Himari frowned to herself as she finished folding the laundry.
She had a conundrum, and she didn't know what to do about it.
In her mind, she considered the very many ways she was different.
There were the seizures, to begin with (though she hadn't had one since she'd started on the new medication they'd used the false clones to create), as well as the damage to a lot of her internal organs. While the early surgeries she'd had had dealt with most of those issues, she still had to go in regularly to see a Hyuuga to double-check everything was still functioning correctly, and take three pills (all custom made by a pharmacist) besides.
And then…
There was the mental stuff.
The developmental stuff.
She'd never be fully mature, not really.
Her doctors said it varied, but she was basically around 13 mentally.
She… still had temper tantrums sometimes.
She couldn't do the same math as the other Yamanaka her age.
(She'd never be able to use jutsu—her chakra was too devoted to keeping her body functioning.)
She hated being disabled, most of the time.
Her siblings loved her, and treated her like a person. They included her in family meetings, considered her when she wasn't even there, helped her get a job, and always, always made her feel like she belonged.
The rest of the world was far less considerate.
Over the years, Himari had gotten used to the comments. The surprise when she could do something. The pity when she couldn't.
She'd gotten used to hearing comments about what a disappointment she had to be, what a burden she was.
She'd blamed herself for years over their mother never coming home, until the woman had admitted she'd liked raising them, but had never loved them as much as she probably should have.
Himari still blamed herself sometimes.
She wondered if her mother's words were more of those pretty little lies that people told her when they thought she couldn't handle the truth.
When Aoi had died, it was Kohana who had told her.
Himari had heard his name listed as missing, asked a nearby Yamanaka to confirm it, and the woman had lied to her.
Said it was someone else.
What good had that done?
(She'd apologized later, said she didn't know Himari could understand death, could understand someone being MIA. Had assumed Himari's family would lie to her too. Like that was supposed to make Himari feel better.)
So she'd gotten used to it.
And she'd gotten used to not telling Kohana, or any of her other family members, every time.
It got boring, to rehash the worst parts of her day.
But she did tell them sometimes.
When she just wanted some comfort.
When she thought the jerk was hurting some other disabled person.
When she thought they might figure out anyway.
But this…
This didn't count as any of those times.
But.
But this man was a noble.
He'd had no idea who she was, and why would he? She was only the younger sister of the future wife of the Clan Head.
If he'd known, he wouldn't have called her what he had, she was sure of it.
Because right now, Kohana was in charge of the Uzu branch of the Yamanaka.
And right now, that particular noble family was trying to make a deal with the Uzu branch of the Yamanaka, wanted to use the Yamanaka's nearby built-up port to ship in everything they needed to get started on their own land.
And—as Himari could tell by their late start—they really didn't have the money to look at many other options; the Yamanaka's southern port was really the closest.
So.
If Himari told her sister, the deal probably wouldn't go through, or would be a lot less favorable.
But he hadn't known she had that power.
Did that matter?
She wasn't that brushed up about the incident—it wouldn't be the first or last time she was called that slur—and she didn't think Kohana would find out otherwise.
Plus he was a noble. She bet he acted real appropriate usually, and had only slipped up because he'd seen her playing alone on her way to a meeting.
Maybe he didn't even think she was Yamanaka—she was blond, sure, but she was wearing civilian robes and had put her hair into a civilian-style hairdo she'd liked that morning.
So he'd said what he had, just to say it, and walked on.
Kohana was busy, Himari considered.
Very busy.
There were people in and out constantly, and Kohana was mostly relying on the Yamanaka elders and letters from Inoichi to decide what to do, but she was still the one making the decisions.
She really was very busy, and this would add yet another thing to her plate.
And yet, Himari also knew that Kohana would want to know.
Always wanted to know, wanted to fight back.
Himari bit her lip.
The laundry was done, and she still hadn't made a decision.
Usually when she didn't know what to do she asked Kohana.
Again, the facts rattled in Himari's mind.
She was torn.
And yet—
And yet she shouldn't be.
She had her three reasons, and this didn't count as any of them.
If she was still thinking about it…
If she still wanted to tell Kohana…
Himari's lips quirked into a small smile, and she turned towards her sister's office.
The Yamanaka had a reputation for being vindictive anyway, and she may as well do her duty to uphold it.
.
It wasn't greed, not really.
It was something more insidious than that.
Some power-hungry beast inside his brain that made him want for esteem, respect in the same way that everyone else craved sleep.
If he went even a day or two without it, he suffered.
It had been easy for Saito Takashi to turn traitor.
It had been easy to spill all of Konoha's secrets, each falling from his lips just to be met with eager listeners, with comfortable living and every polite phrase and respectful nicety that the idiots in Konoha hadn't bothered with.
And then.
And then he'd run out of information.
They'd strung him along another week, another two—
But that was all.
That was enough.
And then the war was over, and—as was usual—prisoners were exchanged.
Kumo, Takashi just knew, was paid extra to return him.
He'd expected to be killed, some sort of public extravaganza to keep the masses happy, in line.
But they hadn't done that.
They'd tossed him in a cell, simple as anything, and left him there.
He wondered if they wanted him to kill himself.
He'd never stoop so low—his life was worth so much more than any of his captors, given his Saito banking blood.
He wondered when his parents would be able to use their connections enough to visit him.
But they hadn't.
With every day alone—with only the jailors for company, there to exchange enough words to keep him sane and no more—the reasons for the continued silence plagued him.
Had something happened to the Saito name?
His treason couldn't be that important—Father always said the shinobi-village thing was only a passing fad.
Did they simply not want to visit him?
But his mother loved him. That did not make sense.
Finally, Takashi was forced to ask.
"Do my parents know I'm here?"
The jailor for the day—clearly a Nara—shrugged. "Nope. Probably think you're dead in a ditch somewhere in the Land of Lightning."
"But—didn't you, gloat, or something, when you got me back?"
"No," the Nara said. "Didn't publicize it at all, I think."
"Why not?"
"What's the point? You aren't important."
And that, apparently, was sufficient socialization for the day, because the Nara left.
And Takashi—
Takashi seethed.
He knew he was important.
He knew they cared that he'd turned traitor.
They'd talked about treason as the worst sort of crime in the Academy—think of—
Think of…
Takashi wracked his brain, trying to think of previous traitors to Konoha, to Fire.
He couldn't think of any.
He tried to think of traitors that flipped to Konoha, because he knew that had happened.
But no names came to mind.
The same Nara was there the next day.
"Why aren't you publicizing my name?"
The Nara leaned against the wall, calm as ever. "Those who should know it, do."
"Why not make my name known? Why not—"
"Well, that's just what you want, isn't it? And we aren't in the habit of giving turncoats what they want. You'll stay here, rotting, for the rest of your days. You'll have no idea what's happening outside these walls. We'll give you paper, ink, to entertain yourself. We'll give you a futon, a blanket, even all those toiletries you need to keep yourself in good health.
"And so you'll live.
"And live.
"And live.
"Always inside Konoha's walls, and always unable to learn anything new, unable to improve your situation past what you deserve.
"What greater punishment is there for rats like you than that?"
.
Yamanaka Rento frowned as the Hyuuga elder poured more tea.
Every month, at least once a month, they repeated this ritual.
Asking, once more, for him to design them a seal like he had the Uchiha.
Rento was busy.
He had a life, more seals he was working on for the Research Department, for the betterment of Konoha—
But the Hyuuga always sent someone just a hair too important to outright refuse, and so Rento had to sit through this farce, tell them no only after the ceremony, only after hearing their new offer.
Their offer never involved getting rid of the branch clan seal.
Rento always made it clear that he wouldn't agree unless that changed.
They'd offered him money—he was doing quite well already, thank you.
They'd offered tutors—the Yamanaka had their own.
They'd offered threats—he'd countered with the political power his aunt had built up, with the sheer idiocy of threatening when they had no way of knowing what he could hide in a seal if he was feeling so inclined.
Always, always, the teas had played out in the same way.
He'd asked his father when he could start saying no right away, and his father had been leery of the option, of the implications.
He'd asked his aunt, and she'd asked him why he wasn't doing it already.
His father made it very clear that he did not have the clout his aunt did, to get away with such things.
And so instead, he sat, drank tea, and waited.
And as the war continued on, dead continued pouring back from the front, and many Uchiha were beginning to make names for themselves as they no longer had to worry about pushing out too far for their bodies to be collected.
And as the war continued on, dead continued pouring back from the front, and no Hyuuga main family were anywhere near the danger, and even the civilians noticed.
No matter one's strength, if you were too leery to do anything with it then it was as if you didn't have the strength at all.
The Hyuuga branch family were doing well enough to keep the Hyuuga reputation afloat—
But the Hyuuga branch family also knew that the main family kept on refusing Rento's one request.
Someone was bound to crack.
Someone was about to demand a change, cave to a request, do literally anything other than the same waltz that had been done in the days, weeks, generations before.
It was only a matter of time.
And Rento, whose only complaint was the mild irritation of wasted time?
Well, it wouldn't be him.