Chương 62: The Curse

The next day, Sasuke was back at school. He sat alone in his seat, exactly where he always had. But the air around him was different now. Before, Sasuke had simply been aloof, hard to approach. Now there was something colder. A wall built not from arrogance but from something far worse. A few girls wandered over to talk to him. He didn't acknowledge them. Didn't even look up. Word had already spread through the village: the Uchiha clan, wiped out overnight.

And the one responsible: Itachi Uchiha, S-Rank Missing-Nin. Most of the class had heard. Some whispered behind cupped hands, sneaking glances at the boy by the window. Others simply stared. After hearing about everything Sasuke had been through, Kiba never brought up getting revenge for Shin again. …… At lunch, Shin's usual group ate together as always, but Sasuke's seat was empty. Before, Sasuke had always eaten alone in the classroom. Now he'd vanished entirely.

Shin thought for a moment, then stood without answering Kiba's "Where are you going?" and slipped out of the classroom with his bento. He searched the campus for a few minutes before finding Sasuke in a quiet spot on the far side of the grounds, sitting alone beneath a tree. Shin walked over, bento in hand. As he got closer, he noticed two crumpled rice-ball wrappers on the ground in front of Sasuke. Already eaten, then. Sasuke glanced up. When he saw who it was, he turned his head away without a word.

Shin sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and leaned back against the trunk. He set the bento box on the ground between them and popped it open.

"Want some?" Sasuke lowered his gaze. No answer.

"Hana-nee made it. You've had her cooking before." Shin smiled and held out the chopsticks. Sasuke didn't take them. He looked away.

"I already ate."

"Fair enough." Shin sighed theatrically, pulled the chopsticks back, and started eating. When the bento was empty, he set the box aside, laced his fingers behind his head, and leaned fully against the tree. The sky above was absurdly blue—a sheet of bright, unbroken color, with a few wisps of cloud drifting across it like they'd been melted by the sun. From this angle, he could see the sharp line of Sasuke's profile. He exhaled. Then, for no particular reason, he smiled and tipped his head back toward the sky.

A breeze stirred the branches overhead. The dappled shadows swayed across the ground. A few pale-green leaves drifted down and landed on his chest. Shin half-closed his eyes, letting the warmth and the silence settle over him.

"It's better not to be alone," he said.

"Don't you think?" After school, Sasuke left on his own. Shin didn't follow. He walked home with Kiba and the others, and at the fork in the road, Kiba told him Hana would come by later to call him for dinner. Shin headed back to his house. But the person who showed up wasn't Hana. It was the old man from two days ago—the one who'd called himself Shin's "grand-master."

"Good evening." Shin kept whatever he was feeling off his face and let Danzō in. The old man made his way inside without waiting to be invited further, planted his cane, and settled onto the couch in the living room with the ease of someone who owned the place. His one visible eye swept the room in a casual, unhurried arc—and paused on the black-scabbarded katana mounted on the far wall.

"You like blades?" Danzō asked. Shin considered the question for a beat longer than was natural.

"Just something I practice for fun."

"There are quite a few accomplished swordsmen in the village. I could introduce you, if you're interested."

"That's not necessary." Shin shook his head. Mikoto had made the same offer once. He'd turned her down too. The same logic applied to Danzō. Bringing in a kenjutsu master to teach him... who exactly would be the master in that scenario? Danzō seemed faintly surprised. He'd expected a different answer. Forget a child—most adults would've jumped at an offer like that.

After a moment's thought, Danzō produced a scroll from inside his robe with a practiced flip of the wrist and set it on the table, sliding it toward Shin.

"This scroll contains a number of sword techniques and blade-related ninjutsu," Danzō said.

"It's yours." So he'd noticed the katana last time.

"I appreciate the thought, but you really don't need to." Shin shook his head again.

"I don't need anything like that." Danzō studied him. The boy was far more composed than any child his age had a right to be.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"There are things I want," Shin said with a faint, dry smile.

"But that doesn't mean I should accept gifts from someone I barely know." Danzō's mouth twitched—the barest hint of amusement.

"That's an impressive way of thinking for someone your age," he said.

"Your father would be proud. You'll go just as far as Tsukasa Takami someday." Then his tone shifted.

"But what I'm offering isn't a gift. Many of the techniques in this scroll were ones Shisui used in his lifetime. You're his disciple. This scroll isn't charity. It's Shisui's legacy, passed down to you." Shisui... Something flickered in Shin's eyes. He steadied it. The room went quiet. He still didn't reach for the scroll.

"Caution around strangers is wise. Self-control in the face of temptation is rarer still." Danzō's expression was almost warm.

"But tell me: if I meant you harm, what do you have that's worth scheming over?" Stolen novel; please report. Shin frowned inwardly but said nothing. It was a fair point. If Danzō had an ulterior motive, what was there to gain? Sword techniques and rare ninjutsu weren't the kind of bait you wasted on a target with nothing to take. And Shin didn't have much. A worn-down little house. No clan backing. By all appearances, a boy living alone with nothing to his name.

If there was anything special about him, it was his identity: Tsukasa Takami's son. Tsume Inuzuka's ward. Could that be it? Something to do with the Inuzuka? Or, the Uchiha. Tsume had forbidden him from getting close to them. And after the massacre, her reaction had been extreme, keeping him out of school, away from home, as if she were guarding against something. Could the Uchiha affair really be connected to him somehow? He wanted to think through every possibility before deciding.

Maybe he shouldn't hide Danzō's visits from Tsume. His mind raced behind a calm face.

"I have only one reason for looking after you," Danzō said, breaking the silence.

"You were Shisui's disciple. Think of everything I've offered as things Shisui left behind for you." He let that sit, then added: "You've already hit the ceiling at the Academy, haven't you? These techniques could help you take a real step forward." That landed. Shin thought of early graduation—the idea he'd floated past Kakashi and gotten nowhere.

"Can I ask you something?" Shin hesitated, then said, "Is there any way to graduate early?"

"Oh?" Danzō's smile widened a fraction.

"You want to graduate early?" Shin nodded.

"Under current regulations, early graduation isn't permitted." Shin nodded again. He'd expected that.

"But I could make it happen." Shin blinked and looked up. The old man watched him with that half-lidded eye, the X-shaped scar beneath his lip curving slightly with his smile. There was an unmistakable weight to his presence.

"Not right now, though. This isn't wartime. Even Kakashi and that Uchiha traitor had to complete the full Academy curriculum in this era." Danzō rose to his feet, cane tapping against the floor, and started toward the door. Shin stood to see him out.

"One year. I can get you out one year early." The door closed behind him. On the table, the tea still steamed. Beside it sat a small scroll. That night.

"Yugao Uzuki." Yugao had just finished processing her transfer paperwork when a black-clad ROOT operative materialized in her path. She and Hayate and Anko had all been reassigned back to ANBU following the restructuring. Anko had mentioned she was sick of the ANBU lifestyle—said she wanted to leave, the way Yugao and Hayate were planning to.

"What is it?" Yugao's brow creased. She recognized the operative immediately. She'd formally left ROOT. All the paperwork was done. There shouldn't be any reason for them to contact her.

"Lord Danzō wishes to see you." The operative vanished. Yugao's stomach dropped. She didn't know what Danzō could want, but this wasn't something she could refuse. A bad feeling... She set off toward ROOT headquarters, pace quickening despite herself. There was no time to tell Hayate. She could feel the operative's presence trailing her from the shadows. The route was familiar. The twin rows of bronze pillars lined the underground corridor, their mounted flames throwing long, unsteady light across the flagstones.

At the far end stood the great hall, its entrance flanked by two bronze lion-dogs—snarling, twisted faces like guardians of the underworld. Yugao had long since stopped finding the atmosphere eerie. But it still made her skin crawl every time she passed through. She pushed open the heavy doors. They groaned. Inside, the light was dim and cold. Two figures stood at the center of the hall. One was Danzō. The other was Sai—her former squadmate from her ROOT days.

He wore a mask, a short blade strapped to his back, and stood perfectly still.

"Lord Danzō." Yugao dropped to one knee.

"Yugao." Danzō looked down at her. His voice was flat, conversational. It made her chest tighten.

"Yes."

"How old are you now?"

"Almost nineteen." Danzō already knew. He had her complete file—every detail of her life, down to things she probably didn't know herself.

"I hear you want to leave ANBU?"

"Yes." She hadn't exactly broadcast it, but she'd discussed it with Hayate and Anko while still inside ROOT. She hadn't been especially discreet. And Danzō's information network missed nothing inside these walls—or anywhere else in the Leaf, for that matter.

"After leaving ANBU, you'll remain an active-duty Special Jonin with a kenjutsu specialization. Correct?" Yugao paused. She didn't answer immediately.

"Young, but your experience is more than sufficient. You've been through wartime." Danzō continued without waiting.

"The credentials are there." She was beginning to understand where this was going.

"How would you like to be promoted to full jonin?" The words didn't bring a flicker of pleasure to Yugao's face. She sensed what lay behind them. Something vast and hungry, baring its teeth at her from just over Danzō's shoulder.

"Lord Danzō." Her voice was level, carefully controlled.

"I appreciate the thought, but I know my own limits. I haven't met the comprehensive standards for jonin rank."

"How would you know that?" He seemed amused. That made it worse.

"The jonin assessment... it's too soon for me." A pause.

"And I'm not particularly eager for the promotion."

"No." Danzō's thin smile didn't waver.

"You will be promoted to jonin." He said it the way someone might state a weather forecast.

"Within the next few days, submit your application for the jonin assessment, then take the exam."

"Lord Danzō." She couldn't hold back any longer. She raised her head and looked up at him.

"Why are you doing this for me?" Danzō didn't answer. Instead, it was Sai who moved—silently, mechanically. He held a palm-sized scroll and walked toward her with measured steps. Standing, his height was level with hers where she knelt. Through the slits of his mask, Yugao caught sight of his eyes. Dead. Empty. Not a trace of emotion. Like a machine. Sai unrolled the scroll in front of her face. There was no text.

Only a massive design—an intricate web of arcane symbols layered upon one another, spiraling inward, converging on a single character at the center: Curse. Every nerve in Yugao's body went taut. The color drained from her face.

"No!" She shot to her feet and stumbled backward, recoiling from the scroll as if it were a live explosive. The boy stood motionless, scroll outstretched. Yugao jerked her gaze up to Danzō.

"Lord Danzō, please—don't do this! I've already left ROOT." Her voice shook. Fear bled through the cracks in her composure.

"Yugao." Danzō's gaze was placid.

"Don't be afraid. You'll get what you want."

"No!" She staggered back another two steps, shaking her head hard.

"I don't want anything!"

"Heh." A soft, dry laugh. Behind her, two ROOT operatives materialized in the doorway, their eyes locked on her. The exit sealed. Yugao saw them. The last thread of hope in her expression snapped.

"We've been researching a new cell revitalization technique here in ROOT," Danzō said, abruptly changing the subject. This was the kind of information Yugao had never been remotely close to during her time in ROOT.

"Hayate Gekkō's condition is getting worse, isn't it?" Yugao froze. Her eyes went wide.

"Perhaps... you'll need this technique someday." The corner of Danzō's mouth curled upward. His left eye—half-lidded, knowing—watched her from across the hall with quiet, absolute confidence. And beneath it, a thread of mockery. Every gaze in the chamber was fixed on her. Behind Danzō, the colossal stone statues of Indra and Ashura loomed from the shadows, their carved eyes seeming to pass judgment of their own.

Firelight from the corridor seeped through the open doors, stretching Yugao's shadow long and thin across the stone floor. She stood frozen. Her eyes stared at the scroll in the boy's hands. The character at its center— Curse —seemed to deepen, to widen, to become a bottomless void pulling her toward it. And if she fell in, she would never climb out. Hayate... what should I do... That evening, Hana called Shin over for dinner at the Inuzuka house. Kiba and Tsume were both there.

The meal started the way it always did—small talk, everyday things. Akamaru ate on the table with them. Kuromaru and the Haimaru Brothers were too large for that and ate on the floor nearby.

"Akamaru's old enough now, isn't he?" Tsume said suddenly. Everyone stopped eating.

"He is. I've already started adjusting his diet, and the medicine is ready." Hana nodded. Shin understood immediately. He'd grown up inside the Inuzuka clan. He knew what this meant: it was time for Kiba and Akamaru to begin their secret technique training. Kiba looked unfazed. Akamaru kept his head down, eating quietly.

"Me and Akamaru have been ready forever." Kiba thumped his chest. Smack. Tsume cuffed him hard on the back of the head, and he deflated instantly.

"Learn it first, then you can run your mouth."

"But Shino already learned his," Kiba muttered, rubbing his head.

"I can do it too."

"You think you know how the Aburame train their secret techniques?" Tsume's smile turned cold. Shin looked over, suddenly attentive.

"How?" Kiba asked.

"First they feed you a drug. Then they strip you naked and throw you into the insect pit. You lie there in a sea of bugs—thousands of them—and every single one crawls inside your body." Kiba's eyes went wide. He shuddered. Shin felt a chill run through him. He thought of the day he'd seen Shino recently—something had been different about the boy, subtly changed. He hadn't realized what Shino had been through. He's so young... Remembering Shino's calm, steady expression, Shin felt a quiet ache in his chest.

Kiba was noticeably subdued after that. He sat in silence, feeding Akamaru pieces of his dinner. After the meal, they talked for a while longer before Kiba and Akamaru headed off to bed. Shin didn't leave. Instead, he followed Tsume into her bedroom. She looked surprised.

"Something on your mind?" He sat across from her on the tatami and was quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"You told me the other day... if any strangers came looking for me, I should tell you." Tsume's expression changed immediately. It went hard—dangerous. Beside her, Kuromaru raised his head, and something feral gleamed in the old dog's eyes.