Chương 44: Leaving the Village

No matter what Hana said, Shin wouldn't get up. He stayed on his knees, and when he spoke at all, it was only to ask her to go home and rest. …… The sky had barely begun to lighten when Hana rushed back to Shin's house, dark circles under her eyes. She found him exactly where she'd left him—kneeling on the floor, unmoved, as if the night hadn't passed at all. She sat down beside him and glanced at the pale glow seeping through the window. A yawn escaped before she could stop it.

"It's morning, Shin." Nothing. Not a twitch. She sighed, pushed herself up, and went into the kitchen. The fridge held a few sealed cartons of milk and some packaged bread. That was it.

"Shin, do you not have any groceries?" she called out, already rummaging through the cabinets. The kitchen was bare—knives, a pot, a few bowls. Not even a full set of seasonings.

"Shin?" No answer. She stepped back into the living room and found him the same as before—head bowed, shoulders sagging, a gray exhaustion settled into every line of his body. She crouched beside him and brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers gentle.

"You're tired. Go lie down. It's okay to skip a day." He raised his eyes just enough to look at her, then slowly shook his head.

"Shin..." Another sigh. She went back into the kitchen, found a carton of eggs, and got to work. A few minutes later she came out carrying a tray—a plate of fried eggs, a glass of milk—and set it on the floor in front of him.

"Breakfast," she said, smiling.

"Want to wash up first?" He shook his head.

"Then just eat like this. That's fine too." Another shake.

"Shin, please. Don't do this." Her voice cracked at the edges, nearly pleading. Before she could say more, the front door scraped open. A figure appeared in the entryway. Tsume Inuzuka. Kuromaru at her side.

"Mom..." Hana murmured. Tsume walked into the room, took one look at Shin still kneeling on the floor, and something complicated moved behind her eyes. She stopped in front of him, looking down. Shin lifted his head. The exhaustion was plain—hollowed cheeks, bloodshot eyes.

"Auntie..." he whispered. Tsume's expression shifted. Something like reluctance. Something like disappointment.

"Get up," she said. Flat. Simple. Hana's face lit up. She reached for Shin's arm to help him stand, but he gently pushed her hand away. Instead, he placed both palms flat on the floor and lowered his upper body until his forehead touched the backs of his hands. A full prostration.

"Shin..." Hana breathed, staring. The sight made Tsume's jaw tighten. She looked away for half a second, then back. Shin tried to rise. His legs wouldn't obey—numb from the knees down, dead weight after an entire night pressed against hardwood. He swayed, and Hana caught him, pulling his arm over her shoulder and guiding him onto the couch.

"Want to eat now?" she asked softly. He nodded. A faint, exhausted smile.

"Thank you, Hana-nee." She brought the tray over. When she tried to feed him, he stopped her.

"I can manage." He took the plate himself and picked up the chopsticks. While he ate, Hana knelt and carefully rolled up his pant legs. Both knees were swollen—angry red, the skin tight and hot. She touched the edge of the swelling. Shin's face twitched.

"Do you have any liniment? I remember having Kiba bring one over a while back." He nodded without looking up.

"Bottom drawer of the cabinet in my room." Hana left. Tsume settled into the opposite couch, and Kuromaru lay down beside her. Hana returned quickly, a dark glass bottle in hand. She'd found two in the drawer and grabbed one at random.

"Shin, when did you get a second bottle? Have you been getting hurt?" She unscrewed the cap, then paused, noticing the label.

"Yamanaka?" Tsume glanced up.

"A classmate gave it to me," Shin said, eyes on his plate. Hana nodded and let it go, kneeling to work the liniment into his swollen knees. Shin sat still and kept eating. Tsume, though—Tsume sat very still, watching, a distant look in her eyes.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Hana." Tsume's voice cut through the quiet.

"Pack a few changes of clothes for him." Shin's chopsticks stopped. He and Hana both looked at Tsume.

"Why?" Hana asked.

"He's coming with me. We're leaving the village—heading to the Land of Rivers for a while."

"What?" Hana's voice pitched upward.

"That's so sudden—why the Land of Rivers?"

"No reason. Taking him on a trip." Shin set down his chopsticks. He said nothing. He understood exactly what this meant. Tsume was taking him out of the village. Away from the Uchiha. Away from whatever was about to happen. What's going to happen to the Uchiha... Shisui's face flickered through his mind.

"How long will you be gone?" Hana asked, hesitant.

"Hard to say. Could be a few days. Could be a couple of weeks." Tsume's eyes were on Shin as she spoke. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. He offered no objection. He picked up his chopsticks and went back to eating. Hana studied his face, then nodded. She finished applying the liniment, rolled his pant legs back down, and went into his bedroom to pack. The feeling crept back into his legs slowly—pins and needles, then a deep, throbbing ache.

Walking was still out of the question. Before they left, Shin strapped the black-scabbarded katana across his pack and climbed onto Kuromaru's back. Together with Tsume, they walked out the front door. Breakfast had restored some of his strength, but a sleepless night left marks that food couldn't erase. Shin's face was still drawn, his eyes heavy. They reached the main gate of Konoha and found a small group already waiting—several wagons, a handful of workers. A merchant caravan.

A middle-aged man spotted Tsume and hurried over, bowing deeply.

"Tsume-sama. We're truly grateful you've agreed to escort us to the Land of Rivers." Tsume gave a short nod. Shin looked confused, and Hana leaned in to explain.

"Mom must have taken a C-rank escort mission. These are usually handled by genin or chunin."

"Ah." He nodded. The merchant turned to Hana and bowed.

"And you are, shinobi-san...?" Hana blinked, then laughed and waved her hand.

"I'm not coming along. He is." She pointed at Shin. The merchant stared. Shin could practically see the man recalculating—the boy's age, the absence of a forehead protector—before the merchant reminded himself that shinobi defied ordinary expectations. Age meant nothing in their world.

"A pleasure," the merchant said, bowing to Shin atop Kuromaru.

"Likewise. I'm not actually a shinobi, though."

"Ah—my mistake." The merchant chuckled easily. After a round of pleasantries, the group moved to the gatehouse. Tsume handed over a mission form.

"Tsume-sama…" The gate guard—a shinobi in a bandanna—stared at the paper.

"You're running a C-rank?"

"Is that a problem?" One glance. One flat word.

"Not at all." The guard smiled, looked at Shin on Kuromaru's back, and handed the form back with both hands.

"You're cleared."

"Let's go," Tsume said. …… Shin looked up at the great gate of Konoha. A strange feeling settled over him. He'd lived here for eight years, and never once set foot beyond this gate. Hana fussed over him one last time: take care of yourself, make sure you eat, and for heaven's sake keep an eye on Mom—she can barely look after herself, let alone you.

"Move out!" The merchant raised his hand, and the caravan lurched into motion. Hana waved goodbye, her smile tight. Shin rode Kuromaru at Tsume's side, passing through the gate and onto the open road. The moment they cleared the archway, Tsume pulled a Konoha forehead protector from her belt and tied it across her brow. Beside them stretched the long column of wagons and travelers. Shin glanced over his shoulder. Hana was still standing at the gate, watching him. He let out a long breath.

The fatigue lifted, just a little. Above the treeline, the sun was climbing. The sky flushed pale red at the edges. Leaving the village... Eight years in one place, and I'm finally walking out. A reckless urge surged through him—the memory of galloping on horseback in another life, wind tearing at his clothes, the thunder of hooves on packed earth. Unfortunately, he was riding a dog. One with a foul temper, at that.

"Shin's absent?" Naoki Irie's voice carried across the classroom, and every head turned.

"Wait—Shin's out?"

"Is he sick again?"

"Poor Shin..."

"Shin-kun..." Whispers rippled through the room. Naruto was already pushing his way toward Kiba's desk. Sasuke stayed in his seat, but his gaze drifted sideways—thinking. It wasn't just Naruto. A cluster of girls crowded around Kiba's desk, all talking at once. Naruto elbowed through the group and leaned in.

"Kiba. What happened to Shin?" Kiba was slumped across his desk, chin on his arms, looking thoroughly miserable.

"That jerk went on a trip outside the village."

"Huh? Outside the village?"

"Oh, so he's fine! Thank goodness."

"I've never been outside the village. That sounds so fun..."

"Me neither..." The girls relaxed visibly, already chattering about travel.

"So when's he coming back?" Naruto pressed.

"Yeah, will it be a long time?"

"When's Shin coming back?" The chirping voices piled up. Kiba's eye twitched.

"How should I know when he's coming back?" he snapped, waving them off.

"But you're his best friend!"

"You definitely know."

"Come on, Kiba. Just tell us."

"..." From a few rows over, Shikamaru glanced at the commotion. The two seats beside Kiba—Shin's and Shino's—sat empty. Shino had left with his father some time ago. Now Shin, too. Shikamaru turned to Ino. She was sitting with her chin in one hand, staring at Shin's vacant desk.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" Ino shot him a look. Didn't answer.

"That's really not like you," Shikamaru said, lacing his hands behind his head.

"I figured you'd be the first one charging over there."

"You wouldn't understand." Ino scoffed, all dismissal.

"Shin doesn't like girls who throw themselves at boys in a pack."

"Is that so?" Shikamaru raised an eyebrow.

"Ino, you dropped your book." Choji bent down, picked something up off the floor, and held it out to her. Ino took one look at what was in his hand and went scarlet. She snatched it away, clutching it to her chest, fury and mortification battling across her face. Shikamaru caught a glimpse of the cover: How to Win Over Your Dream Guy: 99 Tips! He snorted. Ino's head turned slowly. The look in her eyes could have peeled paint.

"Shika. Maru. Do you want to die?"

"Hey, Choji's the one who picked it up. Why are you blaming me?"

"Munch munch..." Shin woke to the rocking of the wagon. He blinked at the canvas ceiling, disoriented, then remembered—the merchant, Tomotoshi Ueno, had seen his exhaustion and offered him a spot in the wagon to rest. He'd fallen asleep without meaning to. His pack sat beside him, and the black-scabbarded katana lay next to it. He pushed the front flap aside and found a young man in worn traveling clothes handling the reins. Ahead and behind, the caravan stretched along a wide road flanked by dense forest.

Tsume walked alongside one of the lead wagons, Kuromaru at her heels. Shin's wagon was somewhere in the middle.

"You're up, kid." The driver grinned at him. Shin nodded.

"Where are we?"

"Long way to go still. We're in the Land of Fire."

"How much longer?"

"At our pace? Tonight." The Land of Rivers sat just west of the Land of Fire, wedged between it and the Land of Wind. A short journey, all things considered. Shin judged from the sun that he'd slept about two hours. He settled in the wagon's doorway, legs dangling, watching the forest roll past.

"Hey—do shinobi use katana too?" the driver asked suddenly. Shin looked at him.

"Right, I should introduce myself. Norikata Gotō." The young man smiled.

"Shin Takami."

"I noticed you've got a katana in there. Got curious." Gotō's tone was friendly, easy.

"I always figured shinobi only used kodachi." That was fair. Kodachi were more practical for shinobi—shorter, lighter, compatible with most jutsu. ANBU carried standard-issue tantō for a reason. Only specialists—those with advanced swordsmanship or sword-specific techniques—bothered with full-length blades. Shin studied the young man more carefully and noticed a cloth-wrapped bundle propped beside his seat. The shape was unmistakable—another katana.

"You're a samurai?"

"Me?" Gotō blinked, then laughed.

"Hardly. I'm just a guy who knows how to swing a sword." He jerked his chin toward the front of the caravan.

"The one up there— he's the real thing." Shin followed his gaze. A figure in dark clothing walked alongside the lead wagon, a black headband binding his hair, a katana at his hip.

"Risuke Nogawa. From the Land of Iron. The boss's friend." Gotō made a face.

"Walks around like he's better than everyone."

"You still haven't answered me, though. Shinobi use katana?"

"I'm not a shinobi yet. Still in school." Shin shook his head. He reached back into the wagon and lifted the black-scabbarded katana onto his lap.

"But yes, some shinobi do use them." In his mind he saw Yugao Uzuki—the purple-haired kunoichi—and the young man who'd always been at her side. Both carried katana. Shisui and Itachi, by contrast, had preferred kodachi.

"That's a nice blade you've got." Gotō leaned over for a better look.

"Real nice." The scabbard was solid black—lacquered, seamless. Where the guard should have sat, there was none; instead, fine, intricate patterns were carved into the junction of hilt and scabbard, so precise the two pieces looked like one.

"That's master-crafted, isn't it? Nothing like what I carry." There was genuine envy in Gotō's voice. He'd used plenty of swords—cheap ones from weapon shops, functional ones from no-name blacksmiths. Nothing like this. A katana without a guard was unusual. In combat, the absence created problems—parries, binds, every exchange of steel suffered for it. Guardless blades were typically for display. For ordinary swordsmen, anyway. A true expert didn't need a guard. But to Gotō's eyes, the boy was just that—a boy.

The katana was nearly as tall as he was. Obviously a family heirloom, a gift from some elder to start him on the path. Shin knew what the blade was worth. He knew exactly how precious the gift Zeri Kano had given to Hana truly was.

"So how do shinobi fight with swords? Do they combine them with those crazy jutsu? Or is it pure cutting, like us?" I keep telling you, I'm not a shinobi. How would I know? Shin suppressed a sigh. Gotō was relentlessly chatty—an endless stream of questions about shinobi, swords, techniques. Shin, already running on fumes, felt a headache building behind his eyes.

"Shin!" Tsume's voice cut through the noise. She stood up ahead, beckoning.

"I need to go," he told Gotō. He slung his pack on, grabbed the katana, and hopped down from the wagon, jogging toward Tsume. She wanted him walking. Endurance training, she said. He didn't argue. He laid the katana across the top of his pack and fell into step beside her.

"So, has our genius shinobi made up his mind yet?" Deep in the forests beyond Konoha, Itachi stood in his ANBU uniform—no mask, the short sword on his back catching stray light through the canopy.

"We've been waiting very patiently, you know." The figure facing him wore a black cloak patterned with red clouds. Its body was split cleanly down the middle—one half white, one half black. An impossible creature, grinning with half a face. Behind it stood another figure in the same cloak—taller, silent, a spiral-patterned mask hiding everything. It was the white half that spoke.

"Heh heh. Your dear Hokage must be getting impatient too, right?"

"Hurry up and decide! Come on, come on!" The white half's mouth wouldn't stop moving.

"Shut up," the black half growled.

"Ah—!"

"Don't be like that. I'm just saying, Itachi-san's been going back and forth for so long..."

"..."