Bit of a doozy this chapter, though. Apologies - this session went particularly longer than expected. Enjoy, though.
The black hum of a still tv blends with the eerie drone of dormitory 1A's "economical"central heating. Tiny pings and tings sound off as trapped air forces its way through pipes untouched since the fifties. Will either be a cold one tonight, he thinks, or he'll be sweating his balls off depending if they bleed the pumps in time. He shrugs; not like these units were built for comfort, anyways. Besides, by now he'd gotten used to it.
Along with the frustrated look from the girl next to him.
Sour stench of hydrogen peroxide is noticeable as the cotton swab is pressed hard to his cheek. She's not gentle - never has been with him - as she holds him in place. He tries pulling away, but his chin is jerked by a firm grip; she's not letting him go. Not this time. You really are dumb, she lectures. Going off on how selfish it was putting everyone at risk, that he was lucky help arrived when it did.
"You should've known better." She tells him.
Yeah...
Sure.
He turns the dial slightly to the left; if he can get the frequency just right...
The usual State approved channels flew past: KVN, Nihon-kyo, Bunto, The Kuroda Hour,Kakumeigo no jin -Damn, it was here somewhere. He continues fiddling between channels 5 and 6, making sure to be careful of the volume; comrade Morino walked the halls tonight and he was a stickler about curfew. Plus, let alone the fact it was after quiet hours, he also was with a junior commissar. In his room. ALONE.
Punishment for this was five weeks of "reeducation".
"Ethical concerns" being the party-line the Central Committee uses for such scenarios.
Yet, to him this whole fiasco was blown out of proportion. He only went for a walk - no big deal. Over the wall, sure, but raids were common. Not like he's the first, or will be the last, to have business in the other side of Tokyo. Besides, isn't this what the Village had been training them for anyways? Far as he figured, he was only testing out the skills they taught him. And what's the point of knowledge without application?
*Bre-krrrssshh*...*He-Krrrrr*...*Out of-Krrrrrr*
Eyes open when he hears the familiar voice break through the static. Shrugging off the commissar's grasp, he frantically tunes the little box seated on the floor in front of him. Scooching close, he primes his ears, and gently turns the receiver. *News at- Krrrrr*...*Talks heighte-Krrrrrrssshhh*...*Stand by for-Krrrrrr*. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth, and he closes one eye to better listen; doesn't have a clue why people do this, but somehow it works. Suddenly, out from the snowblind a figure emerges. A woman - a pretty woman, with long black hair, dark lips, and the most alluring eyes you'd ever see. She takes center screen, and sits at a long desk, hands folded neatly in front of her.
"Ladies and gentleman of the Republic of Japan. Welcome, and good evening. As always, Yuhi Kurenai here reporting from JTV offices, Tokyo Metropolitan. Bringing you the top stories around the world right to your doorstep. Many thanks for joining us off the midnight hour. We've a full program planned for you ahead tonight, one I promise will be worth staying up for. So without further introduction, let's get into it. Shall we?"
Transmission # 3-3-7-1. Designate: Night Rider
North Side the Wall, Tokyo Urban; Hidden Village: "Leaf"
Building 4, Compound 1; Proctor Umino educates teams 1-12
8:30 hrs; November 4, 1963
"We shall!" Comrade-sensei Iruka Umino paces the front of the classroom, full of vim and verve as usual, dressed to a bona fide "T" today as he gesticulates like a preening rooster.
The officer's shirt is taut and lean, finely pressed. The brown jodhpurs pleasantly puffed at the hips, tapering into the brightly polished riding boots he was always fond of. Shiny bronze buttons catch the morning sun, along with the bright red epaulettes, showing the rumors were true: he'd made first lieutenant last week. The newly minted gold star on his shoulders is apparent as he waves his arms back and forth.
And judging by his performance of Sanzo Nosaka's memoirs he clearly wants another.
"The fundamental and defining principle of our revolution is a simple one. Chikara - power - is not defined by the application of strength of arms alone, but also in our capacity to understand when the sword is no longer applicable. Comrades, we are home now. A home tired and broken and in need of healing. Healing does not come through force. We must learn not to fall into such dangerous thinking as the Manchurian, or the Bolshevik. Nations are not bound together by blood, but with unity. We must rise, brothers and sisters, rise in the hopes others will see our example and follow. The only way we do this is with ...What?"
No one responds - An early wake-up, a rigorous morning of PT, and little breakfast leaves the class feeling a little less patriotic today. Noted by the intelligence officer in the back jotting it down in her little black book. She appears to be the only one taking notes, it seems. Comrade-sensei Iruka sweats, knowing this won't look good for his weekly evaluation.
"Comrade Yamanaka!" He directs to a young woman sitting in the corner.
The girl is twirling a strand of pale blonde hair about her finger, clearly a million miles away by the rhythmic *tap* *tap* *tap* of her pencil. A lone ice-blue eye gazes past the long bang covering her face, barely registering him when she gives him a nonchalant, "Yes, comrade-sensei?" As if her tone wasn't borderline insubordinate.
More noticeable scribbling in the back.
"Can you tell me what Nosaka-san was referring to specifically in the aforementioned quote?"
The *clack* of his heels resound across linoleum tile as he slowly makes his way toward her.
"Ummm..." She straightens in her chair seeing her teacher close in like a wolf stalking its prey. "Well, ummm...Of course, I can tell you. Uhhh,..At that instant, Nosaka-sempai was addressing his comrades for the first time since coming back from exile. Exile from China. Annnnddd...he'd landed in... Hokkaido! Yes, Hokkaido, at Otaru Port. And what he meant at this moment - the glorious moment! The moment all us true patriots waited for - and one you've so sublimely recreated for us, comrade-sensei. What he wished to impart to his followers, those loyal disciples who stayed behind in Japan, operating in the shadows to ensure the people's will of fire never died in the face of a grasping shogunate masking itself neath the Emperor's cloak. What he hoped will be the cornerstone for the revolution going forward, what we all prayed for upon hearing the Noble One's return from afar. Where he courageously resisted the clutches of Chang Kai-Shek's imperialist do -"
"It's love." The answer comes one row over, and three desks down. "What Nosaka-sempai believed would unite not just the party, but Japan as a whole after the war. It's love."
"Hai, correct." He nods approvingly to the girl. "Well done, Comrade Haruno."
As Iruka walks away, Ino turns to fire a death glare at Sakura. The brown haired girl is unfazed. Crossing her arms, she fires a victoriously smug smirk right back.
"Love. Or more specifically, 'aikokushin' - 'love for one's country'. Patriotism. This is what Comrade Nosaku intended to form the bedrock of his platform on his return home. A home reeling from invasion..." Iruka tips his head for comrade-student Akimichi to kill the lights. Reaching above the chalkboard, a silvery projector screen unfolds. Room becomes dark, comrade-student Nara flicks on the Luch 2 8mm, and then the sound of rolling film.
The slideshow begins with a scene of a hellish moonscape. A barren wasteland of hollowed out craters, charred out husks, and twisted remnants of a past world buried neath debris. All are silent when they see the ashen outlines against broken brick walls, the final moments of their victims captured forever before being vaporized into oblivion. Iruka over to his students; most weren't even born when the first bomb hit Hiroshima. Yet, the Central Committee made it a prerogative all ensuing generations would learn this moment, and commit it to memory
All that their world encapsulates, all that they'll be within it, is forever defined by this one, singular moment in history. For those who've never experienced this, it is a lesson; for those who lived through it and lived, a harsh reminder.
The heavy scar across Iruka's nose itches before he clicks to the next slide.
Fighting on Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Koshikijima islands proved particularly fierce; Iruka made sure to not skimp any of the details. He talks of the American Sixth Army. Battle-tested from New Guinea to Leyte, fighting all the way through the Philippines, chewing down the vaunted Shimbu group till it was nothing more than a glorified division by war's end. Their barbarity's were well-documented in the Committee archives. Photographs appear of trophy skulls, severed hands tied to trees, of unsmiling gaijin marching past dead IJA soldiers. White phosphorous was used extensively to clear out cave systems Himeyuri students used to tend the wounded. Afterwards, veterans who survived Okinawa were said to be reminded of the island's atrocities.
"Hard to imagine 'love' being born out of such circumstances." Hushed gasps are held back as more pictures flood in. Crying children in the arms of wounded soldiers. Women being torn away from burning homes. A photograph of Emperor Hirohito weeping when he is told news of Kyushu's fall. A hard thing to show, and harder for them to understand. "But it was quickly becoming apparent to all our home - our Japan - was no longer just 'ours', but quickly becoming 'theirs' as well..."
The next click shows rows upon rows of battleships forming a wall of steel hugging the coast of the Kanto plain. Armored carriers filled to the brim with American GI's stream toward fortified beaches. Where they would be met by forty newly minted divisions, four veteran ones pulled form the Kwantung Army, three tank brigades, and thousands comprising the Volunteer Corps. Overall a force of 900,000, and it made the enemy pay for every inch.
Much as it had against the Soviet expedition up north.
"Nosaka-san understood full-well in order to counter imperialist aggression, help was needed..." The next slide shows Soviet soldiers of the 1st and 2nd Red Banners punching through Manchurian defenses. Iruka further explains - albeit, with a slight hint of derision; even if they are brothers under the same flag, sight of Russian troops marching through Pyongyang, Seoul, and later Busan gave many a Japanese dread they were not watching liberators, but would be conquerors.
"Who can tell me the names of the Four Pillars critical in assisting Nosaka-sempai back to Hokkaido? Anyone?" He scans around the classroom; this was a lowball question anyone with half a brain and somewhat awake could answer. Hell, two of the said four had their faces held in picture frames above the door entering the class. Only one hand was raised. "Anyone other than Comrade Haruno?"
Still no takers.
Ino turns to look at Sakura with a smug grin. Pulling down her eyelid, Sakura sticks out her tongue before Comrade-Proctor Iruka notices. Pacing up and down the rows, iruka can practically feel the vein in his forehead throb as his agitation grows. "If no one can give me an answer within the next five seconds, I'll see all squads present signed up for three weeks public service."
Iruka pans to the next slide. Four men stand side by side overlooking a snow-topped balcony. A tell fellow looks off to the side, face flush red with the exuberance of youth. He carries a pleasant smile neath a head of long, black hair tied behind by a peasant's knot. The comrade next to him couldn't strike a more opposite look, however. A chilled air pervades off square features and humorless eyes, possessing all the personality of a Roman statue. A middle-aged gentleman to his left rests a hand on his shoulder. A demure looking fellow, with a pencil-thin mustache, and short hair combed back with wax; Sanzo Nosaka tells his compatriot to be at ease, while the fourth behind looks almost lost in the long, flowing overcoat and oversized bowler. A bad picture of him, his features hidden, save for the long pipe puffing away the winter cold that day.
"Comrade Nara!" The young man operating the projector wakes up with the call of his name.
"Yeah," he responds with a yawn.
"Excuse me?" Making a beeline toward Shikamaru, like a pufferfish Iruka tries to impress to the boy what a mistake it is to test him. The effect fails miserably.
"'Hai, Comrade-Sensei'." Shikamaru huffs.
Iruka's jaw clenches in the worst way, while his teeth ground the inside of his cheek into ground beef. Luckily there weren't many geniuses he had the misfortune of teaching. For that he was truly glad. If they were all like Nara Shikamaru he may want to put a bullet in his head. Motivating someone far smarter than the rest, including him, wasn't an easy task. Even though the Central Committee had high hopes for Shikamaru, Iruka was merely impressed the boy even managed to get out of bed this morning.
"Could you inform me who these four are?" Iruka nods his head over to the screen, earning him an eye roll
"Yeah, I could." Shikamaru says.
Moments pass and Shikamaru says nothing. He only yawns again, and Iruka looks almost about to lose his bowels. Intense note-taking takes place.
Shikamaru shrugs his shoulders. Figures it'd be better to give Iruka an answer than have him constantly hover in his space. Finally, he answers, "They are the Comrade brothers Senju, Comrade-Sempai Nosaka, and Master Sarutobi. This was taken when they were all at Kamchatka, right before The Noble One returned to Hokkaido."
"Correct, Comrade Nara."
Shikamaru plops his head back into the palm of his upturned hand, desperate to regain the semblance of 'rest' he had before being so rudely disturbed. Comrade-Proctor Iruka walks the room again, reminding everyone how it was those four who had paved the way for Nosaka's return in Hokkaido. How despite Shogunate forces stymying the advance of the liberating Red Army, the common support of the Hidden Villages throughout Japan, working together finally after years of grudges, conflicts, and petty squabbling, saw the support for the Party grow and a vision of a promised future grow.
"The Hidden Villages have ever played a part in the history of Japan. Since the days of the Warring States, throughout the Edo period, and into the Meiji Restoration; our society has been defined by those with the strength of character, the will of fire, to persist and endure. That is the way of the ninja - our forebears. Who taught us power need not be an application of aggression. Strength can be subtle, quiet, adapted to work within the confines of a new era. What we suffered at the hands of the Shogunate dogs during the War years, and the Imperialists who were in the throes of destroying our island..."
The next picture of a mushroom cloud sprawling to the sky leaves everyone silent. Iruka believed scaring children into obedience was a backwards way of instilling patriotism. To his mind, there's no difference between this or waving around a gun to urge patriotism. They've come a long way from the morale officers who'd shoot on principle - the Namburev in his holster more a status symbol than anything. However, the Teams needed to understand what it was they were born from. Why their mission was so important. Know what they're training to do in Konohagakure - The Village hidden in Leaves, would equally forge a future for their own children.
Provided of course they first receive birthing dispensations from the Board of Human Services. Followed by a commissary overview from the Hidden Leaf Committee Board to ensure proper gene pools were accentuated - can't allow for stagnant lines to procreate. And then lastly, a formal interview with a local Root agent - much like the one fastidiously conducting research right at Iruka's expense. Unamused and unimpressed, discerning eyes never leave her notes.
"These four men vowed we would never suffer through such times again. They held strongly to the belief to heal first we must unite. Not as the Shogunate had us, turning us into slavish drones spewing out fascistic propaganda at every turn and click of a boot." The next slide elicits a reaction. Slight at first, but by the slight movement of turning heads and widened eyes, he knows he's got their attention.
"It is only through which we can beget peace. Through peace, healing. And with healing, a common cause for love to burgeon between brothers."
With the next slide comes a few hushed chortles and snorts. Iruka doesn't register it at first, noticing instead the intelligent officer's eyes come up from the notebook. He has to make this last part good; even if his students failed to impress, he was going to make damn well sure his head wouldn't be on the chopping block.
"But that unity is interrupted my, fellow comrades, by the snakes living in the south. Those insipid fools who call themselves a republic, but instead lick the boots of the American imperialists and grovel at the feet of the impostor Emperor holing himself up in Kyoto. The Noble One's mission of unity is left unfinished, but so long as we have the hearts and mind willing to commit to the glorious cause, the final outcome is never in doubt."
Hoots and hollers grow, along with smiles and wide stares. Iruka can feel he's got their attention again - of course he would, this performance was a killer perfected after thirty-five grueling minutes practicing in front of the mirror. He even had little Ms. Comrade going, her cheeks going red with the rush of patriotic zeal flowing through her veins.
"When the Noble One was asked whether or not this mission can succeed, he responded with an answer befitting a true hero to the cause: We shall! When asked if we can overcome the reprobate figures of the Tojo Shogunate, and hold those men accountable for the crimes they committed? 'We shall.' When asked on the march to Tokyo if we can hold the line against the forces of imperialist aggression? We shall! When asked as the second bomb was dropped, and the ignoble pact signed at Potsdam, dividing our country at the 35th parallel, if we can persist till the day Japan is once more united? Till the day true love can spread to our brothers and sisters in the south, so that in a magnificent display of kinship we will come together. United as one. Till that day, all true adherents carrying the will of fire will persevere and say, 'WE SHALL!'
His dénouement was intended to be a picture of The Heroes Mount, the great cathedral of the revolution's cause carved into the side of Mount Fuji. There under the shroud of the great volcano, the Hidden Leaf Village has made a home for itself. As it had then, it keeps watch over Tokyo. Both Urban and Metropolitan. As the gaze of the Four Pillars who came to save Japan before sit patiently in stone awaiting the day Japan will finally be at peace.
Yet, that's not what was shown on the screen.
Bouts of uncontrollable laughter rack the classroom as the kids barely contain their glee. Comrade Yamanaka is holding her sides, and Comrade Akimichi spits out the type 12 Jimbu ration casing he was eating; he thought he was being secretive about it, but everyone knew he was stuffing his face back there. The ever slothful Comrade Nara could be seen smirking, with even the ever stalwart Comrade Haruno belting out a laugh. Comrade-Proctor Iruka is perplexed.
Not quite what I was expecting. He thinks.
But he would have, if he had paid any inkling to what unfolded behind him. Puzzled, Iruka flips back through the slideshow and finds a terrible discovery.
There are no shots of the invigorating march south of Nosaka-sempai at the head of the JPR 1st Brigade. None of Hashirama and Tobirama rebuilding the Hidden Leaf's compounds. Nothing of the tribunal held for Tojo Hideki and the rest of the Imperial Navy Staff. Instead, there was a picture of a scratched and beat-up Iruka after a successful retrieval mission of the Premier's wife's cat for the nine billionth time that month. Of Iruka squatting over the toilet hole in his bathroom, enjoying a cigarette and a nice read of "Comrades and Coochie" to pass the time. Or the one of Iruka looking goofily towards the camera whilst shaking hands with a clearly unimpressed Joseph Stalin.
Thankfully, the jodhpurs he wears were brown; better to not see the shit he laid as more laughter continues.
Intense scribbling, ever with the incessant scribbling, as the intelligentsia removes her surprised look and jots down whatever ramifications are intended to fix this clear breach of etiquette. Oh Lord, his mouth drops and his skin goes sheet white. What on Earth could she be writing? How the hell could this happen. I couldn't even make a full cycle without these little shits ruining it for me.
Criticism is harsh for proctors unable to control their classes, and a demotion so soon wasn't unheard of. Discipline and a stern composure is what the Committee demanded, just as Tobirama insisted after the incident in '56. His Codex for the Acumen of Administration details clearly in line 25, subset B: there can be no patience for those incapable of instilling order. 'Incapable' is a word which haunted Iruka to no end, and it hurts seeing the Root affiliate fix him with an impassive stare. She's got me. Oh please, no! I didn't mean for this to happen!"
It was only then does the blood race back to his face, the vein in his head start to throb. Thoughts and ideas of punishment weren't his forte, but he damn for sure was going to get his pound of flesh for this. Oh, indeed he was. And there was no one better suited for it than the culprit for such a fiasco. The only one who had the balls to pull this off. Wasn't hard to mystery. It had been the same story for over thirteen with this idiot, and he doubted it was going to change.
Because Uzumaki Naruto was hopeless, a waste, a complete and utter disgrace to those who've walked these halls in the hopes of bettering the world. Tomorrow never mattered to him, the past or where he came from a waste of time. Today was nothing but an opportunity for another joke, and usually it was at Iruka's expense. The only one who took him in, who made sure this motherless son of a dog could be useful, who actually TRIED despite everyone telling him it was a waste of time...
He tried, and why?
Iruka looks toward the blustering fool slapping his hands on his knees. Two rows back behind the projector, he's laughing with a smile as big and wide as the Tokyo wall. Everyone joins in with him, and for a second it's easy to forget these kids weren't trained killers, assassins, dealers of death intended to bring a black conclusion to their targets. It's hard, because as the sunlight comes in through the blinds, Naruto's bright yellow hair catches it and makes him glow.
"Sigh," Iruka goes like a deflated balloon.
For sure, he's still very VERY angry. Yet, "why" doesn't he hate Naruto as much as he should? Well, it's simple...
It's because he likes him. Or, more clearly, believes in him a helluva lot more than he believes in himself. Which hurts now considering what Iruka now has to do for his own good. It's protocol, expected. That's what he knows. More specifically, what the Central Committee tells him what he knows.
"Argh, watch it!", he yelps when she moves towards his back.
"Keep your voice down, I told you this was going to sting." She replies.
"And I told you my back is fine. It's my cheeks that are still hurting." He says to her.
"Your cheeks?" He's caught off-guard when she turns his head to meet her gaze. "Huh? I mean, your face seems swollen, but not as bad as before."
"Not the cheeks I was talking about?"
The shit-eating grin didn't go further than a second before she slaps more peroxide onto him; the cuts weren't as deep, but they still nearly cause him to yelp. He bites down hard, almost chews a hole in his cheek before a warm bandage is placed on his back. Her fingers rub up and down, small bits of chakra soothing the area, as she makes sure the wrap is flush to his skin. Soon the bite falls away to nothing more than a tingle. "Well, one good thing about you being on probation is hopefully you'll get some rest. These wounds need time to heal."
"I told you I barely feel it." He tells her, but she doesn't wanna hear it.
"Have no idea how the hell you don't," she says shaking her head. She moves a hand to wipe a stray bang away from the dull green eyes staring fixedly at the bruises on his knuckles. She reaches into the first aid kit for more wrapping and a small splint. One of the fingers looks bent in an awkward position. She minds to make sure to not be so harsh handling them. "Then you go ahead and pick another fight you were bound to lose."
"Wasn't losing till he started cheating."
"Cheating when the other guy starts to win?" She chides with a small hint of a smirk, but he doesn't appreciate it.
He sits in silence. Sure, he could say something smart. A little quip to fire off, because Lord knows it was easy for him to do so. But, hell, better to sit and bite his tongue; justifying it only sounded better in his head, and in the end make him sound like a loser. Better to bite his tongue and just enjoy she smelled of cinnamon tonight. And that her mousey brown hair tickled him as she brings his hand close to inspect. Small, petite hands feeling warm and accommodating like a campfire by the ocean as they worked her magic. "You look pretty", is what he wants to say, but he was too smart for that; he'd already received two beatdowns today, and wasn't looking for a third.
"The situation in Saigon has somewhat stabilized following the assassination of President Diem and his brother during the November riots. Remnants of the Southern government have begun gathering around General Dương Văn Minh, who has since taken control of the city and imposed martial law. Extensive use of ARVN forces to quell unrest, however, has received major condemnation from within the international community. Most notably from General Secretary Le Duan of North Vietnam, who has publicly criticized the violent crackdowns, and calls into question the junta's "legitimacy as representatives of the Vietnamese people". There's been no official word from Charles de Gaulle on the status of French forces in country, but all eyes are on Hanoi as fears of an impending conflict between North and South grows exponentially..."
"I should report you just for watching this," she says gently sliding his finger into the holder. It's definitely broken from what she could feel. Coupled with a few micro-fractures in the hand. "You don't know what kind of fascist lies they could brainwash you with."
"Fascist lies'?" Eyebrow quirked up in thought, he brings his now bandaged hand under his chin. "You really think Yuuhi-san would lie to us like that? I don't know, she seems too pretty."
"Us?!" She digs her knuckles into his bandaged ribs before he begs for her to stop. "That better be a joke; she's not speaking for us!"
"OwowowowOkay-Yes, I'm kidding!" He pleads.
She stops, and thankfully applies a good amount of chakra to let the pain to subside. Dutifully, she continues treating her patient, even if she think's he's a numbskull. Because it's her duty to care for them, what Comrade-Sensei Kakashi taught them when they were genin. "Those who leave behind teammates are worse than scum," were his words.
Again she can't emphasize enough how stupid he was, that part of his problem was he thought too much instead of just obeying orders. The Committee told them all they needed to know, and the Village trained them. That was that. Why did he have to go and make things difficult by constantly going over The Wall? It was off limits for genin and chunin without a captain present. So what was he trying to prove?
Prove? He thinks.I'm not trying to prove anything.
Everyone's got to make a living, and they've got some cool stuff on the other side.