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Hidden Leaf, Hidden Talents 60
🕑 Added 2025-10-06 05:05:18 +0000 UTCDown here, darkness wasn't empty space. It was something solid, something that touched skin and stayed there, damp and clingy. Madara had lived in it so long he'd stopped remembering what the sun looked like. Decades did that. Turned memories into blank spaces. Sunlight was just one of many things that had gone missing from his head.
The chamber smelled like stone and old blood and rot. Behind Madara, the tree grew from the floor, pale bark twisted into something that almost looked like a body if you squinted and had a really messed up imagination. Hashirama's cells, turned into life support. Tubes ran from the trunk into Madara's back, pumping chakra through his failing system, keeping his heart moving when it should've quit years ago.
He was a corpse plugged into a tree. Just one that hadn't figured out how to stop breathing yet.
His lungs pulled air. In, out. The sound was wet, like something breaking underwater. Every breath felt like lifting a stone with his chest. Every heartbeat felt close to being the final one.
He sat there, this thing that used to be Madara Uchiha, propped up by chakra and spite and a tree that looked like it had been carved by someone who hated the concept of beauty. His skin hung loose on his bones. His hair had gone white decades ago, thin and brittle as spiderweb.
White Zetsu materialized from the floor. Literally. One second there was stone, the next second there was this pale thing shaped vaguely like a person, pulling itself up through solid rock like it was water.
"You're back," Madara said. His voice sounded like gravel being dragged across more gravel.
"Yep!" Zetsu's tone was cheerful in that grating way that made anyone want to smack him across the face. "Got an update on the boy."
The boy. Nagato. The Uzumaki brat with Madara's eyes sitting in his skull, the Rinnegan that Madara had transplanted years ago when the kid was too young to remember. The plan hinged on that boy. Everything hinged on that boy.
"Talk," Madara said.
"So there was this flood—"
"What flood."
Zetsu tilted his head, that weird bob that made him look like a curious plant. "Big one. Reservoir broke somewhere upstream, water came down hard. Real nasty situation, lots of people drowned, the whole village got hit pretty bad—"
Madara's hand twitched. Or tried to. The movement was more of a spasm, fingers curling then uncurling against the stone. "The boy."
"Oh, he's fine! Well, mostly fine. I got there just in time, he was outside playing when the water hit. Pulled him out before he got swept away. Close call though! Like, really close. Another minute and he would've been gone with everyone else."
"How did this happen," Madara said slowly.
"Hm?" Zetsu's face did that thing where it tried to look innocent and just ended up looking more punchable. "How did what happen?"
"The flood." Each word took effort. Talking was exhausting. Existing was exhausting. "Reservoirs don't break on their own. Too convenient. Someone might know about the boy. About the plan."
"Oh! Right, yeah, so I did some digging yesterday, well, not literal digging, though I could've if I wanted to, and turns out it was just bad luck. There was this whole thing between River Country and Konoha, shinobi fighting near a dam, jutsu got thrown around, things exploded, and the wall just... gave up. You know how it is."
Madara went quiet, turning the information over in his head. Zetsu had no reason to lie. If he said it was a coincidence, then it probably was. But probably wasn't the same as certainly, and Madara had lived too long to stop being paranoid now.
"River and Konoha," he repeated.
"Yep! Total coincidence. Nobody knows about the boy, nobody knows about the plan, nobody was targeting him specifically. Just wrong place, wrong time. War things." Zetsu waved one pale hand like he was brushing away a fly. "But hey, all's well that ends well, right? Kid's alive, eyes are intact, we're still on track."
The paranoia didn't leave. It never left these days. Madara had lived too long, seen too much, trusted too many people who'd proven that trust was just another word for stupidity. Someone could have found out. Someone could be moving against him. The timing was suspicious. Everything was suspicious when the entire plan hinged on pieces he couldn't control.
But Zetsu's explanation made sense. War was chaos. Chaos created collateral damage. Two villages clashing, jutsu flying, infrastructure failing, it was a pattern Madara had seen play out countless times before. Nothing unusual about it.
Still.
"Keep watching him," Madara said. "Closer than before."
"You got it, boss!" Zetsu saluted. At least, that's probably what he was doing. With Zetsu it was impossible to tell if he was being sincere or making fun of you. Usually both.
The cave went quiet except for Madara's labored breathing and the tree's chakra hum. He should send Zetsu away. Except there was another question.
"Have you found one yet."
Zetsu knew what he meant. Madara could tell by the way the pale face shifted, enthusiasm draining out like water through a cracked cup.
"Ah. That." A pause. "Not yet."
"Not yet," Madara echoed. "How long has it been."
"A while," Zetsu admitted. "I've been looking, I really have! Checked every Uchiha I could get eyes on, but none of them fit what you need. You know how it is."
"…Keep looking."
"Sure thing! I'll find you the perfect candidate, just give me a little more time. These things can't be rushed, you know? Gotta make sure we pick the right one, can't just grab any random Uchiha off the street—"
"Enough." Madara cut him off. "Go."
Zetsu stopped mid-excuse, then sank into the floor like the stone was drinking him. Three seconds and he was gone.
Madara closed his eye. Breathed. In, out. Wet sounds. Breaking sounds. His body was a prison and the sentence was life without the possibility of parole, except the life part was negotiable and getting more negotiable every day.
The plan would work. It had to work. He'd spent too long, sacrificed too much, killed too many for it not to work. Nagato would grow strong. Would master the Rinnegan. Would collect the Tailed Beasts. Would resurrect Madara using Rinne Tensei. Then Madara would finish what he started. Cast the Infinite Tsukuyomi. Reshape the world.
Death was just a temporary inconvenience. An intermission. He'd come back. The Rinnegan guaranteed that.
All he needed was a successor. One Uchiha. One suitable puppet to ensure Nagato followed through, to pull the strings and make sure the resurrection actually happened.
……
Kawazumi Outpost
I woke up to the sound of hammering.
Again.
The morning light filtered through the gaps in the wooden planks, the construction crew hadn't gotten around to properly sealing the barracks yet. Probably because they were too busy working on the actual important stuff, like the walls and watchtowers.
I sat up, rubbed my face and looked at the gaps in the wooden planks. Late. Later than I’d planned, anyway. The barracks were quieter now, which meant most people had already started their day.
My futon was still warm. I could probably lie back down for another ten minutes and no one would notice.
Except I had work to do. Chunin work. Patrol duty at fourteen hundred hours, then training if I had energy left over. Which I probably would, because patrol at an outpost meant walking the perimeter and pretending bandits were a serious threat. They weren't. Not here. Not with this many shinobi around.
Well. Unless you counted the shinobi pretending to be bandits. That was always fun. Nothing like getting ambushed by enemy nin wearing cheap masks and acting like they were just random thugs. Kumo was particularly fond of that trick.
Still. Orders were orders.
I got dressed and stepped outside. The outpost was already buzzing with activity, shinobi moving between buildings, civilians hauling materials, the usual morning chaos. The air smelled like sawdust and cooking fires. Somewhere in the distance, someone was yelling about measurements being off by three inches.
"Morning, Shinji!"
I turned. Three civilian laborers were passing by, carrying what looked like wooden beams for one of the new buildings. The one who'd called out to me was a middle-aged guy with sideburns. I'd helped him and his crew reinforce a foundation yesterday when they'd run into issues with the ground being too soft.
"Morning," I said, raising a hand. "Try not to drop those on your feet."
"We'll do our best," one of the other workers, younger maybe mid-twenties, replied with a grin. "You coming by later? We could use your eyes on the eastern fence line."
"Maybe. Got something to do first."
They nodded and kept moving. I watched them go for a moment, then continued my own walk through the outpost.
The mission board was near the command post, a wooden structure cobbled together from rough planks that hadn’t been treated for weather, already starting to warp at the edges. A handful of shinobi were already gathered around it, checking their assignments for the day. I squeezed past a couple of genin and scanned the board until I found my name.
Patrol duty. Fourteen hundred hours. Eastern perimeter.
Two other chunin I didn't recognize by name. And one jonin.
Shinku Yuhi.
I'd heard about him. Everyone at the outpost had. He'd been making waves lately, contributions during the engagements with Suna, some impressive work over in River Country. People talked. Not Tsunade-level talk, obviously. Not even Orochimaru-level. But enough that chunin at the mess hall would mention his name when discussing who to avoid pissing off during joint operations.
I memorized the time and location, then stepped away from the board. The crowd shifted to fill the space I'd left. Nobody paid attention to me. Just another chunin checking another assignment.
Business as usual.
I kept walking, past the main square, if you could call it that. More like a wide-open space where people congregated because someone had decided it was the square and everyone just went along with it. A few vendors had set up stalls. Nothing fancy. Basic supplies, mostly food, tools, a couple of weapons dealers.
And one flower shop.
I stopped in front of it. The shop was small, just a wooden cart with a canvas covering stretched overhead to keep the sun off the merchandise. Buckets of flowers lined the front, nothing exotic just what could grow in the area or what the owner had managed to bring in from nearby towns. Daisies, chrysanthemums, a few roses that had seen better days.
And tulips.
The shop owner was an older woman, probably in her late forties, with gray hair tied back in a simple bun. She looked up when I approached and smiled. "Shinji-kun. What brings you by?"
"I need flowers," I said.
"I can see that." She gestured at her inventory. "What's the occasion?"
"Hospital visit."
Her expression softened. "Ah. Someone close to you?"
"Teammate."
She nodded slowly, like she understood more than I'd said. Maybe she did. "Tulips," she said after a moment. "They're simple. Elegant. Uplifting without being too much."
I looked at the bucket of tulips. They were yellow, bright but not obnoxiously so. "Yeah. Those work."
"How many?"
"Enough for a bouquet."
She selected a dozen stems, wrapping them carefully in brown paper. "This teammate of yours," she said as she worked. "They going to be okay?"
"Depends on your definition of okay."
She glanced at me, then went back to arranging the flowers. "That bad?"
"Could be worse."
"Could always be worse," she agreed. She tied the bouquet with twine and handed it over. "On the house."
I blinked. "What?"
"On the house," she repeated. "You've helped enough people around here. Consider it a thank-you."
I stared at her for a second, then took the flowers. "Appreciate it."
"Just take care of yourself, Shinji-kun. We don't need you ending up in the hospital too."
I gave her a small smile and left.
The hospital wasn't far, nothing at the outpost was far from anything else, but I took my time getting there. Passed a few medical tents on the way. Those were for minor injuries, quick treatments, the stuff that didn't require a full hospital stay. The actual hospital building stood out because it was one of the few structures that looked properly finished.
Konoha didn't mess around when it came to medical facilities.
Even at an outpost like this, the hospital was solid. Two stories, reinforced wooden walls, actual windows with glass instead of just shutters. The inside was clean, well-lit, and organized. Sterile, almost, except for the fact that everything was made of wood and you could still smell the forest outside.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor. The hallway was quiet. Most of the patients were probably either asleep or too injured to make noise. I turned a corner and counted doors until I reached the third one.
Knocked twice.
"Come in."
I pushed the door open.
Aya was sitting up in bed, propped against a couple of pillows. She looked tired. Her left arm, or what remained of it was wrapped in bandages, the stump ending just below where her elbow used to be. Her face was pale, but she managed a smile when she saw me.
"Shinji," she said. "Didn't expect you to visit again."
"Yeah, well." I held up the tulips. "Thought you could use some color in here."
She laughed softly. "Tulips. That's sweet of you."
"Just thought they'd suit the occasion."
I walked over to the small table by her bed. There was a vase there, glass, probably repurposed from somewhere else with flowers in it. Wilted flowers. The water was murky, and the petals were brown around the edges. Leftovers from a previous patient, maybe. Or someone had brought them days ago and nobody had bothered to change them out.
"These are dead," I said, nodding at the vase.
"Yeah, the last patient left them behind." She looked at the brown petals. "Felt wrong to throw them out. Someone cared enough to bring them once."
Right. So what she was really saying or maybe what she wasn't saying, was that nobody had brought her any. That she was keeping dead flowers from a stranger because at least they proved someone, somewhere, had been worth visiting.
Well. Not anymore.
I picked up the vase and dumped the old flowers into a nearby wastebasket. The water smelled stale. I rinsed the vase in a small basin near the window, then refilled it with fresh water from a pitcher on the table. Aya watched me the whole time, not saying anything.
"So," I said as I started trimming the tulip stems with a small knife. "How's the recovery going?"
"Slow. Painful. The usual."
She shifted slightly, her right hand ghosting over the bandaged stump before she caught herself. “Sometimes it feels like my fingers are still there. Like they’re cramping or burning. The medics call it phantom pain.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded.
“They gave me suppressants,” she added, “but it doesn’t always help.”
“Sounds about right.”
I’d studied medical ninjutsu long enough to know this wasn’t something I could just fix by flooding the area with chakra. Phantom pain lived in the nervous system, in the way the brain refused to update its map of the body. You couldn’t heal that with a glowing hand and good intentions. Sealing the wound? Easy. Regrowing the limb? Theoretically possible, if I had the right materials. But convincing her brain to stop “feeling” something that wasn’t there? That was way beyond me.
"The medics say I'll be cleared to leave in another week or so." She paused. "Once the wound heals enough."
"And then?"
She sighed. "Then I go back to work."
I glanced at her. "Work?"
"I'm a sensor, Shinji. I can still do that without an arm." Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. Not anger, exactly. More like resignation. "They'll probably keep me here at the outpost. Or send me somewhere else that's relatively safe. Desk work, essentially. Monitoring chakra signatures, relaying information."
"You don't sound thrilled about it."
"I'm not." She looked down at her bandaged stump. "But it's not like I have much of a choice. Retiring is an option, technically. But my family..." She paused, then shook her head slightly. "They have expectations. And I'm a sensor, so. There's always somewhere they can use me. Safe positions. Outposts like this one. Monitoring duty." Her voice stayed calm. Too calm, maybe. Like she'd said these exact words before. Probably to herself. Probably more than once. "It's fine. Really. I can still be useful."
I finished trimming the tulips and arranged them in the vase. The yellow petals caught the light from the window, brightening up the otherwise drab room. "You'll get by," I said.
"I know. I just—" She stopped, then shook her head. "Sorry. I shouldn't be dumping this on you."
"It's fine."
She smiled again. "Thanks, Shinji. For the flowers. For visiting.”
I set the vase back on the table, positioning it where she could see it easily. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm training under Konoha's best Iryonin. Give me a few years and I'll surpass her. When that happens, restoring an arm will be easy. Grafted replacements, advanced tissue work. It's all possible."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You really think you can do that?"
"I don't think. I know."
Her expression changed. Softened. Her eyes got a little shiny. "That's... Shinji, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time. Even if you're just being kind."
"Just being honest."
"Still." She smiled. "Thank you."
I nodded and turned to leave. "Take it easy. I'll check in again soon."
"Shinji, wait."
I looked back. She was holding out her hand.
I walked over and took it, thinking she wanted to say something else. Instead, she pulled me down gently and kissed me.
It was soft at first. Her lips were warm and she smelled faintly of jasmine, probably from some soap or lotion they'd given her. I froze for a second, caught off guard, then leaned into it. My hand came up to cup her cheek as I kissed her back.
The angle was different from how I usually saw her, tilted up slightly, eyes closed, my thumb resting along her cheekbone. From this position, the resemblance hit me. The bridge of her nose. The shape of her closed eyes. The contour of her face under my palm. Kurenai. She reminded me of Kurenai. I'd never noticed before because I'd never been this close, never touched her face like this. Strange that I'd never picked up on it before.
That was weird, but she was probably just a distant cousin or something.
I stopped thinking about it and kissed her.
She tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss. Her mouth opened and I followed her lead, my tongue sliding against hers. Slow at first, then more insistent. Her lips were wet and soft, and when she sucked gently on my lower lip I felt it all the way down my spine.
Her hand tightened around mine and she made a small sound in the back of her throat, halfway between a sigh and a moan. I could taste the herbal tea she'd been drinking, mixed with something sweeter. Her tongue moved against mine, slick and warm, and I tilted my head to get a better angle.
My fingers slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, threading through her hair. She pulled me closer with her hand, her breathing quickening. I could feel her pulse racing under my palm where my thumb rested against her throat.
The kiss got messier. Wetter. Her tongue traced my upper lip before diving back into my mouth, and I returned the gesture, feeling the heat building between us. A thin strand of saliva connected our lips when we broke apart for air, only for her to pull me back in immediately.
When she finally pulled away for real, both of us were breathing hard. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips swollen and glistening. Her eyes were bright and slightly unfocused.
She bit her lower lip, then smiled. A little embarrassed, maybe?
"Sorry," She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I shouldn't have—"
"Stop apologizing."
"But I just—"
"Aya. It's okay." I squeezed her hand. "Really."
She laughed, embarrassed but happy. "Okay. Okay." She let go of my hand slowly. "Thank you. For the flowers. For the promise. For... everything."
"Don't mention it."
"I mean it."
"I know."
I spent another minute or two making small talk about the hospital food, apparently they'd served her something gray and unidentifiable for breakfast that she'd been too polite to refuse. I told her politeness was overrated when it came to mystery food.
I left the room with her smiling after me. The door clicked shut softly behind me.
The hallway was quiet again. Peaceful. I started walking back toward the stairs.
Well. That happened.
I made it maybe five steps before I saw someone round the corner ahead.
A jonin. Stern-looking guy, maybe late twenties. Standard uniform, standard walk. Nothing remarkable except that I recognized him.
Shinku Yuhi.
The jonin I'd be patrolling with later today. And Kurenai's father, though Kurenai herself didn't exist yet. Wouldn't for a while, probably. I wondered when that would happen.
We passed each other in the hallway. He didn't acknowledge me. I didn't acknowledge him. Just two shinobi crossing paths in a hospital corridor. Nothing unusual about that. We'd see each other later for patrol anyway, so there was no point in striking up conversation now.
I kept walking.
Then I heard the door open behind me.
Aya's door.
I stopped.
Turned slightly.
Shinku Yuhi had entered her room.
Wait.
Why was he visiting Aya?
I stood there for a moment, confused. Then curious. Then both at the same time.
I walked back quietly and positioned myself near the wall, just out of sight from the doorway. Voices drifted through the gap.
"How are you feeling?" That was Shinku's voice, flat and empty of any warmth.
"Better, the medics say I'll be discharged soon." Aya's voice sounded different than it had a minute ago, quieter and more subdued.
"Good. I've already spoken with Commander Minoru about your reassignment."
A pause.
"Reassignment?" Was she angry?
"You'll be stationed here at the outpost as a permanent sensor. Full-time monitoring duty. It's a stable position."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"And you've already decided this?"
"It makes sense given your condition. You can still contribute without being in the field. The decision's already been made, but I wanted to inform you first." He paused. "What do you think?"
What do you think.
The question was polite. But the way he said it made it clear he wasn't actually asking. He was informing her and then checking if she'd accept it. Which she would. Because what else could she do?
"Do you have any objections?"
"No. That's... fine." Her voice sounded hollow. Like she was reading lines from a script again.
"Good. I'll handle the paperwork. As your husband, I need to ensure you can still contribute. The village needs sensors."
Husband.
Wait, what?
I pressed my back against the wall and processed what I was hearing.
Shinku Yuhi was her husband.
That explained—well, actually, it explained almost nothing.
If she was married, why didn't she use the Yuhi name? I was pretty sure when she'd introduced herself back during our first meeting, she'd used a different family name, not Yuhi. Was their relationship that strained that she didn't even use her husband's name?
And if she was married, why had she kissed me?
I mean, I could guess. The interaction I'd just overheard felt less like a married couple and more like coworkers discussing logistics. It was like listening to someone plan a funeral.
My gut feeling about Aya reminding me of Kurenai made sense now. Shinku Yuhi was Kurenai's father. Which meant Aya was her mother.
That's why she'd felt familiar. The hair. The face. The way her features looked when I'd cupped her cheek. It was Kurenai's face, just older. More tired.
I stood there in the hallway, staring at nothing.
My gut feeling had been right.
And now I had no idea what to do with that information.
I heard Shinku's voice again, still talking to her about duty schedules or medical checkups or something equally mundane. His tone hadn't changed at all.
Right.
Time to go.
I turned and walked away as quietly as I could. A jonin like Shinku would sense me if I lingered too long. The last thing I needed was to get caught eavesdropping on a superior's private conversation.
Especially since I'd just had my tongue down his wife's throat five minutes ago.
I made it to the stairwell and started descending. The voices from downstairs grew louder, medics going about their work, patients talking, the usual hospital background noise.
Outside, the hammering had started up again. The outpost never stopped moving.
I stepped out into the sunlight and took a breath.
"Shinji-san!"
I turned. Someone was waving at me from the road, an older man with gray hair and a permanent squint from years of close-up work. The tailor. I'd dropped off my jacket at his shop a week ago after the last mission with Tsunade and Aya had torn it up pretty badly. Scratches, loose seams, the usual damage that came from combat.
"Hey," I called back, walking over.
"There you are! I've been looking for you." He grinned, a bit out of breath. "The flower shop lady said you'd gone to the hospital, so I figured I'd wait around. Didn't want to miss you."
"What's up?"
"Your jacket's done. You can pick it up whenever you want. Turned out better than I expected, honestly. That tear on the sleeve was tricky."
"Appreciate it. I'll swing by later."
"Actually—" He scratched the back of his neck. "I wanted to ask you a favor."
I waited.
"Me and a few friends want to head out to the stream west of here. We're gathering bamboo and reeds for some projects. It's not far, but we could use a shinobi escort. Just in case of wild animals or, you know, worse."
I thought about it for half a second. I had patrol duty at fourteen hundred, but that was hours away. Plenty of time. "Sure. When?"
"Now, if you're free."
"Yeah, I can do that."
He grinned. "Perfect. Tell you what, the jacket's free. Consider us even."
"Works for me."
I wasn't going to argue with free.
He gathered his friends, three other civilians, all middle-aged or older, carrying woven baskets and cutting tools. We left through the west gate and followed a dirt path into the forest. The stream wasn't far, maybe twenty minutes on foot. The trees were thick here, blocking out most of the sunlight. The air smelled like damp earth and moss.
They got to work immediately, wading into the shallow water and cutting bamboo stalks while I kept watch. Nothing happened for the first hour. Just birds and insects and the sound of running water.
Then the sky opened up.
The rain started without warning, one second dry, the next second soaked. Heavy drops that turned the dirt path into a mud slick in what felt like seconds but was probably closer to a minute.
"Damn," one of them muttered, wiping water from his face. "Should we head back?"
"Let's finish what we started," another said. "We're already soaked."
They kept working. I kept watching. The rain made everything slippery, rocks, tree roots, the bamboo itself. One of them almost fell into the stream but caught himself at the last second.
Then I heard movement in the bushes.
Not small movement. Something big. Or maybe it just sounded big because everything sounds bigger when you can't see it. Schrodinger's threat. Both dangerous and harmless until observed. Though in this case, observation came pretty quickly.
I held up a hand. "Stop."
They froze.
The bushes rustled again. A boar crashed through, big one, tusks like curved knives, eyes that looked less "wild animal" and more "extremely inconvenienced by rain and now taking it out on the nearest targets." I understood the feeling. Rain was annoying. Though usually I didn't try to gore people about it.
It charged.
I moved. One blade to the throat.
The boar stumbled, fell, didn't get back up.
That was that.
The civilians stared at me, then at the boar, then back at me.
"Well," the tailor said after a moment. "That's breakfast sorted."
They hauled the boar back. Two hundred pounds of dead weight—literally—split between four civilians. Math said that was fifty pounds each, which seemed rough but they managed. I walked ahead, keeping watch. That was the deal. They carried things, I made sure nothing tried to kill them while they were carrying things. Division of labor.
The tailor offered his shop's backyard for cooking. Good space. Big enough for a fire pit and some seating.
They butchered the boar while I gathered firewood. Fair trade. They worked together, separating meat from bone, trimming fat, cutting portions. Knew their way around a knife, clearly.
I got the fire going while they finished prepping the meat. Took a bit, the wood was damp from the rain but eventually it caught and burned properly.
One of them had brought salt and pepper, and someone else had vegetables from the market.
"Hold on," I said, pulling out a small pouch from my glove. "You're not cooking boar with just salt and pepper."
They looked at me.
I opened the pouch. Inside were small containers—dried herbs, garlic powder, a bit of oil in a sealed vial. The basics.
"Is that..." The tailor squinted. "Seasoning?"
"Rosemary, thyme, garlic. And some oil to keep the meat from drying out." I sprinkled the herbs over the skewered pork, rubbed them in with my fingers, then drizzled a small amount of oil over each piece. "You want the fat to render properly. Salt and pepper alone won't cut it for wild boar, the meat's too lean and gamey."
They watched me work, fascinated. The tailor whistled.
I handed the pouches back and wiped my hands. "Now it'll actually taste good."
The smell that started rising from the fire after about ten minutes proved my point. Roasted pork with herbs and woodsmoke, the fat sizzling and dripping into the flames. We threw the vegetables on alongside the meat.
The skewers took maybe twenty minutes to cook through. We sat around the fire, turning them to keep the meat from burning. I looked at the pile of bamboo and reeds they'd stacked near the shop's back wall.
"So what are you actually using all that for?" I asked.
"Drying racks," the tailor said, rotating his skewer. "Bamboo frames with reed mesh. You can air-dry just about anything on them, medicinal herbs, smoked meat, fish if you catch any."
"The hospital's been asking for more herb storage," another one added. "Fresh stuff goes bad too fast, but if you dry it right, it lasts months."
"Same with meat," a third one said, nodding at the boar we were currently cooking. "If we'd had racks ready, we could preserve half of this for later instead of eating it all at once."
Preservation was half of survival. You could have all the food in the world, but if it rotted before you could eat it, you had nothing. Drying racks solved that problem in the simplest way possible, which was usually the best way.
"Actually," the one sitting across from me added, "I've had a few chunin stop by my stall asking if I sell jerky. They're sick of ration bars, apparently. Been thinking about making batches to sell once we get the racks built."
"Can't blame them," I said. "How long does it take to build one?"
"Couple hours if you know what you're doing. The frame's easy, just lash the bamboo together. The mesh takes longer. You have to weave the reeds tight enough that small stuff doesn't fall through, but loose enough that air can circulate."
Made sense. Too tight and nothing dried. Too loose and you lost half your product.
They kept talking about measurements and spacing while I turned my skewer and listened. Civilian ingenuity. Different from shinobi problem-solving, but no less useful.
I bit into the pork and thought about Aya's missing hand.
Couldn't help it. The taste was good, the company was fine, but my brain had latched onto the problem and wouldn't let go. Her arm. The stump.
Grafts. Hashirama-based prosthetics. That was the answer. Or an answer, at least. The First Hokage's cells had regenerative properties that went beyond normal medical ninjutsu. If I could get my hands on some, and experiment with them, figure out how to culture them properly, integrate them with existing tissue... Yeah. That could work.
And it wasn't just Aya either. Mikoto flashed through my mind. Her future. The Mangekyo Sharingan she'd probably awaken someday, trauma had a way of forcing that evolution in Uchiha. And after the Mangekyo came blindness. Slowly at first, then faster. Until she couldn't see at all.
The only cure was the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan. Which required transplanting eyes from a close blood relative. Sibling, ideally.
Mikoto didn't have siblings.
Could you use a parent's eyes instead? I didn't know. The canon never made it clear if that worked or if it had to be siblings specifically. And even if parents could work, that created another problem, the parent would need to have awakened their own Mangekyo first. Did Mikoto's parents have Mangekyo? No idea. Probably not. Most Uchiha never awakened it at all.
Too many uncertain variables. Too many things that could go wrong or simply not work.
Hashirama cells, though. Those could stabilize the Mangekyo. Prevent the blindness entirely. Or at least slow it down significantly. Obito had managed it in the original timeline. The cells provided regenerative properties that countered the Sharingan's deterioration.
One solution. Multiple problems solved.
Aya's arm. Mikoto's eyes. Probably dozens of other medical issues I hadn't even thought of yet.
All of it hinged on getting Hashirama cells though which wasn't exactly easy. The First had been dead for decades, and his cells weren't just lying around in storage somewhere. Well, they probably were, actually. Just not anywhere I could access without committing several crimes and possibly starting an incident with village leadership.
The potential applications were massive. Not just for Aya and Mikoto. For all of Konoha. Medical advancements, regeneration techniques, maybe even counters to certain poisons or injuries that normally would be permanent. The cells could revolutionize how we treated shinobi injuries.
So why wasn't anyone doing this already?
Wait.
Someone probably was.
Danzo.
The guy definitely had Hashirama cells. Had to. He was obsessed with the First Hokage's legacy, and he had the resources and lack of ethical constraints to experiment with things most people wouldn't touch. If anyone in the village had access to those cells and was using them for research, it was him.
But he didn't share. Didn't tell anyone he had them. Which made me wonder, was using Hashirama cells morally wrong?
That was the real question. Danzo did a lot of questionable things, but he wasn't stupid. If he was keeping the cells secret, hiding his research from the rest of the village, maybe there was a reason beyond just hoarding power. Maybe the act of using them was inherently wrong somehow.
Desecrating the dead? The First Hokage had been gone for decades, but his cells were still being used for experiments. Was that disrespectful? Unethical?
This exact problem had existed back on Earth. HeLa cells. Henrietta Lacks. 1951. Doctors took cancer cells from her cervix without consent, and those cells became the first immortal human cell line. Revolutionized medicine. Led to the polio vaccine, advanced cancer research, AIDS research, gene mapping. Used in over seventy-five thousand studies.
Massive benefits. Undeniable progress.
But they were taken without permission. Without consent. Her family didn't even know about it for decades.
So was it worth it? The medical advancement versus the violation? I remembered the debates back on Earth. Some people said yes, the good outweighed the bad. Others said no, the ends didn't justify the means. Both sides had valid points.
Hashirama cells were the same problem. Just shinobi-flavored instead of medical-flavored. The First Hokage was dead, his cells were being used without his consent, assuming he hadn't given it before dying, which I didn't know, and the potential benefits were enormous.
But was it right?
I chewed slowly and tried to think it through.
If using the cells was wrong, then my plan to help Aya and Mikoto was wrong. And all the potential medical applications were wrong. That seemed bad. People could be helped.
Or maybe Earth's history was just repeating itself here. Maybe in a hundred years, people would look back and debate whether using Hashirama's cells was ethical, the same way people debated HeLa cells. Maybe the answer would still be unclear.
I couldn't tell.
That was the problem. I genuinely couldn't figure out if using Hashirama cells was morally acceptable or not. The logic went in circles. Help people versus respect for the dead. Medical advancement versus ethical boundaries. Consent versus consequences.
Earth hadn't figured it out cleanly. Why would this world?
Was that normal? Not being able to tell?
Most people seemed to have clearer answers to questions like this. They had moral frameworks that just... worked. Gave them answers. Right and wrong, good and bad, acceptable and unacceptable.
Mine apparently didn't function that well.
Maybe I had moral problems.
I took another bite and decided to shelve the complicated moral philosophy until after I actually got the cells. No point debating ethics when I didn't even have the materials yet.
Speaking of cells.
The easiest source wouldn't be Danzo. It would be Madara.
Uchiha Madara. The legendary shinobi. Co-founder of Konoha alongside Hashirama. Also currently half-dead, ancient, and literally one foot in the grave. Probably hooked up to the Gedo Statue or some weird tree somewhere underground, barely clinging to life through sheer spite.
If anyone had Hashirama cells integrated into their body, it was him. The man had been obsessed with the First Hokage. Fought him. Lost to him. And according to what I knew, he'd definitely taken some souvenirs from that final battle.
Perfect source. Old. Dying. Not like he'd miss a few cells.
Only one problem.
I had no idea where he was hiding.
Underground somewhere, obviously. But "underground somewhere" covered a lot of territory. The Elemental Nations were big. Madara could be anywhere from here to the other side of the continent, buried in some cave system or hidden facility that nobody knew about.
I needed to find him first.
I formed the hand seal and created a shadow clone without looking away from the fire. The clone appeared next to me in a small puff of smoke, standing there with the same relaxed posture I had.
We didn't say anything. Didn't need to. The clone knew what I wanted. It understood the assignment.
It turned and walked away from the fire, snatching an uneaten skewer from the tailor's hand as it passed. The tailor stared at his now-empty hand, mouth opening and closing without sound.
The clone headed toward the outpost's main gate, eating the skewer as it walked.
The others stopped talking and stared.
"Uh," the tailor said, looking between me and the departing clone. "That was—"
"Just some shinobi business," I said with a smile. "Nothing important."
The smile was normal. Friendly, even. But something about it made the civilians go quiet. The tailor looked away first, then the others followed. Nobody asked any more questions.
They got the message. The conversation moved on to other topics, something about lumber prices, I think. I wasn't really listening.
They kept glancing at me though. Probably not used to seeing shinobi casually create duplicates of themselves in the middle of breakfast. Fair enough. Most people didn't do that.
I took another bite and let them wonder.
The clone would handle it. Scout around, gather information, check whatever records it could access. Finding Madara wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible either. I had a lead.
Nagato.
The kid with the Rinnegan. Somewhere in Ame. Madara's pawn, whether Nagato knew it or not. The old man was watching him, manipulating things from the shadows, which meant there had to be some connection between them. Some way for Madara to observe what was happening.
Follow that thread and maybe I'd find where the ancient bastard was hiding.
Of course, finding Nagato in Ame wasn't exactly simple either. The Rain Village wasn't friendly territory, and tracking down one specific orphan kid in a country would take time. But it was a starting point. Better than nothing.
And if the clone found nothing?
It'd make more clones. Send them to different locations. Cast a wider net.
Eventually, something would turn up.
I bit into the meat again. The rosemary and garlic had seeped in properly, mixing with the natural sweetness of the fat. The flames popped and hissed as I watched more fat drip into them, sending little bursts of light into the air.
Comments
Monkeu Pon
He would have had to take care of Madara anyway if he wanted to prevent the future. Using the cells themselves shouldn't be an issue. Tsunade uses it after the 4th war. Also there's no way no one kept hair or nails from him.
Northern Sword God
Ngl, not sure yet. It could go one of two ways, either it leans fully into the harem route, or Shinji ends up meeting and getting involved with a lot of women throughout his life but eventually settles down with one person and becomes a dad.
Demitas
Is there gonna be a lot of harem stuff later?
