Chapter Four - Hidden in the Grass
He sat at the edge of camp, shifting on the rotting, felled trunk with a sigh. A slight chill hung in the air, damp and heavy after a day of rain. Despite the sweat beading his brow, the man wrapped his coat closer to himself. Here, in the dim dark, the forest edge was alive with the chittering whirrs of insects and distant shuffling of animals through the underbrush. The liveliness of it was comforting, he found, compared to the unnatural silence of his dreams. He kept his eyes open, despite the urge to close them and listen; to focus on what was beyond him than be caught in his own thoughts. Every so often, he turned an eye to the sights and sounds of the camp at his back. Warm firelight. Low chatter. Children calling to one another and the occasional wobbly complaint to their elders as they were coaxed to settle to sleep in the line of carts. Every so often he was forced to adjust his seat, his spine tingling, fighting off the flaring in his shoulder and hip. Beneath the hot, stinging hurts, a constant buzz of pain needled under his skin. He was still trying to get used to it. The man felt another spike of cold and shivered.
In truth, he couldn't remember the last time he felt like this: bone weak and frail. Nevermind the budding fever. He coughed into his fist. The sound was still wretchedly wet, but at least it wasn't blood. He tucked the collar of his coat against neck. Circulating chakra to regulate the body's temperature was one of the first things his father had taught him as a boy. A basic skill, even for an academy student. One he could no longer manage. He would be lying if he said it hadn't been a difficult few days. The simple became absent. Know-how he had survived his life on became all but useless. He sighed, thunking his spear — little more than a sharpened stick — against his temple. The set of half a dozen kunai weighed heavy, hidden in deep pockets.
Knowing that he would be disappointed with the effort, he still lifted his nose to the breeze and drew a long breath. Muted wood and moss, burning ash, and cooked flesh. Once, he might have been able to hazard a fair guess at the type of dark meat beneath the smothering scent of broth, its tang potent enough with the chakra sharpened sense. Now? Well, that was something else he could hardly remember being without.
Grass crunched under light boots. The man pulled himself from his musings (caught yet again in his own thoughts, how droll). Looking over his shoulder, he eased himself to turn in his seat. Sayori paused mid-step, abashed. She raised a limp hand in greeting, her other holding steady a wooden bowl.
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Kenshi," she said, taking hold of the rough spun wool at her breast, holding close the shawl draped over her shoulders. "I happened to notice you hadn't yet eaten, so..." She nodded toward the bowl.
"Ah, my thanks," 'Kenshi' said, accepting the broth with a smile. Watery and dark, but with a healthy amount of meat amongst the herbs and tubers scavenged throughout the day. The dark haired woman nodded again, pleased, only to shift from foot to foot. She shot a glance behind her, beyond to where her husband sat in the bright firelight, speaking lowly to the old man leading their wayward caravan. Their bowls had long since been placed to the side. Kenshi sipped the broth. Venison. But he knew that already; saw the beast dragged into camp on the broad back of a farm hand.
Sayori cleared her throat, fiddling with her shawl. "I know we haven't been the most welcoming, with your— well, your heritage. But I just wanted to thank you, for being of help. You've done a lot already. I haven't heard you complain, not once. And..." She sighed, looking curiously ashamed, her chin length hair swaying. "You've been hurt by this too. Your wife... your boy..."
"Mah, it's all right," he drawled. "Really. I'm— I won't say it's easy but helping gives me something to do. Something else to think about. You're kind, Sayori. I appreciate it. But don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
She bobbed her head, smoothing a hand on her skirt. "If you ever needed an ear, I'd be happy to listen. I'd like to hear stories of your family. Some of the best ways to remember those we've lost, I think, is to remember them through stories."
A soft strike to the heart. Kenshi dipped his chin. "I couldn't agree more," he said gently. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you. Again."
With a murmured goodbye, Sayori rejoined those around the campfire. Kenshi shook his head to chase away the budding feeling in his chest. He finished his meal quickly, appreciating the warmth in his belly. By the time he set down his bowl, he already felt a little stronger.
The night began to drag, but with his eye and ears still sharp, Kenshi found his attention turning back to those awake and wandering the camp. A woman crouched before an elderly man, smiling and touching his cheek as she passed him a wad of cloth. A young boy, no older than five squealed as he was hefted by his father over to an ox cart and to bed. The oxen themselves dozed, tucked together, and lazily pulling at the grass around them. Kenshi shifted on his lone, solitary trunk. The dampness began to eat into his coat.
By a copse of tents, a smattering of the van's members gathered to sat patiently on stumps and the flattened grass. A young man, perhaps twenty or so, passed between them from person to person, guided by an elderly woman who shuffled at a much slower pace. Together they inspected damage, replacing bloodied bandages, dipping into their tins of poultice to dab at painful looking wounds. Not a single hand glowed a gentle teal. Kenshi suppressed another shiver, hardening his jaw. The elderly healer wrapped a strip of cloth around a jagged cut torn into a girl's arm, the area around the wound raised and red. Ah, he thought, mine probably don't look too different. He hadn't peeled back the makeshift bandages from his own injuries in some days. Trailing along, achingly slow, with a van of refugees meant privacy was a privilege. He could reveal them, of course. Logically the type of man he played would. Yet Shinobi instinct kept him away, kept him from revealing his soft underbelly, full of aching cuts and scrapes. Practicality as well. Kenshi would survive. The downtrodden, exhausted, and sickly deserved the attention of their healers far more than himself. He watched as the old woman raised her hand, a twig pinched between her fingers, drifting it back and forth before the girl's eyes. Testing them. Kenshi clamped down on the dark well curdling in the pit of his stomach. He turned back to the darkness of the forest, adjusting his spear against his shoulder.
Only a few more days until the crossroads. There, he could leave these people be. Go east. Leave Kusa. Then back to... where? A manic kind of laughter tickled the base of his throat. Is there even a way to go back? Is there even a place to go back to? He raised his head, a leaden weight dragging about his neck, and his eye cast to foreign yet familiar stars.
Clashing blades shrieked under the overcast sky. Obito adjusted his grip, breathing hard, caught between troubledness and the high rush of exhilaration. He swooped, pressing hard and was pushed back for the effort. Another blow forced him to side step. It was difficult, disarming, to fight with one eye. The other itched, hidden beneath black cloth kept in place tight by his hitai-ate.
From the left. Obito shifted, feeling more than seeing the air cut by the arc of a blade. He whirled, just in time to slide the enemy blade away with his own, the deep black of his chakra blade vibrating as energy rippled off its core. His own quick, savage counter had Yūgao leaping back. High and low, he bullied her, keeping her blade singing as he fixed his footing. She wasn't to be held in place for long. Lightning fast, she heaved and slipped away, her black eyes searching, just as determined to find an opening. And to Obito's frustration, she found one again and again; points of weakness and opportunities to strike as their spar continued and sweat dripped down his back. Fairly, it was his fault. He had been the one to ask another Kenjutsu master to test his capabilities. Missions would not wait for an eye to heal, and Obito was down an eye for the foreseeable future.
Another thrust in her direction. Chakra-infused steel kissed steel. Obito grit his teeth as Yūgao gracefully parried only to catch the flat of her blade against his ribs, hard enough to bruise through the dense weave of his flak jacket. Fucking shit. He would be feeling that one all week. Petulant, he swung in reply, thwacking her thigh with the flat of his own blade, hard enough to make her stumble and hiss. And shoot him a look that was thoroughly unimpressed. He shrugged and adjusted his blade, the black chakra flickering like a candle flame. Yūgao took the opportunity to attempt a poke to his blindside once again. Obito swatted her away.
He wasn't helpless, or inept. It was not as though Obito had skimmed through his shinobi career without obscured or outright incapacitated vision. Quite the opposite, given the bulkiness of his ANBU mask. Still, part of his brain had always hitched at not being able to see both of his hands. The prospect that this blindside could be a permanent fixture in his life was hardly encouraging. A fact he did not want to think too hard on. Obito clenched his jaw as he protected his side from a strike. It was getting worse. Or at least not getting better. Another visit to the hospital had earned him some new answers, none of them satisfying. The medic nin had sucked his lip and lowly admitted there could be some permanent damage — vision difficulties, partial blindness, but was adamant the worst would heal on its own with the aid of eyedrops. Obito had been refused chakra healing by the man and Rin both. The eye was delicate, an eye with Dojutsu ever more so, and it would hardly help with chakra strain being the root cause of the damage in the first place (They had finally figured that out. How, neither of them could still answer. Only that it was and that was that). Obito would never admit to the whole escapade giving him bouts of anxiety but his heart jumped at the words 'vision difficulties', 'nerve damage,' and 'partial blindness.' The thought spoiled his stomach. Simply because Itachi had come to accept his own blindness with some sort of dignity, didn't mean other Uchiha could. That grace was a point of pride for the former heir of their clan, given what he had sacrificed. This... there was no pride or dignity in being made a bystander the Demon Star. Or suffering consequences for it. Obito was thankful at least that he was not starting from scratch. He dodged, ducking under Yūgao's swing. ANBU insisted on blindfolded training and enduring it under strain. And then there was his time in the 'Garden', murky as those early few months were. Comparatively more brutal and a taste of 'true' blindness. The vague half-memory still tightened his chest, and set his heart to give a few hard thumps.
Yūgao's blade sliced across the padding on his shoulder.
Obito flinched, rearing back to avoid a swipe that would have taken off the tip of his ear, had Yūgao's blade been sharp. He caught it, locked it with his own. A poor move. Yesterday's rain sat damp on the training ground and the moist grass twisted beneath their feet, churning to slush. Obito awkwardly held her there, still stronger by far. It amounted to little when Yūgao used his weight against him to dip, sliding his blade off her's to once again put space between them.
"Focus! Stop half-assing this," she growled.
Obito gave an inaudible grumble. "Fine," he barked.
He narrowed his eye, shifting into a low stance, poised to spring. Yūgao had half a moment before he was on her, forcing his way through quick, jarring kata. Her eyes brightened in competition. Again and again they came together to clash and spring away. Obito lifted his nose and inhaled, threading it with a small pulse of chakra. Sweet grass, deer musk, and the tangy thickness of sweat wafting from the woman's direction. Though she levelled her breathing, she was tired and faltering.
Each baited the other, nipping with steel to slip just so, to open a point of weakness. Obito wrangled his thoughts. His black blade sliced Yūgao's armguard, gouging a thin line in the metal. His mouth flattened on the woman's behalf. Even as he tried to dampen the flow of chakra through his blade, he could hardly dampen it all; the tanto was especially forged to be receptive to the chakra pushed to flow through it, sharpening it to a vicious sliver of an edge. Yūgao took the blow with a smile. She was the one to insist he utilise the blade he was most comfortable with, even if her own wazakashi was blunted. The chakra tanto it was, extended to its two shaku length. For this spar, he had forgone his usual wrap of chain, if for no other reason than handling the length had been irking him, ungainly as he was sans an eye. It was a work in progress.
Obito swung his blade in a streak of black, only to have Yūgao catch it easily, throwing him and causing him to stumble. Obito grinned. Kami, he felt alive at times like these. With no Sharingan nor jutsu, they were fairly evenly matched. Who would win? He wondered as Yūgao winked. It had been months upon months since they had last sparred in the depths of the Mountain facility. And she, in ANBU, had naturally kept to more challenging missions while he fiddled with paperwork and arduous A-ranks. The way she moved, the strength of her kata, was near perfection. She's better than Hayate now. The thought brought a small stab of grief.
Yūgao leapt back, sending a sudden kunai which he jerked to avoid. "On your toes, Uchiha!" She called.
"Cheat!" He snapped back, sending a rude gesture her way. "Blades only was the agreement!." She laughed, sending a gesture back. The knife thunked somewhere in the trees of the training ground, sending up a shock of chirping birds toward the darkening clouds. Yūgao rushed him, her blade ready to thrust. Obito leapt, using the woman's momentum to grip her shoulder, flipping over her back, his weight throwing her to her knees. She tucked into a roll, barely defending against the assault that followed. She swept out a leg. Obito hopped, kicking at the hilt of her blade. To his satisfaction, her grip faltered and she almost lost it. Again they clashed, Obito sending a few projectiles of his own which she dodged and flicked away with ease.
A pause in their spar had them breathing hard, grinning at one another like a pair of idiots. I miss ANBU, Obito thought before he could catch himself. No, he didn't. He retired for a reason.
They prepared to swing another bout before a shrill keen cut through the sky. Obito jerked his head up, Yūgao doing the same with far more grace. A hawk drifted on the wind, lazily dipping to float down in soft swoops. It keened again and Obito held up his arm in greeting, the bird accepting the strokes to his beak with a chirping squeak. Frowning, he slipped the message from the bird's leg letting the bird free to fly once again.
"You're popular," Yūgao said, looking around his shoulder and pushing away the damp purple strands that clung to her temples.
"Lucky me."
He unfurled the small scroll of parchment. A summons — generic and from the office of the Hokage. Obito's frown deepened, his brows drawing tight. This was sudden. Usually Minato would give him some kind of warning prior to a big announcement or a serious matter that had cropped up. An order to report to Briefing Hall 012 at noon. It had to be almost ten o'clock already. A mass summons on the fly, then. Something must have happened. Or the Hokage wanted to move quickly. An old adage came to Obito as he tucked the summons in his vest. Good shinobi see opportunities. Better ones seize them.
Yūgao made an interested noise as she put away her sword, bumping Obito out of his contemplation. "Looks like an order you should hop to," she noted, before suddenly scrunching her nose. "Maybe after a shower."
Obito scoffed and checked her hard enough to make her stagger.
He ended up doing just that. Clean and with some of Raidō's leftover takeout in his belly, Obito made his way to Administration. Directed to the briefing hall by the front desk, he wound through the darkly panelled hallways of the bottom rung of the Tower, distractedly returning nods to those that recognised him. As he slid the door back, he found he was one of the last to arrive, despite the clock not yet chiming noon.
The briefing hall was wide, constructed of the same timber panelling that could be found throughout the Tower, an old style of the Shodai's era that had likely once been considered bright and new. Instead of an empty hall with lines of cushions as was the old custom, there sat stacked tiers of seating behind long bench rows, all crowded before a large section of free floor space. A place to duel, and display techniques. Large black seals had been applied to each wall on long sheets of parchment. Protection for the rest of the Tower, should a jutsu become unexpectedly destructive. By the door an empty podium sat on the dais, waiting for its speaker.
People mingled — at least three dozen by the look — standing together, lazily seated at benches, their voices filling the room with a low buzzing. The more serious among them sat straight-backed, notepads open and ready. Obito gave them a quick once over. Jōnin and ANBU, in and out of uniform. Chūnin were to be found here and there, some with knives strapped to their belts. More were dressed in standard grey; the logistic, office desk type.
He wandered to Genma and Raidō, the men leaning against the wall, arms crossed and mumbling to one another. The third of the Hokage's guard, and Obito's replacement for several years now after his brief stint, stood a little ways away, her back straighter than the panelling on the walls. Kōgen Nozomi. Obito had only ever met her in a professional setting, and for all intents and purposes, outside of her job she seemed a veritable hermit. Staunch and focused, but not an ass; even a little awkward if any attempts at camaraderie were made at her. Unlike her male counterparts, both of whom could play the part of a Hyottoko with little effort.
They bickered even now like an old married couple, momentarily pausing to greet him before going back to snapping at each other about ... Obito quirked a brow. Who left Minato's coffee on the window sill? Only they would argue over something so banal. Raidō sighed, folding his arms tighter and looking like he preferred to throw himself out the nearest window across the briefing hall. Taking pity, Obito shoved the man's partner, earning a glare and a scowl as Genma almost lost the senbon between his teeth. Raidō's mouth pinched, fighting down a smirk.
"Oi Shiranui, no one cares," Obito said as he leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands in his pockets. "We all know it was you, anyway." He jerked his chin toward the empty podium. "Any idea what this is about?"
Raidō gave a wordless shrug, while Genma showed his teeth, clacking the senbon between his incisors. "Hokage's got an announcement," he said helpfully. Obito rolled his eyes.
Besides Minato's personal guard, Obito recognised a fair few faces. Huh, he reflected with dawning realisation, regarding a pair of Aburame shadowed in a corner, glasses hiding their eyes and high collars shielding their mouths. A notable number of those gathered had talents in tracking, sensing, infiltration, and reconnaissance. Lazing on the benches was some Inuzuka. Hyūga Tokuma stood with one of his cousins by the dais, giving a small nod of greeting when he noticed Obito's stare. There on the highest tier of the stands, Obito recognised Gankyō, sans her raccoon mask but dressed in her ANBU greys, her feet propped up on the bench in front of her. One of ANBU's best at infiltration and reconnaissance. She ruffled her mousy hair and picked at her nails, flicking whatever she found to the floor. Across the room stood Yochi, an elite sensor, his crow mask fitted in place. Even Kushina's young, distant cousin was amongst the gathered. Uzumaki Kota with his bright red hair, leant against the opposite wall, his chin dipped in thought. Likely selected to help with logistics and supplies provided by Konoha's seal corps.
Sensei plans to find whoever's responsible on the sly. Or demand a formal investigation to do the same. Obito grinned. Finally. Curious that Rin hadn't also received an invitation, given her set of skills and know-how when it came to getting information from the right people. She would be irritable at being excluded when she found out. The Demon Star had become somewhat of an obsession for his closest friend (he had found her at his bedroom window the other night, darkly muttering how she had 'thought of something important' as she pried her way in. Sometimes he missed the gentle, sweet natured girl of their youth who didn't try to break into his apartment at one in the morning. If Obito was being honest, he had only half listened to her subsequent rant, and if he was being more honest, if didn't remember a single word of it). Obito was pleased to be included himself, nonetheless. If he could find those responsible for whoever obliterated his Kamui in their dumbass tampering with demonic chakra, he would be a very happy man. Maybe even gouge out an eye in compensation.
Minato arrived a handful of minutes after noon, Haruka trailing in behind, his notepad clutched tight to his chest. The occupants of the hall had only just started to relax, but now they straightened to attention, giving salutes and nods of greeting. Their Hokage stepped up to the dais, calm, formal, but Obito knew him well enough to recognise the stiffness in his movement.
"Looks pissed," Genma said, chewing his senbon. Beside him, Raidō frowned.
"Thank you all for arriving promptly," Minato began, "given the suddenness of the dispatch. I'll get to the point of these summons quickly, as we must be ready to move." He braced his hands against the sides of the podium, brow creased. "I have received a reply from Kusagakure regarding a missive I sent inquiring about the sudden, highly explosive blast of demonic chakra now referred to as the Demon Star. In reply, Kusagakure's Morikage has requested a summit to convene and discuss the event and its fallout. There are concerns about the displacement of refugees, the stagnation of trade in the wake of the destruction as the capacity to import and export goods have been severely reduced between Kusa and the southern and eastern lands. More importantly, however, the Morikage wishes to seek knowledge on who might be responsible for the destruction. As do I." The Hokage eyed the shinobi present, testing or searching, Obito wasn't sure. "The summit is to be held in the border town of Sekihira, not far from the blast site but thankfully intact. The summit will commence by week's end. As such, I'm sure you all can understand that haste is required here."
Both curiosity and discontent bubbled amongst the shinobi. Obito listened, catching the latter in the murmured conversation between a pair of Chūnin. "Kusa is in no position — politically or demonstratively — to make demands to Konoha," the male of the pair scoffed under his breath. "Why should we jump when the likes of Kusa asks us to?" Beside him, a woman bobbed her head and muttered something he could not hear. A Uchiha, the red and white fan stitched to the shoulder of her grey uniform. Obito didn't recognise her, though that wasn't unusual for a clan that numbered in the hundreds. Not from the main family or any of its significant branches at least. Lesser blooded, then, far enough removed from the head family that Obito idly wondered if she had activated her Sharingan. Might not even be possible, if she truly was on the clan's fringes.
"Konohagakure has accepted Kusagakure's request in lieu of maintaining diplomatic relations," Minato continued, immediately stifling the murmurs throughout the hall. "And an opportunity to open a formal investigation on the Demon Star." Ah, there it is. It was clear the immediacy of the demand by Kusa irked Minato, but the man was never — had never — been one to snuff an opportunity when it presented itself. Anything to turn things in the Village's favour. If the thought was a bitter one, a scratch at an old wound, Obito could hardly be blamed.
The rest Obito only gave half an ear to. Whatever was important he would hear about later. Iwa was to attend as a mediating party and one interested in the outcome of the summit (messy, in Obito's opinion, when was Iwa ever clear-headed enough to mediate anything?). It was to be a tense summit, to be sure, with Kusa to bring their best to bear. If not to defend themselves then to have the most powerful of their shinobi strutting about, in some vain attempt to show both Konoha and Iwa they were no pushovers. Cute, but pathetic. More concerning was the simple truth that this was to be the first summit since the official announcement of the ceasefire. Impressive as it was that it had managed to hold, not only in the messy aftermath of the Year but able to endure the bloodied hands borne of skirmishes. As surely as time marched forward, with shinobi came grudges. He hoped the inhabitants of Sekihira had property insurance.
The following days came with a burst of activity. Horses had to be found and carriages arranged, fit for a Hokage and his retinue. Food stuffs had to be checked, rechecked, and checked once more for poison and hidden traps both before being sealed into thick scrolls packed into the carts borrowed for the excursion. Logistics bore the brunt of the pressure, rushing about like ants between the anthills of the Hokage Tower and the conglomerate of buildings nestled around it. Rin hadn't appeared annoyed at all at her lack of summons and an invitation to holiday in Kusa. She had only appraised him, as together they sat outside Amaguriama, saying that he had his job and she hers with a promise that he would know if she had any success.
The evening before their departure, Minato invited him and Rin to dine, revealing that the reply he had received from Kusa included no pleasantries. A demand, rather, to meet and an agenda to review by their 'Morikage'. Obito couldn't help but be tickled at the audacity. A joke that the Morikage was overcompensating sent a round of chuckles at the dinner table. Only Naruto scowled, confused. If the ninja leading Kusa was the strongest, then they deserved to be called Kage. Naive on several accounts, but Obito didn't correct him for that. The title belonged to the leaders of the Great Nations. The likes of Kusa hardly had the military might to back up their claim to the title. Still Naruto wasn't convinced, mumbling that every hidden village had to start somewhere, before scrunching his face like a wet cat.
"Why can't I come, anyway? I could help! We could find whoever blew up Kusa and bring them to justice!"
"Naruto, we're not just going to barge in and start looking," Minato admonished.
"Plus, you're only a Chūnin. The only Chūnin that are coming are from logistics and administration," Obito lied. And those that excelled in tracking and sensing, but that wouldn't have helped convince the boy. "The Hokage needs strong shinobi beside him to show the Morikage that we won't be pushed around."
"Why are you going, then?"
Obito had slapped him up the back of his head.
Later Minato had pulled Obito into the house's office as dinner wound down, pressing his thumb to the barrier seal on the door. "You do know why you're coming, yes?"
"I can guess," Obito had said.
He was to be an extra attachment to the Hokage honour guard, outwardly an example, a display to show Minato's prowess as not only a leader but a teacher, and one capable of producing powerful shinobi out of his students. And while Obito hardly favoured being trotted out like a prize hog, the true reason gave him comfort enough. With Kamui directly involved, it was an attempt to keep Obito close to any revelations that came out of their foray into unfriendly territory. While Rin could have fulfilled the role of prize student well enough, Obito had a set of skills that trounced hers on this occasion: tracking. He sent a quick prayer to Kakashi that whatever they faced, he would keep their dogs safe from the other side.
As he had packed his scrolls and checked his gear that night, Obito had pondered their prospects. Kushina's presence would cause tension. Perhaps even anger, if not from the Morikage's party, then maybe even from the people of Sekihira. It could, in truth, make things difficult for them. She was not exactly well liked, as adamant as she was about getting up close to the blast site in an official capacity. Wherever she walked, suspicion would inevitably follow, even if she no longer bore any trace of the Demon Fox. Kushina was hardy, though. If she could bear the fear and suspicion still present in her own village, the likes of Kusa would hardly scratch the woman's armour. He packed several of the Fūinjutsu scrolls she had given him (or rather thrown at his head) after dinner, lamenting his prospects for free time. Kushina had smugly warned him that as his Sensei, it was her duty to keep him on his toes, and that she would be testing him on the road. Fantastic.
The morning they leave is a bright one, a long procession out the western gate. Loved ones and curious onlookers gave their farewells and wishes of safety. Obito blinked in the harshness of the early light, shielding his eye. The long, dusty westbound road stretched outward, wending through the hills, heat already starting to beat down and get under the collar of his shirt. On the distant horizon clouds gathered, dark and ghostly. A handful of days of hard riding and running straight toward them lay ahead. Obito's confidence took a strange, sudden dip. Despite the desire, the simmering anger, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever they found in Kusa wouldn't be to their liking. Whatever was there would come to haunt them. A sobering thought.
As he walked alongside the Hokage's carriage, he spied Kushina through a slit in the shutter grate, the skin of her thumb pinched between her teeth as her tired eyes roamed the scroll in her hand. Minato said something to her and she shook her head, her face stiff.
He wasn't the only one having sudden doubts.
The sun was high as Rin wandered down the lane, busy shoppers flowing around one another like a river loaded with passing boats. She could have taken to the rooftops to make her way to Ichiraku's, but today she was content to walk. It allowed her to listen.
Things had calmed from the initial fervour of the first few days after the Demon Star made its presence known. And despite the questions still hanging heavy in the air, Rin was grateful. The official statement put out by the Administration had done enough to alleviate some fears and convince the majority that matters were in hand. Not that it had quelled rumours but that was asking for apples to become oranges. The civilians were happier at least, and went about their day without haunted looks, uncertainty, and outright fear in their eyes, that Rin could see. People wanted to believe that everything was alright. That all was handled, so that they could turn their focus back to their lives, even if the reality was no certain thing. She allowed them that; was happy even, to see the true mire, and walk it, so the common folk could live their lives in some modicum of happiness.
She turned the corner, the foot of the Hokage monument edging nearer and the carved faces looming every higher. The Nidaime's face looked stern today, despite the sunshine. Slipping behind a gaggle of old women, Rin ducked under the brightly lettered curtain of the ramen stand. Ah, good. A pair already sat on the stools set before the bar, chatting brightly to the man and his daughter behind the counter. They turned at the sound of the curtain flapping back into place.
"I hope I'm not too late," Rin greeted.
"Sensei!"
"Auntie!"
Sakura scowled at Naruto's discourtesy out of habit before rolling her eyes. He started calling me Auntie before he even knew my name. He's not going to stop now. Good luck, Sakura, Rin mused. The pink haired girl shook her head, her bright smile returning. "Not at all, Sensei! We only arrived a few minutes ago."
All here, except for one. Rin felt a pang in her chest at Sadu's absence. The petite orange haired girl had been happy to say her goodbyes days ago after their last hurrah as a team. Over barbeque thankfully, instead of more ramen. Rin sent a prayer of thanks to Minato once again, that the Hokage had the forethought to redirect their new border patrol recruits Tani's way and place more experienced nin on the border with Kusa.
She settled, Ayame writing up her order while Rin asked her two remaining students what they had been up to. Hospital work for Sakura, and when not inspecting patients with the guide of one of Tsunade's underlings, it was studying the woman's mountain of medical scrolls. Rin bit her lip to keep her laughter in, knowing the grind all too well, despite never having the privilege of being taught by Senju Tsunade herself. Knew it for a handful of years as a teenager at least, before she couldn't stand the place any longer.
It's alright. It'll be alright, a boy assured her. Why didn't you do something?! Another howled in her mind, loud and accusing and drowning out the sound of the first boy's last wheezing, wet breaths. Rin swallowed and brushed the ghosts away.
"And you, Naruto?" She asked, keen to keep her thoughts from all things medical. "I've barely seen you outside of dinner the other night and Sadu's farewell."
"Psh," the boy scoffed. "The old man keeps insisting I do the same boring drills everytime I see him! Always going on about mastering my wind chakra and having me fight like fifty of his stupid toads. I can't get this one stupid leaf thing right."
Really? That doesn't sound like Jiraiya, Rin mused. Normally he's too busy hanging around bathhouses and harassing local women. Much to her own sensei's embarrassment. Minato clenched his teeth any time someone mentioned seeing the old man keep his habits. Perhaps the last time Minato had muttered 'I'll talk to him' something had finally gotten through. Rin doubted it.
"Ugh! And he's supposed to be here!" Naruto continued, scrunching his face. "But he's late. Again! And we have training after this! Probably peeping on some ladies. He made me come with him yesterday to do some 'stealth' training but I ended up just being the lookout for his research!"
Kami preserve. Rin bit back a sigh. "You know, Naruto, if you want some pointers with your affinity, I could suggest a few exercises."
"That's real nice of you, Auntie, but how would you help me?"
Sakura huffed, rolling her eyes once more. "Uh, don't you know?"
"Know what?"
"Sensei also has a wind affinity? It's how she enhances her techniques, making her appear around the place and sharpen her senbon. And it lets her enhance their speed." At least someone had been paying attention.
"Oh. Wait, is that really how you do your Light Trick, Sensei?"
Rin laughed. "Not quite. That one's a secret, but the other things Sakura said are true." She could help but be both amused and worried at Naruto's absentmindedness. He was worse than Kushina at times. The boy had never been good at paying attention outside of tense situations, but she would have thought that he caught onto that, at least. He always has been more of a hands-on learner. "Didn't you ask Minato-sensei for some help before he left? Your dad has wind affinity too."
Naruto quietened, his expression turning glum. Never good at hiding how he feels, either. "Dad's been busy with the explosion thingy. Before then too. And so has Ma, lately. They just tell me to keep at it and I'll figure it out. And well—" He jabbed his hand toward the street, "—now they've gone to Grass to talk to that new Kage. So... yanno." He shrugged.
Sakura bumped him with her shoulder, her smile full of pity. "The Hokage has his duties, Naruto. And Lady Kushina is the best one to study the demonic chakra up close."
"Ugh! I know! It's just... whatever. Forget about it."
Rin felt for him, she did. It was difficult, being the son of a Hokage and one of Konoha's greatest Fūinjutsu masters — if not the best. Their time was precious, and while Minato and Kushina had always tried their utmost to keep them all together, it was not always feasible. Over the years it had resulted in no small amount of time on her and Obito's part playing babysitter and looking after the boy in their stead, when their missions allowed. Not that Obito had minded. Despite declaring that he was happy to leave teaching duties to her, he couldn't help himself butting in to hang about them no more than he could turn his attention away from teasing and playing with Naruto since the day he was born. Rin hadn't minded too much either but... some days had been hard. Some days were still hard. And during those days, not even a sunny little boy helped brighten them. A sunny little boy didn't need to see that.
"Well," Rin pepped, drumming the bench with her hands, "if you're going to grumble like that, I guess I won't bother coming round to cook my special shoyu ramen tonight. That would have been nice, right? Especially after a long afternoon of rigorous training."
Sakura snorted. "More ramen?" She mumbled, disbelieving.
Naruto let out a noise like a choked frog. "Auntie! Come on, that's not fair!"
"Well?"
"Fine, I'll shut up about Ma and Dad. Please?"
"I suppose I could," Rin acquiesced playfully. "Sakura? You're welcome to come too, of course."
"I mean... will Lord Hokage be alright with you taking over his kitchen?"
She shrugged, and waved her hand dismissively. "He'll just have to deal with it."
"Yes!" Already Naruto seemed happier, leaning back on his stool and ruffling his hair. He had been put off in his own pointedly teenage way the night they all had dinner before Minato, Kushina, and Obito had left. For all his grumbling, he was deeply worried about his mother and father. So too about the Demon Star and what it could represent. Naruto was absentminded, but no idiot. He found it frustrating, Rin knew, to be told to sit back and let others handle it. Pushed to the sidelines once again, despite being a Shinobi; a Chūnin with his own duties. Rin could hardly alleviate his aggravation, being pulled to the side by Minato and given her own mission to complete. She looked between Naruto and Sakura, in the lull, the two picked up their conversation about some plan or another to hang about with others from their graduating group. That likely didn't help either. They no doubt had their own speculation running loops around however many of them, their parents and elders tight lipped. Kami knew how much those lot talked. Naruto had near rung Rin's ear when she had politely enquired after the other teams at Sadu's farewell.
"Didn't start without me, did you?" A man's baritone boomed behind them.
Naruto swung around in his seat. "You! We said meet at noon!"
"Brat, it is noon!" A large man parted the curtains, large enough to be forced to duck to clear the awning, his wooden sandals clacking against the hard ground. He smoothed his mane of white hair with a huff, which quickly turned into a chuckle at the indignation on Naruto's face. "I was busy."
"Like hells!"
The Sannin clapped his shoulder, dropping onto a free stool. To Sakura he gave a nod, and to Rin, a wink, taking off the strap on his shoulder and setting his large scroll to the side. Sweat dampened his brow and he absently wiped at the back of his neck. Too much for a mild day. Brothel, or mad dash back and forth between his 'contacts'? Rin tucked the observation away.
"Where were you, anyway?"
"Busy. Now, are we gonna eat or not, kid?"
Their chatter turned to mundane things as their meals arrived and Rin is happy to oblige it, rejoice in it even. Though she avoided staring, she kept an eye on Jiraiya, contemplating the man's whereabouts of late. He certainly hadn't been in Keishi, nor the surrounding townships before he returned to Konoha barely half a month ago. Some instinct told her it was farther afield. But the man didn't need to be away himself to know the things he did.
Soon their empty bowls were set aside and conversation dulled. Rin had become lost in her own thoughts when she heard Naruto call out, and two curious heads poke between the stand's curtains. The Nara boy and Yamanaka girl. Asuma's students. They certainly looked taller and stronger than the last time she had seen them, spitting fire at one another while she and Asuma had shared an amused cigarette. 'They'll like each other eventually,' the man had shrugged.
The Nara boy looked on Naruto's bright enthusiasm with some apathy, shrugging and announcing their intent to meet with the Akimchi and Inuzuka boys.
"Oi," Jiraiya called, his arms crossed, as Rin's own ex-students made to go with them. "Training in an hour, Naruto. You better not be late."
"Rich coming from you, old man. Yeah, yeah, I'll be there." Jiraiya rolled his eyes, and shook his head, turning back to the dregs of his ramen. As Naruto and Sakura trailed off down the street, Rin peered at them through the gap in the curtains, catching Naruto watching the pair of girls laugh and banter, a grin on his lips. Hm, something there perhaps? Rin snorted.
She was brought back to the present when Jiraiya handed over his bowl to Teuchi, before leaning an elbow on the bench as he turned his attention toward her. "So," he started, his smile becoming toothy, "you got a boyfriend yet? Or a girlfriend," he added hastily, "if that's your thing."
Rin levelled him a stare. "And what have you been up to, Master Jiraiya?" She asked.
The Sannin took the change in direction with a shrug. "I'm sure you've heard some things about my recent escapades in Ame. Lovely country, albeit wet. I've decided to stay in Fire for the meantime." He sent a wink over the counter at Ayame who returned a pinched smile. "Better food." There was a hidden gravity to the words that made her frown.
"Well, you can tell me all about your trip if you like. Care to take a walk?"
Jiraiya followed as she led him to the high roof of an office complex, dead and emptied now, the construction agency long since bankrupt. Its rooftop garden sat unloved, overgrown with weeds dug between the tiles. Planter boxes that had long since grown into sickly, spiny bushes swayed in the breeze. The view had always been a favourite of Rin's, set just high enough that the village folded outward like a rolling wave.
She cut to the chase. "Have you heard anything of interest in the past couple of days? Weeks, even?" She regarded him. "I ask on Sensei's behalf."
"A woman of laser-focus, as ever," Jiraiya noted as he packed his pipe. He lit it between his hands but said nothing, puffing a long stream of smoke as he looked toward the skyline. Rin was patient and let him be, even if it took him some minutes to break his silence.
"That bloody skirmish up near Rice a few weeks back? Rumour has it, it was 'encouraged' by a certain Hyūga."
"With the backing of a handful of prominent Inuzuka. Yes, I heard." Keishi had freely given that one. Oh to be a week ago, only concerned about instigators inciting revenge killing and bloody murder.
"Well, they got their target. Off duty Blackguard. A captain. One of their best. Iwa isn't pleased."
And a secretly displeased Iwa was to play diplomatic mediator at Kusa's summit. Great. "No, I'm sure they're not."
"I'm sure you probably heard while you were in Keishi, but Iwa have been making some headway into convincing Ame's trio that looking to them would get them a good deal with their rice exports. Tani too." More nation building and underhanded promises. She had always hated that side of it. She frowned. A displeased Iwa; an Iwa looking to make alliances — or reliances, rather. A dependent nation was more likely to bend to whims. Nations that surround Fire from the west. A buffer or a future point of attack?
Or both.
"And now?"
"On hold, momentarily. Don't need to tell you why."
"Tell me about Kusa, then. What's happening there?"
Jiraiya took a long, thoughtful drag on the stem of his pipe. "The whole place is in the shitcan, politically speaking. More than usual. That 'Morikage's' got everyōne in a rut and gone to demand aid from the Tsuchikage. The Yondaime wasn't impressed but conceded to step in."
Rin raised a brow. "We know this already." Not impressed? Rin could scoff. The woman was shrewd, calculating, and couldn't help herself to an opportunity. It wouldn't have taken much convincing to take control of the situation. Not if it got the woman a greater hold than she already had.
Jiraiya gave her a pointed look. "I'm not finished. Stepping in means the Blackguard. They're infesting Kusa. Searching. That's to say nothing of all the other nations sticking their nose in the place."
Rin narrowed her eyes. "The Blackguard has a lead?" The man hummed and took another drag of his pipe, blowing a smoke ring to the wind. "You don't know," she concluded. "So you have nothing." The presence of the Blackguard, while good to be confirmed, was a given where Iwa was concerned. The Tsuchikage released her dogs when she wanted bodies, dead or still breathing. And right now she wanted to know who could make something like the Demon Star happen. Join the club.
He laughed, a loud bark that echoed back from the surrounds in a tinny clap. "You want an answer like that, you know damn well who to ask, Nohara." Rin clenched her jaw and said nothing. The man regarded her before shaking his head. "Might be worth considering. I'm sure you can handle that line of inquiry better than me."
Silence fell between them until the Sannin tapped out his ashes on the arm of a rotted bench seat, fettered in dark mold. Rin watched as the blackened flakes were whisked away by the breeze, contemplating still. "Welp," Jiraiya said, tucking away the clay pipe in the folds of his vest, "that'll be me then."
"Are you planning to stick around this time? For Naruto?" For what's to come? The man only gave a heavy shrug as he stepped up to the bannister of the rooftop, preparing to leap.
"Oh," he said, turning back and sticking a hand into his satchel. "For Obito, fresh off the print. Ta-ta." She caught the thrown book in a snap, turning over the green cover.
'The Tale of the Gutsy Ninja, Vol 8: Beneath the Underneath.'
He was right. Damn the man. She would have preferred avoiding a confrontation but Minato had given the order to use what resources she could. Damn them both. She had watched the drifting clouds for some time before returning to her apartment. From the depths of her cupboard, Rin fetched the plain mask, purposefully avoiding the one locked in a sealed box, shunted to the back corner of the top shelf. As the sun began to dip, she passed onto a secluded rooftop, far on the northern outskirts of the village where the people below kept their eyes to the mud-caked streets and dared not raise them higher. Here the buildings had been reduced to squat shacks, all of them built from timber harvested in her great-grandfather's days. Goats roamed the streets. Rin watched a pig snuffling at a spilled trough of kitchen leavings. She pulled the hood on her heavy cloak. Standing on the long central beam of the shingled roof, Rin allowed herself an anxious moment to bite her lip before she relaxed, becoming blank. Becoming no one.
She performed a quick-handed jutsu. An old call to point. Three simple signs, on the necessity of being able to complete it if one hand were to be injured or lost. With the last, she wondered if the jutsu would still work. They'd likely changed the use several times over by now.
But then, sure enough, an agent came.
In a sudden gust of wind, he appeared on the beam with her. The agent stood, his posture relaxed, his clothing as nondescript as hers. A hooded jacket, trousers, high top sandals. All in shades of mute grey. Not quite civilian, not quite shinobi. A strong build lay hidden beneath his clothes. Muscular, even. No skin showed, that Rin could see, not on his wrists nor his neck. Beneath his porcelain mask, he wore a cloth mask, or a shirt with a chin strap. His eyes she couldn't see, darkened beneath the moulded face of an expressionless man, the only colour a small blue dot between the mask's eyebrows.
"Azakaya," he greeted in a cool voice, dipping his chin. "...Or do you perhaps come now as Lady Yūrei?" The mocking amusement was plain in his tone. The hint of a challenge too. Rin refused to let it get to her, slipping into a patient, quiet calm.
"Hello Agent," she greeted mildly. "I come as neither. Demon Star." Straight to the point. But as Jiraiya said, she had always been a woman of laser-focus. If this agent knew her at all, then he too would expect it of her. The man lifted his face, questioning. She made the sign for 'exchange.' Then another for 'information'. There was a price. There was always a price. Obito, forgive me.
The cloaked man cocked his head. I'm listening, the movement said, but what do you have to offer?
"Origin lead."
He straightened. Pleased.
"Then let us speak plain." Behind her mask, Rin twitched. The man's voice was modified, yet she could almost... She directed him to go first. "You are aware of the effects of this demonic chakra? How it suffuses the circulatory system?" Rin nodded. "Then the logical conclusion is that they who had been closest to the Demon Star as it erupted — affected by it the most — will possess the densest suffusion of the chakra within their pathways. If one, for instance, were to be at the centre of such a blast..."
"Of course," she replied. "But that would rely on the probability of survival, which is — logically — nil."
"Just so. A fair assessment. And yet, there are black birds chirping in the grass of such a possibility."
Rin tensed before she could stop herself. "Then speak plain, as you say."
The agent hummed. He'd caught the stiffness of her shoulders and the flex of her neck. She was rusty. "No confirmation. Undoubtedly possible. Garments for a single person were discovered by our own within a tree hollow, on the edge of the western extent near some remains of the Kannabi Bridge. Burnt with natural fire. All markings cut away. The weave was chakra infused fibre. The tailoring and calculated mass of the material suggests male. The density of chakra suffusion was... significant."
A Shinobi then. Only shinobi garments utilised an abundance of the weave so as to not disintegrate their clothing and to protect the skin from a moderate dose of ninjutsu. "Manufacture?"
A suspicious pause. "Analysis is pending."
She allowed herself a minute press of her lips. So, we have our possible culprit. One, of however many. A single male shinobi of unknown origin. But one, at least, with a trail. "Only the male?"
The agent didn't answer, still as a statue as the wind picked at the tails of his jacket. The silence too, was plain. Rin would receive nothing more. Hesitation bubbled in her chest. She pushed it down.
"Origin is suspected to be an Uchiha possessing a Mangekyō. Or someone — a male shinobi, perhaps, in possession of one. No confirmation. Mangekyō possesses space-time manipulation abilities."
The information is pleasing, by the way the man rubbed the joint of his index finger with his thumb in idle, calculated thought. "Ryouken—"
"Not Ryouken's."
He hummed once more before inclining his head. Acceptance. Rin shifted her feet. Already she was weary of this dance. That's all you will get. The agent raised his chin. Likewise. He considered her for a moment in a way that made Rin bristle, though she showed nothing of it.
"You are to be informed that the offer to you still stands," he said. He didn't wait for an answer before summoning a gasp of wind, torn leaves settling where he stood. Rin closed her eyes and breathed through her nose, releasing the tension in her chest. It was done.
She walked the ridge beam to the edge. The breeze held warm, the shifting clouds above pressed onward, suggesting that the westerly wind was a fast one, likely to grow stronger in the night. Good. Rin put her thumb to her wrist, pressing on the small, sharp spike embedded in the fold of her glove until blood beaded on the skin. Her hand signs she left to muscle memory, making quick work of them. With the final sign, she opened her fist, a moth cradled in the centre of her palm. The little insect held tight to the weave of the glove as the breeze tickled its wings, threatening to dislodge it and carry it away. Rin brought it to her mouth, whispered her secrets before letting the moth catch on a gust that made the trees at the village's outskirts sway. She stood silent, watching until it was a high, distant speck.
As Rin slipped away, her thoughts remained on the agent and his words.
Kaikei.
She may as well have been speaking to Lord Danzō himself.