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Chapter 14

you're gonna carry that weight

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64年7月15日

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They're back on the road thirty minutes later. Akuto found good, strong sticks and tied them tightly around Utakata's broken arm in a solid makeshift brace. If he has a healing factor, this should help heal the bones right. Otherwise, well, he's gonna have to break his arm again. Or live with it or whatever.

Utakata walks with uneven steps, his face pale and his lips pressed in a thin line. The brace juts awkwardly from his arm, the sticks digging into his sleeve. He looks ready to kneel over at any second.

Akuto hesitates. "You sure you're good to go?"

"I'm fine," Utakata snaps, though there's a faint tremor in his voice. He looks ahead, his gaze fixed on the forest path. "This is time-sensitive."

Akuto glares. "You don't have to come. I can handle it just fine without you."

"Like when you fell into the cave?"

"At least I didn't pass out. I'm also not the one suffering from chakra exhaustion."

Utakata snorts. "I'll be fine in a couple of hours."

So he does have a healing perk, Akuto thinks and files the information away for later. Probably why he's so damn stubborn. He adjusts the straps of his backpack, scans the dirt path ahead for any signs of movement, then takes a look at his map. The forest is quieter now, the usual hum of insects muffled like a blanket was thrown over the world. A faint breeze carries the scent of damp earth and leaves.

He pulls a map from his pocket, frowning as he tries to orient himself. Utakata glances over his shoulder. His movements are slower than usual, despite his nonchalant expression.

"Got a plan?" he asks, sounding both curious and challenging.

Akuto only nods, finally having found their approximate position. Teaching him how to read maps and orient himself in nature was one of the first things Okan and Fuguki-oji did— it's one of the most important skills for survival after all. They took him out into the wild for a week, though never too far from Kiri, and showed him neat little tricks and tips on wilderness survival. They taught him how to spot animal trails to find water and to hunt, build a fire without chakra, which plants could be used to stave off hunger, and how to navigate by the stars when all else failed.

They're not too far from Minakami, just about forty minutes out in civilian speeds. He glances at Utakata. It should take them twenty minutes if they move slowly, ten at full speed. Though, he supposes, Utakata might usually be faster than that. Oh, well. Still. They have more than enough time to catch up with his pursuers (even with their head start) and the thieves, and then grab the artefact— statue, whatever, and get the fuck back to Kiri.

"Alright," he says. "Let's move."

They travel in silence after he filled Utakata in— the statue, the rumours, the pursuers— with Utakata setting the pace, and watch the landscape change from forest to plains to costal region. Minakami lies on the other end of the largest of Water Countries isles— separated from Kiri by massive mountains. And forest. Loads of forests.

Clear skies stretch out endlessly above, with only a handful of clouds lazing their way across. The air is lighter, too, fresh and crisp from the ocean breeze sweeping in from the coast. Not close enough to smell like fish and saltwater but close enough you can feel the breeze tugging at your clothes and cooling your skin. Somewhere in the distance, waves crash faintly against the shore. The golden plains around them sway with the wind.

Minakami sprawls along the coast, its streets unfurling from the central palace like spokes on a wheel. It's Water Country's crown jewel, where the nobility of the country come to flaunt their riches, build alliances, and play their games of war and politics. The Daimyō, Sanada Yukimura, holds court in the grand palace. Its gates are carved with water dragons and tidal waves shimmering in the light.

Half the people of Water Country— a little more than three hundred thousand people— call Minakami home, drawn in by its wealth, opportunity, or sheer necessity. It's alive at all times, a restless place where the streets are always crowded. In the noble quarter near the palace, the cobblestone streets are wide and lined with lanterns. Traditional townhouses with wooden shoji panels, dark-stained beams, and tiered tilted roofs line the streets, their windows covered by woven bamboo blinds and their courtyards hidden behind wrought iron gates.

Further out, the city becomes more modern, though it takes on a more Konohan architecture, unlike Suiiki's Kumonan. The industrial district near the docks is full of life— shipyards, warehouses, and factories. Here, it smells of wood, oil, and saltwater. Workers haul cargo onto massive ships, their banners snapping in the wind. Minakami, along with Suiiki, is Water Country's most modern city, its industry and technology far ahead of the rest of the nation.

The rest still lags behind.

But that's entirely understandable. Water Country hasn't been the most stable country, even after the founding of Kiri. The ocean that protects its shores has also isolated its people, making trade slow and dangerous for most of its history. Not to mention, the violence this country has seen.

It runs deep and long.

Until year forty-four after founding, Kirigakure still had multiple daimyō, all vying for power. The Sanada, Okitaka, Kou, Akagi, and Matsumoto. Each family had its seat on a different isle, waging wars for centuries. There were others, too, families too weak or too poor to sustain the warfare.

It only ended because Sanada Tatsunori, Yukimura's father, offered Kiri the most: favours, money, resources. The Second War had slowly been bubbling up, not as quick to come like the First or Third ones, but everyone knew it was inevitable.

An offer the other daimyō couldn't hope to match.

And when Kiri backed Sanada, the others fell like stones in the water.

But the constant warring between the daimyō— and the chaos of the Warring States Period— left deep, deep scars. Deeper than just ruined land and empty coffers. Shinobi became a symbol of fear and mistrust in Water Country, even more so those with kekkei genkai. Ninja or civilian. Didn't matter. Anyone with special abilities became a target of fear. Was painted a harbinger of war and death.

During the worst of it, villages turned inward, closing their gates to strangers and neighbours alike. Communities hunted down their own, whispering of curses and demons, blaming kekkei genkai for failed crops, shipwrecks, or even bad weather. Families were dragged from their homes, accused of harbouring cursed blood, and executed in public squares. Others fled to the mountains or disappeared into the forests, only to starve or be hunted down.

It was hysteria. Entire bloodlines vanished, some forgotten, others erased deliberately by the daimyō who feared their power— even if they had once been their own soldiers. Many clans scattered. The Yuki clan was among them. They used to live out in the countryside, in the deep, snowy parts of Water Country, having resisted Byakuren's Conquest, a peaceful village of people minding their own business. When they were targeted, half came to Kiri's walls begging for refuge (like many others), while the other half scattered across the isles.

And thus developed the stories of the demons in the mist.

They became a way to explain the strange, to explain what they didn't understand— misfortunes, disappearances, or unnatural deaths. Some spoke of beings shrouded in mist, silent and dangerous, preying on those who strayed too far from the safety of the villages. Others described beings with glowing eyes, claws, and inhuman strength, coming to punish. Survivors spoke of shadows moving unnaturally, of voices calling out from nowhere, luring them deeper into the mist.

Even now, it's not entirely over. The open hunts have come to an end, but old habits die hard. In rural villages, whispers still follow children born with unusual eyes or strange affinities. Accidents and misfortunes are blamed on unseen powers, and even in the cities, people tread carefully around those they think cursed.

In the farthest reaches of Water Country, entire villages are still said to disappear overnight, rumoured to have been cleansed by local, extremist militias who keep the old traditions alive. And even within Minakami, it's not uncommon for noble families to quietly disown, or dispose of, relatives who show potential signs of kekkei genkai. Shinobi are both respected and feared, but generally only welcome because they are a necessity.

Out in the villages, though, the lines are less clear. Kekkei genkai blood is still hunted when the right reason comes along.

Only Kiri itself remains truly safe, with most of its population being ninja. Only about thirty thousand citizens are civilians. In a strange, twisted way, Kiri is a sanctuary. The lesser of two evils. It's a haven for shinobi and civilians, those with kekkei genkai. There, the daimyō holds little sway and even less power.

"You just gonna stand there looking all poetic, or are you gonna move?"

Akuto blinks. Utakata's dry voice cuts through his thoughts. The noise and smells of Minakami rushes back in— the chatter of merchants hawking their wares, the rhythmic clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestone, the occasional crash of waves in the harbour, the cocktail of sea breeze, freshly grilled fish, and the faint smell of oil from the industrial district.

"Didn't realise you were in such a rush to get stabbed again," Akuto bites back, sharper than intended.

Utakata, leaning casually against a nearby lantern post, looks at him unimpressed, eyebrows raised. "We don't have time for dramatics. Focus. We need to find the statue."

Akuto snorts. "Oh sure. Bet you've got a genius plan ready, huh?"

Utakata pushes himself forward and moves out of the alley, to the stream of people rushing through the streets. Akuto follows. "Of course I do. Been here before. Or are you already forgetting?"

"Of course I do," Akuto mimics quietly under his breath. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

They walk with the masses for quite a while, Akuto scanning the crowds. Tuned for anything out of place— any danger, anything unusual. He hasn't been in this kind of chaos since Suiiki, and even then, there were fewer people. Here, there's too many moving parts, too many unknowns.

Ten minutes later, they turn into a narrower street. The crowd thins here and the chatter fades into a quieter background noise. The buildings here are a bit more run-down, though still like the ones you find in his home district.

Utakata stops in front of a small, nondescript tea shop. Its wooden sign swings gently in the wind. The window are fogged.

Akuto raises his eyebrows. "A tea shop? That's where we're starting? Really?"

"It's not just a tea shop," Utakata says, stepping inside without waiting for a reply.

The inside is dim. It smells of steeped leaves and smoke. Shelves stacked with tea line some of the walls. A handful of people sit at low tables, murmuring. Porcelain clinks softly. Behind the counter in the middle of the far wall stands a man with sharp features, his hands deftly arranging teacups.

Utakata approaches the counter. "Natsuo."

The man glances up. "Utakata. What brings you here today?"

"Business," he says smoothly sliding a small pouch of coins across the counter. "Looking for something old, stolen, and valuable. Know where it might've ended up?"

Natsuo's eyes flick to the pouch, to Akuto, then back to Utakata. He hesitates for a moment before picking up the pouch and weighing it in his hand. "You should speak with Ichiro in the artisan quarter. He's been boasting about some new shipment he 'acquired.' If it's what you're after, he'll have the details."

Utakata nods, tossing a few extra coins onto the counter. "Pleasure as always, Natsuo."

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The artisan quarter is quieter than the main streets and lined with workshops and stores spilling their wares onto the cobblestones. You'd never see that in Kiri, or even Suiiki. It smells of sawdust, varnish, and faintly of ink. Everything from finely carved woodwork to delicate ceramics is being displayed— clearly intended to draw the attention of the well-dressed and wealthy. The rich folk live a few blocks ahead.

Utakata leads them, weaving through the crowd with ease. Akuto trails behind. They can't use the rooftops, like they would in Kiri, because they'd draw too much attention. Nobles, civilians, ninja, and even the Underworld, have their eyes on you here.

They stop in front of another shop with a wooden sign swinging above the door, painted with a simple ink brush. The windows are cluttered with jars of lacquer, rolled scrolls of fine rice paper, and inkstones stacked neatly in the corners. Inside, the walls are lined with shelves stacked high with art supplies, brushes, and finished calligraphy pieces. Behind the counter stands Ichiro, a wiry man with greying hair tied in a loose ponytail. His hands are stained with ink.

"Well, well," Ichiro says, warily. "Look who the tide dragged back. Utakata, isn't it? Thought you'd moved on for good."

"Sorry to disappoint," Utakata says, sounding anything but sorry. He motions towards him. "This is Akuto. We're tracking something down. Word is, you're the one to ask."

Ichiro chuckles and leans an elbow on the counter. "That depends. What are you looking for, and what's it worth to you?"

"It's a statue. Old. Stolen." Akuto steps forward. "Word is, it showed up in Minakami recently. Don't tell me you don't know where it is."

Utakata tosses a small pouch of coins onto the counter. "Call this a down payment. How much you get depends on how helpful you are."

Ichiro picks up the pouch, weighing it with practiced fingers. His lips twitch into a faint smile. "Not bad. I've heard whispers about something like that. Big, heavy, carved from some rare stone, yeah?"

"That's the one," Akuto says.

Ichiro nods slowly, tucking the coins into his sash. "It's one the move. Too hot to stay in one place long. Last I heard, it's in the possession of a trader named Hiroshi. Deals in rare artifacts, usually out of his warehouse near the east docks. He's careful, though— won't show his goods to just anyone."

"And how do we get him to show it to us?" Utakata asks.

Ichiro smirks. "You'll have to find your way in. Hiroshi's running quiet these days. Doesn't trust anyone without the right connections. But if you're feeling ambitious, you might check the tea house on the corner of Tide Street. He likes to meet his clients there."

"An auction?" Akuto says, frowning. "Figures."

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Depends on how he's feeling." Ichiro shrugs, his smile sharp. "That's all you're getting from me. Word of advice? Don't go in unprepared."

Utakata nods, sliding another coin across the counter. "Thanks, Ichiro."

Ichiro tips his head, already returning to a scroll he's been working on. "Good luck. You'll need it."

"Guess we're off to the tea house, then." He smirks. "Lead the way, Your Majesty."

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The tea house sits between a bakery and a fabric shop on one of Minakami's busiest streets. It looks plain, almost forgettable: a simple wooden sign hangs above the door with the name Jade Lotus painted in careful, artistic calligraphy. Its large windows offer a view of neatly arranged tables, warm lighting, and servers moving swiftly between patrons. It looks just like any other tea house.

Akuto and Utakata sit across the street at a small noodle stand, their bowls of ramen half-eaten. He keeps glancing at the tea house. Studies every detail. The customers, the staff, the flow of people in and out. Maddeningly ordinary.

"Too normal," Akuto mutters. He frowns as another group of patrons enters the tea house.

Utakata smirks. He slouches in his seat, his uninjured arm resting on the counter. "That's the point. The best fronts never look suspicious. Keeps nosy types out."

"I know," he says. Then adds dryly, "Not us, though."

"Obviously," Utakata replies, straightening as his eyes flick to the alley beside the tea house. "But even the best disguises have weak points. You just have to know where to look."

"Wow, so wise," Akuto says in mock-admiration. "Please, Your Majesty, enlighten me with more of your great wisdom."

Utakata doesn't miss a beat. "Wisdom you're clearly lacking. Lucky for you, I'm the reason you're not eating kunai right now."

"Big talk for someone who passed out five minutes after meeting me," Akuto retorts, turning back toward the tea house.

Utakata rolls his eyes. He gestures toward the alley where a delivery boy carrying a large wooden crate disappears, pushing open a side door that blends seamlessly into the building's façade. The door swings shut behind him.

"Side entry," Akuto murmurs. "Got it."

Then, Utakata's eyes narrow as he scans the building's roofline. "Second-floor windows, no coverage on the back. Standard layout. Likely leads to private rooms. Security'll be heavier there."

They lapse into silence and continue to watch, conversation low and halted by brief silences as they pierce together the tea house's layout. Then, there— the servers linger a little too long at certain tables, their conversations with customers unusually accompanied by hand gestures and quick glances around the room.

"See that?" Akuto asks, nodding toward a table in the corner where a man in a plain grey kimono hands a small pouch to the server. She tucks it into her sleeve with practiced ease before bowing and disappearing through a door behind the counter. "Not tea."

Utakata smirks. "Shady customers confirmed."

"Shady crowd, extra security," Akuto adds, watching as two men enter the tea house, their clothing plain but their posture stiff and alert. They station themselves near opposite corners of the room. "Guards. Blendin' in, but definitely guards."

"Professional," Utakata says thoughtfully. "They're expecting trouble. Or avoiding it."

Akuto nods, leaning back slightly as a cart passes by, momentarily obstructing their view. "What about traps?"

Utakata taps a finger on the edge of the counter. "If it's an auction or something similar, they'll have failsafes near the private rooms and side doors. Something simple. Effective."

"Pressure plates, maybe even a nightingale floor. Definitely a physical alarm system." Akuto frowns. "Chakra threads if they've got ninja involved. Seals if they're rich."

Utakata nods. "Likely."

They fall silent again as they watch a group of well-dressed men and women enter the tea house. Their robes are elaborate, elaborately embroidered, but their movements sharp and efficient, their conversation quiet.

"Nice customers," Akuto says, tilting his head slightly. "Bet they're here for the entertainment."

Utakata hummed in agreement, his gaze following a server who disappears down the alley and doesn't return. "Private entrance back there. Bet it leads to the second-floor rooms."

"That's our way in," Akuto says, drinking up his cooling broth. "Not bad for a tea house."

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The alley behind the tea house is narrow. It smells faintly of oil and refuse. Akuto crouches low against the wall, working quickly as he presses a small explosive tag— courtesy of Kirimaru— onto the wheel of a delivery cart. The tag doesn't glow. Some do apparently, but Kirimaru said he makes sure his don't.

"How loud is this gonna be?" Utakata's voice crackles through the receiver, part of every ninja's standard equipment, in Akuto's ear. He's perched by the alley's entrance, his body half-hidden behind the corner of a nearby cabbage stall.

"Not loud enough to bring ANBU," Akuto says, activating the seal with the Ram sign. "Just enough to spook everyone within thirty metres. You're welcome."

"Remind me to thank you when this doesn't backfire," Utakata replies dryly.

Akuto smirks. "Wow. Your faith in me is inspiring. How's the tea house looking?"

"Busy," Utakata replies, peeking around the corner. "Guards on the second-floor stairs, like we guessed. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sure about this?"

"Your plan, Your Majesty."

Akuto stands casually and moves, blending in with the traffic. He feigns interest in the stalls nearby, can't help but buy himself some dango, and only occasionally glances back to the alley. His fingers tap the side of his leg, counting down.

"Three, two… one," he whispers.

The explosive tag detonates with a thundering boom and a burst of smoke. The delivery cart jolts violently, the stack of wooden crates on it spills across the alley with a loud crash. The noise of it rings through the street.

Heads whip to the alley.

Guards bark orders, rushing out of the tea house, and startled civilians shout and scream. He hears someone cry. Many rush around, trying to get as far away as possible.

Perfect chaos.

Akuto stays near the edge of the crowd— those curious and audacious enough to stick around and watch— pretending to be another panicked bystander. One guard sprints past him, a katana bouncing at his side, while another stays behind, shouting orders to secure the alley. Everything is fine… except— Akuto catches a glint of steel near the second-floor stairwell.

"Move, Your Majesty," Akuto mutters under his breath, his fingers twitching near a kunai tucked in his pouch. "Don't make me come up there."

Utakata's voice crackles in his ear. "Patience, Akuto. You're the one making a scene, not me."

"You're running out of time," Akuto snaps, moving with the crowd. He can see the guards' attention split between the alley and the tea house entrance, exactly as planned. "How's your royal retrieval going?"

"Slower than I'd like," Utakata replies, his voice clipped. "Trap at the door. Neutralising it now."

"Need backup?" Akuto asks, feigning concern while dodging a panicked tea house server carrying an armful of broken porcelain.

Utakata snorts softly through the receiver. "Stick to the plan. Keep watch."

Akuto rolls his eyes and leans against a nearby stall to get a better angle on the tea house. The guards near the alley are thinning out— some running toward the smoke, others barking orders. But the ones near the second floor back in position, standing stiffly near the door.

He taps the side of his earpiece. "Two guards by the stairs. Think you can ghost past them?"

"I'll take the windows," Utakata replies, voice faint, like he's concentrating. "Trap's down. Statue's in sight."

Akuto tilts his head and scans the windows on the second floor. He can almost picture Utakata sneaking through the rooms, Transparency Jutsu active (the main reason why Utakata is up there despite his injuries, and not him. He really needs to learn the jutsu), his injured arm tucked close. He can see him handle the traps with an infuriating ease. Not flashy, but damn if it isn't effective.

"Hurry up," he says as he watches as another guard walk to the side door.

"Yeah, yeah." Utakata says, sounding harried, stressed, and annoyed all at once. Silence crackles in his ears for a few moments, then, "Statue's secure."

"Fantastic," Akuto says. He taps his fingers against his leg. "Now get out."

"Uh-huh." Another long pause, then Utakata's voice comes through again. Sharper, warier. "Wait. Footsteps. Guards are moving."

Akuto frowns. His hands instinctively move to his kunai pouch. It can't be— "New ones?" he asks. "My three haven't budged." He pauses, then adds, "How many?"

His muscles tense. He's ready to storm in.

"Two, maybe three," Utakata whispers. "And someone fast. Might be your friends."

Akuto curses under his breath. "The pursuers?"

"Most likely." Utakata sounds calm, but there's something to his voice he can't quite place. "I'll manage. Just keep clearing the way."

"Define 'manage'," Akuto says, already moving toward the tea house. "Bet my definition's not the same as yours."

Utakata's reply comes flat and dry. "The kind where you don't screw it up. Stall them."

Akuto smirks. "Done."

His feet hit the rooftop hard. He clenches a kunai in his hand, his pulse hammering in sync with the adrenaline rushing through his veins. In front of him, his pursuers come closer.

Three of them.

A wiry boy stands in the centre, a sharp and feral grin plastered on his face, flanked by a girl with braided hair and a taller boy with a bō. All of them have the look of someone who knows how to fight— and wants to.

"Thought you got away, didn't ya?" the wiry one says, sneering. His dark hair spikes in every direction, his clothes are worn and cheap. As are the clothes of the other two. "Sloppier than I figured."

"Must suck for you," Akuto shoots back, matching the wiry one's grin. "Since I'm still the one with the statue."

The wiry one lunges. Slashes a kunai at him. Akuto dodges the first one and meets the second one with his own kunai in a clash of sparks. The impact sends a jolt through his arm. He presses forward. Twists his body to force the boy off balance.

He hears a faint hiss behind him—

Akuto twists sharply. A spray of shuriken came from the braided girl, somewhere on his left. One of them nicks his arm. Draws a thin line of blood. The sting burns sharper than it should.

"Great aim," Akuto says wryly, dropping low to dodge the next volley. When he rises, the world tilts—

A torrent of water hurtles toward him. Again from the girl. It snakes through the air like a whip. His vision blurs. His arms feel like lead. He barely throws himself to the side. The water slams into the rooftop with a sharp crack, sending tiles flying. He hits the tiles hard. His ribs flare in pain as he rolls back on his feet.

The world is swimming now, the dizziness clawing at him. His breath comes in laboured gasps, though this fight shouldn't be nearly this exhausting. He lasts longer against Aneki. Something is wrong.

Think, he tells himself. Think, damn it.

Another wave rushes toward him. His fingers fumble through the seals— Snake, Dog, Ox, Boar, Ram, Dog. They feel numb, sluggish, like they did when he was five years old and Fuguki-oji drilled them into him over and over, until his hands ached.

A shimmering dome of water engulfs him. Absorbs the incoming attack with ease. The jutsu collide, splashing harmlessly against the roof tiles. Akuto smirks.

One-third of his reserves left.

Poisoned shuriken, he realises with a start. Explains the burning cut and his weakness. "That's all you got?" he says, taunting. He runs through the seals of an offensive jutsu of his own. Water Release: Needles. Buys himself some time.

He takes a deep breath. It's not aconitine— he hasn't vomited yet and no arrhythmias. His heart beats quickly but steadily. Any irregularities are from the adrenaline. It's not strychnine. He thinks. Hopes. But his muscles aren't contracting uncontrollably yet and that's a big sign. Also a huge relief. Akuto dodges another volley of shuriken. Answers with his own. Sends off another jutsu. To keep them at bay. It's also not tetrodotoxin. He's conscious still, despite the poison being in his system for minutes, so it's not cyanide.

It has to be an organophosphate. Dizziness, muscle weakness, numbness, difficulties breathing, and drooling— which he doesn't, thankfully.

"Big talk for someone bleedin'," the girl says, ready to send another jutsu after him.

He's too slow to respond before the tall boy with the bō finally joins the fight. The weapon spins in his hands, its heavy strikes forcing Akuto to dodge again and again. His world blurs and spins faster with each dodge, his muscles grow heavier, and his breathing growing ragged. One swing clips his shoulders. Sends a jolt of pain down his arm.

"Little help here, Utakata," Akuto mutters under his breath, frustrated. His legs feel like stone.

He just needs a short moment—

The tiniest of pauses.

He's got antidotes in his pouch— he's got an antidote for all of Kiri's most common poisons with him. Okan's been working on building his immunity with him but it's a slow process. They have to take it little by little, and careful which ones they mix.

"Busy," Utakata replies, voice crackling in his right ear. "Don't die."

"Helpful."

The tall boy grins, growing stronger, faster, and more confident with each move. "What's wrong? Not so quick now, huh?" he jeers, driving the staff down.

Akuto sidesteps. His hands flash through another set of seals— Bird, Snake, Horse, Dog, Ram. Water Release: Torrent Kick. Chakra rushes to his leg. He twists. Slams his foot into the ground. A pulse of water erupts, catching the tall boy off guard and throwing him backward. He skids across the roof, his bō clattering loudly as it hits the tiles.

Akuto straightens, breathing hard. "Fast enough for you?"

Now—

He fumbles for his pouch, fingers shaking as he grabs the antidote. He downs it in one gulp, the bitter liquid biting at his throat. They can make more later.

Just in time, too.

The wiry one rushes toward him again, his grin that of a predator. The jagged teeth only amplify the image. Even through his blurry vision. "Alright, fun's over," wiry boy says.

A crackle of energy fills the air as arcs of lightning dance around his hands. Akuto's stomach drops. Lightning. Of course. It's the second most common nature in Water Country, of course. Right after water. By geographical logic, it should be fire, but water and fire are about as uncomplimentary as it gets— having those two as natures, either kekkei genkai or as primary and secondary, is rare.

He thrusts his hands forward. The lightning bolts surge toward Akuto, splitting the air with a sharp crack. Akuto's instincts scream at him to move, but his body still feels heavy and numb, the poison still having its unapologetic hold over him.

Even if the numbness has receded a bit.

The boy grins ferally.

Closes the distance with each step.

The lightning surges closer—

He moves on instinct. Dragon, Bird, Monkey, Horse, Ram—

Electricity courses through his legs. Heightens his speed and reflexes. He jumps to the side, barely avoiding the lightning bolts. The technique is released immediately.

His muscles tremor, his fingers tremble, and the lines at the edge of his visions blur. A sharp ache spreads behind his eyes. Black spots start dancing across his vision. This time, it's not from the poison. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

He's got just enough chakra for one minor jutsu left.

"Akuto," Utakata's voice cuts through the silence. "I'm out. Where are you?"

"Trying not to die, thanks," Akuto snaps. His eyes flicker to the street below. There, he spots Utakata blending in with the crowd, statue wrapped to his back.

He throws another kunai at the wiry boy. Buys himself another moment. Then, he rushes to the street. His limbs still feel heavy as lead, his every muscles scream in protest. He jumps—

The tall boy's staff comes swinging again. Catches him mid-air. Pain explodes in his ribs are the impact throws him off course. He hits the ground hard. His injured arm collapses under him—

For a brief, horrifying moment, his fingers won't move.

Utakata drags him up, expression dark. "Hurry up," he snaps.

Akuto scrambles, pushes the last bit of his chakra to his legs, and runs after Utakata, twisting and winding through the crowd. He can hear the three pursuers behind him, so he reaches for a soldier pill, shoves more chakra into his legs, and drags Utakata after him.

Thirty minutes later, they've finally lost them.

The poison has receded more, too.

"You're bleeding," Utakata says between breaths.

"So what?" Akuto snaps back, deliriously close to complete chakra exhaustion. He drowns another pill. "Gimme the statue. You've got a broken arm."

Utakata hesitates, then hands it over. "Don't drop it."

"Who do you think I am?" Akuto mutters, grabbing the statue—

The world tilts. Cold. Crushing. Vast. Water presses down on him. Engulfs him. Somewhere above him, something moves— a massive, hulking shadow. He can't see it but he can sense it's gaze boring into him.

Then, it's gone. As quickly as it came. Akuto staggers, clutching the statue tightly to keep it from falling. His chest heaves. His mind races.

What the fuck was that?

A trace of Isobu's chakra must've clung to the statue still— a… a memory of sorts. He's never heard of anything like it before, but then again, sharing isn't caring here.

"What's wrong?" Utakata asks. Voice sharp, almost worried. "You good?"

"Nothing," he lies, hoarse. "Just heavier than it looks."

Utakata frowns but says nothing. He turns to lead them deeper into the forest, toward Kiri. Home. Akuto follows, his ribs screaming.

Surely, Utakata saw it too.