Post Sound Four Liquidation Interlude 4: Kurotsuchi of the Hidden Stone

The solemn silence of the mausoleum was deafening to Kurotsuchi.

All around her, thousands of Iwa-nin lay buried or cremated—shinobi who had given their lives in service to the Will of Stone. From the time of the First Tsuchikage, when the first stone was laid to build Iwagakure, to the present day, each of them had fought, bled, and died to ensure that the village endured.

Some called them heroes.

Her classmates at the Academy had whispered their names with admiration.

Her father called them martyrs.

Her grandfather—the Third Tsuchikage—revered them as their honored ancestors.

But to Kurotsuchi?

She wasn't sure how she felt about them yet.

It was easy to say she wanted to follow their example. Easy to declare that she, too, would give everything for Iwagakure.

But...

Death was never easy to swallow.

They were to be respected, her grandmother had once told her, venerated, even—but never sought after.

"There is no virtue in an untimely death, child," her grandmother had said. "The truly virtuous are those who live another day to fight for Iwagakure."

She really hoped her sister had remembered that.

Kurotsuchi's hand hovered over the empty space between the names of her mother and grandmother.

A place saved for her sister.

Her sister's features, carved into the stone, were as kind and welcoming as she remembered. Eyes that once radiated warmth now gazed at her unmoving, unchanging—forever frozen in time.

She had idolized her once. Looked up to her as the best kunoichi Iwagakure had produced. The top of her class, the rising star of their generation.

She had truly believed her sister would lead Iwa into a new era.

But now she was gone.

And that emptiness, that aching absence, would never be filled.

"Kurotsuchi."

The voice snapped her from her thoughts.

She turned quickly, instinctively bowing.

"…Lord Tsuchikage."

Her grandfather, Ōnoki, stood behind her, his gaze unreadable.

To most, the Third Tsuchikage was a stubborn, headstrong old man with more pride than sense. Bitter, pragmatic, unrelenting.

But those who truly knew him understood the truth.

For all his harshness, for all his unyielding pragmatism, there was one thing no one could ever doubt:

How deeply he loved Iwagakure.

How deeply he cared for every shinobi that carried its name.

Ōnoki hovered beside her, his gaze flickering briefly to the niche where her sister's name was carved.

Then, his expression hardened.

"So, you're skipping out on training to stare at your sister's grave?"

Kurotsuchi stiffened slightly.

"Do you think that will bring her back?"

"At least I take the time to visit her!"

Kurotsuchi's voice snapped like a whip, her anger cutting through the solemn stillness of the mausoleum.

"You're too busy to even notice that Nee-san is dead, you stubborn old man!"

She glared up at Ōnoki, her fists clenched, her chest tight with frustration, with grief. He didn't even flinch.

There was no apology in her gaze, no hesitation in her words.

And yet, the old Tsuchikage merely sighed, his expression unreadable.

"Ah, the youth of today is truly impudent," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're upset. I get it. But Iwagakure needs every shinobi now more than ever. Konoha isn't standing still. We can't afford to be sentimental, nor can we—"

"Stop it." Her voice cut through his words like a blade. "Just… stop it."

Her breath was uneven, her throat burning.

"I know my responsibility."

Her hands trembled, but she curled them into tight fists, refusing to let him see weakness.

"I just want to mourn my sister, Grandfather. Is that too much to ask?" She swallowed hard, her jaw tightening. "I'm not as stone-hearted as you."

Silence.

Ōnoki exhaled slowly, the sound of it heavy, weighted.

Then, after a long pause—

"…I still remember when she first entered the Academy."

His voice had softened, just barely.

"I picked her up that day," he continued. "Your father was away on a mission, and your mother… well."

He trailed off. The weight of the past settled between them like an immovable boulder. "I knew it, even then."

His gaze lingered on the niche where her name was carved, his fingers curling slightly.

"She was going to be a fine shinobi of Iwagakure. She would have honored the village beyond all measures."

For the first time, a wistful smile crossed his face—fleeting, fragile. "Given a few years, she would have made a great Tsuchikage."

Kurotsuchi stilled.

She had never heard him speak of her sister this way before.

He was a hard man, a leader who valued strength above sentiment. He did not speak of loss—only of duty, of sacrifice, of pragmatism.

But now?

Now, he spoke of her with something else entirely.

Something dangerously close to love.

"I have loved her most."

Ōnoki's voice was quiet, but the words carried a weight that crushed her chest. "Above all my grandchildren, she brought me the most pride."

His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping something no longer there.

"Top of her class. Chuunin at such a young age. An exemplary ninja in all measures."

Then, his gaze flickered back to Kurotsuchi, his expression unreadable.

"And do you know what she always told me?"

Kurotsuchi didn't speak. She couldn't.

So he continued.

"She said she did it all because she believed in the Will of Stone."

"That she volunteered for the most dangerous missions to bring honor to Iwagakure. That her life mattered less if it meant making our village stronger."

His voice dropped lower, as if the memory was too heavy even for him.

"She told me that she was just a pebble, replaceable by any other pebble. That she did not matter in the long run, because she was part of something greater. A unit. A foundation."

His fingers tapped the stone.

"The Stone itself."

Kurotsuchi's chest ached.

She remembered her sister's smile, the fire in her eyes, the quiet determination that never "…She understood the Will of Stone better than shinobi twice her age," Ōnoki murmured, his gaze lingering on the carved features of his granddaughter. "The meaning of duty, of sacrifice, of standing steadfast for the village. Little wonder she rose as high as she did."

Kurotsuchi's fingers curled into fists. "Does it really matter?" she asked, her voice quieter now but no less bitter. "If she hadn't volunteered for that mission, she'd still be alive."

"She would be," Ōnoki admitted, sighing deeply. "And I would not be poorer a granddaughter."

He exhaled, slow and measured, as if the weight of those words pressed down on his very bones.

"But the world is cruel, girl." His voice turned gravelly, heavy. "Her death weighs on us like mountains, just as the thought of her sacrifice going to waste does."

A pause.

"But it will truly be a waste if we allow her death to mean nothing."

Ōnoki's eyes, sharp despite their years, turned to her. "If we do not do our best to avenge her."

Kurotsuchi's breath hitched slightly, but she said nothing.

Her grandfather continued, his words precise, deliberate.

"And to answer your question—yes, it matters. Always. Especially in moments where you think it doesn't." His gaze hardened. "Do you think we get to pick the consequences of our sacrifices? That every loss will be rewarded with a better world? No."

His fingers pressed into the cold stone of her sister's grave.

"And yet we must still do it. Because if we only make sacrifices when we are guaranteed a favorable outcome, is that truly selflessness?"

A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it held no warmth.

"Or do we just want to be recognized so badly that we throw away our lives for nothing?"

Ōnoki's hand hovered over her sister's carved face, thumb brushing along the stone.

His voice wavered—not in weakness, but in the burden of carrying too much for too long.

"I still remember the pain when I first heard she was missing. It hasn't even been a few months. Some nights, I still hope it was all a mistake. That she will return to us, alive and whole, telling stories of how she escaped captivity."

A deep breath.

"But even a man as stubborn as me knows when hope is foolish."

A long pause.

"There is no night that passes where I do not curse myself for allowing her to go on that mission. For setting the stage where a mission like that was even necessary."

Kurotsuchi swallowed hard.

She had never seen him like this before.

Not like this.

Not admitting weakness.

Not admitting regret.

Ōnoki straightened, the emotion in his voice hardening once more into stone.

"She is dead, Kurotsuchi. No amount of tears will bring her back."

His words cut through the silence like a blade.

"The only thing we can do now is honor her memory by ensuring our village—the village she died for—lives on despite her loss."

His eyes bore into her, unyielding. "That we stand victorious in the tribulations ahead, in her name. The die is cast, and there is no looking back."

Ōnoki turned to her fully, measuring her carefully.

"You dishonor her if you waste away in grief."

His words weren't cruel, but they cut deep all the same.

"If she were alive, she would chide you for neglecting your duty as a kunoichi of Iwagakure. Do not disrespect her by being petulant in your sorrow and pretending it is in her honor. You and I both know she would not stand for what you're doing."

Kurotsuchi closed her eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.

"…I just want her back," she admitted finally, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

She glanced at the empty space in the mausoleum. "If not her, then at least her body. So we can bury her like a hero. Not… have an empty grave in the Mausoleum of Heroes."

Her fingers tightened.

"I always thought she was invincible, Grandfather. She was our hero. My idol."

Ōnoki's eyes softened—just barely.

"She was. But you have her talent, Kurotsuchi." He studied her, gaze unwavering. "You just need her determination."

Kurotsuchi let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"I have my own path, Grandfather. And… Don't let anyone else hear this, but… even I don't know if that's true."

She exhaled sharply. "Big Sister was in another league. The youngest to ever be admitted into Iwagakure's ANBU."

Her lips quirked into a faint smile—but just as quickly, it disappeared.

Her eyes darkened.

And then, in a low voice, she spat,

"I can never forgive the shinobi who killed her."

Ōnoki didn't respond at first.

Then, slowly, "Do not let your rage blind you. Let it fuel you. But never let it blind you."

His voice was firm but quiet, measured in the way only someone who had lived long enough to know its dangers could speak.

Kurotsuchi's jaw clenched.

"But is it true?"

Ōnoki didn't answer immediately.

She stared him down.

"That Konoha was responsible for her death?"

A long, heavy pause.

Then, finally—Ōnoki nodded.

"…Yes."

Kurotsuchi felt her blood turn to ice.

"And they can't even return her body," she hissed. "I dread to think of what's happening to her now. Some lab, no doubt. Dissected, picked apart, so Konoha can learn our secrets."

Her hands trembled. She turned to Ōnoki.

"Fine. I won't skip training anymore."

Her eyes burned with a newfound resolve.

"I'll be the best kunoichi I can be, Grandfather. So I can avenge her."

Then, she straightened, gaze sharp.

"But I ask one thing of you."

Ōnoki lifted his chin slightly. "Anything."

"Tell me who killed her."

Her voice was steady. Unyielding.

"I heard you telling my father when you thought you were alone." Ōnoki remained silent, and Kurotsuchi pressed on.

"I am a chuunin. I deserve to know." Her fists clenched. "Tell me who took her from us."

Ōnoki's expression did not change.

"Kurotsuchi…We don't even know if the information we received is accurate."

His voice was quiet, but something uneasy lurked beneath it.

She did not flinch, nor relent.

"Tell me. You wouldn't have told my father if you didn't think it was worth considering."

Her eyes burned with something sharp, dangerous, and she pressed on.

"Tell me." She took a step forward. "And I swear to you, I will train harder than ever. I will become a jonin in less than a year."

Ōnoki let out a long, weary sigh. "You're an impossible brat. Your father told me never to tell you, but..."

A pause. A hesitation.

"You know what mission she was last sent on, right?"

Kurotsuchi nodded stiffly. "She was sent to supply our associates down south."

"Yes," Ōnoki confirmed. "It was a sensitive mission, given what our associates are facing—enemy ninja backed by Konoha. That's why I sent only ANBU to handle it. As expected, your sister volunteered."

Kurotsuchi remained silent, her fingers curling at her sides.

Ōnoki exhaled deeply before continuing. "We knew Konoha was gathering troops to 'reinforce' their side of the border. But as far as we were aware, Kusagakure was adamant about not letting them interfere beyond that."

He paused. "That's why I wasn't concerned about Konoha patrolling or finding our agents. Aside from their stationed garrison, the only shinobi there were a group of genin on a mission to guard the Grass Daimyo. They had no way of interfering with us, despite wanting to. Not if they want to alienate Kusagakure and push them to our side."

His eyes narrowed. "But I underestimated the cunning of Konoha's shinobi. Somehow, they found out about your sister's meeting with our associates and..." He paused. "They ambushed her."

Kurotsuchi's breath hitched. Her nails bit into her palms.

"What?" Her voice was sharp. "Which of the garrison members ambushed her?!"

Ōnoki's gaze met hers evenly. "None of them."

A pause.

"It was the genin."

She blinked.

Then laughed, mocking and incredulous. "Bullshit. Stop pulling my leg and tell me!"

Ōnoki's expression remained grim, impassive. "I didn't believe it at first, either. But… it's true. That's how she died." A slow breath. "And judging from our sources in other villages… the genin who killed her got a promotion out of it."

Kurotsuchi felt something cold settle in her stomach.

"She must have been betrayed," she snarled. "Or weakened. No way—no fucking way—genin killed her!" Her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. "How?"

Ōnoki exhaled, shaking his head. "Reports are hazy, but they ambushed her at a landmark—Tenchi Bridge."

His voice was low, measured. "Your sister fought back, but I believe her two associates were more of a hindrance than a help in the skirmish."

Kurotsuchi's jaw tightened. "I see."

Then, with quiet venom, she whispered, "I'm going to kill them."

A heartbeat of silence.

Her burning gaze snapped back to Ōnoki. "If we know all this…Why aren't we declaring war on Konoha, then?"

The Tsuchikage simply watched her, his expression unreadable. "Konoha is not an easy enemy, girl." His voice was calm, but there was an iron weight behind it. "We have factors to consider. As much as I want to avenge my granddaughter—"

A pause. A deep breath.

"No. It will come, in due time. And when we retaliate, we will make sure we do not repeat the mistakes of the past. Hate makes you stupid if you let it rule you, Kurotsuchi."

She scoffed, but didn't argue. "Fine."

Her mind was already racing ahead. "But this group of genin—do you know who they were?"

Ōnoki sighed again, rubbing his temple. "Well…"

A pause.

"One of them was the last Uchiha. Another was a Hyuga." He exhaled. "But the one who fought your sister personally... was someone else."

Kurotsuchi leaned in.

Ōnoki hesitated, just for a moment.

"I sent my agents to dig up whatever they could on her. And… she was easy to find."

His fingers reached into his pocket, pulling out a photograph.

"She does not keep a low profile," he continued. "Given her… peculiar set of skills and jutsu."

Then, he handed her the picture.

"Her name is Yuhi Kimiko."

Kurotsuchi stared at the name.

Her eyes traced the image—the refined features, the pale, unmarred skin, the red-ringed eyes….the kunoichi who had stolen her sister from her.

Something dark and ugly twisted in her gut.

Then, without hesitation, she crumpled the picture in her fist.

Her voice was quiet, seething.

"I'm going to make sure to kill her."