Chapter Five - Morikage
The entourage of the Hokage entered Sekihira to a street lined by Kusa's natives. Children sat on the shoulders of men and women. Bright faces leaned so far forward that a Leaf nin could clip their ears as they passed. They watched from their perches with curiosity, delight, and fascination. A few waved, some shouted, more pointed. Minato tried his best to smile and nod from the saddle of his horse, pleased when a little girl waved furiously back. She reminded him of Naruto, with her pale eyes and wild hair. He would have liked a daughter, Minato thought. He and Kushina had agreed to try for another child when the war ended. But the war never did.
Unlike those of their children, the expressions of the men and women were tempered. Too many looked on with distrust, suspicion, and outright anger. They remembered. The last they directed at Kushina, riding at his side. Demon woman, Minato heard. Hell-fire witch. He had heard it before, some of it spat right at his face during the Year. His wife had birthed the demon kitsune right from her womb and a few had made sure Minato knew it. Kushina didn't react as she rode on, though she undoubtedly heard the whispers buzzing beneath the thump of hooves and boots. 'Let them talk,' she had once said. 'I'll be the one showing them I'm more than that. Words are worthless.' Minato let them pass and be ground underfoot.
The town of Sekihira — more half-way between a town and a village — was of the traditional kind: all dark timber and not a building taller than two storeys. Gnarled old trees sat above handsome slat roofs, dotted here and there, erupting up between the buildings. They were the only remaining trees within the swaying grassy fields and rice paddies that pushed the forest back to their edges. The town was laid out in long, wending lanes; the line between house and business a thin one. Their procession passed shopfronts bare of all but local produce by the look; trade stifled with the loss of the Kannabi Bridge and as the roads had become thick with refugees and banditry.
The crowds left them as they turned off at the crook of the main street, the bulk of the procession making for the eastern fields to set up their tents and dig in for the stay. Minato's immediate circle, he kept — his guard and his ANBU, some in uniform, some out. Onward they went. The roads led them to the foot of a hill, split by a winding creek. They marched over the mud-stamped bridge, trailed to the crest of the ridge and led onward to the home of Sekihira's headwoman.
At the gates of her estate, the old woman greeted them with a deep, courteous bow, despite her own crooked back and whatever opinion she held of Leaf nin. With her a diplomat of Kusagakure waited. He was a stout man of no expression at all, his sole presence to greet the Hokage in the Morikage's stead. Kusa's leader was nowhere to be seen. With initial introductions complete, gifts received and extended, they were directed to their accommodations by the headwoman's retainer. By her leave, the Hokage and his inner circle were graciously provided the use of a lodge inn not far from Konoha's encampment, cleared of all other guests.
The Hokage was to be given Sekihira's east, and the Morikage its west.
It was clear this was no choice of the headwoman herself. The Morikage deemed it necessary to place a whole town of civilians between the camps of Kusa and Konoha. A safety measure as much as a comment on the Kage's expectations of trust.
Two days of greetings followed, rituals of propriety, and introductions aplenty. It only took one denied request to meet before it became clear that the Morikage had little intention to approach the summit with anything but strict, distant civility. And so, likewise, Minato stepped back, letting the others mingle for him while he took tea and made conversation with the 'high society' of Sekihira who would meet with the Hokage.
But the war had been long, and grudges weren't so easily forgotten, even when both sides came to meet in peace. Minato had hoped for the better, but it was not to be. And so, it was to no surprise when eventually, a minor spat broke out in one of the town's izakaya. The bar lay in the central district, close enough to both camps and with enough cheap enough sake on its shelves to coax nin, both Grass and Leaf under its roof. Grudges and alcohol never did mix.
From what came to him secondhand, a particularly audacious Leaf Chuunin had boasted aloud in the presence of a Grass nin itching for a fight. Nothing more than that was required to have men and women spilling out onto the road watching kunai and jutsu clash. Obito had given Minato enough detail to suspect the man had watched himself, before aiding in breaking up the squabble. He had probably even been in the bar to start with, happy as he was to roam about Sekihira on the grounds of keeping their own in line. Minato knew instead it was a means to get a taste of a new town (and if that included 'tasting' some Sekihiran women and even some of its men, Minato didn't want to know). He had, at least, assured Minato that the 'idiot kid' had received a reprimand in the form of writing every letter dictated his way, while the Grass nin would be sipping through straws for the next good while.
From then on, Minato had been sure to give the order that their own were to be restricted to the eastern half of the town, its bars, places of eating, and its brothels. Under no circumstance were they to antagonise, scowl, or even breathe in a Kusa nin's direction unless ordered otherwise. Minato refused to have all hope of a dialogue with Kusa and its Morikage lost as spats devolved into skirmishes and ridiculous attempts at 'retribution' before the summit even began.
Although he hadn't intended it in Obito's inclusion in the summit, he was glad to have Obito as his eyes out on the streets when etiquette, expectation, and even security forced him to remain behind doors. The man delighted in it. After existing behind a mask for so long, he was finally free to be himself. Obito had lived and breathed ANBU for thirteen years, restricted to the small circle that knew him and a bingo book entry. Some thrived on that simplicity, but Minato knew, deep down, Obito was never one of them. Minato was glad for his student to finally let go. More than he could express to Obito himself.
Theirs had not always been the closest relationship over the years. He knew he couldn't compare to Kushina. But Minato knew him. Obito had once been a boy who loved to be acknowledged. Had a dream to become Hokage so others would never forget, least of all his clan. He had been a boy who was loud, brash, and unapologetically open. Outrageously passionate. Loving, down to the very core of him. The War had killed that boy, and watching those innocent parts of him die had brought Minato sickening grief. And that was nothing to say of the girl Rin had once been. Both of them, just two more casualties in a conflict he had inherited, had sworn to end, and had ultimately failed to do so. But that was war, Minato thought bitterly. War came for the pieces of the living, as much as it created the dead. So when Obito had finally handed over the scroll with his resignation, and took off his mask, Minato had felt a small bloom of hope that the boy still breathed beneath the hardened skin of the man.
It had freed him. Minato could see that with every grin that came a little more easily to Obito. In all his loud, barking laughter that was heard more often these past months. In every tease, and every bit of warmth in Obito's eyes. The boy was still there, he had just been lost for a little while, and was still finding his way back.
"Bullshit 'Bito. That's the worst lie I've heard from you all evening. You paid her, and I hope for her sake it was good money to compensate."
Minato blinked, looking up from his fish to catch Obito leaning back, his arms spread in a show of cockiness. A small smile pulled at the Hokage's lips as he watched Obito's expression drop in aggravation. Across the table, an incensed Kushina stabbed her chopsticks in their student's direction, leaning so far over her meal, loose strands of red hair dipped into a cup of sauce.
"There's no need to hurt my feelings, Sensei," Obito appealed. It might have worked had it not been said with teeth.
Kushina scoffed, her hair swaying in its bun as she flicked a bead of sticky rice across the table. His Sharingan glaring, Obito swatted it away before it could reach him. It was Raidō, ever patient, that kicked the other man under the table as Obito attempted to pour a cup of pale soy sauce over Kushina's meal in retaliation. "Enough, children. Can't you ever act your age around each other?" The guard sighed, downing his sake in one go before he snatched away Obito's cup and downed that too. Much to the other man's indignation.
Minato heaved a contented sigh, shaking his head. He felt some of the tension release from his shoulders. Beside him, even Nozomi's thin lips pursed into a small smile against the edge of her cup, her blue eyes creasing. After a few trying days, the light-hearted banter and even a show of playfulness was welcome with some company. The night was young. Pleasing. He took solace in the breeze passing through the room. Five bodies seated on cushions around a table, and two more perched in the rafters above had heated the space over the hours. The rooms afforded to them by the inn were comfortable, if strictly traditional. As all things were in Sekihira. It was somewhat rare, these days, that Minato found himself in a setting like it. Unless it was an old clan compound, only Keishi kept the old ways with equal fervour, the old capital slow to modernise. The inhabitants of Sekihira seemed to take pride in their ways, and Minato was glad the beauty of it was spared from the destruction.
It was not easy to miss the consequences of the Demon Star. The town already suffered an influx of refugees. With two Kage and their entourages, the entire settlement felt cramped. Everywhere, save for the inn they had been allotted at least. Minato couldn't help but feel guilty for that fact. The owner — a middle aged, spindly man with a thin, stringy beard — appeared vexed at the loss of income on top of despairing that the Hokage and his lot made little use of the sprawling traditional hall he had prepared for them to entertain in. Tonight they had secluded themselves for dinner in one of the smaller tatami rooms, which the inn's master only begrudgingly set. Minato had moved to entreat him that while the splendour was appreciated, it was rather unnecessary. He calmed eventually, but his narrow eyes kept their innate distrust, and his thin moustache twitched, all despite the assurance that no disrespect was intended for his premises or the quality of them.
Tonight, the evening was humid enough that the shoji to the dry garden were slid wide, letting the breeze pass through. Even if it meant a squall of insects flitted about the light bulbs. Out here on the edges of town, the quiet passed in from the surrounding fields; rice paddies, carved out of the land in dark scoops. Every so often, Minato could sense the shifting of his ANBU, hidden within the trees of the garden, perched on rafters and rooftops. They were moving now. A changing of the guard.
He was glad for them. While Obito was his public eyes, his ANBU were his private ones. Yet their Kusan counterparts were also about. The Morikage had the same idea. While Obito informed him what went on in the light of the day, his ANBU watched that which went on in the shadows and behind closed doors. And, worryingly, one morning Mosa had returned with a rumour: the ranking Kusa nin ardently believed that the Demon Star was Konoha's fault. With what evidence they had to believe this, they had yet to discern. It was concerning nonetheless. If Kusagakure's best believed it...
Then the Morikage did too.
Minato rubbed his eyes. So much for peace and quiet, he thought. He finished his fish, fighting the thoughts that rose and fell like an all-consuming tide. Well cooked, deliciously spiced, and somewhat tasteless in the political mess Minato found himself. Conversation had died, each at the table focused on the remains of their meal or their cups. And from their expressions, perhaps Minato wasn't the only one captured once again by the dark undertones of a pleasant setting. Beside him Nozomi considered her cup, her brow creased. With the present worrying, and the future unsettling, perhaps the past was the safest bet tonight.
"Nozomi," Minato called softly. The woman straightened in an instant, setting down her cup and smoothing her dark hair, as though conscious to be presentable.
"Yes, Lord Hokage?"
"You're originally from Tani, aren't you?"
The sudden question threw her. She gave a wide, owlish blink. "That's correct. Although, we lived near the border of Fire," she quickly assured. "And my family came to Konoha while I was young." As though that would make her any less loyal. If the Long War had achieved anything, it was in its ability to create distrust of outsiders.
"Why don't you tell us about it? Your childhood. River Country is quite beautiful and open. Konoha must've seemed blocked in with all its buildings and streets."
"Well, I..." She looked about the table, her long face pinched. With other conversation settled, she only found interested gazes and nods of agreement. "I suppose..."
"Oh, go on," Genma encouraged lazily. "I'd rather hear this than watch Raidō sit here feeling sorry for himself." The man in question gave him a sharp, offended look. "We've worked with you for, what, seven years now? Nearly?" He nudged Obito's arm. "When did you crawl back to ANBU?"
"Not soon enough."
"And yet we hardly know any of your darkest secrets. How're we meant to blackmail you to keep you from betraying his lordship?" Genma asked as he waved his senbon, tapping it sharply and pointing it Nozomi's way.
The woman's expression slackened, taken aback.
"He's joking," Kushina assured.
"Right." Recovering, Nozomi picked up her cup, looking into its depths for some courage. "Yes. Alright. Hm... well, I grew up on my grandmother's farm. She owned several plots of land on the border of Fire, as I said. My father's family didn't have much, so he moved in with my mother and her mother. As for my family, I have four brothers, older and younger. Some of them ended up staying when my mother and father parted ways. I came to Konoha with my father and youngest brother. There's not much to say, honestly." She shrugged. "It's all rather boring. On the farm, as soon as we could stand we helped, in some way. Collecting eggs, planting seeds. Leading the goats and sitting with the sheep. It was quiet. Much quieter than Konoha. Not that I mind.
"As for the farm itself, that's more interesting, I suppose. My grandmother told us our farm once belonged to the Hatake clan. Our land only made up a small piece of their ancestral farmlands. She said the clan worked them for centuries while also being hired by local villages as shinobi. Before the Hidden Villages were formed and the ninja clans joined them. She said the Hatake came from the smallfolk and so they used to help the smallfolk, while other shinobi clans were hired by the likes of lords and ladies." She didn't notice that both Obito and Kushina had quietened. Minato felt a stab of sorrow. Even Raidō and Genma looked muted, the latter shooting Obito a glance.
"It's no wonder they farmed there, though. The land on the border is perfect for it; all criss-crossed with rivers, little streams, fens, and eddies. My brothers and I used to play in them. Explore. We would be gone all day from morning to dusk, wandering for miles. We used to find some of their old farmhouses — the Hatake's, I mean — all overgrown. Mostly ruined. We even found an old shrine of theirs once, painted and decorated with statues of hounds." She frowned at her cup, troubled. "That was ruined too. Someone had smashed most of the statues and the shrine itself was burnt black. My grandmother said there was a reason the Hatake left for Konoha. The Warring period was a hard time for many clans, she said. I've always wondered what it used to look like — how it should have been. It must've been beautiful in their day."
Their day. The statement felt like a slap. A sombre atmosphere settled over the dinner table. It grew quiet enough that Nozomi looked up from her cup, taking in the muted, dour expressions with some confusion. "Is— did I say something wrong?"
"Hatake Kakashi was the Hokage's student. Part of his genin team. Before he died on a mission," Raidō said gently. "He was... well, he was the last of them."
The woman paled. She turned to Minato, her eyes wide. "I'm so sorry, my Lord. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories, forgive me—"
He shook his head. "It's fine," he soothed. "Kakashi's been gone a long time now." He didn't miss how Obito downed the rest of his cup. He sighed, watching a moth flit through the open shoji, an ache in his chest. He's with his mother now. And his father. He hoped, at least, that all three of them had found some measure of peace. "Please, continue."
"Perhaps we should talk about something else," she grimaced, letting the words fade into a mumble.
What a damning coincidence, Minato thought. The world sure is small. Above, the moth floated gracefully, flapping its powdery wings. Where others of its kind threw itself against the shaded glass of the lit bulb, this one floated downward in idle, carding strikes. It caught on his hand, curled around his sake cup. Minato cocked his head. Its feathery feelers twitched. The brown, speckled wings fanned before it released a soft pulse of chakra that prickled his skin.
The others at the table felt it too. They sprung; on their haunches in an instant, limbs tense and hands hovering near the weapons hidden in pockets and hemlines. The ANBU agents sitting in the rafters dropped to the mats, blades ready to swing. In the garden, chakra signatures flared and the quiet night became tense.
"Hold!" Minato ordered, halting the shinobi ready to pounce on the little creature. He raised the moth to his ear, catching its soft, tickling whispers before the summon released in a wisp of powder. Not of smoke, but moth dust, disintegrating and cast away by the breeze. The shinobi faltered, easing in their stances but wary still.
"Rin?" Obito asked, on his feet and his expression strained.
Minato smiled. "It seems we have a lead."
"Get up." A foot kicked him through the wrap of blanket. Obito groaned, turning his head into the featherdown of the pillow and ignored the nasally voice interrupting his comfortable doze. Another kick. He gritted his teeth and didn't move. "Don't make me get Kushina."
"What do you want?" Obito growled, snatching his blanket back where the man had begun to tug it down the futon.
"It's not what I want, it's what the Kage want. The summit's been called."
Obito opened his eye. Fuck.
Although he didn't quite drink himself out of sobriety last night, it was a near thing. This morning Obito's head felt heavy, and his mouth dry. He blamed Nozomi's childhood and Minato's insistence that she wax poetic about it. He'd been having a good time in Sekihira; exploring a new town, tasting the local sake. Even bedded a delightfully plump smiling girl, with warm, dark eyes and a beauty mark on her cheek. And then they had to go and finish dinner last night with a eulogy to the clan of a childhood friend. Worse, Obito hadn't even known those things. He'd never asked Kakashi anything about the Hatake while the boy was still alive. It was a bitter reminder of... too much. Thank the gods Rin's little summon saved the night from becoming too depressing.
He readied himself with all the energy of a man who'd rather crawl back into his futon. Obito groaned under the brightness of the sun, scrubbing his hair and wishing he had downed a handful of painkillers as he assembled with the rest of the procession on the street. Minato gave him a look without pity and nodded for him to stand behind his shoulder. Raidō took the place beside him, then Nozomi and Genma. Kushina, at her husband's side, looked unnaturally indifferent. She had already been up and ready, sipping her tea, her congee set aside as he had wandered to the bathroom to relieve himself after throwing off his blanket. It wasn't right. And it was unsettling enough that Obito had thought to ask her about it. But the expression she made when he quirked a brow at her kept him at bay.
The rest of the shinobi in Konoha's retinue assembled behind them according to rank and station, trailing the path from their tents out on the fields. Shouts and calls rang out in the morning air, rousing those that lingered and reprimanding others that still hurried to ready themselves.
Beneath the glaring morning they marched, threading the streets towards the town's high hall. Sekihira's people watched them as they went. Men smoked cigarettes from the shade of their doorways. Others eyed them as they cut across the street, sacks on their shoulders, making for the fields and the day's work that awaited them. Children, roused from their beds, leaned from open shutters, pressed against window panes and pointed to the lines of shinobi that trudged on in their forest green flak jackets and hitai-ate stamped with the symbol of the Leaf. A few had their gaze to the rooftops above, quick enough to catch an ANBU agent darting from ridge beam to crossbeam before they slipped into shadow once again. A woman flapped the blankets of a futon from her balcony and upon seeing the shinobi passing below, she paused, letting the blanket hang to brace her hands against the railing, her expression dark and stiff. When it came to orderly formations meant to impress, Obito always felt like a strutting chicken parading around for amusement. But usually the people watching actually liked them.
They picked their way up a winding lane that steadily inclined toward the hill at Sekihira's northern extent. There, Sekihira's high hall was hidden by twisted old camphor trees and towering bamboo. Somewhere on a street parallel to theirs, the Grass shinobi marched too, arriving at the foot of a long and steep climb of stairs. The stairs were manifold; steps of old dressed stone, sinking and depressed with centuries of trudging feet. Spongy moss spilled over the masonry as the vegetation surrounding their climb overflowed from their thickets. Obito glimpsed Kusa's procession through the shafts of the bamboo before it thickened once again. A woman led them, coddled in flowing traditional dress. The sheen of it spoke of brilliant silken greens and pale ivory whites. The ornaments in her hair flashed as the sun caught them. On the breeze he caught the scent of lemon. Obito grinned to himself.
Someone wanted to make an impression.
At the top, a large red Torii gate loomed, itself made small beneath the shaded canopies of the ancient camphor trees, branches reaching outward like dozens of springing snakes. The hall, constructed of equally ancient dark wood, sat amongst worn stone paving mortared with moss. A head priest awaited them on the final step, hands clasped, balding in his middle age and round under his starched green tunic. With his wooden baton, he directed them to a side entrance, opposite to where Kusa was to enter. More priests and priestesses awaited them there, ladles of water in hand and urging the nin to cleanse themselves before entering the sacred hall. Unused to being involved in such lengths to appease some gods, Obito regarded the prompting with some incredulity. It reminded him of the few times Gran had dragged him to the Naka shrine in the compound as a young boy. The priestess before him waved her prayer stick in wide arcs, the paper streamers flapping like birds. He dipped into a bow, fighting the itch to fidget.
Satisfied at the lack of footwear on the shinobi, the head priest slid back the shoji, granting the Hokage and his immediate circle entry. The rest of Konoha's nin were banished to wait outside.
Across the high, vaulted hall, Kusa's procession passed through its eastern doors.
Despite two dozen bodies flowing into the hall, barely a step could be heard. Habit kept the feet of the shinobi near silent. Obito stood tall at Minato's shoulder, flexing his hands. It felt strange to be exposed; maskless at the Hokage's side, and dressed in a bulky green flak jacket after years of fitted ANBU grey. There was something real to it; something that attached itself to the unfamiliarity. What he felt wasn't anxiety, not exactly. But it came uncomfortably close to it. For the merest moment, the doubt that had plagued Obito the morning they had set off came creeping back.
The hall was wide and empty save for a singular low table set on tatami mats and cushions for seating. Across from Konoha's contingent, a dozen Kusa nin and a handful of retainers moved as one. A woman fronted them. The same Obito had spied through the bamboo. He took her in, now able to see her clearly.
She was of a middling height and a lithe, willowy stature. Her steps were even, graceful and with each one her gold embroidered silks skated across the mats. The Forest Shadow was beautiful at first glance, but there was little more to her. She was his age, if a few years his junior. Her long, caramel hair had been curled up high, stabbed by golden hairpins. The ends clacked as she walked, their hanging beads and blood red stones swinging to and fro. The only sound she made. Her high, rouged cheekbones gave her an air of exertion when contrasted with her pale skin, but there was an artistry to it; painted to look healthy, and as inviting as the red layered on her lips.
In stark conflict with the Morikage's beauty, was the pinched look on her face. Creased, as though she had smelled something rotten. She soured further as she spied Minato. Still too green to show any tact. And stuck-up. Obito could already tell this was going to be an interesting summit. Was this really all Kusa had to offer? He had barely heard of the woman before her ascension to 'Morikage'. She looks like a girl who raided her mother's closet, Obito thought. The Tsuchikage may as well be her mother, for all the power the woman held over Kusa. Maybe not as practical, he considered. Or as terrifying. That woman could silence a room of respected shinobi with a handful of clipped words. And she had, if memory of the last time all the Kage had convened served.
The Kusa nin behind her were near as finely dressed, looking like servants rather than soldiers. Though a sight more practical in their pressed green and white uniform of a close-cut flak jacket and fitted trousers, Obito noticed the gold thread all the same. Inspecting them, he also spied a pair of men whose faces he had seen pasted in the A-rank section of the bingo book. Both had bounties from Tea to Lightning Country. At the back stood Touma of the East Forest, famed for his monstrous poisons that could rot a man's insides. And at the Morikage's shoulder hovered Baishō Kouga, a master of Hyōton. Capable of freezing your blood in your veins, if you gave him enough time to do it. At the sight of them, Obito perked. This is more like it. So Kusa did bring their best. As they came to a stand still in the middle of the room, he took a moment to fantasise how a fight with either man might end.
At the head of the hall, stood Sekihira's leader, as old as the camphor trees outside. The contrast between the Kusa retinue and her drab garments was stark. Her kimono seemed several decades older than even her, as old as she was with a face creased with wrinkles and a back bowed with age. The red had faded to pink, the thread of the small embroidered flowers dulled and mended.
Beside her was a tall man with hollow cheeks and a severe brow beneath his wash of dark hair. He dressed in dull, predictable greys and browns, the collar of his vest rested high against his jawline and he regarded those gathered with a neutral stare behind black-rimmed glasses.
Iwa's diplomat. Just the one. He's either damn good at his job, or the Tsuchikage doesn't give a shit at making an effort, Obito mused.
In her warbling voice, the headwoman greeted them, inviting both Konoha and Kusa to sit. To the Hokage, Morikage, and Iwa's man, she directed to the cushions placed directly before the low table. The rest of Konoha and Kusa's personage spread to find a cushion set further back. Obito found himself beside Kushina, and she gave him a strained wink as she settled. Obito cast a glance around to the doors of the hall. Instead of guards, a priest or priestess stood before the open shoji, their heads dipped in a solemn bow.
"Welcome, welcome," the headwoman rasped, folding her creaking legs beneath her. She clasped her hands, dipping her head like her priests and rattled off a prayer before she raised it once again and bowed to them all.
"Friends, we come together today as equals in this grave time. An evil has called suffering down upon the people of Grass Country. A darkness that the great Kami will aid us in illuminating, so that we may see that justice is done." She passed a trembling, creased hand toward the Morikage who kept her eyes on Minato, the leaf nin behind him reduced to scenery. "The most esteemed Shodai Morikage, Lady Yūkoku Fumiko has requested this meeting of great Kage and we welcome her to our hall." Obito clenched his jaw to keep the amusement spasming his face and can feel his fellow Konoha shinobi do the same. Even the Iwa diplomat looked slightly amused at the declaration, adjusting his glasses.
Yūkoku.
It was of no surprise that one of Kusa's predominant clans would claim leadership and a title after years of struggling with a council. From what Obito knew of them, they already had the power, the personage, and the money to take the position, regardless of actual skill. Interesting that they chose a secondary main branch member to promote to the position of Kage, rather than their heir — a notable shinobi in his own right, though the name of the man escaped him. Easier to control? Obito considered the thought. She seemed the kind that would throw a fit, if things didn't go her way. If he were choosing a puppet to lead a nation, he'd probably choose someone a little less of a petulant spit-fire.
The headwoman extended her other hand toward Minato. "We welcome the noble Yondaime Hokage, Lord Namikaze Minato, who has led the nation of Fire for many long years now." Minato inclined his head to the headwoman and Morikage both. The headwoman clasped her hands to her heart, and to the man seated beside her, she turned and bowed deeply. "And lastly, we welcome Mr. Kyōken Saburo, who has travelled far from Iwagakure at the gracious behest of the wise Yondaime Tsuchikage, Lady Ōkinayama Kaori, to mediate this most vital summit." At the Tsuchikage's name, the Morikage perked. A smile that was almost smug pulled at her red lips.
The headwoman recited another quick prayer, asking for the amnesty and wisdom of the gods to guide those gathered toward understanding. To answers, and for courage in the face of tragedy. From their places at the doorways, the priests and priestesses bowed at their waists. "Now," the old woman finished. "I pray that we begin."
"Yes, let us begin," the Morikage said. She held out her hand.
Her aide, a forlorn looking boy hardly out of his teens, pulled a long, decorated case from a silken wrap. The case alone must have cost a fortune; engraved gold with a plush velvet interior, holding an equally long, pointed cigarette holder. The holder itself was more etched gold, and the boy quickly slotted a rolled cigarette in the end before handing it to his mistress. Fumiko placed the holder between her ruby lips, calling a flame to her fingertip in a small burst of chakra. Fire affinity, Obito watched. From across the table, she regarded Minato. Scrutinising him. The flicker of a flame danced on her fingertip, making the end of her cigarette sizzle as she took a long drag. She released the smoke in a ghostly stream before she spoke again.
"Lord Hokage, it is an honour to meet you at last." Naturally clipped, her voice was pleasant with a high, musical lilt, helped by the warm tones of her Kusan accent. Obito knew he would be detesting it by the end.
"Likewise," Minato returned. "Kusa has chosen its Kage well, Lady Fumiko. I have heard of your achievements."
Obito released a soft snort. Achievements? The bar was low if a competent enough Jōnin with several high A-ranks under their belt and no name to speak of, were considered 'achievements.' To Obito's surprise, Fumiko's mouth twisted in a hint of a grimace before settling into a mock smile.
"Mr. Kyōken," she said, "I must thank you for attending. I know your duties to the Tsuchikage usually keep you quite busy. It is a long way to travel from your home in Earth Country's northern reaches." Saburo inclined his head, but said nothing more. "Lord Hokage, I am sure you are aware of the situation we find ourselves in and the context for which this summit was called. Grass Country has been rocked by a profound and quite unexpected atrocity. Two hundred — nay near two hundred and fifty souls have lost their lives. And many more injured. The victims were peaceful people, you understand. Largely civilians. Many of whom who now have to deal with the deaths of loved ones, and endure lifelong injuries. Who now must suffer poverty as their homes and livelihoods are gone with their farms reduced to desolate wasteland. It is therefore imperative that the culprit is identified and those culpable punished most severely. Would you not agree?"
"I would, my Lady Morikage," Minato spoke, his voice grave. "Please, accept my condolences for this tragedy. It's cruel that something like this has occurred only a short number of years after the Year of Nightmares. From which all of us are still recovering. The Nation of Grass has been hit hard. With all my heart, I feel for your people. Konohagakure has been giving what aid we can to those who've fled across our borders. It is only right that those responsible be found and justice served.
"In fact," he gestured to the Morikage before extending a hand Saburo's way, "it's my understanding that both Kusa and Iwa have been conducting a rigorous investigation into the cause and outcome of the blast — the Demon Star, as the common folk have been calling it. Isn't that so?"
Fumiko's expression turned tight. "That is correct."
"As is only right. Then allow me to make a request. Konohagakure and the Nation of Fire would like to offer our assistance in this matter by opening our own investigation. With your permission, of course."
The Morikage's expression dropped, her pretty face losing all its mock pleasantry. It twisted into something ugly and dark. The change was sudden enough that Obito twitched in surprise, his fingers flitting with the ingrained instinct of reacting to a threat.
"Your request is denied, Lord Hokage. No. Absolutely not. Do not think I do not know you've had your pawns slinking about my— our lands uninvited." My lands. The slip was not lost on Obito. Behind her, the Kusa nin looked similarly cold. "Konoha is not welcome to parade about Kusa as it pleases. We shall determine who is responsible by the outcomes of our investigations and I will not let the likes of Konoha poison our claim to justice."
"My Lady," Minato spoke, his tone both admonishing as well as placating. "It was not my intention to presume control by any means. Rather, we only wish to offer our assistance in seeing this matter resolved. Please understand, we are aware of the... threat such an explosion poses, and no less what the nature of such an explosion insinuates. Tampering with demonic energies is a threat to all mankind, as per the agreements of the grand summit held after the Kyūbi's defeat. Which I am sure you well remember, as having been part of Kusa's contingent yourself. We bring to the table our expertise on the matter."
"Yes," the Morikage sneered. "Your expertise." She threw a look Kushina's way; one of pure poison. "Experts such as her? If we were even to consider accepting, must we entreat with one such as she? Who caused the Year and all the horrors it wrought?" She scoffed, taking a drag of her cigarette and releasing a stream of smoke through her teeth. Obito caught the double meaning of Fumiko's words. A former Jinchūriki and Uzumaki both. Obito didn't hide his glare.
Beside Obito, Kushina smiled, all teeth. "My Lady Morikage, I am here as shinobi of the Leaf. And I serve as a shinobi of the Leaf. If the Hokage is of the opinion that my skill set would be of use then I am willing to lend whatever aid I can. For the good of the people. Both of Konoha and of Kusa." Before them, Minato nodded, though as he turned to look at Kushina, Obito spied a tightness to his mouth.
"Indeed. Kushina is one of our most senior experts on unnatural chakra and its effects. If we're to find an answer regarding this tragedy, then we'd be fools not to make use of her." A hidden warning lay blatant in his words: so let's leave the past in the past, shall we? Kushina kept her poise. Her face remained impassive as Obito glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Despite her calm, Obito knew his sensei was seething in her mind.
The Morikage only harrumphed, giving a vicious suck on the stem of her holder. "No, this won't do. Such an ask is ridiculous. And pointless. The investigation has already determined where the culprits are to be found." She thrust out her hand once again and Obito's eyes narrowed. At his back the Leaf nin grew tense. At the head of the table, the headwoman's eyes widened, her trembling hands fluttering against its surface. Beside her, Saburo bore no reaction at all, simply eyeing the proceedings with a bland sort of curiosity.
The Morikage's aide pulled something from the inner of his vest. Another silken wrap. He passed it to her with a tight, tense carefulness, as though hesitant to let any of the cloth become unbound before it left his hands. The Morikage wasn't so careful. She hardly looked as she tore the silk from the object before throwing the thing across the table. It skittered, bounced, and rolled. Obito clenched his jaw against the gasp threatening to suck in through his teeth.
Fuck.
The metal plate of a Konoha hitai-ate trembled as it came to a stop.
The surface lay tarnished, and its body twisted, but there was no mistaking the leaf symbol still visible, etched deep into the surface. This was no new headband either. It was years old, decades even, polished and repolished. Loved, despite its scratches and nicks; and now its browned edges. Someone had taken care of it.
"This," Fumiko hissed, her eyes flashing, "was discovered at the area of impact. Where the demonic chakra was — is densest. And do you know what was found with it? A flak jacket. Scraps of it. The remains of Uzushio's swirl clear on the back. We have confirmation from our specialists that it is chakra weave. Both the material and headband are of Fire manufacture." Obito dug his fingernails into the fabric of his trousers. This was bad. This was very, very bad. If Kusa truly believed Konoha had something to do with this... if Iwa believed...
This could mean war once again. Obito's gut sank, unable to tear his gaze from the rectangle of bent steel.
"Have you nothing to say, Lord Hokage? You think I will let you dictate to me about some fraudulent investigation you seek to initiate? My people are dead! My people are injured and homeless. My nation wails for justice, and you think I will play idle to the demands of the very man who caused this calamity?!"
Minato regarded the hitai-ate briefly before disregarding the plate entirely. "While these finds are intriguing, the presence of a Konoha shinobi will need to be verified. Flak jackets and chakra weave clothing are standard issue. Replacements can be bought from registered gear stores throughout Konoha. As is true of any hidden village. It wouldn't be difficult for an antagoniser or antagonisers to obtain Konoha shinobi garments. Neither would it be difficult to retrieve a Leaf hitai-ate. They frequently become lost during missions within and outside of the Land of Fire." Minato leaned back, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "Let's not be so hasty to reach conclusions, my Lady Morikage. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time for Kusa, and as I said, your people have my sincere sympathies. But it's no secret that there's been increasing discontent at the state of this long ceasefire — from all sides. The Year of Nightmares and the Kyūbi no Kitsune's rampage across the nations could only do so much to temper the tensions brought on by the Long War. Despite how we Kage have attempted to reign with cooler heads. It wouldn't be such a surprise — to me, at least — that there might be some willing to try and induce conflict once again."
Fumiko's throat worked, her lips peeling back before she forced them to flatten in an attempt to control herself. Her amber eyes raged in liquid gold. "Are you so bold to suggest that this was nothing but trickery and deceit?" Outraged, she threw an imploring look to the head of the table, seeking a friend. The headwoman kept her eyes lowered to the wood grain. Saburo, in contrast, watched not the Morikage, but Minato, a hand pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger. Behind his glasses, his eyes were dark and contemplating.
"I accuse no one here," Minato assured. "Nor anywhere else, for that matter. I'm simply suggesting that this should be looked at objectively, from all sides, to ensure that blame is laid at the feet of those who are truly responsible. Therefore, I think it's imperative that Konoha be allowed to conduct our own investigation. While this evidence is preliminary, it's evidence nonetheless, and it's in the interest of the Land of Fire to find out what the culprits intended by disguising themselves in Konoha gear while they brought down this devastation onto innocent people."
Saburo straightened in his seat. He passed his gaze briefly between the Kage, tugging the cuffs of his coat and linking his fingers. "Iwa supports this motion," he said, commandingly calm. Obito's brows shot to his hairline before he could stop them. He caught his jaw before it slackened. The Morikage failed to do the same. "In fact, the Lady Tsuchikage welcomes Konoha opening an investigation into this matter. On the basis of course," he pressed, "that it is completely transparent and all information collected be shared within a report provided to the nations of Earth and Grass."
Fumiko seemed to deflate. The grip on her cigarette holder became loose. The cigarette stem itself had long since burnt out. "But..."
"The Tsuchikage has always approved of thoroughness and seeing that cooler heads prevail. Particularly in the face of such a tragedy. It would be in the best interests of all to work together, one should think." A jab aimed straight across the table, nicking the Morikage where she sat. She quietened, dropping her eyes to inspect the table's surface. Her jaw flexed.
Minato inclined his head. "Thank you, Mr. Kyōken. Konoha is more than happy to agree to these terms. Lady Morikage, does Kusagakure agree as well?"
Fumiko looked as though she would still decline, gazing across the table from beneath her lashes, the fire in her eyes still hot. But then she gave a nod, albeit stiff. "You may," she grit. "Provided you keep to the terms. I should like them in writing."
"And you will have it. On my word, Konoha will share the information it finds regarding the Demon Star."
A kick of anxiety fluttered in Obito's chest. All information? Surely that didn't mean Kamui's involvement? He wouldn't. He's not stupid, Obito reassured himself.
He didn't like this. Konoha was involved. Somehow. Obito didn't believe for a moment that it was some outsider playing dress up. Minato was only fishing for a way to wrangle back control of the situation. He looked to the metal plate sitting guilty in the middle of the table and felt vaguely nauseous. They needed to get to the bottom of this. Fast. They needed to figure out what to do. If this were to get out and Konoha was caught with its pants down and ass out, things were going to spiral out of control very, very quickly.
And if it does, the Land of Fire won't have as many allies on our side as the last time everything went to shit.
Up close, the blast site was an ugly mole on the landscape. From his place amongst the rubble, Obito looked up at the jagged rock piercing skyward like loose teeth. Dunes of blown soil gathered around their bases like mounds of receding gum line. A strange stench hung in the air; charred wood, even flesh, though there was no burning he could see, nor any black smears of charcoal. It was as though the Demon Star had simply broken up the earth in a wild flurry of power. Not unlike a giant, demonic Rasengan.
ANBU stood scattered amongst the ruins, keeping their eyes and ears out for anyone who would disturb them. Obito was tempted to leap up a rock face so he could see the rolling landscape that had once been the Kannabi Ravine. Tokuma's voice — Gosei's, now he was behind his sparrow mask — filled the unnatural silence that gripped the land. High above them, he described what he saw through his Byakugan, as below Konoha shinobi and its Hokage gathered at the centre of the Dead Zone, where the remains of one of their own had supposedly been found. Upon arriving, Obito had tried to look for any latent scrap of fabric, any sort of clue left behind, but Kusa nin had picked the area clean. His Sharingan revealed nothing but the fine, dust grain of churned soil.
As they listened to Gosei's report, Konoha's shinobi cycled chakra through their circulatory systems. Kushina's idea. A small means to prevent the demonic chakra present from suffusing their pathways. It seemed to be working. If Obito focused, he could feel the smothering touch of the demonic chakra whipped away by his own before it could sink beneath his skin. He hated the thought of some kind corruption being sucked into his coils. Kushina's tests were only just beginning back in Konoha. Who knew what it could do to a man's chakra system if it was allowed to wreak havoc.
"The chakra has evaporated somewhat," Gosei spoke from his perch on the pointed cusp of a stony fang. Below, Kushina bobbed her head, noting she could feel the same. "Nevertheless," the Hyūga continued, "we face the same issue. Determining unique chakra signatures — or the remains of one — within this area is a fruitless endeavour. I can only make out our own, as close together as we are. I can see animals — birds and rodents — but I cannot sense the natural flow of their chakra." He turned his bulging gaze to Minato where the man stood inspecting the crater that if Obito squinted, looked as if it could once have held a body. "I should mention as an aside, Lord Hokage. Despite our efforts to cycle our chakra, our bodies are still absorbing some of the demonic chakra which will likely affect our signatures for a few days yet."
And here Obito was hoping he wouldn't keep any of the stink once leaving. This place was already unnerving, now he felt dirty to boot.
"And what about the ability to sense the remains of a certain signature outside of the Dead Zone?" Minato asked.
It was Yochi that answered from his perch, high on a cracked boulder, his crow-mask cocking as he scratched his dark hair. "Provided we have a lead, it might still be possible. I'm not gonna lie, sir, it's still going to be hard. I've noticed something, standing here. The demonic chakra almost eats at the remnants of other chakra until it's all that remains to be sensed."
"I too, have noticed this," Gosei affirmed.
"That said, it's not impossible. If you're good at your job," the crow-masked nin said.
Minato smiled. "That's why I've brought some of the best Konoha has to offer."
Yochi nodded. "Aye, sir. Anyway, if the person has enough suffused into their system, that could be a trail in itself. Still, whatever the case, we'd be on a time limit. The remains of the demonic chakra will eat the signature or the chakra will eventually fade from the person's system and we won't know what their natural signature even feels like."
The 'male shinobi'. Obito released an irritated puff of air through his nose. The man felt like a ghost, lingering on the edge of his thoughts since Rin's moth had revealed ROOT's intel. As he laid in bed, waiting to fall asleep, Obito couldn't help imagining the man, whoever he was. He wore different faces every time, hailed from different nations or no nation at all, yet he stared out with a pair of Obito's own Mangekyō, taunting him. He could always have it wrong, though, he knew. Maybe this particular man was only a single part of a larger, more sinister group, like Kushina had said. And any one of them could possess access to Kamui. Obito felt a spike of anger at the thought. He had never let anyone inspect his eyes — not to his knowledge at least. Not even when he endured the 'Garden'.
And if whoever involved was from Konoha? Gods. As Yochi said, time truly was of the essence. In more ways than one. Obito crouched, mussing his hand through the churned, dead soil. Iwa and Kusa had also already likely figured out that whoever wore Konoha's shinobi gear likely had dense demonic chakra in their system. There was little doubt now that the burnt garments Rin's 'male shinobi' wore were likely the very same kind Kusa had picked up scraps of. Already they could be using this as an opportunity to mould a narrative in their favour; doing everything from accusing Konoha of using whatever remained of the Grand Yōkai in forbidden acts to insisting Konoha possessed a Jinchūriki, or at least had attempted to make a new one. Even if this didn't spiral into war, a narrative like that could have other nations regarding Fire with disgust. It could have Fire buckling under devastating sanctions for breaking the agreement regarding the Yōkai, though they didn't do anything of the sort. And wouldn't that be good for the likes of Iwa?
Minato seemed to recognise this too. "Then we have to act quickly," he said, regarding them each in turn. "We've received intel that a single male shinobi with extremely dense demonic suffusion was identified in the surrounding area before he fled. I want a team assembled — no more than five — to track him." He paused and regarded Obito. Something unreadable passed over his face, but when Obito blinked, Minato's expression was cool and neutral once again.
"Ryouken!" He barked.
Obito snapped to attention. Years of ingrained training called him to salute. "Lord Hokage."
"I need you. You will lead the team, as experienced as you are in reconnaissance and tracking. Take Gosei, Yochi, Shīkā and Gankyō." From their perches, the men amongst the named gave their own salutes. "Keep to the shadows and out of sight of Kusa, Iwa, and whoever else. Do whatever you have to. Find this man and bring him to Konoha alive. If the likes of Iwa or Kusa find and attempt to stop you..." his eyes were distant. Cold. As cold as Obito had seen them when they had been here last, inspecting the jagged cuts on Obito's torn face. The expression was hard to forget, like the ghost of a breeze on his back teeth.
"...kill them," Minato commanded. "Leave no trace. You are not to be seen."
"Yes sir."
"Good. Lord Danzō has let me know a ROOT cell is already active to the north. I'm sure they will find you. Meet with them as you track this man and understand what they've learned." He turned away. "See this through."
Obito's bow was deep. "As you command."
"Good luck, 'Bito," Kushina called, suddenly looking every one of her forty-one years.
Returned to the inn, Obito stifled the absurd laughter bubbling in his throat as he summoned his ANBU greys from the wrap of a storage scroll. A handful of months free of his captaincy, and now he was pulling up his vambraces and securing the straps of his flak jacket. Yūgao will be laughing till she chokes, he thought, as he affixed a porcelain mask with the likeness of a snarling hound.