Interlude: Unheard
The hot chocolate is perfect tonight. The bitter taste keeps me alert even as the luxurious warmth relaxes my body. Tomorrow night, I will experiment to recreate it—a task as important as brewing chocolate cannot be left to a servant.
Some would say it is a peculiar time to sit out in the garden and gaze at the stars. Midnight in midwinter, it is universally agreed, is a time for all good men to be abed. Fools fear the hungry spirits of the restless dead that stalk the thoroughfares seeking prey. Sages fear the anonymity of the darkness, and the acts to which it might drive even those innocent by day. I am neither, though I suspect you disagree, and so I fear nothing—though I concede that the night holds many dangers for the unprepared.
Avoid areas with high crime rates (you will recall that Yagura demanded these be scrupulously tracked). Travel in groups. Failing that, a staff strapped to one's back can create the silhouette of a deadly kenjutsu or bōjutsu user, or a simple cloth can become a half-mask to make would-be assailants flee in terror. Given the variety and frequent absurdity of shinobi outfits, the possibilities are endless, and obvious to any who give the matter but five minutes' thought. Most things are, if one takes the time.
But I will not bore you by contemplating puzzles already solved.
Were I a poet—I would have to kill myself in shame. Ahem. No, were I a poet, a night such as this might inspire me to some great work of art that expresses the innermost depths of my soul. How you would laugh if that were true. But as I am not a poet, it instead inspires me to do something useful with my time. A night such as this allows my mind to wander, briefly unchained from practical concerns and given space to make the intuitive leaps and strange connections that are essential to complement my powers of reason. But then, you know that better than anyone.
The Chūnin Exam resumes tomorrow. Children placed in direct combat, with restrictions on the harm they can do one another. A practice both more and less honest than the real world to which they will soon return. How many of them will survive the next three years? How many do I want to survive?
That is both the beauty and the horror of children: most are as predictable as everything else, but not even I can tell what the outliers might become. Neither of us could.
-o-
The noise just would not end. The other children clamoured, jumping up and down, waving their graduation certificates at their proud parents like flags as if that somehow made them easier rather than harder to read, and cheering for themselves as if graduating the Academy was some heroic feat rather than what was expected of them.
Kawasaki Ryū did not partake in the festivities. He stood on his own, calmly, observing proper form, wincing occasionally as a passing classmate clapped him on the shoulder and dispensing meaningless pleasantries in return. Would he be acting like the other children if his father were here? Ryū doubted it. His father was the one who'd taught him that for people like them, appearances were everything.
Instead, his mind wandered. Father's mission was taking longer than expected, which meant Ryū needed to pick up groceries if he wanted to have anything for dinner. He had compared the merchants, and his best hope was Granny Miyoko, who offered unsold vegetables at half-price on Wednesday evenings so as to clear space for the coming delivery. He would have to strike a balance between waiting here to satisfy his classmates' expectations and getting there before she ran out. How long would your typical—
A black whirlwind seized his hands and, using him as a pivot, proceeded to spin in a full circle around him. "Ryū! Check it out, we're real ninja now! Isn't it amazing?"
"I do not see a real ninja before me," Ryū said coolly after regaining his bearings. "I see an oversized spinning top. Perhaps I, as a real ninja who
behaves accordingly, should take you in my hands for use in battle instead of wasting time talking to you."
"Hey, if you want to take me in your hands, I'm always game."
"Shut up, Raito."
The insufferable girl grinned at him.
"That's more like it. We're graduates now. You can drop the old man act. Relax a little. Be yourself.
"Just not too much," she added. "I've seen your real self, and ouch. Better keep that thing hidden away."
"You can act however you like, Raito," Ryū said in a peeved tone. "You're a clan heir. I'm a Kawasaki. People still remember my grandfather selling them potatoes. I have a duty to my family to ensure that they forget."
"By acting like you're a thousand years old. Eh, whatever. So how'd you want to celebrate?"
"Why is that any of your business?" His ninja intuition sensed increasing danger to his groceries.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Raito asked with apparently sincere puzzlement. "I need to know if I have to go back and get changed before we go out. Also the graduating heirs are having a party tonight, and you need to come up with a plan for how I'm going to blow it off."
"And what, pray tell, gave you the impression that I would even consider celebrating with you?"
He absolutely couldn't. Clan events were serious business, or so he understood, and there had to be implications for Raito if she decided to ignore her duties—especially for the sake of someone like him.
"And what, pray tell," she mimicked his intonation perfectly, "gave you the impression that you had a choice?"
"Raito," he said, taking a stab at reason, "you cannot force someone to enjoy themselves."
"Wanna bet?"
What had he been thinking? This was Raito. Clearly, a different approach was needed.
"You want to celebrate together tonight?" His eyes narrowed. "Make me."
"You think you can beat me in a fight, Ryū?"
He couldn't. This had been tested extensively. But what he
could do was alter the victory conditions.
"I don't believe I have to. Think you can outrun me, Jelly?"
"That was one time!" Raito exclaimed. "Well, maybe two. But they were really heavy weights! And I had a cold!"
Ryū used the time while she was distracted to set himself in the perfect starting pose. Except with hand seals.
"Hey, what're you—"
"Clone Technique!"
The clones vanished the second he moved away, but that was all it took to disorient Raito for another moment as they "set off" in different directions. Ryū went for the nearest roof, then leapt down into an alley to break line of sight.
"Get back here, you scumbag! We're gonna have fun whether you like it or not!"
-o-
I recall the sideways looks and whispered comments. I am unconvinced that you even noticed, but I assure you that I did. A clan heir and a second-generation commoner. I should have avoided you, for your sake as much as mine. Certainly, I made the attempt, but what could a mere mortal such as myself do against an elemental force? Was it a year before you pronounced us best friends?
You were tempestuous and carefree from the beginning. I suspect that I would never have become so comically serious were I not forced to counterbalance the aura of levity with which you afflicted my daily life. In retrospect, there were better dynamics I could have engineered, had I but the social skills.
Do you recall Yagura's attempts to legislate against such fraternisation? How we steered him aside together, in memory of what had once been? We thought we were safeguarding the next generation of Mist's youth. Of course, it is now evident that we should have done more. The political cataclysm that now counts down to zero should have been predictable a generation ago, even without considering the outlier. But in the end, we were only thinking about ourselves.
-o-
"What do you think of my chūnin uniform, Ryū?"
Raito gave a twirl, her long black hair flying all over the place before settling neatly over her shoulders with a brief shake of her head. (She claimed it was part of her Bloodline Limit. However, she also claimed to be Kurohige reborn.)
Raito's new uniform was black, her clan colour, and… conspicuously… figure-hugging. Ryū would not blush; she would never let him hear the end of it.
"Acceptable," Ryū told her. "Much less embarrassing than some of your training outfits of late."
"Acceptable," she repeated in his dry tone. "Is that the best you have to say to the beautiful specimen of womanhood standing right in front of you?"
Ryū made a show of looking over her shoulder.
She punched him lightly. "Fine. See if
you get any willow bark next time you stagger into my tent with an injury."
That sobered him up. "You intend to continue, then? Despite the difficulties?"
She nodded. "I managed to convince my parents. I explained how having medic-nin on hand during my kind of mission could be a game-changer, and not just if things go south. I also made sad puppy eyes.
"But forget me—as if you ever could—what about you and that mission that was so important you had to miss my tournament?"
Ryū's good mood vanished. "A waste of my time. Chakra beasts are the very soul of predictability. Learn their patterns, and not once will the beast deviate from them. A
civilian could kill one with adequate equipment and preparation."
"You think anyone can do anything with adequate equipment and preparation."
"Because they can. Battlefield tactics can never overcome strategy."
Raito laughed, and the sparkle in her eyes softened Ryū's frustration a little.
"Hey, Ryū, have you heard what they're calling you? 'The Angel of Mercy'."
Ryū snorted. "That is the most ridiculous moniker I have ever heard. What even is an angel?"
"A champion from the Deva Path, descending to bring salvation to the pure-hearted in times of desperation. That's what you are now, after two freaking years as a chūnin.
"For your reference, my nickname is going to be twice as cool. Maybe three times."
"Ah, but you already have one," Ryū said.
Raito's eyes lit up. "What? Really? So soon?"
"Of course you do… Jelly."
"Oh, that's it!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to show your spine everything I've learned from medical ninjutsu!"
"Only if you catch me."
As if Ryū had not already known it would end this way, and prepared the obstacle course accordingly. He had long since taught Raito to hate vegetable stalls.
-o-
It might still not have been too late then. The signs were there, in retrospect, for anyone with the wisdom to read them. The growing aggression of Leaf's shadow king. Rock's fluctuating export levels. The surge in support for Hanzō of the Salamander. Why had the Hōzuki retreated from political life, and why had Momochi Zansatsu of all people been appointed chief taijutsu instructor at the Academy?
But the war could not be blamed for everything. It was both a cause and a symptom of the greater tide that would sweep us both away. I still wonder, to this day, if I could have stopped that tide had I acted early enough.
Instead, I allowed myself to be merely human.
-o-
He melted into her arms, not caring—because she did not—that her spotless uniform was now covered with a dozen shinobi's blood.
"Ryū…" she whispered. "Then… you lost?"
Ryū gave a bitter laugh. "We won, Raito. This is the face of victory."
"I don't understand. If you won, where's everyone else?"
"Where do you think?" he snapped, pushing himself off her.
"No, sorry," he muttered. "None of this is your fault.
"We won. We eliminated the sealmasters before they could complete the arrays. Their guards seemed to have no concept of coordinated area control. An overlap of three taijutsu specialists, can you imagine? Not a single casualty among us."
"Then…"
"Then three shinobi from Leaf came out of nowhere. Just three, Raito!"
"I know the ones," Raito said grimly, looking back at the medical tent.
"There were fifteen of us. Some of us had over half our chakra left. Terumi still had his ninjutsu active.
"We were unprepared.
I was unprepared. Fifteen against three. We should have sent them to the ancestors in six seconds flat. Instead, Akagi covered my retreat with her barrier while everyone else died behind me. Someone had to report, she said. Someone had to live."
"That poor girl," Raito whispered. "She promised me she'd found someone else…"
"What?"
"Forget it," Raito said. "Let's get you to the medical tent. Just because nothing's broken doesn't mean you get away without a good look-over. You know, this isn't how I
meant to get my hands on your body."
"Shut up, Raito."
-o-
Another realisation I should have made earlier. There is no place for humanity in war. Only means and ends. Had I made adequate preparations, we could have won. Had I coordinated our forces appropriately, we could have escaped with more than one survivor. Tsunade needed physical contact to kill. With his powerful physique, Kazan could have absorbed a blow, creating an opening for Akagi to use her barrier. Terumi could have exploited the blind spot to attack Jiraiya from an angle with his superior reach, and Jiraiya would be forced to use a direct counter rather than area-of-effect ninjutsu. Orochimaru would have killed Akagi by the time his teammates were free to act again, but Hoshigaki only needed three seconds to trigger his technique. Four dead, eleven escape.
Three years later, I found an option where only Akagi and I needed to die, though it would rely on a certain level of psychological warfare. Alternatively, were I to focus on eliminating any of the Three, a flawless suicide attack on Tsunade would likely have been successful. A case can be made that this would have been a greater contribution to the war than any of us surviving.
Akagi. Terumi. Yari. Kadō. Tsunemori. Kazan. Mana. Yamane. Mori. Hoshigaki. Kimura. Kani. Urahara. Himuro. Would they hate me for what I have made of myself, or hate me for not having done so sooner?
-o-
"Far be it from me to object to being served a proper meal rather than the poorly-disguised poisoning attempts that you periodically offer me as special rations, but a candle-lit dinner seems somehow… out of character for you."
"Being out of character
is in character for me. I try to be the one thing in your life that isn't predictable."
In fairness, tonight she had succeeded. Booking out an entire restaurant, while within the power of the heir to a wealthy clan, was an extravagant display from a young woman who did not mind periodically visiting his home for dinner, unnerving his father, frustrating her own parents, and scandalising the neighbours (who, however, were civilians and thus did not count).
"I will leave the details of your success rate to your imagination. So what prompted this? If it is in apology for that last seaweed soufflé, then I grant you it is borderline sufficient."
"Forget the soufflé," she snapped.
"If only I could."
"Ryū," she said plaintively, "can you be serious for a moment?"
"That is the first time in my life that you have said that to me," Ryū noted dryly. "But very well. You have my full attention."
She continued to have his full attention for at least a full minute.
"Ryū," she finally said, rising to her feet, "I'm in love with you."
"I am well aware."
"What."
Raito gave him a blank stare.
"No, let me try again. What."
"Why else would you insist on making me the focus of your attention while ignoring much more interesting men, and indeed rejecting all suitors without consideration? I understand some of them had promising positions in their clans. Once the hypothesis occurred to me, every piece of evidence fell in place to support it. You are many things, but subtle is not one of them."
Raito sat down heavily. "Just so you know, you're making me regret every moment of it."
She looked up. Her gaze focused sharply on his.
"Then… you know what I have to ask you. Ryū, how do you feel about me?"
Ryū shrugged. "I am also in love with you. Obviously."
"What?!" This one was not so flat.
"Why else would I allow you and you alone to bring endless mindboggling chaos into my life? Why else would I endure a variety of insults, martial arts techniques and catastrophic meals being inflicted upon my person on a regular basis? Why else would I allow you and you alone to shorten my name which, I will have you know, my father made long and impressive with a very reasonable purpose in mind?"
"But if
you're in love with
me," Raito exclaimed, "and you knew
I was in love with
you, why didn't you say anything?!"
"Because it would not change anything," Ryū said calmly, taking a bite of his dish in the awareness that imminent violence might rob him of the chance to do so later. "You remain heir to a powerful clan. I remain a second-generation commoner. There is no mode of interaction available to us other than the one we are currently in."
"I refuse," Raito said in a quietly simmering voice.
"I beg your pardon?" The eel really was quite delicious. If his timing was perfect, perhaps he could transfer it to a different table before Raito's temper exploded.
"What's the good of being powerful and influential if it won't get me the one thing I want?" Raito demanded. "And let's be clear, there
is only one thing I want."
"Raito," he said, taking a stab at his eel, "you cannot force someone to marry you."
"Wanna bet?"
"Even if you deny reality, I will not. Nothing can come of this."
Raito glared at him silently, her thought processes uniquely unknown.
Finally she stood up and slammed her hands on the table. Duly prepared, Ryū snatched up his plate before it could be knocked to the floor by the ninja-strength impact.
"I won't accept this! And I won't accept you giving up, you… you fatalistic scumbag!"
She stormed off, leaving Ryū alone with his troubled thoughts… and the bill.
-o-
In retrospect, perhaps I could have handled the meeting better. Knowing your sanguine temperament, I should have had a better plan than "be patient and hope she comes to understand". But you always remained outside my expectations. It was one of the many things I loved about you.
Of course, my personal dramas were of little concern by then. Import fees for luxury goods were rising, Kurosaki had been appointed headmaster, and the histories were undergoing a new round of revisions in a very specific direction. You must have known, given your position, but you never spoke of it. Perhaps you sought to hold on to some final fragment of your innocence before the coming of the Bloody Mist.
-o-
"Welcome back, Ryū!"
"It is good to see you, Raito." Ryū smiled. They had not spoken of that day again, but ever since, Raito had become a touch more open in her displays of affection, he a touch less annoyed to receive them. It helped him change between the man he was on the battlefield and the man he was at home—a change that was becoming increasingly difficult since one was simply more important than the other.
"Why didn't you come straight to see me?" Raito demanded. "I had cake ready and waiting!"
"That would be why," Ryū said. "I did not survive an ambush by three missing-nin only to perish on the first day of my return."
"Three?" Raito asked skeptically, ignoring the other comment with unexpected maturity.
"Well, five, but the other two fled without engaging after what they witnessed happening to their allies. You know my feelings on uncoordinated ambushes."
"A force multiplier is of little value when you have no force to multiply," Raito quoted.
"But forget that," she grinned. "I have amazing news!"
"Oh?"
"My father's agreed to have you marry into the clan!"
Ryū took a step back. "No."
"I can get it in writing if you like. It took me weeks of persuading them—my sad puppy eyes are on another level now—but you're a war hero now, and you've got a reputation as the strongest jōnin in Mist!"
"I am not the strongest jōnin in Mist." Ryū could not help correcting her. "I am merely the most efficient. I can name with ease a dozen shinobi who would obliterate me in spontaneous combat with no external factors."
"Don't care," Raito said. "You're marrying me now. Go get changed so we can head to the tailor's."
Ryū wished he was back on the battlefield, sending men to die for the heinous crime of being less useful than others.
"Raito…" he said, "I have news for you as well. There is a reason I was late to see you."
"What's that?" she asked perkily.
"I have been betrothed to Biwako, the Mori heir."
"Sorry, didn't catch that. Something about a trough?"
"I was summoned as soon as I returned from my mission."
"Why didn't you just refuse?" Raito asked in a hollow voice.
Ryū braced himself for the inevitable violence. "Because it is the right thing to do."
He somehow knew that she had practised this particular slap to perfection for use on him alone. It knocked him to the ground with the flawless precision of the Iron Nerve.
"You bastard!"
He rose carefully from the ground. "This was not an easy decision for me either."
"Then why make it?!" she shrieked. "You don't even love her!"
"No. I love exactly one person in this world."
"Then why?!"
"You know what is about to happen to Mist," Ryū said. "For decades we have watched our society harden, calcify, become steadily more brutal and intolerant. It will grow worse until it reaches its apex, perhaps as long as decades from now. Not merely inefficient, but actively self-destructive."
"So what? If you want to change the world, why can't you do it as a Kurosawa?"
"Because the Kurosawa Clan is weak," Ryū said bluntly. "The Kurosawa have always served those in power. They have never made a bid for rulership themselves, nor shall they while the waters are rising. You know this."
"But… But we could with
you! You're the most brilliant man I know! If you made a bid for the hat, I could make sure the Kurosawa were behind you all the way!"
"It is not enough," Ryū said. "I can
see the flow, Raito. I can see Mist plunging into hatred, and demanding a ruler that will validate that hatred. I can see the clans, complicit and making devil's bargains in a world that they believe they cannot change. I can see the other villages looking at that Mist and of necessity preparing for war—and once the weapons have been forged, it is only a matter of time until they are used.
"You are different, and perhaps with you the Kurosawa will be different. But what can the diplomat clan do when diplomacy itself comes under question?"
"So the Mori…" Raito hissed. "If the Kurosawa are the servant clan, then what are the Mori with their Frozen Skein? A footstool?"
"The Mori are advisors," Ryū said determinedly. "They stand by the ruler's side, trusted because they are bereft of their own motivations. No Mori could ever be Mizukage.
"The Mori have a chance to shape the flow without resisting it. They are the clan I can best exploit for my purposes, and the clan which has the most to gain from my abilities. I cannot be merely another Kurosawa, Raito. Not even a powerful one. But with the Mori, I can be what I need to be."
"The cold's won, hasn't it?" Raito said miserably. "You were always a little cold, a little distant, but you always came back to me. I thought you always would."
Ryū gave a slow sigh, taking his breath under control.
"I wish the cold had won, Raito. Then this would be easy. It would not be a choice."
"Go to the Mori, Ryū," Raito spat. "You don't need the Frozen Skein to be just like them. Teach them how to be better at being… whatever you are, because you aren't human."
"If inhumanity is what it takes to preserve my village, then I will accept it. But… I wish it had not ended this way."
"Me too," Raito said, turning away. "Me too."
-o-
I wonder how often you recall that parting, Raito. How long it took you to discover who you were without others. I suspect you did not find it as easy as I did.
I still have the letter, ironic proof of the world I had described.
Esteemed Mori Ryūgamine,
I write in acknowledgement of your refusal of my daughter's hand in marriage. As this rejection may reflect poorly on the reputation of the Kurosawa Clan, especially with consideration of your status at the time, the decision has been made to strike it from all Kurosawa records, and speak of it no more. The event did not transpire.
If you continue to value my daughter's welfare, and respect her position as heir to the Kurosawa Clan, I will expect the same discretion from you.
Yours cordially,
Kurosawa Ginrei
As you know, I honoured the request in full. The event, after all, did not transpire. We are strangers to each other, colleagues at some times and competitors at others, and why relive a past that has no relevance in the present?
I do not regret the path I have taken, Raito. No one shall ever know the first draft, as it were, of Yagura's reign, nor of the true nature of his passenger. Then, too, the Mori Clan has been repaid a hundredfold for their welcome, and the tool I have fashioned of myself can accomplish far more than that confused youth ever dreamed of.
Though perhaps I lie. That confused youth must surely still exist somewhere. For there was that one reunion, decades later, minutes long, not between the people who we are but between the people who we were.
-o-
Ryūgamine sat on the park bench and observed. In truth, he had an appointment to keep, but in this instance there were benefits to reap from forcing his counterpart to wait anxiously.
In front of him, the children played, each one yet to be shaped into a wonder, or perhaps a horror. One little girl, the focus of attention, had discovered cartwheels.
She sat down next to him. He did not turn to look, because he did not need to. The form of her, the scent of her, the very sense of her presence… older and more familiar than kata, older and more familiar than patterns of thought.
She did not turn to him either.
Neither spoke. What could there possibly have been to say?
Instead, they watched the children. The little girl, the outlier, had refined the cartwheel to a fine art, experimenting until she found the one perfect movement. Another girl approached timidly, asking to be taught.
The first girl stopped. Froze for a second in a way Ryūgamine could never mistake. Then she beckoned the children together and began to teach, cheerful words encouraging the fearful and soothing the egos of those too proud to learn. Soon they were in pairs, one practising and the other supporting.
Next to him, Raito whispered his own thoughts back at him.
She should have been ours.
