Updated 1/26/25

Winter Monday 8:12 pm

X11 ANT (Eleven years after Nine Tails)

Fuko scanned the body, grimacing at the sight. This was not normal, it was torture. Looking back at the Boss behind him, he ignored the blood soaking his hands. This was intentional. "So can you… fix him?" Truthfully, there was nothing to be done, but he would try, even if his word choice was deliberately wrong.

"Yea! Want me to make you some eggs too?" Rolling his eyes, he carefully laced in hands in chakra before picking a place to start. There was no hope for this man, given his current skill set; however, that didn't mean he couldn't try, even if his chances felt slim. "Since you want to watch, hold that book open for me?" Ignoring the slight, almost imperceptible grumble from the towering man, the boss obeyed, propping up a chair and positioning the book close by. People seemed to forget he was just a boy, not the famed genius lady Tsunade. Plus, he never enjoyed doing this; all of this was so he could help in mother in the long run.

He regretted letting the colossal idiot hold his book. He glared at the blood-soaked pages, the thick, cloying smell making it difficult to read, and he had to return it sooner rather than later if he could in its condition. "So, how did he end up like this?" He wondered why he asked the question. Anyone with a working brain could figure it out from the context clues. The boss's knuckles were a bruised purple, and streaks of dark blood marred what he guessed was an expensive outfit.

"Boy, there are bigger things in the world than us…" Fuko silently prayed the old fool would not give him a long rant while he worked, but he was never one with luck. "They told me to get info from him, but he clammed up — wouldn't say a word, even when we went after his family." Well, at least he knew this man was loose-lipped. Now he would refrain from telling him any secrets. "So, I killed his family in front of him and then beat him for days… in the end he didn't talk, which leads us to this point." It seemed he was slowly becoming an accomplice, which was worse than working here.

"Are they going to kill you now since you failed your task? Maybe tie you upside down and watch you bleed out from minor cuts?" His attempt at a joke fell through the roof, and the disturbed expression the man made only enforced it.

"Funny kid…" There was a long, uncomfortable pause and Fuko swore the man wouldn't stop staring even as they began laughing uncontrollably. "Did you really believe any of that? I don't take orders from anyone, boy." Watching the boss close the book, he stopped the procedure, reaching for his scalpel. "He hit one of my girls in the wrong way, so I showed him how they feel."

Were they playing a game? Why did he have to figure out whether this lunatic was telling the truth? "And I called you here for some help," a bag of coins flopped on the table with a thud, a smile parting the boy's lips. "Make him feel pain until the end."

People were greedy; that was human nature. It wasn't like he watched someone die on this table before, the first few times he threw up and tried to run home. It was a common occurrence in this hellhole. Violet eyes looked at the hefty bag before darting back to the body. Well, in order to survive, people needed to have a few screws loose. "You should have led with that, bro," he said, slicing into the body with the scalpel.

He did not know how long it'd been since he was done. The boss watched the whole thing, and when he finished, he needed to clean himself. Hot water cascaded through his hair and down his pale body, seeking to cleanse himself of the blood. Killing someone was one thing, but what transpired in there was another. He convinced himself it was for his mother. It was the only way he could keep going. Steam permeated the air, his mind replaying the scenes over and over again. He was much like the people here in a lot of aspects.

Turning the water off, he found a towel to dry himself, the steam clearing the mold in the corner welcoming him. The bathroom door creaked open, allowing a sliver of noise from the bustling crowd to seep in. It was a matter of time before this place consumed him; he needed every cent to ensure his survival. Finding his clothes, he got dressed and stepped outside.

It was hard to blame anyone other than himself for being here. Maybe part of him enjoyed this, and he was lying to himself. Deep in thought, he drifted to his usual seat, unexpectedly finding himself beside his boss again. A tremor ran through the table as an elderly man placed a cup in front of him, and the expectant gazes around lingered on him. "What's this?"

A hand overlapped his shoulder, their grip firm. "A boy becomes a man in three ways in this world, and you did just that." Fuko peeled the boss's hand off him and pushed the drink to the side. He hated drinking. The smell was inviting, but the taste and aftereffects always made him weak. "Guess the boy can't handle his liquor!" People laughed, some forcing it and others enjoying. "Drink up, kid, or you're not going anywhere."

Fuko knew he could talk a big game, but fighting his way out did more harm than good. "Pay me, and I'll drink it in one go." A smile touched his lips as his hair fell over his eyes.

"I'm curious what other things you'll do for cash, boy."

Watching Ryo stack on the table, he nibbled on his lip, mentally cursing himself for this disgusting behavior. He had to draw a boundary before anyone got any more ideas. Holding the cup near his mouth, he took a sip, trying to ignore the burn. Tossing the rest at the server, he grabbed the money, trying to fight the effects. "Don't disrespect me like that again," he pushed past everyone, holding his middle finger up as he left.

"It's like I said, you were born in this world, and I made it!"

Winter Monday 10:12 pm

Navigating through the white-tiled hallway, Fuko swiftly downed what seemed to be his sixth cup of tap water, deftly maneuvering out of the way of the bustling staff. Greeting a few passing workers, he discreetly performed one last smell check, detecting a faint whiff of sake. Mentally berating himself, he swiftly prepared his excuses, gently sliding open the doors and stepping into the hospital room. With a respectful bow, he greeted his ill mother, whose eyes sparkled with joy upon seeing him. Clearing his throat, he returned her smile, looking for the flowers he brought last time. "Are you ready to go?"

"We should stay inside today, honey." Fuko shook his head, disagreeing. Every time they made plans to go somewhere, his mother gave her usual excuse to stay inside, embarrassed by how she looked, as if being seen next to her would hurt him. Her illness caused her to be severely underweight, with protruding bones, and a pale and waxy complexion, giving her a greasy look. She was rather outgoing before everything, but now she wanted to limit outside contact and spend most of her time with her son. Tapping the notebook her son gave her a few months back, she spoke, "I wrote you another book today."

"I'll read it after our walk, so put on that sweater I bought you, and let's go," he pointed outside, searching through the bag of clothes she could hardly fit anymore. "If you want, we can go get your favorite food since I have some extra money." He knew she hated the way people looked at her and treated her, as if she was helpless. Still, he never planned on telling her what he did to get the money for her to live. All that mattered was she was breathing and living. "Just hold on a little longer," he sighed, thinking about all he had on his plate, "we almost have enough to get you proper help." He was not that far off, and even if it came down to selling his body, he would.

"Honey, I'm serious. It's one of those days where I can hardly walk," she said, her voice soothing, almost as if she knew her words would anger him. She was right. His hands trembled, his fingers curling into tight fists that threatened to tear the clothes he got her. The small sip he had earlier lingered, not helping this feeling. She spoke as if this was normal, as if she had already given up, which always fueling him to consider more drastic measures. Turning away from the clothes, Fuko leaned against the chair, staring into her warm violet eyes, gritting his teeth. He was a carbon copy of her. His mother was a kind person to everyone, something he couldn't understand. He inherited that trait from her, taking care of those he absolutely needed. "Baby, what's wrong?" She tried to climb out of the hospital bed, but he quickly stood by her side to reassure her.

As his mother, she could sense that something was wrong. Her thumbs tried to wipe away the tears streaming down his face, her chilly hands warming his cheeks. He blamed the alcohol for his emotional turmoil. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, oozing into her touch. He knew he couldn't let his emotions consume him, especially not now when his mother needed him the most. With each slow, deliberate breath, he focused on steading himself.

She was his everything. Without her, he wouldn't know where to go, just like every other boy on the street. He knew he could never live without her, and if that day was to come, he would burn. She was the part of him; he wanted to keep alive; she bought the best out of him and if someone tried to take that from him, he would snap. "I'm here, mom," he whispered, his voice breaking ever so slightly. Even if he had to sacrifice everything, he wanted to make sure she was fine, even if it came to himself. "I won't let anything happen to you. We'll get through this together." His arms wrapped around her, his finger fiddling with the white gown she wore. "I'll do anything."

After this sudden display, he sat in the worn-out chair, watching his mother peacefully rest. Her favorite flowers filling the room, her breathing shallow and fragile, barely whispered through the silence. Whenever she turned, he gently adjusted her head, the soft touch of his hands ensuring she could breathe properly.

Konoha had exhausted all their efforts but couldn't identify her illness. All they knew was that she was deteriorating both physically and mentally. They warned Fuko to prepare himself for the possibility that she might forget him or behave like a different person. Konoha was not the right place for his mother if she wanted proper help.

Despite studying medical ninjutsu, Fuko needed time to refine his skills before attempting anything risky. His options were limited but tied to money. Rumors circulated about a highly skilled medical expert, but it was difficult to hire or even locate her. He planned to either hire her or force her to heal his mother. Failure was not an option. Therefore, he focused on making money, because everyone needed it and had a price.

Once he graduated from the academy, he planned to dedicate himself to honing his skills, becoming the best he could be to assist his mother. Rising from the uncomfortable chair, he approached her bedside, the soft rustle of his footsteps blending with the faint hum of the medical equipment.

"Rosemary," softly murmuring her name, he adjusted the warm blanket, its touch comforting her shoulders. He knew that most of his limited funds were going toward her care, leaving him with little for himself. Some nights, he would sleep in the same room as her. Other nights, he would find a cheap place to stay. A permanent place to call home was a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Keep fighting, Mom," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rhythmic beeping of the machines. Reaching over, he exchanged her filled notebook with a fresh one, the sound of paper rustling breaking the stillness. Before leaving the room, he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, his lips brushing against her cool skin. Each notebook he read contained a range of memories, clan techniques, and fragments of her past aspirations and dreams. They were remnants of a time before everything took a turn for the worse.

Winter Friday 7:04 am

X11 ANT

As the water fell out of the faucet, Iruka relished in the sensation of it splashing against his tongue, sobering him up. His brown locks brushed gently on his forehead, tickling his skin. The lack of color in his face made everything around him appear unnaturally bright, and the sounds seemed louder than necessary. Repeating the date, "December fifteenth," he dragged himself wearily towards the door frame, his soles numb against the cold wooden flooring. With a groggy shuffle, he made his way to the full-body mirror, nearly tripping over his foot.

The worst part about drinking was the overwhelming headache and emotions that engulfed his body the next morning. It was one of his primary coping mechanisms, something that pushed him forward. Who would've thought that four years ago, he had almost quit his job at the academy? The once cheerful instructor everyone knew had his own demons holding him down. As he circled his tongue around his mouth, he fixed his posture looking at himself in the mirror. He had read that lifting oneself up in the mirror could boost confidence. "You're pathetic," he stared at the mirror. Part of him knew he could never forgive himself. The weight of the past held more significance than he let on, but like everyone else, he had to move forward. He made promises to his friends and this horrid village. It was a dreadful feeling, and he was fully aware of what was holding him back.

His lips parted as he exhaled, hunching over to find something presentable to wear for the day. Carefully tiptoeing over the pile of discarded clothes, he lost his footing and tumbled down, feeling the roughness of the jagged floor against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he inhaled sharply and peered through the window curtains. The once-blue sky had transformed into a hazy gray, the sun obscured by thick clouds. The pathways that were once illuminated by its light were now indiscernible. He murmured about the heavy snowfall, wondering if he had suitable winter clothes, as he turned away.

Standing in front of the shower head, he twisted the knob, allowing the warm water to hit his body. The droplets of water danced around his lean physique, providing a soothing sensation before flowing down the drain. Leaning his head against the wall, he found solace in the water's warmth, akin to a mother comforting her child after a long day.

The hot shower rushed by in a blur, and before he knew it, Iruka was trudging through the deep snow. He could feel the itchiness of the yellow scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, providing some protection from the harsh weather. The snow had blanketed every corner of Konoha, transforming the village into a white wonderland. The pristine white substance swallowed up the dirt pathways, creating a serene scene that lasted for weeks.

The trek through the snow weighed down his sandals unexpectedly. Seeking refuge inside the academy building, he hastily closed the door behind him. The air grew colder as the snowfall intensified, a strange occurrence in the usually mild winters of Konoha. Slipping off his shoes, he shook off the gritty, sand-like snow that had made its way inside. The empty hallway giving him ample time to gather his thoughts. But before slipping his shoes back on, his eyes lingering too long on the pictures hanging on the wall.

Each year, they took photos to commemorate the graduation of the children and their instructors. Bitter memories came, but he turned away. "There are three entrances to this place," he murmured, swallowing the rest of his words. Of all the times, he had mistakenly entered through the front today.

Human nature's innate greed had led Iruka to a regrettable mistake. Shaking off the trance induced by the photos, he forced himself to move towards his classroom. With each passing day, his mental strength waned, haunted by the weight of his mistakes. "Perhaps Konoha is a place of despair and failure?" he questioned, only adding himself to the list. But self-doubt proved futile. It was his own choice to become personally involved. If he had never approached the parents, that child would still be alive. He was the reason they left. So, how could he find any motivation to invest in his current class? No matter how long he stared at a blank paper, nothing came to mind.

Searching around the inside of the cluttered drawer, his fingertips scratched against the cool, smooth glass of a bottle. The cold draft made his skin prickle, sweat tricked down the back of his neck, a clammy sensation hat contrasted with the chilly air. His eyes dilated as he exhaled, the visible puff of breath dissipating into the frigid room. The moment he emptied the remaining contents into his mouth, he knew it was time to submit his resignation.

Outside, the snow fell steadily. Despite the abnormal weather, some students had filled the seats, and he could only blame their parents for wasting everyone's time. Some had braved the elements, while others remained sheltered at home, seeking refuge from the harsh conditions. Because of the low attendance, Iruka deviated from the original lesson plan, granting those who had shown up a practical free day. And so, he stood on the rooftop, observing the playful antics of his students below. Some studying dutifully, and others well; he wasn't sure if they were trying to eat the snow or stuff it in their pants.

Smoke arose around him and Asuma appeared, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. The aroma wafted, prompting Iruka to use his hand as a shield., warding off the intrusive fumes. "This much snow in Konoha is a rare sight, no wonder so many brats stayed home," Asuma's voice cut through his thoughts, and he shrugged.

Turning his head to avoid the smoke, Iruka mustered a smile, his breath forming a faint cloud in the frosty air. He waved his hand dismissively and replied, "it even caught me off-guard." It seemed his friend was smoking more and more by the day.

"Even if it's uncommon, enjoy this scene. Those brats certainly are," Asuma retorted, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground. "They need someone to guide them for the time being."

This unexpected closeness between them made Iruka pause. Although they occasionally spent time together, most of the time they were drunk. With little thought, the words spilled out of his mouth, a reflection of his curiosity. "Why are you so invested in saving this place?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the carefree children below.

Asuma chuckled, not sure how to answer. "Dumb question," he confessed, still struggling. "Do I need a reason to change things? Don't you ever tire of everything? How do other villages perceive us, or how they treat us? Maybe it's about fixing past mistakes."

Listening to the man ramble on, he froze, contemplating the possibility of fixing his past mistakes. "What if we make the same mistakes again?"

"Humans learn from their mistakes. It's how we grow trial and error," Asuma explained, casually brushing aside some snow. Yawning, he rubbed the hickey on his neck, his breath mingling with the wintry breeze. "That's why this plan has to succeed. We all have to play our part to ensure this legacy doesn't fade away."

Iruka blinked, slightly shocked at his friend. Before he could utter another word, the jōnin vanished, leaving behind a lone caterpillar. "Trial and error," he questioned, taking a step forward as a pop oozed beneath his foot. Dragging his foot on the floor, he silently stared at the remains of the caterpillar.

Spring 10:21 pm

Once more, he fell victim to the allure of alcohol, his throat stinging with the familiar burn as he joined a gathered of long-lost friends. The clinking of cups was music to his ears as they all drunk together. The liquid caressed his tongue; he reveled in the velvety smoothness. Amidst the chatter and merriment, he couldn't shake the feeling that their presence in Konoha was merely a facade, a chance to showcase the things they achieved rather than reconnect.

Holding out his cup, they poured him another drink, the liquid splashing on his thumb, and he resisted the urge to lick it off. Meaningless questions about him went in one ear and out the other, the chatter of the crowd bending into a dull hum. He was steadily reaching his limit, the room spinning and objects moving on its own. A few more would get him through the night. Exhaling, he swallowed the contents whole; the burn relieving his stress; the warmth spreading throughout his body.

"So, what's the plan?" He turned to the new but familiar face next to him and smiled, shaking his head uncertain at the vague question. The dim lighting cast a shadow on their face, but their voice sounded so familiar. "I mean, what do you plan to do in Konoha?"

Rubbing his temple, he sighed, expecting these kinds of questions. Part of him hoped he could get wasted before they started. "I don't know, man… maybe start a family?" Holding his cup out, he waited for someone to pour him another.

"Family? Sounds good! Sounds like you're planning to impregnate someone in that brothel, right? Did you fall in love with a whore?" Iruka eyed the man next to him, a thousand questions running through his head before snickering. Raising his cup, he winked at his friend, destined to end the night drop dead wasted. "Why are you laughing? I'm serious, you sick bastard."

Running his thumb along the bamboo cup, he sucked in his teeth, unsure why this guy was trying to pick a fight. "Listen, whatever you heard about me recently, it's all wrong." No one else paid them attention, everyone lost in their own conversation.

"How is it wrong when I saw you? You walked in there and spent the night, multiple times… I guess Konoha brings out the worst in people." Biting down on his lip, Iruka refrained from falling for the petty attempts to start something, drinking away his emotions. "Konoha has no future, and neither will you as long as you're here." Silence passed between them, and he hoped the man would find someone else to bother. The air felt heavy, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

"You know who else has no future? That boy." Iruka snapped his neck towards the man, slamming his hand on the table. The sharp sound echoed through the bar, drawing the attention of everyone around the table. Veins pulsed around his neck as he yelled, "Shut the fuck up!" Saliva flung out of his mouth as the very person disappeared. Everyone around the table stared at him in disbelief, confusion, and worry etched onto their faces. His stomach churned with a nauseating mixture of anxiety and nervousness. Quickly excusing himself, he stepped outside to save face. The cool night air hit him, offering a moment of respite from the heated atmosphere inside.

"Wow, you caused quite a scene in there. I bet they're all talking shit about you." There was a brief pause, the smug grin on their face fueling the fire. "I wonder how long it will take for you to give up on everything." Iruka remained silent as the man continued, "You've already given up on Konoha. You've heard the rumors, and you believe them, too."

It happened in a flash. Iruka swiftly tackled the man, and both of them tumbled through the snow-covered ground. Locking eyes, one filled with confusion and the other with amusement. "I need to stop drinking," he screamed out, unsure if he was dreaming or if he had died.

"True, but as long as you're here, you won't stop," the man replied, looking exactly like Iruka in his current attire and mannerisms.

His hands dug into the snow, and he closed his eyes and sighed. This was not the first time this had happened, and it should have been a sign for him to make a change. Yet, here he was, stuck in the same situation. His hallucinations were getting the best of him.

"This place is cancer, killing you slowly." Iruka paid no attention to himself and concentrated on getting back home, unaffected by the snow. "We have enough to go to a brothel," turning the corner, he kept his lips sealed, knowing sleep would fix it. It always does. "Gosh," he whispered, his warm breath tickling his ear and sending a shiver down his spine. "Quit making things hard."

Iruka felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach as he gazed at his doppelgänger. The bitter taste of anxiety coated his tongue, and his heart pounded against his chest like a wild animal trying to escape its cage. The cold winter air seemed to seep into his bones, intensifying the chill that ran down his spine.

Anger, frustration, and self-doubt mingled together, creating a storm that threatened to consume him. Every step he took was heavy with the weight of his inner turmoil. The snow beneath his feet seemed to mirror the chaos within, as if it, too, was being tossed and turned by the tempest raging inside him. As he walked, he could feel the physical effects of his emotions taking hold. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenched tightly, and his fists involuntarily curled into tight balls. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat, threatening to spill over.

The hallucination of himself, the embodiment of his darkest thoughts and desires, continued to taunt him. Its voice echoed in his ears, the words burrowing into his mind like parasites. It beckoned him, urging him to embrace the darkness within, to succumb to the temptations that lurked in his head.

As he approached his home, Iruka could feel a glimmer of hope flickering within him. The warmth of his sanctuary beckoned to him, offering solace from the storm that raged both outside and within. He longed for the comfort of his bed, hoping that sleep would free him from the torment he was experiencing.

Ignoring the persistent whispers and the outstretched arms of his hallucination, Iruka pushed through the front door of his house. Closing it behind him, he took a deep breath, allowing the familiar scent and familiarity of his surroundings to wash over him. "We need to clean, well it's all meaningless if you plan on killing yourself." As his gaze darted towards the couch, his heart raced, feeling as though it might burst out of his chest. He hurriedly threw the clothes down, only to discover a disturbing sight—a poorly constructed noose. The more he tried to remember, the more his mind spun with confusion. He couldn't recall a single moment of making it or concealing it.

With his arms loosely draped over his shoulders, his own voice echoed in his ears like venom. "Of course. Why do you think you started drinking?" Like snakes, his fingers slithered slowly, tightening their grip around his neck. "Let me in," he whispered urgently. "If we leave this place behind, we can forget everything and start anew."

Iruka's body trembled uncontrollably, a cold sweat forming on his brow. The weight of his confusion bore down on him, threatening to crush him under their immense pressure. Every breath he took felt heavy, as if something were pressing against his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and wild. The pulsating beat reverberated through his entire body. Each thump echoed like a sinister drum, intensifying the suffocating grip of his emotions.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, causing his vision to blur and spin. The distortion of the world around him felt like being trapped in a nightmarish, twisted reality. Shadows danced in his peripheral vision, mocking his fragile state of mind. "Just embrace me."