Hidden Leaf, Hidden Talents 86 (Patreon)

The ceiling of my tent has exactly seventeen water stains. I've counted. Twice.

That one looks like a rabbit. That one looks like the Fire Daimyo's hat. That third one, if I squint, looks vaguely like disappointment.

Yeah. I'm that bored.

Most people think boredom is the absence of stimulation. Your brain has nothing to chew on, so it starts gnawing on itself. Except that's not quite accurate. Boredom isn't really about having nothing to do. It's about having nothing you ‘want’ to do that you're ‘allowed’ to do.

A prisoner in a cell isn't bored because there's nothing happening. He's bored because everything he wants to do, leave, see the sky, eat something that isn't gruel, he can't. The stimulation exists out there, somewhere beyond the bars. He just can't reach it.

Replace the cell with a hospital tent, and you've got my life for the past however many days.

I'm in a tent. Four cots, three currently occupied. Mine's in the corner by the shelf, which means I get a lovely view of stacked bandages and a jar of something greenish. Between that and the smell of blood, old sweat, and whatever's being cooked in the mess tent three rows over, it's really a five-star experience. Today it smells like cabbage. Yesterday it also smelled like cabbage. I'm starting to suspect tomorrow will also smell like cabbage.

The point is, there's plenty of stimulation here. Too much, actually. Groaning from the guy two cots down who took shrapnel to the shoulder. Footsteps outside as medics rush between tents. The distant thump of what might be training drills or could be something exploding, but since no one's running I'm going to assume it's fine?

But can I engage with any of it? Can I get up, walk around, find something to do that doesn't involve staring contests with water stains?

No. And not for lack of wanting. Tsunade-sensei told me to rest, and the last time I didn't listen to her medical advice, she hit me hard enough to add a new injury to the list she was treating.

Which, when you think about it, proves my whole point about boredom. It's not that there's nothing to do. It's that everything I want to do is on the other side of a blonde woman with a mean right hook.

If boredom is the gap between what you want to do and what you're allowed to do, then the solution isn't to reduce your wants. That's what monks do, and I respect monks, but I'm not cut out for that life. Too much good food in the world. Too many interesting people. Too many things I haven't tried yet.

No, the solution is to get creative with what you're allowed.

And I'd gotten very creative.

"What in the world are you doing?"

To be honest, I'd gotten so caught up in my own head that I'd lost track of what my body was doing. One arm down, legs somewhere overhead in a pretzel situation I couldn't fully explain. So yeah, fair question.

From where I was hanging, Mikoto appeared to be standing on the ceiling, hair defying gravity and everything. One hand on the canvas, expression frozen somewhere between 'I'm going to yell at you' and 'I'm glad you're alive enough to yell at.' Dirt on her sleeves, something darker smudged on her cheek.

"Gravity testing," I said, still upside down, still rotating. "Everything looks different from this angle. You, for instance. You look like you haven't slept properly in days."

"That's because I haven't." She walked over, letting the tent flap fall closed behind her. "You know you're supposed to be in bed, right? Not doing... this."

I pushed off with one hand, converted the momentum into a lazy half-spin, and dropped to my feet without a sound.

"I'm fine." I rolled my shoulders, testing the joints. "Really. Better than fine."

"You fought Hanzo." Her voice dropped, losing its edge. "I heard what happened out there. Your whole squad..."

"I know."

She looked at me for a long moment. Then her shoulders dropped, just slightly, and she let out a breath she'd probably been holding since she walked in.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Just stop training when you're supposed to be recovering, you dummy."

"Yes ma'am."

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling."

"You are. That little smug thing you do with the corner of your mouth."

"That's just my face."

A rough chuckle came from across the tent.

Shrapnel guy. He wasn't staring at his bandages anymore. He was watching us with an amused grin spreading across his weathered face. Mid-forties, maybe. Old enough to have seen a lot.

"Sounds like somebody's got a worried wife," he said, voice rasping but warm.

Mikoto's cheeks flushed. "I'm not his wife."

"Could've fooled me." The man settled back against his pillow, still grinning. "My wife used to get that exact same look. That little crease right between the eyebrows." He tapped the spot on his own forehead. "She's been gone three years now. Still miss it."

Mikoto's expression softened. "I'm sorry."

"Eh." He waved the words away like smoke. "Thirty good years. Two kids. More memories than I know what to do with. That's a hell of a lot more than most people get." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Seeing you two bicker like that, though. Takes me back." A wheezy laugh. "She used to chase me around the damn house after missions because I wouldn't stay in bed. I'd be bleeding all over the floor and she'd be threatening to finish the job herself."

Mikoto glanced at me.

I glanced at her.

"Treasure the time you've got," the man said, voice dropping. "Doesn't matter what you call it. Just don't take it for granted."

A beat of silence.

"Now get out of here." He flapped a hand at us. "You're making me weepy."

Unbelievable. This guy barges into my moment, makes Mikoto all flustered with his dead wife stories, drops some sagely wisdom like he's a character in a drama, and now he wants us gone? From my tent? Where my bed is? The bed I'm supposed to be resting in?

"Oi." I crossed my arms. "You can't kick a man out of his own sickbed."

"Watch me." He made a shooing motion. "Go be young and disgustingly healthy somewhere else. Some of us are trying to wallow."

"In what? Smells like feet and regret in here."

"My feet. My regret." He pointed at the tent flap. "Get your own."

I opened my mouth to fire back, but Mikoto's hand found my collar and suddenly I was being steered firmly toward the exit.

"I'm not finished with him—"

"You are now."

"Rest well, old timer!" I managed to get out before she shoved me through the tent flap.

"Don't call me old timer!" came the muffled reply. "I'm forty-six!"

"Ancient!"

"Get out!"

"Already out! You can't kick me out twice!"

We got out.

Mikoto waited until we were clear of the tent before letting out a breath. "You just had to, didn't you?"

"Had to what?"

"You know what."

I did know what. I just liked making her say it.

The air outside was cooler than the tent. Late afternoon in a military camp had a smell to it. Smoke from cooking fires, dirt, sweat, and that faint metallic tinge you could never quite scrub out no matter how hard the medics tried.

Mikoto fell into step beside me without asking where we were going. Probably because I didn't know either. I just needed to get away from the ceiling stains.

"Tsunade-sensei said bed rest." She paused. "But if I left you in there any longer, you'd either drive that poor man insane or twist yourself into a shape nobody could undo. Walking's probably the safer option."

"Look at you, being all reasonable."

"Someone has to be." She reached over and pinched my cheek, giving it a little squeeze. "That poor man's sanity depends on it."

"Ow—hey—"

"That's for making me worry." She pulled her hand back and tucked it behind her, tilting her chin up slightly as she walked past me.

There was probably supposed to be pain. My cheek seemed to think so, anyway. But my brain had already moved on to more important things, like the curve of her neck and her hair streaming down her shoulders like black silk. Uchiha genes were cheating.

I smiled and matched her pace, walking at her side.

That's when a flash of color caught my eye. The butterfly hairclip from the market, tucked above her ear like it had always belonged there.

"You still have it," I said.

She touched it gently. "Of course I do."

"You brought it all the way out here."

"It's small. Easy to pack." She was quiet for a moment, "And it makes me feel a little closer to home."

"Home?"

"To the good things. To happier moments." Her eyes flickered toward me, then away. "And to someone who gave it to me."

“…”

There's a word for what I felt right then. Probably. I didn't know it, and I wasn't going to go looking for it, but it was there. Sitting somewhere behind my ribs and refusing to leave.

The path curved along the edge of camp, and we followed it without thinking.

"I almost lost it once," she said.

I looked at her.

"During the ambush. When those River-nin hit our squad. The clasp came loose when I fell. I didn't even realize until after you…" She trailed off. "After everything."

"But you found it."

"I went back for it." Her lips curved slightly. "The next morning. Before anyone else was awake."

"You went back to a battlefield for a hairclip."

"I went back for something important." She glanced at me. "There's a difference."

She went back. For something I bought on a whim because I thought it would look pretty on her. I tried to picture myself doing the same. Going back for a person? Easy. Mikoto, Kushina, Tsume, I wouldn't even have to think about it. But for a thing? I didn't have anything worth dying over. Not even close.

We walked a little further in silence. The camp sounds grew muffled behind us, replaced by the soft rustle of grass and the distant murmur of the river.

"Must be nice," I finally said.

"What is?"

"Having something small that means that much."

She tilted her head slightly. "You don't have anything like that?"

"Not really. Never been the sentimental type." I paused, then smiled. "But I think I like being someone else's. So I'll just have to keep giving you things worth holding onto."

She stopped walking. I turned to look at her, and there was something in her eyes that made me forget what I was going to say next.

"You can't just say things like that," she said quietly.

"Like what?"

She didn't answer. Just stepped closer, closed the distance between us, and let her forehead rest against my chest. Her hands curled into my shirt, holding on like I might disappear if she let go.

The butterfly hairclip glinted in the fading light.

We stayed like that for a while. Long enough that I started noticing things again. The sounds of the camp around us. Footsteps. Shouting. More footsteps. A lot more than usual, actually.

"Is it just me," I said, "or does the camp seem busier than usual?"

She pulled back slightly and looked up at me. There was a small pout forming on her lips.

"You're thinking about work right now?"

"Mm. Sorry. Hard habit to break."

She let out a breath. "You completely ruined it."

"Ruined what?"

"The moment."

"Ah." I considered that. Then reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it back behind her ear where the butterfly sat. "We can have another one."

She blinked.

"Whenever you want," I said. "As many as you want."

Her eyes went wide for a second. Then a shy smile bloomed across her face, lighting up her cheeks and crinkling the corners of her eyes all the way to her ears. Without a word, she grabbed my arm with both hands, pulled it against her chest, and started walking.

I let her drag me toward the river without protest.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you can't ruin moments."

"That sounds difficult."

"Then I'll just have to keep you distracted."

"Distract me? You already do that just by being here."

She stumbled half a step, then let out a flustered little huff. “Stop talking.” Her grip on my arm tightened and she walked a little faster, not looking at me. But I caught the pink creeping up her ears.

I let her lead, watching the way the late afternoon light played with the ends of her hair.

The riverbank curved away from camp, and she followed it without hesitation. The noise faded behind us, replaced by the soft sound of water moving over rocks. The sky had gone orange at the edges, reflecting off the surface in long ripples.

At some point, her pace slowed, and neither of us said anything for a while.

Then, softly, she said, "You asked about the camp earlier."

"Mm."

She hesitated.

"How bad?" I asked.

"I didn't say it was bad."

"You didn't have to."

She closed her eyes for a second. "When you were out for two days, things... escalated."

Two days. Not as bad as it felt in my head.

“The Kazekage,” she said. “He was spotted on the front lines two days ago.”

I stopped walking.

She stopped with me.

That wasn't good.

Escalation is a funny thing. Nobody ever thinks they're the one doing it. It's always the other guy. He threw the first punch, so I had to throw two back. He brought a knife, so I brought a sword. He sent his elites, so I sent mine.

And now the Kazekage was on the battlefield.

Which meant the Hokage would follow. Had to follow. Because if he didn't, what would that say? That Konoha's leader was a coward? That Suna's Kage was braver than ours? You couldn't let that stand. Not in a world where reputation was half the battle.

Which led to the obvious question.

"And us? What's Konoha's answer?"

Mikoto leaned a little closer against my shoulder. "Hokage-sama arrived this morning."

"Is he still in camp?"

She shook her head. "No. He left for the front not long after."

Ah.

That explained a few things. Like why Danzo had shown up at my bedside. He wouldn't leave his little basement for just anything. But accompanying the Hokage to the frontlines? That was exactly the opportunity he'd crawl out of his hole for. Couldn't let his 'friend' hog all the glory.

Mikoto was quiet for a while. Then, without looking at me, "Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

She pinched my arm lightly. "About Hanzo."

"Ah." I watched the water for a moment. "What about him?"

"You actually fought him. The Hanzo."

"Fought is a strong word. We had a brief and violent disagreement about whether I should continue existing."

"But you're still here."

"I am."

"So you won."

"That's... not really how it works."

"You're here, walking around, annoying your roommates." She looked up at me. "Sounds like winning to me."

I couldn't help but smile at that. "You really weren't worried at all?"

"I didn't say that. I just believed you'd make it back."

"Why?"

"Because you promised to give me more things worth holding onto." Her fingers brushed the butterfly clip. "Can't do that if you're dead."

I laughed quietly. "Fair point."

She smiled. Warm, soft and impossible to look away from.

So I didn't. And that's when I noticed it. The smudge on her cheek.

"Hold still," I said.

"What? Why?"

I reached up and brushed my thumb across her cheek. The blood crumbled away under my thumb. Much better.

She went very still.

"You had something," I said. "Blood, I think. Not yours, hopefully."

"Oh. I didn't notice."

"Been a long few days, huh?"

She nodded and leaned into my hand. I wasn't in any hurry to pull away, and neither was she.

"There," I said. "All clean."

"Thank you."

I let my hand drop, but she caught it halfway and laced her fingers through mine.

"Hey, Shinji?"

"Hm?"

"When the war ends..." She bit her lip. "My clan, they... there's been talk about..."

Whatever she meant to say, it never made it out.

"About?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Forget I said anything. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Mikoto."

"Really. It's nothing." Her grip on my hand tightened. "Can we just... stay like this for a while?"

I looked at her. She looked at the river.

Whatever she wasn't telling me, it was eating at her.

"Yeah," I said. "We can stay."

We stayed.

Not sure how long exactly. Time gets slippery when you're standing by a river watching the sky change colors with someone who makes you forget about everything else. We talked about nothing important. The food at camp. How bad the rations had gotten. That one medic who kept mixing up patient names.

Eventually, the orange faded to purple and she pulled away with obvious reluctance.

"I should go. Shift duty."

"Alright."

She took a step back, then paused. "Hey, Shinji?"

"Hm?"

"Don't go picking fights with any more roommates."

"No promises."

"Dummy." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll see you later."

I watched her walk back toward camp. Her silhouette got smaller against the rows of tents until she turned a corner and disappeared.

Then I was alone with the river and my thoughts.

What had she been trying to tell me?

Her clan. Back home. Talk about something.

Whatever it was, she couldn't bring herself to say it. That alone told me it wasn't good.

I didn't like that thought. Didn't like it at all. The bad feeling in my gut wasn't going away. If anything, it was getting worse.

I didn't turn around. Didn't need to. “You heard her.“

Silence.

"Head back to Konoha. Find out what the Uchiha elders are up to. Whatever involves her, I want to know."

More silence.

A presence I hadn't acknowledged slipped away quiet as smoke, leaving one less shadow among the trees.

I stayed by the river until the last of the light bled out of the sky. Then I went back to my tent, argued with the old timer about whose snoring was worse, and eventually passed out.

Morning came faster than I wanted it to.

"You're still here?" The old timer was already awake, propped up on his elbow. "Thought they'd have dragged you off to the front by now."

"Give it an hour."

"Ha." He lay back down. "Heard the Hokage's already moving. Whole camp's buzzing about it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Everyone's wound tighter than a spring." He stared at the ceiling. "Reminds me of the first war. Right before everything went to hell."

War, huh. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. A few months ago I was making dinner for Kushina and arguing with Mikoto about something stupid. Now I was lying in a medical tent wondering how many of the squads I'd crossed paths with were still breathing. Hard to tell when you never saw the same faces again.

That's how it always went, I guess. One day you're dealing with skirmishes, little border dust-ups that feel more like arguments between neighbors over a fence line. Next thing you know, the big players step onto the field, and suddenly it's all-in. Everyone else just gets dragged along whether they like it or not.

I didn't like it. Hadn't for a while now. But quitting wasn't exactly an option when the alternative was watching everyone you cared about get ground into the mud without you there. So you keep going. Keep fighting. Keep pretending the exhaustion doesn't reach all the way down to your bones.

And the whole time, the war keeps happening. Like rain that won't stop, soaking everything until you're numb to it.

"You're thinking too loud," the old timer grumbled from his cot. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Sorry. Didn't realize my brain had a volume setting."

"Find it. Turn it down."

"Yes sir."

"And don't call me sir. I'm forty-six, not sixty."

"Ancient."

"Get out."

I stepped out of the tent just as morning finished deciding it was awake, rubbing at my eyes like that might convince them to open faster. The light was still pale and undecided, enough to see shapes but not details, tents washed in gray with lanterns inside burning low from the night before. Smoke drifted through camp, thinner now, carrying the smell of burnt wood, old sweat, and damp earth. People were hustling, medics carrying supplies, shinobi sharpening blades by firelight, a few genin running messages like their lives depended on it. Which, yeah, they probably did.

Didn't take long for a runner to find me. Some kid who looked like he'd just graduated yesterday came barreling around a tent corner and nearly crashed into me. "Shinji-san!" He bent over, sucking in air. "Tsunade-sama—command tent—" A wheeze. "Said not to keep her waiting."

"Good work." I fished around in my pouch and tossed him something. "Here. For the effort."

He caught it, popped it in his mouth, and immediately his face scrunched up like he'd bitten into a lemon. He spat it out onto the ground. "This is disgusting! What is this?!"

I bonked him on the head. "Rude. Someone gives you food, you say thank you."

"Ow! But it tasted like—"

I looked down at what he'd spat out. Wait. That wasn't candy.

"...Oh. That was a ration bar."

"What?!"

"...My bad."

"What do you mean 'my bad'?! Then why'd you hit me?!"

"Force of habit."

"That's not an excuse!"

"Alright, alright.” I dug around my pouch again, actually checking this time, and pulled out a piece of wrapped candy. "Here. The real thing. Consider it compensation."

He eyed it suspiciously. "How do I know this one isn't poison?"

"It's candy."

"The last one was supposed to be candy too."

"Just take it."

He snatched it from my hand, unwrapped it carefully, sniffed it, and finally popped it in his mouth. His expression shifted from suspicion to reluctant satisfaction. "...Fine. We're even."

"Good. Now scram."

He scurried off, still rubbing his head.

I shook my head and headed for the command tent. Kids these days. I give him candy, he complains. I hit him, he complains. No winning with that generation.

Well, whatever. If they were dragging a patient out of bed for this, it meant things were serious. I followed the familiar path through the rows, dodging a cart loaded with rations that looked even worse than the cabbage soup from yesterday. The command tent was bigger than the others, set up on a slight rise for better oversight, flaps tied back to let in the night air. Inside, a big map table took up the center, with scrolls and markers scattered across it. Lanterns hung from the poles, throwing warm light that made everyone's faces look tired and serious.

There were seven of us. Tsunade was already there, leaning against the table with her arms crossed, looking like she hadn't slept much either. Orochimaru stood off to the side, pale as ever, eyes on the map, saying nothing. Sakumo Hatake, the White Fang himself, stood with his arms folded, listening more than talking. Then there were the other three, a couple of jonin I knew by face more than name, one a Hyuga with that telltale pale-eyed stare, the other a stocky guy from the Inuzuka clan, his ninken curled at his feet. And leading the pack was an old Uchiha I'd never seen before yesterday. According to the old gossip in the next cot, the previous commander had 'caught a bad one' sometime during my beauty sleep. This guy was the lucky winner who got promoted into a job nobody wanted. Gray hair, scars everywhere, a face that looked like it had been arguing with the world for sixty years and refused to lose. He'd been around since the first war, which meant he was either very good or very lucky. Probably both. You don't get that old in this business by being just one.

The old Uchiha glanced up as I ducked in. The look he gave me wasn't exactly welcoming. More like someone who'd ordered a steak and got served fish instead.

"Tsunade." His eyes didn't leave me. "Care to explain why there's a genin in my command tent?"

"Jonin, actually," I said.

"He captured Chiyo and walked away from Hanzo." She still didn't look up from the map. "I think he's earned a seat at the grown-ups' table."

"Another prodigy, then." It wasn't a question. It wasn't a compliment either.

He'd seen this before. Another prodigy. Another genius who'd done something impressive and now thought they belonged at the table. He'd seen enough of them over the years, bright flames that burned hot, only for the war to chew them up and spit them out like everyone else. Prodigies were just candles that burned brighter before they went out. Candles, all of them. And this one would be no different.

He didn't say any of that. Just clicked his tongue and waved a hand. "Fine. We've wasted enough time.”

Tsunade finally looked up. "Then let's stop wasting it."

The old Uchiha grunted and turned to the map.

Then came the planning. Lots of talking, lots of pointing at the map, lots of "what if they flank here" and "we need reserves there." I stayed in my corner and absorbed what I could. Some of it made sense, some of it sounded like people talking just to hear themselves talk. Either way, I kept my mouth shut and my ears open. Not like they were making any glaring mistakes anyway. Most of what they came up with was solid enough. No reason for the new guy to rock the boat.

Eventually, things started coming together.

The old Uchiha leaned over the map, finger tracing the eastern flank. "We need someone to back up the Hokage's squad here. Ame's been sniffing around, and if they circle behind us while we're focused on Suna and River, we're in trouble."

"East is thin on medical support." Tsunade tapped the map. "If we're sending a team that way, I should be on it."

"Agreed." The old man nodded. "You and Orochimaru. Take your… student and a squad. Main priority is keeping Ame from flanking. Provide cover, patch people up if you have to, but don't let those sneaky bastards get behind us."

Orochimaru's eyes stayed on the map. "The situation in Ame is getting complicated. Suna's using it as a corridor, River's right behind them, and we've been forced to engage on their soil just to slow them down. That's a lot of fighting happening in someone else's backyard."

"It gets worse." Tsunade said. "Hanzo's stopped watching from the sidelines." She glanced at me. "He's in it now."

"Which makes Ame the most dangerous front right now." Orochimaru said. "Suna we can plan for. River we can anticipate. Hanzo is the reason Ame still exists despite being sandwiched between three major villages. One shinobi, holding together an entire nation through sheer reputation." His gaze slid to me. "You fought him and walked away. I'd love to hear how that went."

"Luck, mostly," I said. "And a lot of running."

"Somehow I doubt it was that simple."

I shrugged. He could doubt all he wanted.

"All the more reason to keep that flank secure," the old Uchiha spoke up, dragging the conversation back on track. "Last thing we need is him slipping behind us while we're busy with the others."

He turned to the others. "Hatake, you're heading west with the Hyuga and Inuzuka. Meet up with the Hokage's squad and support them. The Kazekage's been spotted on the field, so expect heavy resistance."

Sakumo didn't waste words. "We'll be there before noon. If the Kazekage's making a push, they'll need the extra hands."

"I can scout ahead once we're close," the Hyuga added. "Shouldn't be hard to spot where the fighting's thickest."

The Inuzuka was already stretching. "Finally, some real action. Sitting around camp was driving me nuts." His dog barked once in agreement.

"Alright." The old Uchiha waved a hand. "That's it. Go do your jobs."

Chairs scraped, footsteps shuffled. I waited for Tsunade to stand before falling into step behind her.

"You sure about this?" she asked as we walked toward the supply tents. "Medically speaking, you're fine. Personally speaking, I'd rather you stayed in bed another day."

I shrugged. "Medically speaking, I'm bored out of my mind. Personally speaking, same thing. Besides, someone's got to watch your back out there."

She gave me a look. "Watch my back. You. The guy who fights Hanzo and comes back half-dead."

"It was Hanzo. You know, the Hanzo. I'd like to see anyone who isn't a Kage walk away from that looking pretty."

"So your selling point is 'I didn't die against Hanzo.'"

"Hey, I walked away. That's more than most can say, and a pretty good selling point if you ask me."

"My hero," she said flatly. "I feel safer already."

We ducked into the supply tent and joined the short line at the quartermaster's desk.

Orochimaru was faster, already pocketing his supplies by the time we reached the counter. He lingered, watching me scribble my name on the form.

"Your student's doing well for himself."

She didn't look up. "And?"

"Just an observation." His lips curved slightly. "Graduated not too long ago, and already making a name for himself. At this rate, he'll bury your reputation before the war's over."

"Good." She stuffed a roll of bandages into her pack. "Then I can retire and let him deal with all the headaches."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"A woman can dream."

His gaze slid to me. "Speaking of reputation, 'Black Death.' That's what Suna's calling you these days. Their nin have been whispering it up and down the front lines. Your bounty jumped quite a bit after you dragged Chiyo back to the outpost." A pause. "Wiping out her puppet brigade probably didn't help."

"Oh? How much are we talking?" I reached for a roll of wire. "Please tell me it's finally something worth bragging about."

"Enough that I'd consider turning you in myself if we weren't on the same side."

I stopped mid-reach. "Was that a joke? From you, Orochimaru-san?" I shook my head, genuinely a little impressed. "I take back everything I thought about you being humorless."

"How kind. But on a serious note, watch yourself out there. I'm not talking about Suna or Ame."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous. Care to elaborate?"

"Meaning half the continent thinks you're Konoha's jinchuriki." His eyes found mine. "The other half isn't sure what you are, but they know it's dangerous. If your mask slips at the wrong moment and people realize Konoha has another 'Bijuu' running around that isn't actually a Bijuu..."

Tsunade had gone still beside me. "You know."

"Of course I know." Orochimaru sounded almost offended. "I'm not blind."

"Since when?"

"Since I started paying attention." His gaze flicked back to me. "You're good. The jinchuriki act is convincing enough for most. But your clones give it away if you watch them long enough. They're too independent. Too autonomous." He tilted his head slightly. "A jinchuriki drawing on Biju chakra doesn't produce clones that can hold conversations, perform surgery, and fight on multiple fronts simultaneously for days on end."

A pause. Then that thin smile returned.

"I must admit, you've caught my curiosity."

Well. That can't be good.

Of all the things I never wanted to hear in my life, "you've caught my curiosity" from Orochimaru ranked somewhere between "we need to talk" and "the Hokage wants to see you immediately." Some attention is flattering. This was not that kind of attention.

Now if Tsunade-sensei showed even half this much interest in my shining personality, that would be great. But no. The one person who wanted to study me closely had to be the guy who probably had a collection of suspicious jars in his basement. Or would have, eventually. I couldn't remember if he was already at that stage yet.

Then again, if he was, maybe we could work something out. I had a few Root agents tucked away that could use some company. Share notes over a glass of wine. Compare results. Really bond as colleagues.

...On second thought, that sounded unhinged even in my own head.

But then again, I wasn't the most unhinged me. That honor went to my clones. The third gen especially. Something about being a copy of a copy of a copy made them a little... loose with the ethics. Somewhere along the line, whatever mental filter I had got thinner with each iteration. One of them had once asked me, completely seriously, if we could "borrow" a comatose patient to test a theory. I said no. He looked disappointed.

Maybe I could just point Orochimaru at one of them. Lead him to the cave where I kept the Root agents and let the lunatics handle each other. They'd probably get along great. Share tips. Swap stories. Become best friends over a shared love of poking things that shouldn't be poked.

Actually, that might solve two problems at once.

Something to think about later.

…

Three hours and forty miles later, I opened a man's throat and thought, huh, Orochimaru was right about the bounty.

The River-nin had recognized me the second we crossed paths. Not Tsunade. Not Orochimaru. Me. The man's eyes had gone wide, his face cycling through recognition, fear, and something that looked a lot like desperate greed in the span of a heartbeat. He'd actually screamed my moniker—"Black Death!"—like shouting it loud enough might summon reinforcements or scare me off or earn him a bonus. Instead, all it did was make his squad panic and scatter in six different directions.

Which, honestly, just made them easier to pick off.

The blade came out clean. The blood didn't, it never did. I flicked my wrist and watched the red arc splatter across the mud. Somewhere behind me, his friends were screaming, but they had bigger problems than me. Tsunade had just put her fist through someone's ribcage. Orochimaru's snakes were forcing their way down a man's throat while another constricted around his partner's skull until it cracked like an egg.

Ame's wilderness was wet and gray and miserable, which fit the mood perfectly. We'd been running for hours before this squad stumbled into us. Or we stumbled into them. Hard to say who was more surprised. Didn't really matter now.

Another one came at me from the left, desperation burning in his eyes.

I stepped inside his swing and hit him. Then hit him again. And again. Each strike landed before he could recover from the last, my fists and elbows finding ribs, jaw, temple, wherever there was an opening. He stumbled. I followed. He tried to retreat. I didn't let him.

Something fell from his vest. A photo, crumpled at the edges. A woman and a little girl, smiling. Words scrawled on the back in messy handwriting. ‘Come home safe, Papa.’

The whole time, I couldn't stop looking at his eyes.

Desperation. Pure, animal desperation. He knew he was outmatched. Couldn't run, couldn't surrender, couldn't do anything but keep swinging and hope for a miracle.

Another hit. Another. His guard crumbled. Mine didn't. The photo lay in the mud between us, getting trampled, getting ruined. Just like him. Just like everything else in this war.

He was a shinobi. The headband, the weapon, the uniform. All the right pieces in all the right places. But none of it fit him. Strip it away and he was just a man who wanted to go home.

He wasn't going to.

None of them were.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong war. Pawns getting sacrificed in a game played by people who'd never see the board up close.

I hated it.

My knee snapped his head back. Felt the impact travel up my leg, saw the blood and spit fly, watched his eyes go blank.

Hated every part of it.

He hit the ground and lay there, twitching. Still breathing, maybe. Hard to tell in the rain.

I didn't check.

Somewhere behind me, the screaming was tapering off. Meant the others were finishing up too.

"Clear," I called out.

"Clear," Tsunade echoed from somewhere to my right.

Orochimaru tilted his head, snakes retreating into his sleeves. "We are. They're not." He gestured toward the village, where the sounds of fighting were still going strong. Steel on steel. Screaming. The occasional boom of a jutsu going off. "Shall we?"

Tsunade was already running.

The village was small, maybe thirty buildings packed together around a muddy central road, and River-nin were everywhere. Some of them were already tangled up with Konoha squads that had arrived before us. Others were scrambling to form a line. A few had their backs to the fighting, dragging wounded toward cover.

None of them saw us coming.

Orochimaru went left, a squad of Konoha nin falling in behind him like shadows. The screaming started almost immediately. Tsunade went right, another group at her back, heading toward the village square. I went up, launching myself onto a rooftop with a handful of clones flanking me.

Three River-nin were pinning down a Konoha squad, or what remained of it, near what looked like a storehouse. I dropped on them before they noticed me. The first one lost his head. Literally. The second got my blade through his eye socket. The third tried to shunshin out. His body flickered, started to blur, and then something caught him mid-flicker and sent him ragdolling through the mud like a thrown doll.

One of the Konoha nin looked up at me, clutching what was left of his left arm. His eyes went wide. "Black Death?"

I grimaced. "Just Shinji is fine. That name makes me sound like a plague."

"Y-yeah. Shinji. Thanks."

"Save it." I jerked my head to the side. A clone dropped from somewhere above, landing beside the man with hands already glowing green. "He'll patch you up. Stay down."

I didn't wait for a reply. More fighting ahead.

The next ten minutes were a blur of blood and rain and jutsu. I lost count of how many River-nin I put down. A dozen, maybe more. Some of them fought back. Most of them just died looking surprised. The ones that lasted longer than a few seconds usually had backup, which just meant more bodies hitting the ground.

By the time the fighting stopped, the village's main road had turned into something out of a butcher's nightmare. Bodies everywhere, some in pieces, some just leaking into the mud. Not all of them were shinobi. A woman was slumped against a doorframe, eyes still open. A kid, couldn't have been older than ten, lay curled up near what used to be a market stall. Wrong place, wrong time. A few buildings were fully engulfed now, orange flames licking at the gray sky. Nobody was bothering to put them out.

Tsunade had set up a triage area near the village well. My clones were already there, hands glowing green, working on the worst cases. One guy was missing everything below the waist. Another had burns covering half his body, skin bubbling and peeling in ways that made my stomach turn even after everything I'd seen. A third was just sitting there, staring at nothing, holding his own intestines in his lap like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

I found Tsunade elbow-deep in someone's chest, sweat on her brow despite the rain. "How bad?" I asked.

"Bad." She didn't look up. "Lost four already. Might lose two more. The rest will live if we work fast."

"Got it."

I made more clones. They spread out, green light flickering to life in their palms. We worked until the screaming stopped. Until the groaning stopped. Until there was nothing left but the sound of rain hitting mud and the distant crackle of dying flames.

That's when I noticed the hawk. Circling once, then dropping toward us.

Orochimaru caught it, unrolling the scroll attached to its leg.

"Another order?" I asked.

He looked up. That thin smile was back.

"It seems we won't be resting anytime soon."

I watched the hawk fly off into the gray.

"When do we ever?"