Sup, peeps.

Small little aside. You know I don't normally start my chapters with any kind of fluff, but figured I'd take a minute to send some proper love for the reviews I've received. As a DM, I really only get the joy once you see the reactions on your players faces. Here it's a little different - I've no idea if what I'm doing is good or bad lol

But seeing and hearing some people's thoughts - besides what the commission scammers say, brings back some of those feels my group and I shared way back when the campaign first started. Looking back through our notes, it's fun getting either a Vietnam-flashback or an idea for a new chapter. Hopefully, I can keep it up, and y'all will stick around till the end.

May the dice be ever in our favor

-de'Baia

Transmission #2-4-1-0; Addendum "Honest Eyes"

North Side the Wall, Tokyo Urban; Hidden Village: "Leaf"/ Secure Zone "Kazan"- ROOT Protection Services

*Shinobi #32009 seen accosted by local patrol unit 10c on routine survey; a malcontent for weeks. Noted association with other documented individuals.

Threat Level: Priority

Those eyes...

Those damnable blue eyes...

He never liked them, never trusted; they had the stink of an outsider to them, of some foreign barbarian - a gaijin - come to his country's shores to usurp what little dignity the Japanese people had left. These eyes which had looked down on he and his own, thought of them as subpar or less, made them out to be buck-toothed, slant-eyed cartoons to be poked fun at and ridiculed. The Russians thought the same of them, too, back toward the beginnings of the century. Then the Chinese, who always held their noses up at their "little brother". Then, the Americans - who at least had the intestinal fortitude to back up their contempt. But no matter who it was, those eyes never changed...

No matter how hard he pushed the little shit.

No matter how hard he beat him.

No matter the ridicule he leveraged upon the boy, telling everyone - and him, too - that he couldn't be trusted, having him in the Village was a mistake, that Asuma should quit doting on the boy like he was some sort of pet to be coddled. The boy had the stink of a foreign devil all about him, and should be given the proper courtesy. Through the years of countless training sessions, Bekko was especially stern dishing out punishment whenever the blonde haired demon acted out of turn, failed in his instruction, or simply because Bekko was in a bad mood.

But as hard as he'd be struck, as much vitriol he was forced to swallow, those eyes never looked away nor faltered. The boy was made of sterner stuff, and it was plain as day he hated Bekko for trying to break him. Those cadaverous, ethereal eyes which looked to suck the soul out of Bekko's very body haunted the man. Yet, beneath their itinerant loathing for Bekko resided something else.

Lies can be forged in a mere moment, poison truth just as quick, whereas belief can take years to ferment. And in Uzumaki Naruto there were no lies. Just an unyielding, honest sense of self-belief.

Bekko was a man who prided himself on honesty; its what he ever lived by. For, if he could be honest, it's all he really had going for him. He wasn't a handsome man by any stretch of the means - when he was younger the term "frog-face" was thrown around a lot, and older his peers eloquently said he simply didn't look "friendly". He wasn't a fantastic ninja - at his age of around thirty-eight, he was still a chunin. And he wasn't particulalry known as being a calm, levelheaded individual; for he was prickly, sensitive, and a bit of a hothead. However, if he tried to be anything else, that would be a lie.

And like Uzuamki Naruto, Bekko was no liar.

No, the short, grim-faced, loud mouth chunin of the Hidden Leaf Village was a bastard, a hard-ass, a stickler, a principled man when all was said and done. But he was no liar; liars were not welcome when he joined The Noble One in his march South to free their country from the Imperialists. What he fought for when Konoha pledged itself to right the wrongs of those reprobate fools in the War Cabinet; Tojo and his ilk of recreating a Shogunate, poisoning the people with their falsehoods and propaganda, killing them in the process. Bekko's mother, father, and three brothers died for their arrogance. For they were good shinobi, and loyal.

Konoha at that time held true to the Imperial doctrine. But that changed when the Senju brothers decided to take over, began questioning outright the futility of the war. If they were to fight, they told their comrades, then it will be for a free world, a society built on honor and principles. "Our comrades died for the love they had for their country," Hashirama voiced out. "But that love has not been repaid. It is time, brothers and sisters, to rise up and fight now for a world we deserve to live in. A world our children deserve to live in. Together we will fight for a tomorrow worth believing in!"

Those words resounded within Bekko's heart, and at that moment he was a true believer in the cause. The People deserve better, and Bekko was going to do his part to ensure Hashirama's vision, and in turn Sanzo Nosaka's, was to be fulfilled.

Which is why it kills him to see what that vision ended up becoming.

He stands now in the middle of the road, his small frame rigid and defiant, casting a shadow far larger than his stature should allow. The old woman beside him, frail and trembling, clings to his arm as though it was the last thread tethering her to decency in this broken world.

"Move it, ugly!" The Sendai guard's voice was cold, the kind of tone that didn't ask—it demanded.

But Bekko didn't move.

Instead he locks eyes with the trio of guards towering over him, his fists clenched tight enough to draw blood from his palms. The harsh shove still burned against his back, but it wasn't the physical sting that cut the deepest. It was the weight of their arrogance, their disdain for everything this Village once stood for. Have they no respect, no honor?!

"Speak for yourselves, you fools!" He snaps. Looking back at the old woman, he sees her eyes; they tell him - plead with him - to stop. It's not worth it, they go. She's not worth it. It'll only make things worse gor everyone. Her frail hand trembles as it grips his sleeve. "The least you can do is offer to help. You didn't see she's struggling?"

The man sneers under his helmet, and snorts. "All we see is someone getting in the way of us completing our duties, comrade." The word dripped with mockery, twisted beyond recognition. "We're here to keep your Village safe. Any who prevent us from fulfilling our noble mission will be considere an enemy to The Cause."

Another guard stepped forward, his AKM rifle angling downward—subtle, but intentional. His finger brushes the trigger, his posture daring Bekko to say another word. "And enemies of the State don't get second chances."

"You can't possibly be serious?" Bekko says, balling his fists. His eyes flicked to the old woman again, then to the guards, and back. He could feel the weight of this moment pressing like the jagged edge of a kunai jabbing at his jugular.

These fools...These FOOLS!

How can they possibly act so selfishly, so arrogantly, in a place where the bedrock of the oaths they swore was embedded. It started HERE! In Konoha! The Noble One's truth may have raged back in China, but his heart was ever here hidden among the leaves. These soldiers, these idiots, weren't just ignorant of that fact—they were a symptom of everything which has gone wrong. The dream of a free, noble, honest society has curdled into something unrecognizable.

ROOT wasn't what his family died for. ROOT wasn't the future Hashirama or Sanzo Nosaka spoke about. ROOT is only capable of twisting the truth, and making it into a nightmare.

He glances around at the villagers who stopped to watch, unsure how to react, faces stricken in resignation. It makes Bekko's blood boil; this wasn't the Village Hidden in the Leaves he had bled for. This wasn't the vision Hashirama Senju painted with his hopeful words of equality and freedom. Konoha was, if he can be honest, a shell. A husk. A mockery of everything they had fought to build.

"You dare question us?" one of the guards snapped, stepping forward, the gleam of her bayonet catching the torchlight. Bekko's heart was pounding, but he refused to look weak to these bullies. "Men like you are the reason we need order here in the first place."

"Or maybe it's because of you we are here." The lead guard taps the butt of his rifle against the ground. He circles about like a predator, with his colleagues in tow, surrounding Bekko. "This behavior of yours, comrade, is very unsettling. We were told Konoha would be closed off to better protect it from outside agitators. But maybe the threat is on the inside."

"What did you say!?" Bekko spat, stepping forward. His voice rang out louder than he intended, drawing stares from passersby. "You better not be implying what I think-"

"Implying what, comrade?" The second guardswoman says venomously. "We're merely observing. It would be remiss to not log such an altercation down. That along our patrol, we encountered two dissenters in our midst. One, who would impede our search of the Village, and the other, a stunted little brute arguing with armed representatives of the State. Both can be seen as obstructions of justice. Are you prepared to meet such charges?"

Bekko can feel the woman behind shiver furiously, and offer up a silent prayer. An ignorant mistake - if the guards were to hear, if ANYONE were to hear, this would be reason enough to see her keel-hauled away. But these old-timers, always stubborn in their old habits; Bekko knew some still prayed to the Emperor's health, while in the same breath wishing for the Noble One's too. Truth was it is a harmless lapse. Truth is was a time The State never found treason in such happening. Truth is now that no longer mattered; the line between an innocent force of habit, and a reeducation center went only as far as restraint allowed.

And these three looked to have none.

"Maybe we just send you over to Comrade Commisar Terasoma and see what he has to say?" The third soldier - a meaner looking bastard than Bekko could be, threatens.

"Or maybe have Comrade Director Koshiro decide what's good for him?"

"I say we take them both in, and torture the old bag right in front of him. Make her scream and he'll talk. These two might be accomplices after all - we can't take any chances."

"No we shouldn't." A guard's hands shoot out, grabs at the elder, and yanks her to her knees. It's a cowardly thing to do -on Bekko doesn't intend to let stand. He turns to confront her, but suddenly the heavy feel of a rifle butt slams hard against the shoulder.

He knew the blow was coming, but he thought better than to ward against it; Bekko knew the consequences if it was said he fought back. It's all right, he says. I've endured worse. And he has. But this poor woman - she didn't deserve this, she didn't have to suffer. But in soldiers eyes, he could see there was no mercy had between the three of them. All were hopped up from the incident at the Inogawa Foundry, and were itching to let loose some steam. They didn't need an excuse, only a reason. And Bekko foolishly gave them one soon as he opened his dumb mouth. By the Noble One, how could he be so foolish.

"Everyone in Konoha looking to see who's the perpetrator, and to think we found him right under our noses." The soldier levies his rifle for another strike, looking at Bekko with murderous intent. "Maybe we just do you two in right here and save us all the misery."

Cowards! Traitors! Dishonorable vagabonds! These soldiers were not protectors of The People, did not hold true to the tenants of The Noble One. They were dogs. Arrogant, impetuous, and violent-stricken dogs with no respect for what it was they upheld. However, didn't really matter now; Bekko is struck again across the face. He's soon groaning on the ground, and looks up to the sneering face gleaming down at him.

And the muzzle of a rifle now pointed directly towards him.

His mind races. Dammit all, he'd miscalculated—again. His anger, his pride, his sense of justice, had pushed him into a situation that he couldn't talk his way out of. One wrong word, one wrong move, and both he and the old woman would pay the price.

She is sobbing beside him, pleading for the soldiers stop. But they don't listen. Why would they? And as Bekko stares down the barrel, if he can be honest, despite himself he feels the beginnings of a prayer churn in his mind. The realization causes him to laugh.

But before the trigger is pulled, suddenly the soldier lets out a guttural scream, his weapon clattering to the ground. Three senbon needles jutted out of his hand, blood seeping from the punctures. The crowd gasped as the other two guards spun around, weapons drawn, only to find kunai pressed firmly against their throats.

"Everyone stand down."

Bekko turns, and sees a pair of familiar eyes appear out the crowd. Familiar, steady, and self-assured; they allow him to finally breath easy.

"That's enough of that," With another senbon dangling from his mouth, Genma Shiranui reveals himself from the gathered crowd. "Wouldn't want this next one to go right in your eye."

"Argh! Aaaarrrghhhh! You bastard traitor - I'll kill you!" The soldier shouts out.

Genma smirks. "You're more than welcome to try, but guarantee I'll put up more of a fight than a little old lady."

"This is treason!" the second soldier snapped, her voice shaking as Raido's kunai pressed closer to her throat. "You have no authority to interfere! Comrade-Director Koshiro gave us explicit orders—"

"Comrade-Director Koshiro isn't Hokage," Raido growls, his voice dangerous. "And this is the Hidden Leaf, not some ROOT base. You don't call the shots here."

"For now - Ack!," she hisses, but her defiance wavers when the kunai presses tighter and draws blood.

Enough," Genma says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. He gestures for Raido and Iwashi to ease up, though they kept their weapons at the ready. Turning his attention to the injured soldier, Genma's smirk deepened. "You really ought to watch yourself. Those senbon I threw? One might have been laced with something nasty. Pufferfish venom, maybe. Or was it a sleeping agent? Hard to keep track sometimes...Relax, probably nothing. But if you start feeling dizzy, well… I'd find a medic if I were you."

The crowd was deathly silent, watching the standoff with bated breath. Bekko, still on the ground, stared up at Genma with a mixture of relief, but also too frustration. A deep, bubbling, rancid type of anger which he found hard to keep down. He bites his tongue, his cheek, as he turns and helps the woman to her feet.

Genma steps closer to the soldiers, grin fading as addresses them jn a cold tone. "Listen carefully. This was a misunderstanding. That's the story you're going to stick to. You'll walk away, and so will we. Or we can take this to the Hokage's office and see how that plays out for you."

Then Genma dropped the final hammer: "Doi Masato; Private, twenty-three years of age; lives with his parents outside of Osaki. Ito Naruki; Private, twenty-three years of age; married to a Hatsumoto Kairi - she's three months along now with your first child. Which is odd; you've been stationed away from her for six months, correct? And you, Inoue Mai; Private; nineteen years of age; your grandmother was very proud of you when you decided to join the military. I'm sure she'd be displeased, though, seeing how you're treating someone who looks about the same age as her. Should we pay her a visit, too, and tell her just exactly how her daughter respects. her elders?"

The soldiers freeze, faces gone pale. Genma's words cut deep; there is some credence for ROOT being a top-notch information broker in the DPRJ, yet their beginning all grew under the shade of the Leaves. Many forget where the Iga legacy started, the history of the shinobi world - it wasn't all wrought in myth and fairytales. No, what they deal in was very real, very tangible information. The State's secrets, their lives, their "integrity" were never as private as they'd like to admit.

"You… you can't—" the injured soldier stammers.

The senbon shifts in Genma's mouth as he smiles. "I can. And I did. Now, unless you'd like this logged in a formal complaint and sent directly to Hokage Asuma, I suggest you move along."

No one wants to move for a long moment. Afraid that any sort of twitch could see the situation go from untenable to unbearable. But thankfully, eventually, the soldiers back off. They grumble their curses, spit their insults, collect their wounded comrade who's now complaining he feels faint. But they retreat as surely as they arrived. Leaving Bekko to his simmering anger alone, and the rest of the villagers breathing a sigh of relief. The old woman is sobbing as she clasps her hands in gratitude, bowing her head toward Genma and his comrades.

"Thank you - Thank you all." She whispers.

Genma glanced at her, then at Bekko, his usual smirk returning. "You're welcome. Though next time, Bekko, maybe keep your mouth shut until you've got backup, yeah?"

Bekko scowls, the heat once more building. "Good to see the Hokage still has his Guards keep an eye on us."

Those eyes...Genma is also an honest man, too. Ever was, which is why his threats ever sounded like guarantees. He's not one to hide behind words when he speaks. So when he tells Bekko it wasn't Asuma who'd tipped them off what was happening, Bekko's believes the man. Even if he has a harder time believing the one who did...

Bekko was a man who prided himself on honesty. principles were what founded this Democratic People's Republic, the belief that every man and woman was a sanctuary unto themselves. A haven to be protected from those who wished to take and take and take. Till all that was avaiable to them, their family, was the minimal pittance to keep them all hoping. For a better tomorrow, for a better chance, for the prospect that The Noble One's Revolution will finally come to fruition.

At one time these sentiments could be considered truthful, but now?

Now they tasted like ashen lies which soured on good men. Not Bekko - he didn't like to think himself a "good man" per se. He was simply a man who tried to uphold "good" in a society slowly turning on itself. What else could you call all what's transpired in little less than a month and a half. An attack which killed so many of the Presidium's sworn leaders, that's put a majority of Bekko's comrades in the hospital, and is turning Konoha into...

"Say it," Mizuki says, cornering Bekko in his humble little apartment; the midnight hour had just passed when he'd heard the knock on his door. Timely, for Bekko was still awake, pacing back and forth, pondering why in all the hells Mizuki sent Genma and his friends to help today. But instead of getting answers, it was Mizuki who was probing.

"If you don't got the balls to tell me, then maybe I am wasting my time." Mizuki scoffs, leaning back in his chair.

The apartment is a cramped yet functional space, emblematic of the Khrushchyovka housing blocks that dotted the Soviet Union. The walls are pale, yellowed wallpaper with faint floral patterns, peeling at the corners and near the seams, a quiet testimony to years of humid winters and overworked radiators. The ceilings are low, painted an off-white that has dulled over time, and a single, bare bulb dangles in the center of each room, casting a dim, uneven glow.

The living room doubles as the bedroom and dining area. Against one wall stands a fold-out sofa, its upholstery a faded maroon with threadbare patches revealing the coarse fabric beneath. Above the sofa is a tapestry depicting a pastoral scene—a field with a river winding through it, a visual escape to a more idyllic life. A small, low table sits in front of the sofa, cluttered with a stack of Soviet magazines, a chipped tea glass in its metal podstakannik, and a well-worn chess set with a few pieces missing.

Every inch of the apartment is imbued with practicality, resourcefulness, a space designed for survival and simplicity. Despite its austerity, though, it holds a quiet warmth—a place where the harsh realities of shining life are momentarily softened.

Or as soft as they can with Bekko being the lone tenant.

"Quit being such a smart-ass - you think it easy for anyone to be bushwhacked in the middle of the night." Bekko goes, fists tightening into a ball.

"You make it sound like this hasn't been a conversation we've had for the past two weeks."

"Why are you singling me out, huh? Why do you insist on coming to me with this stuff? I should've ratted you out to the Hokage as soon as I knew what you were all about."

"You don't trust the Asuma anymore than you like me. Nor do you enjoy seeing what your precious Village is becoming. You see what ROOT's doing, right? Bribing the genin with decent grub, sending them out on the streets to hassle any little old lady they come across. Little old ladies like the one you helped with today. A lot of them are your current student, Bekks. Doesn't that make you feel like shit?"

"Fuck you - of course it does!" Bekko manages to keep his voice down, but only barely; they need to be careful, these walls were paper-thin. And he wasn't sure who was patrolling his own apartment complex tonight. "You've no idea what it feels for me to see that, Mizuki. I know you never cared about being a teacher, but I did. Hell, more so than Iruka. Yet he's the one who gets promoted, and not me."

"Because you're ugly, Bekko. And unimportant. A side-character in this big, fucking, never-ending story we call life. If you're lucky, maybe someone will make a wiki page about you in the future - Don't ask what that is, we'll be dead before it matters. But if I can be honest, and no offense to this, but no one gives a shit about guys like you. You don't make it past the first chapter. That's your fate. But you can change that, and that of this Village's, IF you decide to help me."

Bekko didn't like Mitsuki - never did, never will; he always thought of the fool as a self-aggrandizing lout, who piggybacked off the Village's good will to simply stay afloat. Much like Naruto Uzumaki had. Yet, much like Naruto, Mizuki's eyes were unclouded, unmarred, honest in their intentions. Even if he looked a little more under the weather with every passing day; Bekko had even offered the man some tea, but Mizuki waved him off. Just the cold, he said. Got to him worse this year, than the one previously.

It was a lie.

But everything else Mizuki told him was true: the Village would not be safe so long as ROOT were calling the shots, that until the 5th Motorized can be moved off the mountain people were going to continue suffering, and if both manage to break into the Library - or worse: muscle Asuma into relinquishing what resided inside - the situation was bound to get worse.

"Asuma is drafting the first batch of names set to be shipped out of here to Camp Basilone in two days. I wasn't confident at first, but now it's the only thing I've agreed with him on since this whole shit-show started." Bekko sighs, easing the tension in his cracking knuckles. He looks down at his cupped hands, calloused and weary from a hard living. It hurts him more than Mizuki can know about for what he feels inside. The truth he had such a hard time admitting, even as he confronted those thugs today. He didn't want to say it aloud for fear doing so would be the highest form of betrayal. But now Bekko wondered if the greater betrayal would be to do nothing.

"Konoha is a lost cause, isn't it?" The words break against Bekko before they even leave his mouth. "The Noble One, the State...it's over."

"Not if you do the right thing." His bloodshot eyes are apparent when Mizuki leans in to whisper. "The Scroll of Seals was hidden for a reason. Sanzo and Tobirama knew what that knowledge had the capacity of doing the wrong hands."

"And you think it'd be better off in the hands of a traitor?"

Mizuki shrugs off the comment, reminding Bekko if he really believed that, then he would've shut the damn door in Mizuki's face a long time ago. "You served under the old man, Bekko. Tell me you really think that."

"I do."

"That's a lie."

"You weren't on the mission to retrieve Danzo, Mizuki. All that happened was his fault!" Bekko's temper rises again. Because he knows it's a half-hearted lie, he knows Mizuki doesn't believe him, and that Bekko knows the truth.

Many things went wrong that day - from the timing, the intel, the drop. Hiruzen was assuredly guilty aiding a war criminal. But he was not wholly to blame; Lord Second's anxiety skyrocketed upon the untimely death of Hashirama. It raised many eyes, of course. And fingers already began to point. But with his elder brother, so too was Tobirama's measure for patience. When he assembled his team to apprehend Danzo, Bekko was chosen to act as a reserve. He'd never imagined being called up to assist - he'd ever figured he as too gruff for the rescission work of an extraction mission. But to his surprise, he was.

And who - or what - they found on that train never left Bekko's memory.

Those eyes...

He could never forget those eyes.

Soon as they returned, though, all remaining shinobi were sworn to secrecy by Danzo's successor, Yakushiji Tenzen.

"Hiruzen... he-"

"Didn't know what the fuck was gonna happen that night. No one did. But when you got back, they stopped you all from talking. Why? Because they couldn't allow what happened to disrupt the little game they've been playing for years now." Mizuki, stands slowly, never leaving Bekko's as the man continues to glare. "I know it made you question everything you thought you believed in. And I know you've been waiting for a chance to make it right. This is that chance, Bekko. You know exactly the sequence of combination locks and traps hiding the Scroll. Hiruzen told you that, because he wanted a contingency for Tobirama. Because he knew who you encountered that day of the mission was going to come back. And when he does, that Scroll will be a lot safer in your hands than whose ever's it is pulling the strings."

The weight of the man's words press on him, mingling with the guilt, anger, and helplessness that had been festering inside him for years. Bekko wanted to tell Mizuki to go to hell, to throw him out of his apartment and never come back.

But he couldn't.

Because deep down, he knew Mizuki was right.

However, his only hang-up was Naruto.

"It makes no sense." The air in the cramped apartment grew heavy, oppressive, as if the weight of Mizuki's words had seeped into the very walls. Bekko's eyes bore into the fading tapestry on the wall, but his thoughts were elsewhere, chasing answers he hadn't dared ask until now. "Why him," he said finally, "Why Naruto? Why's he so damn important? The Village has always treated orphans like they're expendable, barely worth feeding. But him? They've bent over backwards for that kid since day one. Hokage included. Why?"

Mizuki paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back to Bekko. For a moment, he didn't respond, and Bekko thought he might leave without a word. But then Mizuki turned, his face a mask of cool indifference, though his eyes betrayed a glint of something darker—something Bekko couldn't quite place.

"Why...?" Mizuki tilts his head, studying Bekko like he was sizing him up. "The kid's got something, something valuable. All I can tell you right now. But if you're really curious…" He let the words hang, stepping closer, his boots scuffing against the worn floor. "Meet with me when I call. And see for yourself."

Bekko frowns. "That's not good enough, Mizuki. If you want me on board, you need to give me more than that."

Mizuki smirked faintly. "Oh, don't you worry, Bekks. I'll give you plenty when the time comes. But for now, here's a little food for thought." His voice dropped, and he leaned in just enough to make Bekko instinctively recoil. "The reason Danzo was trying to escape—the real reason? It's tied directly to what that dumb idiot is. Why ROOT wanted you to keep quiet. Why you saw who you saw that night."

Bekko freezes, heart thudding in his chest as the words hit like a hammer. He could never forget who - what - he saw. No matter what Bekko was told, he could jever forget those bright golden eyes staring at before the train car crashed. And now Mizuki was telling him it was all connected—to Naruto.

With that, Mizuki disappears into the night, the door clicking shut, and the overwhelming silence which followed becoming deafening.

And in that silent space, Bekko makes his decision.

It's a fateful one, one he isn't sure to not regret.

But when Mizuki calls, he heeded it. Along with some old, crusty genin, and a carpenter whose name he barely knew. And when see them, he gives the same accusing, reproachful look to the silver haired jonin as Naruto does. Those eyes..Those damnable, foreign, devil eyes. As blue as diamonds, and so full of life unlike Bekko. For him, the wool and out shed from his view and it appears the world had a different hue. Nothing felt the same as it had been, or should've been. And he he doesn't lie to himself in thinking it will all go back to normal, either.

Or if the "normal" he'd devoted himself was anything but a dream of his. Like that of The Noble One's: peerless, yet untenable. Bekko doesn't know if he was being naive this entire time, or simply stupid. Oh well, doesn't matter now. Whatever Mizuki planned was going to require his utmost if they were going to succeed. In saving the Village, protecting Konoha, and regaining a small semblance of decency. The Will of Fire was more than a pledge, it was a promise; all who swear to The State shall be sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Bekko may be a fool, but he won't stand by and give up on it.

So, too, does Naruto by the looks of it. For his gaze is determined, if not a little surprised; embattled, though exuding a reserved calm; and bold, even if what Mizuki lays out for them is the pinnacle of lunacy.

But Bekko is willing to do what it takes. To understand why he'd been sworn to secrecy all those years ago, learn the truth for why this boy before him was so special. That though he never liked Naruto, never trusted him, ever saw him as nothing more than the dangerous "other", Bekko had to make peace Comrade Uzumaki was the only one which the future of the Village rested.