunate's shackles taught the people to be self-reliant in lieu of harsh times. Rice paddies and crop rotations kept them going, even if the fertilizer used was sub-par. Water provided as much electricity as needed. And some movements were being done so steam could be a viable source as well; old train engines were being refurbished and re-tooled to accommodate a changing mode of living.
Sapporo called this "jiritsu", rhythm living. A belief one can stomach anything as long as they flow according to the rhythm of life. When things were tough, one must be determined; when things were easy, a person can be fruitful. But working in the Tree Leaf Hospital gave Sakura greater insight into the medical supply shortage. Chakra therapy and rejuvenation could only do so much, and relying on soldier pills and old WW2 rations always left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. Sakura was as fully committed to "jiritsu" as any self-respecting patriots, but even she missed the small creature comfort of a pocky every now and then.
"Sasuke-kun," she asks him hesitantly as they pass a number of small, brightly lit izakaya. "Was it really necessary to be so harsh with Naruto?" She asks, concern etched on her face.
Sasuke's lips harden into a straight line. "He needed it," was all he says.
"Needed it?" Sakura echoed, a little bit of frustration creeping into her voice. "He's going back to the hospital only after a week being removed. I know Naruto can be a pain, but we're supposed to work as a team. That's more important now than ever. Especially, after what Comrade-Sensei Kakashi outlined earlier this week."
Sasuke shrugged, his expression unchanging. "Not my problem."
"Well, no, it actually kind of is." Sakura explains, causing Sasuke to stop in his tracks. "I-I'm not trying to be rude, but if we are being sent on a mission, then I think it's important we all get on the same page, right?"
"Explain to me how Naruto fits into Kakashi's plan still being a genin." Sasuke fires back, making Sakura flinch; he could always be so direct with her, even though she knew he didn't always have to be. Sasuke sees this, and sighs. "We can't keep treating him like a kid. If we don't push, he'll never learn."
"I know that. I'm not saying we don't hold him accountable, but we should be focusing now with no distractions."
"Sakura if he can't even handle this, how is he supposed to handle going on a mission?" Sasuke stops in his tracks. Sound of clattering hammers from the smithy, washing wells being thrown into the river, the creak of the water wheel power the getty all give him a headache. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fixes Sakura with a hard look. "Sakura, do you trust him?"
"Trust..?" Her nose scrunches and her brow furrows as she brings her hand up below her chin. It makes her plain looks undeniably cuter as she thinks. "I can always trust him to be a pain in my ass, if that's what you're asking. I know you're not, but for the reason why you are... Sigh, I don't know. Lately, he's been not quite like himself. More aloof, you know. I mean, going over The Wall the way he did...I'd be lying if I said he didn't make me worry. And if this operation is as big as Kakashi implied it could be, then you're right, I can't be sure if Naruto might be a liability."
"Then I did us a favor by knocking some sense into him." Sasuke says in a matter-of-fact tone. Before continuing, he nods over to in a quieter part of the square; the less ears listening the better. They head over toward a stone bench, which Sasuke leans against it. Sakura couldn't help but think how cool he looked with his sniper's cloak and sword. Honestly, can a person be so attractive it can give another a heart attack. But she's knocked when the sharp edge of Sasuke's voice breaks her again. "This mission...What do you think?"
Oh, my goodness. Sasuke-kun is actually asking me for my opinion? I can't believe this..."What do I think, um...Well, to be honest there isn't much to go on. A lot of news has been stamped from out of Hokkaido, but whatever it is must be important. It had to be if Lord Third himself contacted Comrade-Sensei Kakashi, and Asuma wouldn't do that for nothing." Sakura looks around to make sure the coast was clear, before motioning for Sasuke to lean in closer. He obliges, and it makes her almost giddy with joy. Her voice struggles to keep her voice measured she she whispers. "You're ANBU so I can tell you this, but I heard this has something to do with that southern dog Shimura."
"Shimura?"
"Yes," When Sakura leans in closer her lips nearly brush against Sasuke's ear. At first she's afraid he might pull away in disgust, but much to her joy, he doesn't. Somewhere inside her a loud Shannaroooo! is heard. "Danzo Shimura met with Mitokado Homura and Utatane Koharu in Sapporo, and apparently some sort of deal has been arranged. I don't know what for, but it stands to reason that's why all the teams have been assembled."
Suddenly, Sasuke turns. His face is mere inches away from hers. "Do you think Naruto will be a problem?"
His face is so close to hers she can feel his breath on her skin. It would've melted her on the spot, if only it didn't smell so...so...Bad? Honestly, it didn't smell good. Dry, like halitosis. And actually a bit sour like bad milk. But she didn't care. This was the closest Sasuke-kun's face had been to hers since they were kids, and he nearly kissed her then, too. Would he try it again? Did her breath smell bad? Would he think bad of her is she asked him to stop, maybe take a bit slow, maybe perhaps go out on a proper date first before having her first kiss be about -
"Naruto."
"Wh-What?" She stammers.
Sasuke leans back, and repeats in a firm voice. "Naruto - Do you think he'll be a problem?"
Sakura's heart felt heavy with disappointment as she tried getting her head and heart back on the same page. "Naruto's always a problem. - I told you about the contraband in his bag, remember?"
"You did," Sasuke replied, his tone indifferent.
"And it's not just him. If the Party potentially thinks there's an illegal operation being run out of Konoha for smuggled goods, that's serious. Sanctioned raids are one thing, but this? It's not just him who could get in trouble, but all of us." Sakura says this with the utmost certainty in her voice. Sasuke could sense it, and believe it to be true. Her position afforded her much in the sense of morsels dropped from the table of high command. She had keen eyes and a quick mind, and definitely put them to good use.
Sasuke's eyes narrowed, the weight of her words sinking in. "How much do they know?"
I'm not sure," Sakura admitted, eyes downcast. "They don't tell me much, but I do know ROOT is looking into it. If they find out Naruto's got anything to do with this, we may not be so lucky."
"Then maybe it's best if he lay low in the village for a bit," Sasuke remarked, mind now thinking of the implications that ROOT - the DPRJ's internal affairs attack dogs might get involved. Their reputation precedes them wherever they go, and if it's true they're on to Naruto's trail it doesn't bode well for him or anyone else close to him.
"If there's even a hint of a threat, Sasuke, you know ROOT isn't going to rest even if he's in Konoha. And if they catch him it's not just reeducation and a week's probation. It's..." Sakura'a unable to finish her thought as the harshness of it is far too grim to even want to consider.
Sasuke's gaze hardens, understanding settling over him. "Liquidation. I know. You don't need to remind me."
"Of course, I wouldn't think to correct you on that. I know you know, Sasuke-kun. It's just...hard to imagine it for him."
Sasuke is silent as he considers her, giving shivers up Sakura's spine, until he asks: "You care about him, huh?"
His directness caught her off guard. "I...not as much as I do for you, Sasuke-kun. But.."
Sakura recalls a time when Naruto was the last person she would ever want to be caught dead with. He was brash, loud, a bit smelly, sort of had an awkward sense of humor, and never liked closing the door when he went to the bathroom. She was harsh to him in the beginning. Mean. Rude like how everyone else in Konoha. Vilified him, simply because he was an easy way target. Naruto became the punching bag for a lot of lost souls after the war, who saw the enemy in him whenever his blonde head bobbed past. She was ashamed to say she was one of those people, too. Thankfully, she grew up.
And Sasuke was a big part of that.
"I worry for him. As a friend. He doesn't deserve to be punished for who he is. You told me that when we were younger, and it's why I started treating him better. He doesn't have a lot of people in the village to count on, but if I can be one of those people who can take care of him, I will. He needs our help, Sasuke. We need to be there for him, because we're a team."
Sasuke's expression impassive, save for a small, somber smile he gives. It's almost sad, in a way. But quickly darts away like a koi in a pond. "You're right, Sakura-chan. He doesn't have a lot of people. He needs us, so we should be there for him. You'll be there, no matter what?"
Sakura's face turns into a tomato as he blushes hard. Did he just call me Sakura-chan!? Eat you damn heart out of your bleached asshole Ino-pig! "Yeah, of course, I'll be there for him. You know me, I'm just the best, right?"
Sasuke didn't respond, but that faint smile of his comes back to tug at the corners of his mouth. Sakura seeing this opportunity, decides to shoot her shot. She asks if maybe she and he - they - potentially, maybe, sort of, only if he wanted - no pressure if he didn't spend more time with each other before her shift at the hospital began. "Maybe we could grab a bite or something? I know you've been under a lot of stress, too. What with you and Comrade-Sensei Kakashi looking into that personal matter of yours. I don't mean to pry, but we could talk more on it if you-"
"No. I have things to look into this evening," he interrupted, his voice having a bite of finality to it. "See you later, Sakura," he says, walking off, and leaving her with the familiar feeling of dejection so often affiliated with him every time she asks him out. Well, at least she had a small victory, though: he didn't call her annoying afterwards.
Later, as she clocks in at the Tree Leaf Hospital, Sakura prepared for his time as the liaison nurse in the intermediary ward. Normally, commissars would take stock and inventory of the medical facilities, and ensure doctors administer the right and proper treatments to each patient. Tonight, she was set to assist Tsubaki, who mentioned they would be crying for Naruto as well that evening. As they entered into his room, however, they are met with a baffling sight which leave them floored: in the bed lay Sasuke Uchiha, eyes burning with fury, massive bruise on his left temple, bound and gagged and struggling against his restraints.
Sakura's eyes widened in disbelief, and she inhaled sharply. She caught a whiff to eh sulfur and carbon in the air, realizing the telltale signs of a shadow clone mimi. The moment they entered the room the illusion must've broken.
"Who...?" Tsubaki began, but Sakura's mind raced, the realization hitting her with the force of a thunderbolt.
"No," she whispered, her heart sinking. "It can't be..."
You're right, Sakura-chan...
Anger surged within her, and she felt betrayed. Without a second thought, she rushes to Sasuke's side, chest pounding as she fought to process what transpired, the conversation she had echoing in her mind, as she revisited all the information she divulged to the worst person in the world. "Cut his bonds!" Sakura orders Tsubaki, who quickly moves to get a scalpel. Both women work to get Sasuke free, and when they are finished, Sakura immediately asks for Tsubaki to hand over the knife. She was going to kill Uzumaki Naruto if it's the last thing he'll do.
Sasuke was all too willing to help.
Transmission # 9-8-1-5. Designate: Symmetry
Định Tường Province, Mekông Delta - South Vietnam
Just outside Đồng Tâm Base Camp; Recon patrol of VC activity
17:45 hrs; November 13, 1963
In the humid depths of the jungle, the air was thick with the scent of earth and decay, punctuated by distant sounds of distant wildlife. Life stirred and coalesced here around one another in a balance which had persisted since the dawn of time. Permanence were in the palm trees and their green blades, the vibrant yellows of the copperpods, the massive outgrowths of bamboo thick as a man's arm. Above in the massive canopies family troupes of grey-shanked doucs called this place home, avoiding the tigers hiding in the brush, or in times innumerable elephants shook the forest floor below.
Man was no stranger here, as well.
But his presence came with a distinct feeling of apprehension.
As the patrol pressed further, unaware of the danger lurking behind every shadow, every fallen log, and every alcove; they were cautious along the narrow dirt path, senses heightened but resolve unwavering. The Vietnamese comprising the ARVN were no strangers to the jungles of their home, having grown up within or on its outskirts since the time of their first steps. They knew well of the dangers here, but had long since shirked the traditions passed down to them. Either from their forebears or habits. Cities had born them, and they'd grown accustomed to her own specific travails. So as the squad moves in a tight formation, they clutch their MAS-44's and old, cumbersome AA-52's close, scanning the dense foliage for any signs of movement.
Yet French command wanted bodies, the only equivocal number denoting success against such an enemy.
And bodies they found.
Strewn about the trail, black pajamaed and camouflaged bodies lay broken and bleeding. Dark faces lay quiet neath the underbrush, waiting to become one with nature. The rainforest will take them eventually, but their red scarves and AK's will make fine trophies to take back to base.. The guerrillas put up a fight, but it was foolish of them to take on a heavily defended motorcade. All they were met with was concentrated Bren fire and cannon shot from the M-8 Greyhounds.
The ARVN troupe inspects their kills - almost twenty; a big number by their standards. Doubtless, someone was getting a medal for this. They go deeper under the expansive canopy of the trees, trekking along the path as one private takes point. He's young, with barely enough training to handle the weapon in his hands. He's skittish, and unwilling to venture too far beyond his unit. He stops to take a swig from his canteen - even though it's nine at night the temperature pushes ninety with the humidity. Leaning his shoulder against a banyan tree, he removes the heavy steel pot helmet. When he does, he notices the blank stare watching him from below.
He yelps in surprise, helmet falling to the ground as he fumbles with his rifle. It makes Captain Anh laugh loudly.
"Ha! Settle down, killer. Your rebel's already dead," Captain Anh jests. A seasoned vet of ten years fighting Viet Cong rebels, the Captain was barely rattled by such sights anymore. He points out the sucking wound which stains the bandolier on her chest. "Jesus, poor bitch probably got it from a 7.62 - hole's about as big as her cunny. Ha! Hey! The hell are you doing, kid, don't touch her!" Anh yells, reaching to pull the private back; even if the firefight was quick, it didn't take long to pull the pin of a grenade and place it under a dead body. "VC have no respect for the dead, kid. Remember that."
"Yes, Captain, sir." The private goes, hurriedly shouldering his rifle and retrieving his helmet.
Captain Anh gives the new guy a pat on the shoulder and tells him to get back; there were enough cold bodies here to report back. No sense in forcing a bigger path, as they VC were crafty and probably expected the ARVN to travel deeper onto the trail. Anh wouldn't give them that satisfaction tonight. Not while he was away from the convoy, and with limited enough space and light to operate, artillery cover would be nonexistent. The general order to pullback is given, until suddenly a storming chaos is unleashed.
Screams are heard and gunshots fire rapidly as suddenly, unnaturally, the bodies of the dead VC combatants rise up. At a glance it's as if they are pulled by their limbs, arms and chests splaying in odd directions like they are dragged up by wires. Shots find promise - the patrol's so close, it's impossible to miss. But the bullets have no effect, as heads roll about and blank, unfazed faces show no pain. Then abruptly, lifeless arms still clutching their weapons twitch up and open fire.
A cacophony of crackling shots pierce the natural order, as the ARVN are caught off-guard, confusion rippling through their ranks as they scramble for cover. Seeing that their attacks have no effect, many throw down their rifles and retreat. Into the jungle, back where they came, anywhere away from here. Orders were shouted by Captain Anh, but they are drowned when a stray shot takes him in the throat. He falls, gurgling into the dirt, and staring up into the trees. Where there a looming shadow stares back
He hung there overlooking the scene with great pleasure, eyes sparkling with delight at the unfolding violence. The sight of men diving for cover, expressions of shock and desperation, all fueling his excitement. His heart read, and he finally lets go a husky breath he'd held since before the ambush started. And when it's over, and the last puppet falls to the ground, he almost misses the vibrations of gunfire resonating within him. For in that moment he witness the true nature of conflict - a primal struggle where only the strongest warrior would prevail.
"Perfect," he murmured to himself, watching the dead and dying crawling forlornly below.
The use of chakra wire to prop up the dead was admittedly a brilliant idea. Idea wasn't posed by him, but in actuality by one of his babysitters. At first, he balked at their inclusion, feeling like they would bog him down. He operated a lot better when he was alone, but in this case he was gladdened to see their ingenuity on display. Even if they were left behind to "monitor" his movements, give situation reports every so often to their handler, frankly it did make things easier.
Commotion from down below draws his attention. The Viet Cong brigade set in the rear presses now the ARVN were thrown back. Their leader was a tall man, skin tanned from a place where the sun was more cruel than here, and had visible red marking along his face. Half his head was covered by a turban wrap, denoting him as non-Vietnamese, but he insisted on never taking it off. He's got a harsh look about him, meaner than the SKS held in his hand. Coming up is a man clad in all black; his second. He's busy rolling metal wire around his arm, while he argues with a tall woman to his right. Her blonde hair is done up in four consecutive ponytails, and she holds a Soviet dragunov across her chest. It isn't totally heard what they were arguing for, but he can probably take a guess: the dewy-eyed waif is skulking about, administering first aid to the soldiers still yet drawing breath.
"Tch, fucking little idiot..." He thinks, wheezing through the mask. Whatever talents they boy had were beyond even the Sharingan to see. Slow, fidgety, unsure and overall too emotional to be anywhere near a battlefield. He's no warrior, the demon inside him scoffs. "He'S ToO pAlE aNd ToO nIcE...I dOn'T lIkE hIm; KILL HIM!"
No, he wasn't going to kill him.
With any luck the fool will do that fine on his own. Because when the North Vietnamese regulars arrive, that's when the real fun will begin. For fear will echo past this ambush site for sure. Stories will be told, tales recounted; every iteration will form and change and become something worse, until the truth no longer applies to reality. The survivors will be haunted wherever they run. More will come, that's a given. But they, too, will soon find out quickly how fragile their existence can be.
And despair at how fast this life can end.