Something that occurred to me later, once I had left and seen more of the world, is that until reality proves otherwise, most children never truly believe they will grow old and die.
Quite the opposite, in fact — they see the world as a fixed, unchanging thing: their parents will always be there, timeless and invincible, and they, too, will never age. Friends are forever, and no force of time or circumstance could ever drift them apart. The places they hold dear will remain untouched, except, perhaps, to get better with each visit. Summers feel endless, both too long and never quite long enough, days stretch into eternity, and the concept of time is measured in games played and sunsets watched.
They know every tree by heart — and they will always stay sturdy and strong — and the streets are familiar, never strange, never foreign. Birthdays are just pastries, candles, and laughter, never something to resent. The future is a hazy, far-off land, a place of boundless possibilities where they are always the heroes, untouched by loss or change. They live in a cocoon of perpetual now, where dreams are infinite, and endings are for stories, distant and unreal, until they aren't.
Well, I suppose most of us outgrew most of these notions rather early.
8 — MONKEY
"STAND NOW BEFORE THE ELDERS, and bear witness, Uzumaki."
The elder's voice boomed, and it resonated too. The chamber of the Elder Council of Uzushio was a large room, its walls were lined with ancient banners, full of near-forgotten symbols. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, which cast a hazy veil over the sunlit room. At the far end, the Elders sat, and their expressions seemed carved from the very stone upon which their hall was built.
There were only five of them to represent the whole: Denjo, Fujimaro, Kunimatsu, Chiyome, and Otohime.
Naruto's footsteps echoed uncertainly as he moved forward. His eyes darted around, taking in the impassible faces of the council. His palms were sweaty, his heart racing.
It had been several days since it happened. The time between then and now had passed in a strange haze, of which Naruto cared to remember little, aside from his mother's steady, soothing presence. For a while, he hadn't felt like himself, as though he was merely going through the motions — motions that felt pointless, yet he continued with them anyway.
Although there were times when it seemed as though he couldn't recall much about the incident itself — as if it had happened to someone else — in this moment, the memory was starkly vivid in his mind: the chaos, the flames, the relentless fear. He swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing, almost wishing for the comforting dullness to return.
Beside him, the man named Gojō strolled forward with an ease that bordered on nonchalance. His hands were tucked in his pockets, and he wore a slight frown. "Yes, yes. Get on with it," he said under his breath.
Only Otohime heard him, and her eyes narrowed, which did nothing to assuage Naruto's worries.
"Naruto of the Hōshi-ke, Gojō of the Hinin-ke, you stand before us as two of the three survivors of the recent mishap," Fujimaro announced. The formality of his words made Naruto's heart sink further.
And he shot a glance at Gojō, confusion etched across his features. Hinin-ke? The outcast house? Before he could ponder it further, the councilor's voice pulled him back.
Gojō, who seemed quicker to adapt (or perhaps more used to this sort of proceedings), gave Naruto a fleeting glance. "I think my account might be more reliable than his," he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "I'll start."
"Hush," Otohime interjected firmly. She turned her steely gaze back to Naruto, commanding but not unkind. Not with him, at least. "Speak."
Naruto had no desire to speak at all, in fact. He swallowed hard, feeling every pair of eyes in the room boring into him, tasting blood in the back of his mouth. The weight of expectation pressed down on him too, and as he forced the words out, his voice hitched slightly.
"It... it happened so fast. Without any warning — though maybe the water's temperature…" He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "We had been fishing all day, and…" He shook his head, the images overwhelming. "One moment everything was calm, the next it was chaos."
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "A massive creature — a skeletal, whale-like monster — rose from under the sea. There was — there was fire, I think. An explosion that rocked the boat. We were thrown back, and when I looked up, the sky was dark. Everyone was…"
Otohime leaned forward slightly, her eyes piercing. "What of your team?" she asked.
"My team?" Naruto echoed numbly.
"Yes," Denjo said bluntly. "Only Shinpachi of the Gakusha-ke survived, aside from the two of you. Is that correct?"
The mention struck a harsh chord within him, and Naruto flinched visibly; the memories surged to the forefront of his mind.
"Did they die instantly?" Denjo inquired. "Karin of the—"
"For heaven's sake, show some humanity!" Gojō burst out, his voice thick with irritation. The two of them stared at each other for a long moment in silence, and the contempt they had for each other was clear.
After a moment that stretched too long, Naruto's voice rose again, barely audible. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "After the explosion, she... I couldn't see them... When I did, they were..." His eyes, haunted, looked past the people in front of him to a place only he could see. "Shinpachi called out to her, but there was no answer — just the sound of the waves."
"And then?" Fujimaro looked at him neutrally.
Naruto glanced at Gojō, who nodded and took over.
"I think that's when I came in," Gojō said. "You can direct your questions to me."
Fujimaro adjusted his stance, his expression unchanged but his tone slightly softer. "What do you remember next, Naruto?"
Before Naruto could respond, Gojō intervened, "Did you not hear me?"
"We heard quite clearly," Denjo snapped back, his patience fraying. "And next time you interrupt, you—"
The sharp exchange was cut off by Kunimatsu's unexpected intervention. His voice, rarely raised, echoed slightly, drawing all attention. "He's right, though. The boy's account is compromised, at best. Which is understandable."
Denjo's eyes flickered with annoyance. "And you would trust his word over—"
"Yes." Kunimatsu's affirmation was simple but carried a weight that settled the room. "Let's focus on gathering all the facts from everyone involved before jumping to conclusions. We need a clear picture, and every perspective is crucial right now."
"A clear picture?" Fujimaro asked. "We would require the last of them for that."
"The chosen boy?" Denjo asked, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "Let him rest from the ordeal for now."
And where is Shinpachi now? Naruto thought. Why does he not have to go through this, while we do…?
"In any case, young Naruto has no more to say," Otohime said.
Denjo snorted in derision. "Perhaps not, but the other has nothing of value to say at all. He is as incapable of telling a truthful account as he is of listening."
"I'm hurt," Gojō said, touching his chest dramatically. The effect was ruined by his poorly hidden smile; as if he found this all to be quite amusing.
There was a moment of silence.
"Need I remind you of your station?" Denjo asked. The flatness in his voice was a cold, cruel thing.
"No," Gojō said, and although he smiled fully now, teeth bared, there was no humor in that. Naruto thought he looked rather furious. "I believe it won't be needed, Honored Elder." He gave a flourish.
Denjo's eyes narrowed, and Chiyome intervened, "This was rather unnecessary."
"Oh, my bad, then," Gojō said. "May I recount the events of that day, now?"
The council chamber hummed with quiet exchanges as they convened; barely audible murmurs. Chiyome then signaled for Gojō to begin.
Gojō stepped forward, and he kept his story brief. "As you're aware," he began, hands tucked into his pockets — but not casually — "I left the islands at around five in the evening—"
"Yes, yes, we are aware," interrupted Otohime, her tone sharp. "And because of your premature intervention, we couldn't identify the attacker's target or their motives."
"Right," Gojō responded, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You're completely correct. I should have just waited until everyone was dead."
Naruto wasn't prepared for Denjo to laugh, and the sound sent a chill up his spine. "Brat," Denjo said, still chuckling, his eyes cold, ignoring the elders trying to restrain him. "Do you think this is a laughing matter to us?"
"Oh?" Gojō leaned back, as if genuinely intrigued. Naruto noticed a slight tension in Gojō's hidden hands, just as he noticed the wary looks on some of the elders' faces. Why was he hiding his hands...? Was he preparing for a fight?
But Gojō only shook his head. "No, of course not. Jokes usually are funny. But perhaps you are right," he said smoothly. "Perhaps I let my instincts override my caution."
"There is no good instinct in you," Denjo spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "A monkey you were, and a monkey—"
"Denjo!" Chiyome snapped. "We will have none of that here."
Gojō's dark chuckle carried a note of disbelief. "Then I must apologize again. You know how it is, with us monkeys…"
A new kind of frown formed on Denjo's brow, the beginnings of something darker. He didn't halt.
"Letting you in was a mistake," he said, his voice laced with naked viciousness. "One I can forgive, since only hindsight could have warned us. Letting you back in now, however..." He shook his head, as though trying to shake off his hatred. "Men like you will be the death of our clan."
"Why, that's quite harsh. I simply wanted to say hello to Chiako," Gojō said, his tone innocent, and Denjo's eyes widened in fury. "How is she doing? Things tend to be rather dull here. Well, usually. I wouldn't want her to feel too bored..."
"You jumped-up gutter filth—"
"Enough!" Kunimatsu commanded, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Continue with your report, now."
Gojō continued, seemingly unfazed, "As I was saying before the interruption…"
"I am not finished," Denjo growled.
"You are finished," Kunimatsu snapped. "There are bigger matters at stake than your petty quarrels, and that applies to both of you. Age is no excuse for such poor conduct. That, too, applies to both of you."
Denjo's face turned an ashen white, the sort of anger that was palpable and raw, and Gojō simply lowered his head in what might have been an apology — or merely a semblance of one, if the flash of white teeth only Naruto noticed was any indication.
And thus, Gojō concluded his tale.
The elders murmured among themselves in hushed, deliberate tones. After a brief consultation, Fujimaro faced the duo with a solemn expression.
"Thank you for your service," he began, his voice carrying a formal sort of gratitude — remote, hollow, and meaningless. He paused, casting a wary look at the other four elders. "We have conferred. It appears that this aforementioned whale, overwhelmed by an excess of natural energy, succumbed to madness — a fate not uncommon to creatures that cannot withstand the immense burden of chakra."
What?
A surge of raw emotion bubbled up within Naruto — something that felt like outrage. They had seen it from above. They had to have known that such a convenient explanation couldn't be true. How could they not?
His temper seared through him, and he opened his mouth, his gaze locking onto Denjo's indifferent eyes—
A subtle, stern look from Gojō cut him short, a single glance telling him how unwise it would be to push any further.
Gojō's next words carried an undercurrent of finality, as though closing the chapter on the matter.
"Thank you for listening to our account," he said formally. "And, as always, thank you for allowing us to be of use to our clan."
"Thank you," Naruto said to the young man, although the disbelief hadn't left him, and wouldn't leave him for a while.
None of this made any sense. None of it. Countless lives had been lost, and the elders seemed only interested in having them recite a story to which they hardly seemed to listen.
The notion that a mere animal, even warped by nature, could unleash this specific sort of devastation was implausible. And the significant exchanges of glances among the elders suggested they harbored suspicions of their own.
He would come to realize that this was not uncommon. Every shinobi village — and indeed, many non-shinobi communities — harbored deep-seated secrets. Only a select few brushed against these truths: some carried them with zealous conviction, others were crushed beneath their weight. And then were those who dictated the carrying of such burdens.
And so, unknowingly, Naruto became part of that secret — the smallest part, a cog that did not even realize what sort of vast, merciless machine it was becoming part of.
And so, Naruto thanked Gojō.
The young man with golden eyes returned only a flat stare, never breaking stride. "What for?"
"For — Both. Inside there and out here," Naruto replied, maintaining his composure, a minor victory in itself.
Gojō's expression remained unreadable, his gaze cold and distant. "Don't thank me," he said, brushing off the gratitude as if it were an inconvenience. "What was I to do? Leave you two to die?"
His words were a harsh dismissal, a cold splash of reality against Naruto's faint hopes.
Gojō shook his head slightly, his tone softening just enough to convey a hint of underlying concern. "The best thing you can do now is continue living your life. Don't dive too deep if you can avoid it — deep waters can drown even the strongest swimmers. I mean that metaphorically. Mostly."
Naruto remained silent.
Gojō then sighed. "I probably shouldn't even have lent you Enkō, in the end. Knowing too much can be as dangerous as knowing too little — I would know, I managed to sneak in, back then..." He trailed off and then shrugged. "Oh, well, nothing came of it anyway."
"What about the truth?" Naruto blurted out, sensing the conversation drawing to a close.
Gojō's silhouette hardened against the fading light as he began to turn away. "What about it?" he called back over his shoulder.
"What — What the hell's going on, out there?"
Gojō let out a harsh, sardonic laugh. "You heard them, didn't you? A big, chakra-bloated animal." Sensing Naruto's unconvinced expression, he added, "You don't find that slightly amusing?"
Naruto simply shook his head.
Gojō shrugged once more. "Well, maybe it's just me, then."
In any case, it all started with a funeral. As many stories do.
Rational thoughts were few and far between in Naruto's mind during the event; horror had a way of growing so dark that it blotted out everything else. There was even a moment when, strangely enough, things almost felt amusing again.
That, he thought, might be the breaking point.
Or at least a breaking point. Seeing some of the faces in the crowd gathered beneath the Great Tree, he figured there were probably several ways for each of them to reach that place.
His own felt a bit different, he supposed: closer to a primitive numbing of sorts, which allowed him to go through the funeral and the days before without a single tear.
In the morning, Naruto ate breakfast — slowly, deliberately, without much awareness of what he was doing. He took a bite of rice, feeling the grains stick to his tongue, but the taste barely registered. There was miso soup beside him, and he stared at the steam curling from the surface, watching the wisps disappear into nothingness, the same way monsters apparently could. He drank it down in small sips, feeling the warmth spread through his chest without acknowledging the flavor. The pickled vegetables crunched under his teeth, a sharp contrast to the softness of the rice, but even that texture seemed distant. He poured himself tea, the bitter notes hitting his palate with nothing but emptiness behind them.
Across from him, his mother had moved about the kitchen, her face pale, her steps careful. She should have been in bed — her strength was waning, and every movement seemed to sap more of the precious energy. But there she was, determined to be by his side. She tried to talk to him, her voice gentle and full of warmth that reminded him of far-off memories, though Naruto distinctly remembered that she was never supposed to be this soft. His mother normally pushed and teased and tried to get reactions out of him, not whatever this was. It reminded him too much of the times after his father…
He struggled to find the words to respond. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as she gave him more rice, doing everything she could to ease his burden, even when she barely had the strength to carry her own.
Naruto could see it — the strain etched in the lines of her face, the way her breath came shallow, but she never let it show in her voice or her eyes. She smiled at him, encouraging, trying to break through the fog that had settled over him. He knew she was pushing herself too far, and he couldn't find the words to tell her to rest. Not now. Maybe he needed her more than he wanted to admit. And maybe, just maybe, she felt a need to help him, more than anything else.
He read Yasaka's letter, too. Her words were kind, helpful, and filled with the sort of empathy that spoke of someone who knew the weight of grief intimately. She wrote as though she understood every fractured feeling he carried, and maybe she did.
But even so, he found himself unwilling to respond. Her letter was just ink on paper; she wasn't here, wasn't with them, where he could see her eyes and hear her voice. The comfort she offered, however genuine, felt hollow without that. He appreciated it, truly, but he couldn't bring himself to write back — not now, not when all he wanted was to believe the people who told him it was going to be alright.
So Naruto nodded and continued eating his breakfast.
He had showered and dressed in black ceremonial clothes, and combed his hair, as he knew was appropriate for the event. His mother had done the same, insisting she was well enough to attend.
Certainly, Naruto felt grief.
When they met Karin's family near the Great Tree, he decided that his grief was a pale imitation of the real thing. Yuriko's hair was uncombed, tangled, and unwashed. Her eyes seemed so sunken and her face so pale that, for a moment, all Naruto could see was her daughter in her final moments.
She was carrying a worn picture that no one had seemingly been able — or willing — to take from her. Naruto caught a glimpse of a younger Karin in it, as well as her late father, and both were grinning with unrestrained joy.
Yuriko held onto that picture, and she didn't say a word. Karin's grandmother, on the other hand, was reciting prayers — soft chants over and over again, as if to reassure herself, or perhaps to ward off the darkness. The repetition of her voice, rhythmic and ceaseless, began to grate on Naruto's nerves, the sound somehow echoing in the emptiness around them.
Noboru, Naruto's sensei, had been the one to handle the arrangements, doing so with the same relentless efficiency with which he often lectured Naruto.
"You do not have to attend if you feel you cannot handle it," Noboru had said, and Naruto idly wondered if his mother had put him up to this as well. How many people seemed to feel indebted to her.
"Okay."
"We will pause your lessons for as long as you need."
"That's all right."
"Take the time to rest."
"Yes, thank you."
"I'm sorry that it happened."
"Me too."
Noboru had stopped there, leaving with a solemn nod.
At the funeral, Naruto saw Shinpachi, who seemed even more withdrawn than usual. He didn't look like he wanted to cry. Right then, he looked as though he might never cry again.
In his mind, Naruto almost knew what Shinpachi was seeing. Shinpachi saw Karin leaning back into the water, her brow furrowed in concentration, reaching out with a hand, feeling the warmth of the water and trying to make sense of it. He saw a grotesque shadow rising from the depths, driven by some supernatural instinct that the elders would later dismiss as his mind playing tricks on him. The shadow rose, emptiness dancing, finally grinning, and Shōzō screamed as he summoned his armor. Shinpachi tried to expand his protective bubble to shield all of them, the light of ghostly fire filling the world with dreadful intent. Perhaps he could almost brush Karin's hand with his fingers, one beat too late, and then the light went out of the world.
"I'm okay," Shinpachi said. "Preparing for my departure."
"When is that?" Naruto asked.
"A week or so, I suppose." Shinpachi paused, as though searching for words. He settled upon a few with a flat expression. "They're looking for an eligible Sealweaver to… send instead of Karin."
The word he had meant to say, it seemed to Naruto, was 'replace.' But he couldn't — blunt Shinpachi couldn't. It was clear to Naruto, just as it was obvious how Shinpachi felt about the matter.
'Obvious' was also how the decision seemed to Naruto, now that Shinpachi confirmed what he had expected. What choice did he have, really?
There were many people here, and Naruto absently realized he wasn't even sure whether they were burying only Karin or several people at once. Or whether it mattered.
Friends and relatives had gathered; from the young Daichi, Shun, to elders like Hisao, Tomiko, and Genji.
Almost predictably, Tsuneko, who had arrived early, burst into tears, reaching out for Yuriko and embracing her. Unlike Naruto's mother, she kept repeating how sorry she was, and how dear Karin had been to her. How much she loved her, how much everyone had loved her, how tragic this was, how terrible the accident had been, and how dangerous chakra-fed, rabid animals could be. At some point, possibly the latter one, Naruto stopped listening.
Someone else offered their condolences, thanking the seas that at least it had been quick. The words brought back the memory of seeing Karin's half-eaten legs, and yes, how fast it had all been — too fast to do anything at all.
More handshakes, more hugs, more tears, and the smell of flowers near the Great Tree. More promises that Karin now rested with their ancestors, that one day she would be reborn, as all beings eventually would.
And, of course, there would be a fluttering fabric banner hung in her honor on a bamboo pole near the island's edge, swaying gently in the wind.
Noboru assisted with the proceedings, a presence steady and efficient at once, and he guided people to their places and ensured everything went smoothly. He moved with a practiced calm, managing details that others couldn't bear to think about amidst their grief.
During the service, some read poems, and others spoke of the dead.
Eventually, Gojō made an appearance, drawing more than a few glances. He was accompanied by a beautiful woman Naruto had seen in Uzushio before, one whose elegance was as deliberate as her composed expression was. Gojō seemed unbothered by the stares, and his eyes scanned the crowd, before settling upon Noboru, and the two men nodded at each other.
Gojō and his companion remained silent as they joined the mourners.
It was a bright, clear day. Someone was ringing a bell, though not very well — it clanged unevenly, and its tone was discordant.
There wasn't much more to say about the funeral itself.
There wasn't much to say about the suffocating guilt Naruto felt, either.
The Great Tree stood as tall as always, casting the same shadows across the gathering — shadows that felt flat and anonymous. Stones were laid in front of it, and people stepped forward to deposit more flowers and more ribbons.
Naruto remembered the sky feeling enormous, almost hostile. He walked past several of the stones with his mother and stopped there, wondering why he had thought there would be more to it. It wasn't even his first funeral.
This is all ridiculous, he thought, a sudden rush of panic seizing him. How did we get here?
That was it, then. They would burn what was left of Karin's arranged remains, scatter the ash, and shove the dirt in. Then they would go home.
Karin, he thought, perfectly still as a slight wind ruffled his hair. I'm sorry.
And so they burned what was left of Karin's arranged remains, scattered the ash, and shoveled the dirt in.
Only then did the despondent Yuriko begin to wail.
"I do not believe it is in your best interest to ask so many questions about him," Noboru said quietly. "Even though he saved you."
In the end — after two more days of lying flat on his back, staring at the shadows cast by a ceiling that felt strange in a room that was supposed to be his — Naruto returned to his lessons. Noboru had seemed almost lenient when he agreed to resume, needing only half the convincing Naruto had braced himself for. Perhaps he'd taken pity on him, in an odd manner that likely only made sense to one with his sort of principles.
But the truth was, it wasn't the lessons that had pulled him back. They wouldn't bring him any closer to the goal he'd now set in stone. It was something else, something that had more to do with trying to figure out a few things about the man who had rescued him and Shinpachi.
At first, his mother had softly encouraged him to talk about what had happened down there, her voice gentle, probing. But it didn't take long before she realized she was pressing on a wound too fresh to even begin to heal.
After that, she stopped asking, the silence between them growing heavy. Heavy, but not unwelcome. Naruto didn't mind the quiet. He embraced it, grateful for the weight it lifted from his shoulders by keeping things unsaid.
Perhaps she hoped it wasn't the kind of secret that would fester, the kind that would grow heavier in his gut until it tore everything else in its slow, inexorable fall. Or perhaps she thought he just needed more time to gather the first pieces of himself again before she could even attempt to help him mend them together.
Or perhaps, he would later think with either the clarity of hindsight or a pang of empathic understanding, it was simply a reminder that his mother had been a kunoichi — a great one, among Uzushio's finest. She knew how to carry secrets as well as trauma; it was like second nature. Perhaps she'd forgotten how to manage them in any way but the shinobi way. Or perhaps she simply knew when to let them sit, unspoken, until they were ready to be handled.
Perhaps.
For reasons that felt so obvious then, and less so now, the idea of finding Shinpachi and talking about it never felt like an option. Naruto's friends could hardly meet his eyes anymore, and their discomfort made the space between them feel like a chasm. The adults... they looked at him with that same tired pity, the kind that made him feel small and weak and damaged.
This meant that, aside from his too-easy acceptance, only Noboru treated him like nothing had changed.
"Why is that?" Naruto answered the man's question with another.
Noboru sighed, adjusting his stance as he watched his student attempt another seal. His eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing Naruto's efforts. "You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said. For a moment, Naruto wondered whether he meant the seal or the inquiry. "But sometimes persistence is just being stubborn."
Naruto clenched his teeth, the flicker of chakra dissipating in his hands. He stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.
"Why is that?" he asked again, his frustration slipping through.
Noboru studied him for a long moment before responding. "Because I don't think you're ready for what you're trying to find, Naruto."
Did he know…?
"This is about him, isn't it?" Naruto pressed, despite the knot forming in his stomach.
"Not just him, no," Noboru shook his head. "But know this: Gojō isn't just some wanderer who saved you and Shinpachi. He's more… complicated than that, and I'd rather you not get caught up in his wake."
Dangerous, then. In which way…?
"He's not from here, is he?" Naruto asked.
Noboru frowned. "He's Uzumaki, so yes, he is."
"That's not what I meant," Naruto muttered, face reddening.
Noboru's expression hardened — or rather, his frown deepened. "I know that's not what you meant," he said. "But you're Uzumaki. You should understand better than most how important meaning is. And that's all you need to know about Gojō for now."
Chastised, Naruto bit back his irritation and went back to his lesson, clenching his jaw in silent determination. He knew better than to argue when Noboru was like this, but it didn't make the unanswered questions any less aggravating.
The next morning, he repeated the same routine: more theory, more training, pushing his body and spirit until he was too exhausted to think, question, or remember. He welcomed the exhaustion — anything to keep his mind off the unwanted thoughts gnawing at him. Something that would become his main way of dealing with problems, in time. Good and bad.
It took him three days, each more intense than the last, but he kept at it.
"You know Gojō well, don't you?" he said one afternoon, his breaths still ragged from exertion. Noboru had seemed pleased with his progress, which Naruto knew made him more amenable. He'd timed the question just right, slipping it in between a discussion about the principle that said nothing could be created from nothingness — that to conjure, something else needed to be used or shaped, and that the sealing arts tended to favor a balance of sorts. Both questions he asked, in fact, were casual, almost innocent; the intent behind it was anything but.
But the satisfaction quickly faded from Noboru's face. He looked at Naruto, his gaze wary. "And if I do?"
"Then you can tell me," Naruto insisted. "What's all this secrecy about? I barely heard of him, before—"
"No," Noboru said bluntly.
Naruto pushed a little more, though he hadn't expected that to work. "At least tell me what he's like."
Noboru sighed, his eyes drifting skyward as if searching for some unseen answer — or silently cursing Naruto, something he was too polite to do openly.
"Gojō is... complicated," he said, echoing his earlier words. "He's not truly bound by the rules we follow, nor by the expectations we have. He walks a fine line between loyalty and indifference, and that makes him dangerous — to others, but also himself."
Although Naruto could sense there was far more behind Noboru's words than he was letting on, this single fragment of information was enough to confirm his hunch.
Because the bit Noboru gave — probably thinking it was safe — was very nearly the worst thing he could have said. The kind of thing Naruto knew the stern man would have kept to himself if he'd realized his inner turmoil in time.
"I see," Naruto said, drawing in a breath and straightening. "Let's go again, sensei."
Noboru nodded, his expression softening for the briefest moment before returning to his usual stern demeanor.
They went over the core Principles again, with Noboru guiding Naruto through exercises to solidify them, as always. The Principle of Mental Fortitude was about mental strength and focus during the sealing process — a strong will and unwavering concentration were needed to impose one's intent on the seal.
To practice, Noboru often had Naruto meditate under physical stress, like staying submerged in cold water. Once Naruto could maintain focus despite this, they'd move on to something else. As always.
The Principle of Progressive Complexity meant starting simple — basic chakra channeling patterns that were easy to inscribe and control. Only once Naruto mastered these did Noboru introduce more intricate seals, building on what he had learned. Each new stage, of course, demanded more control and finesse. A deeper understanding of how the parts worked together.
Noboru often said that true mastery came from steady progression. The most complex seals could only be understood (perhaps) by building a solid foundation in the basics. It wasn't just a matter of tradition, as the sayings in Uzushio — "balance, in all things," "no seal worth its ink comes without a cost," and "the higher the price, the stronger the bond" — could be taken quite literally.
This approach was necessary, but it could also be intensely frustrating.
It was around noon when Naruto found him, though Gojō wasn't alone. Naruto approached cautiously, staying just out of sight.
"—that is what they say," Gojō said, his voice steady as he met the woman's eyes, a strange kind of intensity in his gaze. "That one could slay a thousand on the battlefield, and it was no sin unless he felt remorse."
The woman — not the one Naruto had seen at the funeral — tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. "And do you believe that?" she asked softly, as if testing the waters.
Gojō smiled faintly. "It doesn't matter what I believe, does it? It matters what the world believes." He paused briefly. "They see strength as absolution. As long as you're certain, powerful, your sins are forgiven. But the moment you falter..." He shrugged, leaving the rest unsaid.
The woman nodded, as if she understood. "And what about those who don't fall?" she asked.
"Got anyone in mind, have you?" Gojō's smile widened, though his eyes remained inscrutable. "No one can avoid it forever," he replied. "Even tennin can't fly without their feathered kimono. He can't, either."
The woman seemed to take his words in stride, nodding slowly, as though they had confirmed something she had been suspecting. "You're a peculiar one," she murmured, a wry smile playing on her purple lips. "I can see why Father doesn't like you."
"I have my own theories," Gojō said indifferently, his gaze already drifting away, as though he'd lost some incomprehensible glimmer of interest.
Naruto decided it was time to make his presence known. "You're a Sealweaver, aren't you?"
The woman nearly screamed.
Gojō, on the other hand, sighed, sounding annoyed. "Oh, hell," he muttered. Then louder, "Does it have to be now, you little creep? Couldn't you just keep listening in or something?"
Naruto's cheeks flushed — a mix of embarrassment and indignation — as he stepped fully out from behind the tree. "I wasn't spying," he insisted, knowing how weak it sounded. The woman glanced at him, slightly amused now that her moment of fright had passed, before turning back to Gojō.
"Privacy seems to be in short supply today," she commented lightly, her eyes flicking between them. "But I'll leave you to it. The boy looks like he could use someone to talk to. Thank you for the... enlightenment, Gojō."
Gojō gave a curt nod, though his attention had already shifted to Naruto, irritation and something else lurking in his expression. The woman gave him a lingering look before walking away.
Naruto stood his ground, meeting Gojō's gaze.
"I know that look in your eyes, kid," Gojō said evenly. "Don't go taking the wrong lessons here. Those were just idle thoughts. Surface-level ramblings. If you're after wisdom, Noboru's your guy."
"Can we talk?" Naruto asked, his tone serious.
"Well," Gojō sighed, "that's what we're doing, isn't it? What now, aside from interrupting my day? I'm sure it's nothing that's gonna come back to bite me in the ass later." He studied Naruto closely. "...Or anything dangerous."
There was a pause.
"Could you come with me for a minute?" Naruto asked. "I need to ask you something. In private."
Gojō groaned.
It went without saying that some saw Uzumaki Gojō as a dangerous fool.
And certainly, to claim he courted disaster wouldn't be entirely off the mark. To dismiss him as a mere fool, however, would mean overlooking the calculated precision in his apparent recklessness. He took decisions with a deliberate intent that belied his wilder deeds.
While the elders sat back, ensnared in their caution, endlessly debating and watching before deciding on a course of action, Gojō was the one who stepped forward. He was the one who saved Naruto and Shinpachi, and the reason for it, as nebulous as it could often be with him, didn't matter. Naruto would never take this away from him.
So, when Gojō studied Naruto for a moment, eyes narrowed, searching for something in his eyes, asking him why he should even bother listening to this sort of nonsense, Naruto told him.
The day of the Selection — the second one this year, technically, although the first had been the normal, secretive affair — happened under a rare haze of urgency.
It tinged the morning air with tension. People gathered on Yamatai, all fifteen boys and thirteen girls in a line. If Suzaku had been eligible, Naruto knew he likely would have been the first in line. But the criteria requested them to be between ten and thirteen of age, so Itsuki was a very probable possibility for a first. Itsuki, or Kazumi. Or Haruna.
Not Naruto, at least.
And so, the children's families converged on the island often said to be the central one. Some of the relatives seemed about as worried as the children, or perhaps even more so. The results could change the course of an entire family's future, and the adults, at least, seemed to understand it fully.
Some of the children were whispering among themselves, trying to stave off the nervous energy that rippled through the line. For some, being sent to Konoha was a great honor, and they would carry the hopes and fears of their lineage. For others, it meant terrible things.
Master Yuna, who was the overseer of the ceremony, moved through the gathered crowd with an air of solemnity. She strode forward, and as she approached the front of the line, a silence fell upon the assembly. From her long sleeves came an ancient scroll.
"As we begin," Yuna said, and her voice resonated clear and strong, "remember that this test is an invitation to join a lineage started by Lady Mito. Respect the process, honor your heritage, and trust in your strengths."
The scroll she carried was said to come alive in the presence of those with a primary affinity for Sealweaving. Not quite so different from the one Noboru had him undertake unofficially a year ago, at Naruto's insistence.
Because she knew nothing would change, there was no worry in Naruto's mother's eyes. Only a slight sadness as she watched the children. Or perhaps it was pity.
One by one, the children stepped forward. Itsuki was the first to place his hands on the scroll. The symbols shimmered under his touch, a promising sign that elicited a murmur of approval from the onlookers. Once it was done, he stepped back with a nod.
Kazumi followed, and her hands trembled slightly as she made contact. The glow was faint but unmistakable, a soft light that grew steadily. It was enough to qualify, Naruto was sure of it. Not everyone could be Shinpachi, a once-in-a-generation talent, specifically requested by Konoha itself. But as a backup, given the current loss of skilled members, he was confident Uzushio would gladly send someone with a weaker affinity. They might even prefer it, according to one man.
Others went.
Haruna's turn came, and she went with a determined glint in her eyes. When her fingers touched the scroll, the symbols blazed to life, a vibrant light that outshone many of her predecessors. Cheers broke out among the watchers, many of whom clapped her on the back as she returned to her place, a small smile playing on her lips.
The reactions shifted as each child took their turn: from elated to disappointed to elated again. Master Yuna watched each interaction closely, with eyes that picked up the subtle nuances of each child's connection with the nebulous art.
When Naruto stepped forward, the penultimate child, his mother only gave him an encouraging smile. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything as he approached the ancient scroll. He laid his hands upon it, feeling the rough texture against his palms. The scroll, of course, remained quiet.
He could almost see Noboru's subtle, knowing nod in the corner of his vision.
He could almost feel the faint shift of his mother's relief, like a quiet exhale that didn't reach her lips.
He could hear the faintest shuffle of fabric behind him as people moved to try and get a closer look.
He could smell the sharp tang of his own cold sweat.
He could taste the bitter tang of anxiety on his tongue, sharp and metallic, like blood or copper, heavy in his mouth.
And then, almost reluctantly, a faint glow began to emerge from the intricate patterns, growing steadier as he focused his chakra.
He heard a single gasp coming from the crowd. The glow stabilized, not as bright as Haruna's or even Itsuki's, but undeniable nonetheless. Naruto stepped back, meeting his mother's horrified gaze for an instant before casting his gaze downward.
He retreated as the final child, a timid girl named Yuka, approached the scroll. Naruto didn't linger to see the outcome, but the crowd's reaction suggested it was unexpectedly impressive.
"Today," Master Yuna began, her voice imbued with both gravity and warmth at once, "you have all touched the heart of our heritage. Remember, the path of a Sealweaver is one of both privilege and profound responsibility. You are the future of Uzumaki, the bearers of our secrets and our strengths."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "For those recognized by the scroll, one among you will be chosen. That individual must prepare for a journey demanding their utmost. For others, know that every Uzumaki has a role in our clan's legacy, with or without the affinity for Sealweaving. You are no lesser."
And that was it.
The families began to disperse, and the tension didn't. Naruto found himself moving quickly, jerkily, like a thief fleeing a crime scene.
As he maneuvered through the thinning crowd, a hand clasped firmly on his shoulder, halting his retreat. Something that felt like ice went through him, starting from his shoulder, and moving became impossible. Spinning around — or rather being spun around — Naruto faced Noboru, whose expression was tight. Without a word, Noboru's grip tightened as well, and with a swift gesture, a burst of water enveloped them.
The world blurred into streaks of blue and white as they were spirited away from the scene, emerging moments later in a secluded part of the island, where the buzz of the crowd was just a distant hum.
The ice inside receded when his teacher pulled his hand back…
For a moment, Naruto feared Noboru would strike him. There was thunder in his eyes, and although he couldn't tell how exactly Naruto had done it, he could tell he had done something. That what had happened was no accident.
But Noboru didn't strike him. Instead, he extended a tag wordlessly — identical to the one Naruto had used a year earlier; its perfect, damning script was still etched in his mind's eye.
"You know what to do, don't you?"
Naruto didn't answer.
"Did you not hear me?" Noboru asked sharply.
"It won't change anything." Naruto's voice was a mere whisper, heavy with resignation. He avoided Noboru's intense gaze.
And Noboru's scowl deepened. "Of course it will. I know that this one, at least, is calibrated. And that it has not been tampered with."
"...The result will be the same."
"I tested you myself," Noboru said coldly. "You are like Kushina. Chakra Conduit as a primary — Wind and Water — and Life Spirit as a secondary. There is no reason you—" He stopped abruptly, his gaze intensifying as he took a closer look at Naruto, something flickering behind his eyes — and his fury shifting to chilling recognition. "Wind. Or Water. Channel either. Now."
Naruto didn't. When Noboru pressed the tag in his hands, however, the command was irresistible. Resigned, Naruto infused it with his chakra.
Sealweaving.
Noboru leaned in, his presence overwhelming, and his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Now tell me, you little fool… what the hell have you done to yourself?"
lensdump:
i/nzy7a7 : Noboru-sensei
AN: What do you mean, it's all doom and gloom, in the end...? I'm having fun!
Next chapter: A Silent Undertaking