Caught in the Whirlpool
Part IX
Shortly after breakfast, Kushina knelt by the pond below the house and set loose the feebas in her care. She'd managed to keep Akane from helping her make the latest batch of poffins and Iruka had come through for her and had electronically transferred a dozen pamtre berries from the bush next to her house. Young trainers could electronically transfer and store items for free, but after they turned eighteen there was an annoying fee every time the system was used so Kushina rarely bothered with it anymore. However, in this instance, it was a lifesaver as shipping a bunch of perishable berries through the mail was both tricky and very expensive, and it would take much longer.
"Okay little fishy, here's your breakfast and poffin supplements," she said as she poured a little dish of pokémon kibble and laid out a plate of pastries. "Eat up."
The ugly mottled fish immediately started gobbling down its meal.
Akane had insisted on calling the feebas Juuhou—precious treasure. Since it wasn't her pokémon, or anyone else's, Kushina was leery of calling it anything in particular. But she'd ended up declaring that its name was Kinpaku—gold leaf—to get her cousin off the subject.
"Kinpaku is a wonderful name! It makes me think of Mito-sama's famous milotic, Kin."
Kushina hadn't been able to keep from rolling her eyes. Gold leaf was sparkly and pretty, but it was just a cover. One thin layer of the stuff could be applied to anything and make it look like solid gold when it was anything but. And it seemed to be a perfectly appropriate nickname for a dyed feebas.
I didn't get much done yesterday, she thought with a slight frown. Right after I drop some snacks off to Kyuumaru I'll need to get surveying and searching. There's still alot of coastline and tiny islands left to look at.
The feebas finished all of the food and Kushina picked it up from the water to give it a quick examination. The purple color didn't seem to have faded any and the patches of ordinary yellow-tan scales seemed…flaky. When she rubbed at the splotches, a few dried-out scales came loose.
"Weird," she muttered, rubbing the shed scales between her fingers.
It wasn't unusual for a fish pokémon to shed a few scales, but it seemed odd that only the un-dyed scales were the ones falling off. The violet scales were smooth and starting to take on a sheen—a clear sign that the fish was progressing nicely towards evolution. When the feebas started to sparkle, the change to milotic was very near. The ordinary yellow-tan scales, however, showed no hint that the poffins were doing their job.
"Really weird…" Then she shrugged and returned the fish to the plain metallic ball that the professor had given her. "I guess we'll just have to visit Professor Utatane tonight and see what she thinks about it."
Now onto business!
Minato wasn't really sure what he'd expected to see when the ferry brushed against the Uzu Town docks just after noon, but what he found started to give him ideas of why Kushina had left and never come back. The sky was cloudy and gray, and the town that stretched out before them looked just as gloomy. As he and Genma followed a longshoreman's gruff directions to a fountain in the town square, Minato didn't see a single building that was brightly-colored; and the streets were paved with cobblestones instead of asphalt or cement. Everything was earth-toned, gray, off-white, or dull blue, and nearly all the buildings had old-fashioned roofs with upturned corners and heavy clay roof tiles.
The citizens of Uzu Town looked almost as old-fashioned as their surroundings. The men wore plain, practical clothes—well-worn jeans, heavy work boots, and button-up long-sleeved shirts. Men in business attire seemed vanishingly rare; men dressed in ancient hakama pants, gi-style shirts, and haori coats were more common than men wearing ties or sport jackets.
The women that Minato saw all wore sensible, modest dresses or skirts. Most dressed in more modern styles, but a significant minority clothed themselves in the traditional yukata or even an informal kimono. When Minato and his assistant reached the rather plain but functional fountain at the open square, he almost expected to see an elaborately made-up geisha or two loitering around.
"Almost feels like we've stepped into some kind of historical drama, doesn't it?" Genma muttered, fiddling with the box of toothpicks that he always kept in his pocket.
"Yeah," Minato nodded and shifted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. It's hard to imagine Kushina growing up in a place like this… "Do you know who we're supposed to be meeting here?"
"Someone from the gym," Genma shrugged.
Minato raised an eyebrow. "No name?"
"Whoever-it-is will find us," Genma said.
The town square was ringed by expensive shops, little cafés, and a few offices. There was plenty of space for small casual pokémon battles, or festival celebrations. But aside from some patrons sitting at outdoor tables outside of a few little restaurants, the square was empty, almost barren. No one appeared to be looking for them or ready to greet them.
Minato sat on the edge of the fountain and gazed into the rippling water. The fountain was little more than a medium-sized circular pond with a single spout of water spraying heavenward at its center. The only decoration that he could see were little blue tiles set into the outer wall of the fountain pool that formed simplistic interlocking spiral or whirlpool patterns.
Spirals seemed to be the main decorative motif of the whole town. If a building or sign had any decoration at all, it would be some kind of swirl. Some of the designs seemed to evoke waves, others tempestuous winds, but most appeared to be whirlpools.
"Hey, you guys lost?"
Minato stopped spacing out on the white spray of the fountain and turned to see who was speaking to them. Two men had approached him and Genma—one broad-shouldered with dark hair, a goatee, and a scarred cheek, and the other slighter in build with shaggy dirty-blond hair and a black, horizontal, line-like tattoo stretched across his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose.
"No," Genma answered. "We're just waiting for a guide from the local gym. Would either of you gentlemen be him?"
"Nah, we don't work for the gym," the blond tattooed man snorted. "What are you waiting for a guide for? If you've come to challenge old Kenjiro, you find your own way to the gym."
"My friend here," Genma hooked his thumb in Minato's direction, "is scheduled for a televised exhibition match tomorrow. So it's not the usual sort of challenge."
Both men turned and stared at Minato, looking rather shocked.
"I don't believe it," the tattooed man muttered. "The rumors were true. Kenjiro sold out."
Minato frowned slightly. "What do you mean by that?"
"Old Kenjiro thinks that the way that other countries leagues' turn pokémon battle into televised spectacles for the masses disgusting," the black-haired man with the goatee explained. "He's never allowed himself to be filmed while battling with his pokémon before, and he doesn't even like it when a challenging trainer brings friends along to watch the fight." He shook his head. "I'd heard that his clan's coffers were almost empty, but to think that he'd be desperate enough to violate his own beliefs like this…"
"I'm sorry to hear that," Minato said sincerely. "I hope I can help him out a little with this fight."
"That's mighty nice of you," the tattooed blond grinned. Then he leaned over to whisper indiscreetly to his slightly taller companion. "I know a good bookie we can visit—this bet'll be a sure thing!"
"Shut up, Arata!" the black-haired man scowled. "He can hear us, you know?"
Minato couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. It seemed that they not only didn't recognize him, but they also appeared to be completely oblivious to his reputation and status as a national champion. The anonymity and underestimation was welcome, but a little surprising since there always seemed to be at least one person wherever he went that at least found him familiar these days.
"Tell me," Minato said. "I couldn't find much information on the local league before I set off, and I couldn't find the name of your national champion."
"That's because old Takeshi's dead," Arata informed him. "And good riddance! He was a nasty bastard."
"And no one has taken his place?" Genma asked incredulously.
"As Arata says, the old champion was a nasty bastard," the black-haired man shrugged. "Takeshi Kurohi didn't just defeat all who challenged him, he stomped them flat and kicked them when they were down. It got to be that trainers just stopped challenging him to avoid the humiliation of losing to him. The tournaments that led to the championship withered and broke down, and by the time that Takeshi died and the championship was open, no one was interested in taking it." He stroked at his whiskery chin thoughtfully. "And it probably didn't help that the two champions before Takeshi were Kurohi, too. Neither of them was defeated once they rose to power and abdicated their position to their protégés, so there hasn't been a champion that's really earned the seat in…oh…more than seventy years, at least."
"You and your useless trivia, Daichi," Arata sighed.
"So…the reason that there isn't a champion is because this Takeshi didn't train a disciple to take his place," Minato said slowly. "And no one else wants to try for the position because the championship has been held by a single family for so long, and because the last champion was so cruel, that no one dares dream of it any longer…is that it?"
"More or less," Daichi nodded.
"That's kind of sad," Genma remarked.
"It's just the way that things are," Arata shrugged and jammed his hands into his pockets. "And with Kenjiro Uzumaki around, who really needs a champion? Everyone thinks that he's tough enough to take over the job, but he doesn't want it."
"The Kurohi don't think so," Daichi reminded him.
"They don't count," Arata sniffed. "The Kurohi think they're all-that and that everyone else ought to lick their boots and like it!"
"Isn't this friend of yours a Kurohi?" Daichi asked. "Shun?"
"He's a black sheep," Arata replied. "He lacks the 'I'm-a-giant-dick' gene."
"And don't you work for a Kurohi?" Daichi pressed.
"Goro's not my immediate boss," Arata responded. "I almost never see the guy. And so long as I do my job and don't horribly screw something up, he'll pay me and leave me alone."
"Are you two entertaining our guests?"
A third local man arrived on the scene and was clearly older than any of them. He had dark wine-red hair pulled back in a loose short tail and threaded with a little white, a less than clean-shaven face, and dark blue-gray eyes. The newcomer didn't look the least bit feminine, but something about his appearance made Minato think of Kushina and the vague sense of dread in the pit of his stomach solidified a bit more.
"Hi, Kenshin!" Arata waved cheerfully. "Did you forget to shave today?"
"Arashi's been stealing my razor so it's gone dull," Kenshin replied.
"Fulfilling his duties as the annoying little brother I see," Arata nodded as if he approved.
Daichi lightly whacked him on the back of his head.
"I hope that these two haven't been giving you any trouble," Kenshin said, ignoring the other two locals.
"No, they've been quite informative," Minato responded.
"Well now that I'm here, they can go on about their business," Kenshin remarked.
Daichi caught the hint and started shoving Arata away. "Nice talking to you."
"Yeah, nice talking to you guys, whoever-you-are!" Arata agreed with a grin and a friendly wave.
"Well," Kenshin said once they were gone, "allow me to show you where the gym is, escort you to your hotel, and answer any questions that you have in-between."
"Sounds good to me," Minato agreed as he stood up.
"Lead on," Genma nodded.
Kenshin immediately struck out for one of the side streets. "The gym is outside of town and just offshore, so…"
Shun sat on a bench across from his favorite candy shop and munched on strips of red licorice. His uncle had invited him along to see a kabuki play that afternoon, but he'd said that he was busy so he needed to lay low for a while lest his uncle find out that he'd told a little white lie. He had no interest in kabuki, but his uncle was a real fan of the traditional style of theater and always tried to get him to come along and catch a show or two.
At least Uncle Goro isn't a noh aficionado…those are ten times worse than any kabuki performance.
A length of licorice rope dangled from the side of his mouth as he contemplated the latest gossip. Normally he didn't pay much mind to what bored women and old men chattered about, but since encountering the mysterious Kushina Uzumaki he actually made himself listen to some of it out of curiosity. From what little he'd gotten out of Arata, he was sure that the whole town would end up talking about her.
But more people were complaining about all the foreigners that had started arriving late yesterday and continued this morning. Town residents were annoyed with how easily they got lost and how many boxes of electronic equipment they were lugging around. The only people pleased with their arrival were a few operators of small boats that had been hired to shuttle the foreigners out to the Uzumaki gym to set up cameras and other recording equipment.
Kushina's long absence, her supposedly drastically altered appearance, and her sudden arrival in the midst of another big event seemed to have left her low on the list of interesting gossip topics. Not many cared to speculate on the long-lost tomboy of the Uzumaki clan. A few people that he'd asked while on duty in his uncle's pub seemed convinced that she must be dead since her scandalous postcards had stopped coming. And when he'd described the woman that he'd met to them, they'd laughed and told him that he must've met some other Kushina that had married into the clan.
Why it is that all of the few interesting women are taken? he wondered as he sucked on his candy to make it last longer. The rest are nightmares that no man would want to tie himself to. Or they're boring.
"Hey there, shark-lover."
Shun grimaced glanced up to see one of his least favorite relatives had arrived. "Hello, Katsuro."
"Still preaching the virtues of your ugly dino-shark?" Katsuro sneered.
"I don't preach," Shun informed his teenage relative.
"Whatever," Katsuro shrugged. "I found me something a lot better than your precious gible—"
"Sharky's a gabite," Shun corrected.
"—A real dragon," Katsuro continued and then set free something from a camouflage-patterned pokéball.
The pokémon that appeared was small and blue and stood on all-fours. Its neck and head were black, there was a black spike on its head, and a fringe of fur or maybe feathers covered its eyes. It didn't look particularly intimidating, but it was like nothing that Shun had ever seen before.
"What is it?" Shun asked.
"Hellraiser is a deino," Katsuro smirked. "He's a dark-dragon."
What an ambitious name for something so small and harmless-looking, Shun thought. "Where did you get it?"
"From some stupid Safari Zone park in the Land of Grass," Katsuro answered, his smug attitude turning sour.
"Did something bad happen out there?" Shun wondered. Is karma finally punishing you for being such a bully?
"Some dumb blond kid claiming to be an Uzumaki robbed me," Katsuro snarled. "I told him that there was a pokémon that I was hunting and he went and stole it away from me and got all his little friends to back him up, so the park sided with him!"
"Too bad," Shun shrugged, not the least bit sympathetic to his relative's 'plight'.
Katsuro had always been big and strong for his age, and early on in life he'd learned how to throw his weight around to get what he wanted. Shun recalled hearing a story about how during the clan gathering when Katsuro had received his bagon he'd gotten in a fight with another cousin who'd wanted that particular bagon for himself and gotten away with giving the cousin a black eye. There were probably dozens of other incidents where Katsuro had done similar things with little or no reprimand or negative consequences, but Shun wasn't aware of the details. He'd never had much to do with the punk until he'd moved to Central Uzu, and he was one of the relatives that Shun did his best to avoid at all times.
"If that stupid shrimp ever dares show his face around here, he's going to be sorry," Katsuro growled.
"I'm sure that he will," Shun agreed and stood up from the bench. Although I doubt he'll show up here. Not many people from the mainland ever have much reason to come out this way.
"I'll get that pokémon back," the teenage punk muttered to himself. "Somehow I'll do it…"
Shun left his distant cousin and his strange new dragon without a word. He wanted nothing to do with the bully's little obsession, and the less he knew the better. So he strolled towards the edge of town, away from the theater where his uncle was at, still chewing on the last of his licorice.
He ended up walking along the edge of the sea cliffs and staring out over the ocean. There were very few houses out this way so it was quiet and peaceful. The only locations of interest in this direction were Professor Utatane's lab and the Uzumaki's offshore gym.
Sometimes I wish that I was born into a different family, Shun sighed. The Furukawa seem to be all-around decent people, and the Akisame are about the same…
The Kurohi paused when he caught sight of some figures up ahead. They were too far away for him to be sure, but one of them looked like Kenshin Uzumaki while the other two were unidentifiable. He hesitated before cautiously walking closer.
It soon became clear to him that the other two men were complete strangers. One man had a dark blue bandanna covering the top of his head and a toothpick or small stick in his mouth. The other stranger had messy bright blond hair the likes of which Shun had never seen before. Both men carried overnight bags and everything about them screamed 'foreign'.
"Any other questions?" Kenshin asked when Shun was close enough to hear over the low rumble of the crashing surf below.
"No, I think we've gone over everything I need to know," the blond man answered cheerfully.
"Can we find the hotel now?" the man with the toothpick asked tiredly.
"Was all this exercise too much for you, Genma?" the blond man chuckled.
"I don't enjoy hiking through the wilderness like you do, Minato," Genma replied.
"Wilderness?" Kenshin snorted and pointed inland towards the hills and the distant silhouette of Mount Spiral. "The wilderness is over there."
Is Kenshin…giving them a tour? Shun wondered. Why?
"Well, let's go find the hotel," Minato smiled. "I…" He caught sight of Shun watching them and turned to face the Kurohi. "Hello. Who are you?"
"Shun Kurohi," he answered as he walked over. "I can't say that I've ever seen either of you before."
"I'm Minato Namikaze," the blond replied and gestured to his companion, "and this is my friend, Genma Shiranui."
"What brings you out this way?" Kenshin asked, a hint of wariness in his tone.
"Just out for a walk," Shun shrugged. "Don't tell my uncle that you saw me out here doing nothing. He thinks I'm busy." His gaze shifted back to the strangers. "What brings you out here?"
"Oh, I'm here to battle with Kenjiro Uzumaki," Minato said. "Genma's just tagging along."
"Ah," Shun nodded in understanding. "Good luck with that." You're going to need it…
Inaho was in a terrible mood. The second ferry ride to this island had been blessedly shorter, but Uzu Town was a fresh kind of hell. She hadn't been able to get a hold of any travel agency that could arrange hotel reservations at her final destination so she'd spent all afternoon looking for a room for her stay. But all the other reporters and cameramen from all the bigger news networks and papers had already taken all the rooms in the inland hotel, which left her to visit the lower-class hotels by the warehouses and docks near the harbor.
Now, after having been turned away by two other desk clerks at the nicest-looking dockside hotels, she was facing down the front desk man of the Harbor Motel. He was a fat, sweaty man, with squinty eyes and an egg-shaped bald head. And she found him to be none too bright.
"You want to know the daily rate?" he asked stupidly.
"Yes," Inaho almost growled. "I'll be here for a few days at least, so I need to know the daily rate."
He blinked a few times. "But nobody wants the daily rate. They're only here for a few hours…"
"Well I want the daily rate," Inaho said through clenched teeth.
"…I'll have to look it up," the man told her and started shuffling through worn-out book and ratty-looking papers.
Inaho leaned against the front counter with her bulky, heavy bags, and ran through some mental calming exercises. She'd wandered all over town with her clothes, toiletries, and cameras weighing her down and she was tired. And the locals had all been less than helpful. Every time she'd asked someone for directions they'd been so annoyed with her and a few had been downright rude—
"Hey there, hot stuff," a stranger slurred almost in her ear and a hand brushed against her rear. "How much f'r a date?"
She whirled around and roughly shoved the grizzled man away from her. He looked like some kind of sailor that had just come in from a long voyage and had been enjoying his leave. He stank of smoke and booze and was clearly very drunk.
"I'm not a prostitute!" Inaho snapped. "Buzz off!"
"'Course ya are," the sailor leered. "Y're here ain't cha?"
"I'm a reporter and photographer!" Inaho hissed. "This is the only damn hotel with rooms left!"
He laughed uproariously. "Y're a woman!"
"So what?" Inaho frowned.
"Ye can't be a reporter," he snorted. "Tha's a man's job."
"What century are you living in?" she sneered. "I'm a reporter and if you don't leave me alone I'm going to get one of my stiletto heels from my bag and I'm going to shove it so far up your—"
"Y're a feisty one!" the sailor chuckled.
Inaho was ready to explode. "Why you…!"
"I found the daily rates!" the clerk said triumphantly.
"Y'll be here for days?" the drunken sailor boggled. "Wow!"
"Make this idiot leave me alone or I'm complaining to the police!" Inaho snapped at the clerk.
The chubby man blinked and looked past her at the sailor and frowned a little. "Sanmaru? She's not a hooker. Go outside and find one if you want, but if you keep harassing my guest I'll have to black-list you."
"Aw," the sailor groaned and reluctantly staggered out of the front office.
Steamed, Inaho almost tore through the paper with her pen as she started filling out the forms that the clerk had dug up so that she could get a room key. She was having a hard time remembering the last time that she had been so insulted. There was no way that she was going to do a complimentary travel piece on this rat-hole of a town!
"So…you're a reporter?" the clerk hesitantly asked as he looked at his selection of available keys.
"Yes," she half-hissed. "I'm out here to see the exhibition match at the local gym. …Where is the gym anyway? I've been all over town and I didn't see it."
"It's not in town," the clerk chuckled. "It's east of the harbor on a tiny island about a mile offshore."
Inaho froze. So…I have to ride another boat there…and back?
I really need to invest in bigger flying pokémon than Chatty and Hooty…
It was dark out when Kushina stumbled home. Her little survey that day had been a total bust. A few fishermen had passed along rumors, but they'd led nowhere. She had passed through a few rain squalls in the evening so she was soaking wet, tired, and incredibly cranky.
"You look like hell," Kenshin remarked when she dragged herself into the kitchen.
"Thanks," she growled and pulled a can of soup out of the pantry.
"Bad day?" he asked.
"Yes," Kushina muttered and started looking for a pot. "I am going to eat this soup, dry off, and go to bed."
"Sounds like a good plan," her oldest brother chuckled. "Dad's opponent showed up today."
"Good for him," she grunted as she attacking the soup with a can-opener.
"He seems friendly, but not terribly impressive," Kenshin commented.
Kushina made some inarticulate sound in her throat as she poured the soup into the pot and started heating it.
"The match will be tomorrow at 10 AM, if you're interested in watching," he told her.
"Mmph," she grumbled and stared at the soup, willing it to start boiling so that she knew it was warm enough to eat.
"Well, good night," Kenshin said and took his papers so that she was left alone with her late dinner. "See you in the morning."
She didn't answer him.
Food and sleep, food and sleep, food and sleep…