Chapter 45

Katiya (01 days since, time: 04:24:02, hr/min/sec)

Four times, she corrected herself as she thought. Four times now, her lord had saved her. So she didn't know what had compelled her to do it—help the Jinchuriki filth that tried to kill her. Four. A part of her suspected it was Itachi's manipulations, but she didn't know what gain Itachi could have received by doing such a thing so the thought was quickly neglected. What was the point again? It didn't change anything—she would stay in Oto until she didn't.

"How's your arm?" a person's voice asked. She didn't bother to look up. It sounded like Kabuto, and on the off chance it wasn't, she didn't care. She flexed the fingers in her left arm.

"It functions."

The arm had no modifications besides that of Kabuto's healing—and her own—just the meager healings that they were. She had only consented to a visual check-up when she arrived at Orochimaru's Kusa base. The arm would heal on its own anyways. Though, one might hope the fight rooms were the only things needed to explain the slower-than-usual healing.

Her former opponent—what now one might think of as a "patient" at the moment—let out a groan as injuries were somewhat treated on a mass infirmary's exam table.

"That's your cue to leave. Get out."

The examination table slab made another groan in protest. The medic? rolled the person off. Kabuto watched the interaction impassively. The apparent medic opposite him then turned around from the table, saying nothing until the injured slab left the room. Kabuto's timing was impeccable as the last… slab… was the last person Katiya had to treat.

"I wanted to let you know Sasuke's out of the hospital now, in case you were curious," Kabuto said first. Thanks to one Lady Tsunade's greater medical expertise following his master's failed attempt to persuade her to his own side.

The bored look in the eye of the apparent medic he was talking to told him otherwise—that she wasn't curious, that was. "And… do we expect him to… survive?" she asked with a roll of her wrist.

Kabuto cleared his throat as if expecting a different response. "For the most part, yes. While Sasuke is being sent on mostly C- and D-ranks at the moment, his tracks are also being covered, making it difficult to locate him for a strike."

"Shame. I'd have thought it an opportune time to kill or kidnap him for Lord Orochimaru."

Kabuto allowed himself to scowl. The pair knew the expression was a nonverbal message. The continued deadpan expression of the one Kabuto was speaking to—in response—meant the message was received, but that the matter no longer meant much to her, if it did at all. Kabuto's scowl itself, on the other hand, meant that he did not want word of his… possibly less than "for Lord Orochimaru" actions to be spread out.

Katiya remained silent. She would not talk.

"We have to wait until Sasuke's back in Konoha to strike. He'll likely be due for an overnight check-up within the coming month or so. We've also taken the liberty of arranging his missions go as smoothly as possible."

Katiya might have raised a brow at some point to what this "smoothly" would have entailed but she also didn't care anymore. "Having his missions be as menial as possible would be meant to lower his guard before we send our people in to entice him to our side," Kabuto explained needlessly to the part of Katiya that would have at some point.

She didn't. So she just blinked boredly in response.

"You haven't been changed out of your last division, and with everyone that was under your care transferred out or now deceased, unfortunately you're going to have to fill in for our lost mission runners along with the standard medical duties you had to take up since the invasion," Kabuto said. Finally getting to the point. "We still have forces we need to regroup before Sasuke joins us."

Kabuto handed her a mission scroll. The time slot for necessary mission completion written on the scroll would be incoming soon. Katiya pulled off her gloves and moved to leave.

"Wait. Don't leave until tomorrow morning," Kabuto replied, seeing the action.

"It's currently four in the morning."

Kabuto. "I meant tomorrow."

"Why."

Missions out of Otogakure could have been considered a relief from medical caretaking especially when a medic appeared to begin dreading said medical caretaking. But they were only a relief if the one being relieved allowed oneself to be relieved.

"You need sleep," Kabuto told her.

"What makes you think I'm not trying to train up my sleep threshold?"

"Not on an away-mission. It'd be too dangerous."

Katiya held up the mission scroll. It was labeled as a C-rank.

"Only on paper, Katsu," he told her.

Katiya glared at the mission scroll before leaving the room. Kabuto could not tell whether or not the one he had been speaking to left in acknowledgement what he said.

Temari (approximate time: 9:00 AM)

"We still have to be careful, Kankuro. He might be okay now, but who knows what will happen come the next full moon?"

Kankuro finished up his breakfast and handed Temari the plate. "I dunno, Temari. He's seemed pretty stable lately. That Naruto-punk must have done a number on him, but I think this Gaara's here to stay. Word on the street says he hasn't harmed a thing since coming back. And I mean anything. I'm telling you, he's… been different since coming back."

"Well, Temari, do you think you have what it takes to control your youngest brother compared to it?" the voice of her father interrogated from within Temari's mind.

"I don't know, Kankuro, I don't know."

Kankuro shook his head. "You're taking him out to the banking area today. You'll see if you don't believe me. Trust me, he's like a new person."

"He's like a new person, but that doesn't mean he is one," Temari countered.

"… The training you have is insufficient. Because unlike you, the enemy shinobi you face will not hold back."

She took a breath, continuing, "What would I do if Gaara decided to go on a rampage—or someone decided to botch an assassination and it gets out of hand—Kankuro—now would be an ideal time for an assassination!"

Kankuro paused at that. It was, with their dead father out of the way. "Gaara's control seems a lot better now. I saw. He hasn't done anything besides maybe shield himself from the usual civilian and shinobi punks. You remember yesterday too—that went just fine. If there's an assassination attempt later today, maybe now would be a good time to see if he's changed to be willing to shield you too."

Temari grimaced. "I hope no one's stupid enough to do that in Suna though. If someone managed to take me out as collateral, the Council wouldn't even have their figurehead anymore. That ought to piss them off."

Kankuro shrugged. The pair knew that if leadership were to ever go to Kankuro, he'd probably abdicate. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Temari."

Gaara (approximate time: 9:20 AM)

Father used to tell me not to rely on Shukaku's powers… but Father was the one who made me into Jinchuriki… and treated me like a demon. Gaara let himself wonder while waiting for Temari. There was rather little he knew to occupy his time with, without his father's missions or the rants of Shukaku's he made to now ignore.

What am I… ? Why me? Asking the questions felt familiar, like he was tracing something that was already etched. Am I a Jinchuriki or a demon myself? Did he ever get an answer besides Shukaku's?

There was a knock on the door. Gaara opened it almost instantly. "Temari," he said by way of greeting.

"Hey Gaara—?" Temari responded, surprise growing on her face as she peered behind him to see a largely empty room.

Gaara then stepped away from the door to examine his rooms himself. He didn't think it was anything surprising, having been living there. He was given rooming on the outskirts of the Kazekage compound—three rooms only. The living room, which was blended with a kitchenette, his sleeping quarters, and a bathroom.

"Have your rooms always been like this?" Temari asked, still surprised.

Gaara looked around with a tilt of his head, something resembling skittishness visible in his eye—though perhaps not his actions. "I took a desk from the storage rooms. I hope that was alright. The others…" Gaara trailed off. The others I tried to ask…

"Gaara, your rooms are so empty! Of course it's alright!"

… ran. Gaara looked about the room again. The kitchenette and its island took up about a fourth of the main room—but his father never thought to give him anything resembling a dining table to take up space. Gaara had also moved out the couch and coffee table set his father had given him. With it gone and the desk in the corner, the room seemed artificially larger. No one had used those items besides his father—once—anyways. He thought it an equal exchange—a couch and table for a desk and chair.

"What do your rooms look like?" Gaara asked.

"I—more lived in than this! I—Gaara—after I—after I show you the banking division… you can go… look," Temari choked out in a daze.

Katiya (time: 09:33:20, hr/min/sec)

She scowled at the ceiling, her arms clasped over her chest as she rested in bed. She wasn't sure if Kabuto was monitoring—or what it would have meant—if he was actually concerned about her sleep schedule, but it didn't matter to her. It was just that the person she was supposed to accompany—escort—to the black market arms dealer she was supposed to hassel wasn't back from their last mission. So she had to wait. Kabuto was a nuisance sometimes. He could have simply told her than in the first place.

It wasn't that she didn't want to sleep. It was just that she was unlikely to collapse from exhaustion, with her shinobi training. And her mind was much too… active… to be still without something to distract her. Something real to focus on.

Sasuke Uchiha cheated, she decided. She had pummeled more threatening people in the fight rooms. It was only because of Gaara she had gotten distracted. Gaara. Katiya clamped her eyes shut and then reopened them. It would have been better if they never met, she thought in that moment. She tried focusing on her breathing—she tried—I'm sorry, she told Gaara. She tried to focus on her breathing but in the end, failed.

She stuffed the fight rooms into her mind instead. But then another thought came—Arashi this time—she won in her most recent fight room battle—but the opponent the medical staff told her to heal was younger than usual. New. Like Arashi was. She didn't even know the person's name—she didn't care—she didn't care—she didn't care. Another person better off if she never met him.

She was able to focus on her breathing again. It sounded slightly rushed. Just slightly too quick to be that of a calmed person asleep. There was a clock on her bedside table. It ticked for every second. Seconds. Minutes. Hours. But then her mind began to drift—maybe to sleep—maybe not—but then it ended up at a memory of fighting to stay awake to make time to help Itachi. Katiya jolted, then narrowed her eyes at the ceiling as she focused on her too-fast breathing.

She focused on the clock. She hadn't moved from where her arms were tensely clasped over her torso. Counting the seconds made the time go by. It was pointless, but so was everything else. Time went in circles, according to the clock. There was no destination, no final goal. It went in circles, but its sole purpose was to go in circles. Perhaps that was what life was. Never really quickening, never really halting. Eat. Sleep. Work. Mechanical though distractions made it seem otherwise. Doing things occupied time. Her counting the time occupied it, at least. But life's true purpose, one that every person shared, was to complete one's circle of life and death, she decided. Life until death.

She closed her eyes. When she finally finished counting out X hours and forgot she was breathing, she got up from her bed. It was physical rest enough and sleep was a nuisance for being so elusive. She had done the same the day previous anyways.

Gaara (approximate time: 12:30 PM)

The bank proved to be as fiddly a business as one of us might expect. No one wanted to interact with Gaara. Not yet. They had waited an hour and still had no banking official to speak to. Temari, impatient, was taking it out on one of the reception staff.

"I'm Lord Rasa's daughter—what kind of service is this?!?"

"Lady Temari, we know of your status, but we still really have to follow protocol."

"What protocol?!? The last time I came in, I just had to sign some papers with my mom!"

"I'm sorry—but with both of your—err—Gaara's—parents… deceased, without officially attaining chunin rank or Suna-nin equivalent, a request such as this has to go through the Council or wait until he's of civilian legal age. We can't change the policy."

Gaara watched Temari ball her fists and very nearly—possibly—punching the finance division front desk. "The Council's not going to be getting anything like this done for a while—I'm not sure if you noticed but my father—our Kazekage—just died."

"I'm sorry, but protocol is proto—!"

Temari grabbed the shirt of the receptionist. "Don't give me that pile of kuso—! You and I both know it's going to take months—MONTHS—before the Council gets anything this 'small' done—Gaara doesn't have any liquid cash—and with Father dead, how do you expect him to pay for food—gear—bills—before then!? Huh?!?"

The receptionist began to stutter. Some of the other bank-goers were beginning to take notice.

"L-Lady Temari—I understand you're grieving but—"

There was a silence as Temari's eyes bored into the receptionist's as if daring the person to complete the statement.

Gaara stepped closer into the receptionist's view slowly, seeing an opening. "Temari. It's alright… Let's just go," he said quietly. Despite the low volume, both Temari and the reception staffer both stilled. Temari swung her gaze out. Gaara met her eye before equally slowly turning away.

There was the sound of fabric rustling followed by a thud as Temari released the reception staffer's clothing and the staffer fell back. "Gaara!" Temari exclaimed.

Gaara paused in his steps. He turned back to meet her eyes again. The expression was that of muted sadness and understanding, not anger, unlike Temari. Temari launched another glare at the receptionist and then the rest of the bank-going bystanders… and then followed Gaara out.

Temari (approximate time: 12:40 PM)

"Sorry about that, Gaara," Temari said, her voice sounding artificially light to her ears. It made sense considering she had no idea what she was apologizing for.

"You are not the one who needs to apologize, Temari," Gaara responded. "The villagers are only reacting the way they are because of me… What Shukaku and I had done."

"If you like the color red, Gaara, I don't see why not wear it… I think Temari's just worried you might scare someone wearing red."

Temari cleared her throat. It wasn't the color. But Gaara seemed ill willing to argue with the civilians' reactions to him—wearing the color or otherwise. "Do you want to check out my place now, then? Unless you have something else to do?"

They both knew Gaara had nothing in his schedule as healing was the medical staff's task, they were both too young for the Council to take them seriously, and Suna's mission availability was up in the air with Konohagakure negotiations. Gaara bowed his head once in assent.

…

Temari opened the door to her quarters. Gaara walked behind, at a respectful distance. Temari had come closer to him on missions. It was awkward as Gaara surveyed the main room, Temari not knowing what to say. The twenty-fifth rule of shinobi conduct told her she had no fear, and if Gaara noticed she was afraid, he had yet to tell her.

Kankuro took one of her spare rooms for storage—she had two after inheriting her mother's quarters. The one neither of them used sat untouched. And while Kankuro mostly stayed in his rooms in the puppeteer hold… the area was still a home to them. There was a prayer rug on the floor by a window. An old altar. Dining table, six chairs around the corner. A recently restocked fridge. A Land of Wind terrain model. Picture frames and glass plant presses. Little statuettes. A real plant on the windowsill. Two couches facing each other and a coffee table between them, magazines stacked next to mission reports. The main room was larger but it felt more filled.

"A lot of the things I kept are Mother's," Temari told Gaara quietly as his eyes rested on the prayer rug. Their father was not really the religious type. As a shinobi, he only bore religion in mind as something to be respectful of. And in a different way, so did she—their mother. The rug had been a gift, and their mother had kept it and had it properly set. Temari never moved it.

"Thank you, Temari," Gaara told her at last.

"It's nothing, Gaara, really," Temari replied with an awkward attempt at a friendly smile.

Gaara turned back to her now from where he was taking in the room. "... You don't have to do that," he said in perhaps the barest audible whisper.

"Do what?" she asked, something pulling at the corners of her eyes now.

Gaara averted his eyes from hers. "You are afraid of me. You… don't… need to hide it. It's alright. I am… used… to it," he told her sadly.

"I'm—" the word that was meant to come after died on her lips. She was not meant to show emotion, per the twenty-fifth rule of shinobi conduct. She was strong. Nothing real, never. She made a vow when she became a shinobi. "—not," she finally choked out.

"… Shukaku could sense it. I try to ignore him, not rely on him… but he still tells me things." It was a statement. Just. A statement. There was a pause. Gaara slowly pulled his eyes up from the floor. "But you were angry for me, though, trying to help me… Why?"

Temari mentally backpedaled. "I—" Shukaku… She didn't know how to argue with that. But no one had done it for her when their mother died, be angry for her. So she had done it for Kankuro. And in the moment—no—it had been building for quite a while—the anger. But Shukaku…

"Well, Temari, do you think you have what it takes to control your youngest brother compared to it?"

"I don't know," Temari told him. "He's like a new person, but that doesn't mean he is one," her memory echoed

"... Why?" she asked hesitantly. "He might be okay now, but who knows what will happen come the next full moon?"

"You were not afraid of me then."

Temari startled.

Kankuro (approximate time: 12:40 PM)

"Puppeteer Corp Liaison? That… sounds like a pretty high title. You sure about this, shishou?"

The elder puppeteer let out a snort. "Consider it a consolation prize for needing to put up with the Council as often as you're going to have to. Trust me, punk, better you than me. You did say you wanted an advisory role rather than to have to be pushed into being the Kazekage—this is your foot in. You still want it?"

"Of course I want it!" Kankuro replied quickly, "I just—it seems like such a big leap right now and Temari's going to need me up there if she ever takes the position—but I'm worried—"

"You've still got time, Kankuro. The Council's talking about holding back genin promotions to 'appease Konoha' and no one on the Council wants genin among their ranks, even in liaison positions. Starting to push for it now still means it'll be getting to you later."

"I—wait—but there were only three of us at the Chunin Exam finale!"

"Exactly," Kankuro's shishou replied drolly.

"That's just—!"

"—Like I said, you've got time, punk. Trust me, getting your foot in the door working towards this position now will do you some good."

"Yeah, alright," Kankuro conceded.

"You also might want to quietly send word to your siblings to expect a meeting with the Council soon… But just remember, punk, you didn't hear it from me, got it?"

Kankuro nodded in confirmation.

Temari (approximate time: 12:45 PM)

She wanted to respond, but didn't know what to say. Then, Gaara's stomach let out a rumble and Gaara instinctively grabbed at it. Temari watched the expression on his face jump to fear, and then curiosity.

"—Do you need money for food?" Temari asked, glad for the subject change. "I might have something in the fridge, but I'm not sure if there's anything in there you might like."

"… Like?" Gaara asked—as if unfamiliar with any food he might like—not as if asking what type of food she had.

Temari adjusted her dress nervously. "Food. What—t—you're hungry, aren't you? Don't you want something to eat?"

"Father would send me food pills... I still have some," he told her. Gaara looked downwards towards his stomach, his lips quietly mouthing over the word "hunger". When his gaze returned to his sister's, the latter couldn't help but feel that Gaara's wide eyes seemed to pick up on the sensation of nervousness wafting off of her. She didn't know where it came from or why it was there though. Her (dead) father—what he did—or Gaara. What he could do.

"How about we eat out—you can try new foods if you want. I'll pay," she tried.

Kankuro (approximate time: 12:45 PM)

Kankuro hopped out of the puppeteer headquarters. The bank couldn't have taken that long, but he didn't know where his siblings might have been. Gaara would probably have remained in his quarters if not for Temari. But there was a chance he could meet them by the housing units. He started walking off in the direction of their quarters only to be stopped by the fan wielding and cloth-swaddled retreating forms of them both.

Kankuro paused, smiling to himself. It was nice to see Temari try to talk to Gaara after everything. He took up a following distance, stuffing his hands in his pockets. When he neared, he'd call out to them—but that was still quite some distance away.

…

"I'll take a kenchin soup and a chestnut curry—Gaara, what about you?"

"I—I will take the same," Gaara replied.

"And add one crushed mutton burger!" Kankuro called, coming up behind Gaara and Temari.

"Kankuro!" Temari exclaimed.

"… T-Two kenchin soups, two chestnut curries, and one mutton burger… C-coming right up!"

Kankuro gave the shopkeeper a sympathetic look before turning to his siblings. "You and Gaara seemed to be having a bit of a conversation—didn't want to get in the way," he said by way of explanation to them. "You two doing alright?" Kankuro asked.

Temari gave Gaara a look. "Maybe," Temari responded. Gaara swung an innocent gaze between his sister's and his brother's. Kankuro interpreted it as an agreement, but that there was more to the story.

"Why don't we get seated," Kankuro suggested, gesturing to an open table in the corner periphery of the dining area.

Temari agreed and they began moving. Kankuro intentionally took a longer pathway to the table, but one that would have given the other diners a wide berth while Temari made a beeline. He turned around briefly to observe Gaara, internally nodding when he saw Gaara following him, albeit more cautiously on account of the other diners' stares and whispers. He knew the shinobi of them wouldn't make a scene with all three of them there—and that the thought of people even eating with Gaara would have turned civilians' heads one way or another.

Once seated, Temari let out a sigh. "Father used to drill into us all this shinobi protocol—now that he's gone—I don't—I don't know… It feels so weird… just doing this."

"What, eating as a family while not on a war mission?" Kankuro asked, taking his own chair.

"Yes," Temari replied firmly. "When was the last time we even did that—or—shared… feelings over dinner?"

"I mean, bit early for dinner, but I get it… I dunno, I actually think it might be a good thing. We in the Corp don't mind—at the end of the day—we're still people. But what brought that up, anyways?"

Temari shot a helpless glance to Gaara, who spoke next. "She is afraid of me."

Oh.

Temari tried to justify herself, "I'm not that afraid—we've been on missions together, Gaara—it's just…"

"He might be okay now, but who knows what will happen come the next full moon?" Temari had asked in Kankuro's memory.

"… I don't know," she finished lamely.

"There are times when you are not," Gaara admitted, "But when you are… you don't tell me why. And… I don't… understand," he said.

Temari's hands went to her hair. "Maybe that's just why shinobi hide their emotions, Gaara. They don't make sense and they get in the way of things. Can't we just let it go?" Temari asked.

Food came and Temari took it gratefully. Kankuro bowed his head to the server and examined his plate for the moment—a thing we might think of as similar to a meat patty dotted with onions and tomatoes on a bed of spiced rice and green beans. Kankuro caught Gaara doing the same with his soup and what we might think of as similar to a vegetarian version of a kofta curry. But rather than check for poisons like most shinobi, Gaara seemed to be examining his meal in awe of the food.

There was a small moment of silence before Gaara spoke again. "If I do, I won't know how to make others not afraid of me. I won't know how to change… and I want to… after Naruto showed me I can… You two and Baki-sensei so far are the only people who would talk to me. I am… sorry."

Temari seemed to flinch at that. "No… I think I should be the one to say sorry," she told him tentatively. She let out a sharp exhale. "I guess… I'm just afraid because we spent all this time learning how to react to danger… And after everything, you… count as one too," she frowned then broke off to clarify, "I'm not afraid to be around you—but cautiousness—I..." She frowned again, "I think if we were to be around each other more like this, I guess, it'll get better."

Gaara nodded his head, accepting that. Temari, on the other hand, looked like there was more she was trying to say but was still hesitant about saying. After a moment, she began to spoon food into her mouth.

Kankuro cleared his throat. "So… how was the bank, anyways?" he asked, changing the subject.

Gaara (approximate time: 2:10 PM)

"Temari."

Temari swung around to Gaara. She had been ready to leave.

"Thank you for the meal," he said, bowing deeply.

Temari smiled at him. "You're welcome, Gaara."

The two parted ways. It was a sad smile, not quite a nervous one anymore. Shukaku was not silent on Gaara's way home, but being with his siblings, Shukaku did not seem as raucous. And eating with his family that time, Gaara did not feel as alone. Shukaku's pull on Gaara into the spot where his mind and Shukaku's seal met did not feel as strong, and then, he didn't feel he needed to withdraw into himself—into the chamber with Shukaku—just to feel accompanied.

The meal was a good one, too. Kenchin soup, Gaara mentally repeated. Tofu and carrot roots… and a few other things Gaara didn't know how to identify. It was something Yashamaru used to cook, though it now had a name. Gaara had originally been hesitant, speaking to his siblings. Everyone had been afraid of him—and Shukaku—them. Shukaku's yellings still being present meant Shukaku would still be a worry of Gaara's. But Gaara realized something had changed with that meal.

It no longer tasted bland and watery. And for the first time in a long time, Gaara felt whatever hunger he had… had been satiated.

Katiya (01 days later, time: 07:00:02, hr/min/sec)

Mission. It was basically a supply run—only with the addition of haranguing a black market dealer.

"You ready to be be off?" the beefy form of what's-his-name—Rinji? asked rhetorically.

"You're late," the person he was speaking to responded. "I didn't think Lord Orochimaru liked to be kept waiting."

"Well, you're eager this time, aren't you," Rinji responded, leaping out of the tunnel entrance. They quickly began making their way north. After some distance, Rinji turned towards his companion to smirk. "You familiar with secret orders?"

"That depends on which ones."

Rinji pulled himself into the shadows of the trees and held out a mission scroll. Katiya took it, pulling it open without a word. The side mission (not secret mission, as Katiya's mind came to emphasize) was signed by both Kabuto and Lord Orochimaru. She handed the scroll back to Rinji—that was his name—Rinji. Apparently the man's next mission was to be a plant in one of Orochimaru's other prison bases to re-establish order over there. She was also meant to be his escort.

"Do we still need to beat up a black market dealer?"

"Oh yeah," Rinji smirked. "We're doing that before we head over. I need a discreet resupply before heading in—beating a few folks up while doing it's just going to make it more fun."

Kankuro (approximate time: 8:40 AM)

Kankuro woke up feeling something new. The sun was shining and it was indeed a new day. He didn't know what it was… that sensation, though… besides "new". He was eventually going to become the Puppeteer Corp Liaison. His father was dead. And Gaara…

Kankuro threw the covers and got out of bed.

A puppeteer's war paint was meant to be a representation of themselves—a representation of what they wanted to present to the world. It was the first thing they did in the morning, after washing their faces and brushing their teeth. Some of the puppeteers took meanings from the colors—blues for sadness, reds for passion or anger, pinks for joy, greens for tranquility, black to instill fear, and purple for nobility—but that was independent of a person's technique choice. The more dominant way of communicating via war paint Kankuro knew of was in the designs.

Narrow, jagged shapes to demonstrate youth or anger. Thicker bolder lines for stability or strength. Circular shapes to demonstrate maturity, experience, or wisdom. Puppeteers across the ages had even mixed and matched the designs and sprouted new ones to the point the meanings behind the designs were as nuanced as they were obscure. Like puppetry, one's war paint was as much an art form as an expression of self.

No one in the Corp would really question it if he did not paint his face into a design of mourning since the death of the Kazekage. No one had even questioned it when he continued since hearing the news of his death months prior—in his old design. A puppeteer's war paint was a personal decision.

He began by outlining his eyes—purple war paint as he had usually. He was still nobility in blood and in action, though sometimes it was not apparent to an outside observer. Land of Wind natives including civilians tended to outline their eyes in black in the belief it would protect the eyes from glare among other things. He did it out of habit most recently. But that it would resemble his father's—Gaara's—eyes was not something he minded anymore.

He extended the war paint lines from his eyes out to his temples, emboldening them, then drew a thick bar vertically from his forehead to his nose. He outlined his lips and drew another bar from them to his chin. And then finally added a corner edge to run parallel to the lines running to his temples, from under his eyes.

It wasn't a mourning design. It was one that invoked strength.

Like that which was newly blooming between himself and his siblings.

Author's Note

Some parts of this chapter might have come off as repetitive or similar to other chapter sections—that was intentional—though I have mixed feelings about the similarity and repetition myself. As of May 5, 2022—I will also note that I now intend to be pretty canon compliant throughout all eleven arcs of this fiction. Some parts of this fiction would therefore be correspondingly bland to a reader familiar with the material... And do note emotional-laden chapters like this one are going to be a thing for a bit because I hated how the canon NARUTO glazed it over. *shrugs. You as a reader are welcome to skip around. Hopefully I can write the emotionally-laden parts well enough so that they're interesting.