Danzo Shimura was a dark and twisted man.
Itachi could tell just by the feel of his mind—but feel was the only avenue left for evaluation. That was how ravaged and disordered the mind of the once Yami no Shinobi had become. His thoughts were like a shattered jar of marbles spilled across a swaying floor, the little porcelain balls knocking against one another, impossible to distinguish or follow. Worse still were the razor shards of glass scattered among them—the jagged remnants of his countless traumas, lying in wait for the unwary.
But then that chaos brushed against the monumental presence of Sarutobi Hiruzen, and suddenly there was peace. The mental space remained turbulent, a storm-tossed void where no mind could take stable form, but the sense of danger abated. A misstep would no longer draw blood.
A low whistle of appreciation cut through the gloom.
"Damn, Inoichi really did a number on this guy, huh?" Anko observed, standing at Itachi's side. He, too, recognized the handiwork of Konoha's foremost interrogator—though he himself had never seen a mental space so thoroughly reaved upon and raided.
His own methods of mental torture could be gruesome, but not existential. He had never stripped a mind down to its foundations. Even when his victims were reduced to catatonia by the power of his genjutsu, that was only an overload, an over-sensitivity that fractured the mind yet left the core intact.
Itachi doubted that Danzo Shimura could even be called a person anymore…
Good.
Grim satisfaction stirred in him at the severity of the punishment for Danzo's crimes. The chill it left in his bones was sharp, but it was a comforting cold, quenching the flames of hatred that still burned.
"Inoichi lost some of his professional decorum while probing Danzo's mind," Hiruzen said softly. "He came across the fate of a young clan member he had long believed dead. A Yamanaka boy—Fū. He did not take well to the methods Danzo deemed necessary to turn Fū into an asset."
Itachi was shaken. He had worked alongside the ROOT operative in question on more than one occasion. To learn that he had been stolen from his clan, stripped from his family against his will…
"Wow. Makes me wish I'd been there when the old man cut loose." Anko said with a glint of professional interest, this time tinged with admiration for a senior master of their craft.
A quiet hum of appreciation drew Itachi's gaze to the youngest of their group.
Kuromaru Hidachi observed the shattered remnants of Danzo Shimura's mind as though she had just discovered a new form of art—something terrible and wondrous she had never even considered possible.
"You can kill someone's mind?" she asked Lord Third.
"There is nothing in existence that cannot be delivered some form of death, Kuro-chan." Hiruzen replied, his tone gentle, instructive.
"But that is a lesson for another day."
Tendrils of mental power stretched from the Third into the chaotic wreckage, and with neither hesitation nor searching, he plucked forth precisely the thoughts he required.
"Today, we will be learning of the bureaucratic processes necessary to run a clandestine organization."
The void around them shifted. In an instant, the group found themselves in a downpour, watching as a younger Shimura, whole of limb and sharp of bearing, spoke with an older shinobi whose ashen hair framed the gas mask covering his face.
Hanzo the Salamander.
"Specifically—what not to do," Hiruzen concluded as the memory began to unfurl.
Itachi had a premonition then: that by the end of this, he would realize he had never hated the deceased elder nearly enough.
Sadly, he was correct.
XXXXXXXXX
Bō staff combat was a constant flow, a maintenance of momentum from one movement into another. It was about creating a continuous chain of actions that ended with your weapon connecting with your enemy in whatever manner you deemed fit. Naturally, such a combat style required a great deal of forethought and predictive planning. There could be some spontaneity, yes, but the vast majority of the fight was focused onsetting up your concurrent moves.
A combat style that was very taxing on tactical and strategic thinking. Truly, the fighting style of the wizard.
Of course, that meant it was not an easy weapon to master. Mastery would take years, if not decades—but that was no excuse to slack off. At least, not in my sensei's book.
I rolled my sore shoulders as I walked toward the shade of a tree for the sweet, sweet relief of rest. Himebuta was still out on the grass, receiving some personal attention from my sensei. His basics were somehow even worse than mine, so he was now enduring a much less physically intensive, but just as mentally taxing, lesson on basic combat principles like timing, area denial, and so on.
I slumped into the dirt beside Hinata, who had spent this training session in meditation. Like all Hyūga, Hinata had been drilled in Jūken since she could walk. Daily practice, while leading to long-term improvement through small increments, paled in comparison to the exponential growth she was now experiencing as she learned to master the mental state that empowered her bloodline.
In short, she got to sit in the shade thinking happy thoughts, while I got my butt kicked. Sorcerers, I tell you.
Hinata opened her eyes as I approached, her eyes briefly glowing blue before the light winked out. Her mental state was broken by the bubbling excitement that lit her face at the sight of me.
This. This was why I couldn't be jealous. She was just too darn sweet.
"Hey Hinata." I managed to eke out a tired smile and settled into the spot in the grass beside her.
"Hello, Izuku-kun." She greeted me with a beaming yet demure smile, squirming in place beside me. I sensed her chakra, picking up the urge to be closer, but even with all her progress, Hinata still wasn't very good at expressing herself.
I reached out and wrapped my arm around her. Despite her stiffening under my touch and her face turning blood red, her chakra was happy and content.
Our private moment ended with the arrival of my sensei carrying a limp, exhausted Himebuta in his arms, whom he unceremoniously dropped into my lap.
"That should be all. Both of you have made adequate progress. We will continue tomorrow, but for today, I am satisfied," my sensei said, and I sighed in relief that the training session was over.
"Though that leads to another matter." he continued, sitting down in the grass with us.
"Which is?" I asked.
"Hmm, this also requires Naruko's presence."
As though summoned by my sensei's words, Naruko and Jiraiya approached from their section of the training ground. Naruko looked disgruntled, and Jiraiya looked exasperated.
"It's an A-class jutsu, kid. You can't just master it in one day. These things take time," the toad sage said to the sulking jinchūriki, but Naruko was not in a listening mood.
She ignored him, made a beeline for me, and settled in the grass beside me, laying her head on my shoulder.
"So I assume the jutsu isn't coming along so well?" I asked the pair. It was the toad sage who answered.
"It's going great. She'll have it down in a month at most. For an A-rank jutsu, that's incredible," Jiraiya said, his tone stiff but sincere. It was clear he wasn't used to being the guy who handed out honest encouragement. From what I had seen, his first instinct was to provoke with insults and snide comments.
That was most definitely not the tactic he should take with Naruko though, so awkward as it was, the sannin was left with nothing but direct truth and open kindness.
Naruko only grumbled into my shoulder, clearly in a bad mood.
"How about we stop by Ichiraku's on the way home?" I suggested, and that instantly perked up the blonde jinchūriki.
"Ramen? Sign me up!" Naruko replied, her bubbly energy returning at the mention of her favorite food.
My sensei chuckled at that, drawing everyone's attention.
"A delivery can be arranged. But there is a… surprise I have in store for young Izuku." He rose to his feet.
"Really? What surprise?" Naruko asked.
"Telling you would somewhat defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, would it not?" my sensei replied.
"Okay then, where is it?" I asked.
"I will be taking you there."
Then I felt a palm on my shoulder. I had enough time to glance up and see that it was one of his clones—and other clones were holding Hinata and Naruko—before the familiar vertigo of side-along body flicker swept over me.
Thankfully, I'd gained some experience with the jutsu myself, so when we stopped and my vision cleared, I was only a little dizzy.
Unlike Naruko, who had to hold on to me to stay upright.
I looked around at where we'd arrived, and my jaw dropped.
Rows of computers. Full chemistry sets. High-powered microscopes. Bright halogen lights reflecting off sterile white tiles.
Had I just died? Did the whiplash from sensei's jutsu kill me?
"Sensei…" I breathed.
Was I in heaven?
"I had this space put together with the intention of rewarding you with it when you showed enough progress in your intellectual pursuits," my sensei said, surveying the lab he had prepared.
"Sensei, I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to. My duty as your teacher is to nurture your talents. As long as it is within my ability to provide something, and your talents warrant it, you will have it."
"Thank you, sensei."
"You're welcome."
"Where are we?" I asked, while Himebuta scurried off my shoulder to inspect the lab.
"The Sarutobi compound," my sensei replied, glancing out an open window at the sprawling estate.
"That brings up another proposition. There is a living area above this laboratory. I would like to invite you to live here."
"Really?" I asked, surprised.
"It would be the most efficient arrangement," he said, his tone a bit tongue-in-cheek.
"I would also enjoy having you present," he added with a warm smile.
"Thank you, sensei." I smiled back.
The brief flare of jealousy from Naruko wasn't surprising. Despite whatever grievances she had against him, the Third was her guardian, her family. For me to be invited to live with him before her—no matter how sensible it seemed—would sting.
"There is more than enough space for you to join Izuku, Naruko. In truth, I would prefer it if you did," my sensei said gently. Naruko's chakra was a swirl of yearning and distrust.
If I could feel it, so could he. But he offered anyway—an olive branch, a balm to old wounds.
Naruko hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged him. He returned the embrace with a smile.
"Thanks, Jiji."
"You're welcome. Why don't you go downstairs? Your food is waiting."
"Ramen!" Naruko shouted and ran for the window.
"You're not coming?" I asked.
"I'm already there," my sensei replied.
With a nod, I followed Naruko, Hinata at my side, and Himebuta back on my shoulder.
The building we emerged from was three stories tall, red-tiled roofs and polished brown wooden walls giving it a stately, old-fashioned look. Clearly ancient—not built for me, but likely abandoned as the Sarutobi clan shrank. I couldn't help but wonder how sensei felt about that.
The grunts of a young voice drew my attention to the porch, where another clone of sensei sat in the most casual clothes I'd ever seen him wear—a long gray robe beneath a light green sweater. He looked retired, watching Naruko eat at a kotatsu.
On the grass, a boy who resembled him closely—brown-skinned, brown-haired, features a little ape-like yet still handsome—ran through kata with kunai in each hand. He couldn't have been more than six.
"Konohamaru-kun, I think that is enough."
"Five more minutes!"
"Rest is just as important as hardship, Konohamaru."
"I can't surpass you if I don't work hard, old man!"
"Maybe not. But companionship is just as important as capability. I would like you to meet my student, Izuku, and my ward, Naruko."
Konohamaru stopped and stared at me, his eyes narrowing. He scanned me from head to toe, unimpressed.
"Your gramps' student? You look like a girl!" he blurted, nose scrunching in disgust.
I blinked, clutching my chest at the unexpected burn. Naruko snorted, miso spraying from her nose, and even Hinata giggled.
"I do not."
"No way! Look at you, you're super girly."
"The word you're looking for is refined."
"Nah, I got it right the first time."
Naruko was now howling, pounding the table, while Hinata tried to cover her giggles.
I stared at the kid staring right back, his face dripping with disappointment.
Not impressed at all.
Everyone's a critic.
XXXXXXXXX
"You have been stalling." his sensei said as the kids hopped out the window.
"I've been getting to know my goddaughter." Jiraiya's reply came quickly, and it was true, but it was flimsy—so flimsy that it was no surprise when his sensei's expression made it clear that he didn't buy it.
"I told you to get Tsunade, Jiraiya. I ordered it," he said, tone stern.
"I know, and I will. I just…" Jiraiya trailed off, words failing him against the weight of the emotions pressing on his chest. The thought of confronting Tsunade—not only as his sensei's messenger, but in the way he needed to, the way he longed to—terrified him. But he knew he had to. To prevent that nightmare, he would do anything.
His sensei seemed to sense the struggle gnawing at him. His features softened, and his tone lost its reprimand.
"Your… interactions with Naruko have been a struggle," he said, voice gentler now as he reached up to place a hand on Jiraiya's shoulder. "But you tried—and in doing so, you've opened the door to a greater future for both of you."
He held Jiraiya's gaze. "Does Tsunade not deserve such consideration?"
Jiraiya closed his eyes. Memories rose unbidden—blonde hair, fierce laughter, burning passion.
"She does," he said at last, voice low. "Almost more than anyone else."
"Then find her, Jiraiya," his sensei said softly. "Find her—and bring her home."
XXXXXXXXX
Neji Hyūga was not a loving person.
He knew honor, duty, respect. He knew discipline. He knew power.
Above all, he knew FATE.
But love? Love was never a driving force. It could not be. Love was Weakness.
A liability. Something fragile, something perilous. Hinata-sama might have drawn strength from the affection she carried for others, weaving courage out of kindness, but for Neji such things could only erode the sharpness of his will. To him, love was a chain. His chain.
And recent events had not proven him wrong. Love was the path to downfall, a road to disgrace and torment. The path his father had walked—toward a torturous and dishonorable end. Neji would not follow him. He could not.
And yet… that path beckoned none the less.
His pale eyes drifted to the windowsill, where a garden snake had lingered for several days without stirring. It lay there as if carved from stone, silent and watchful. Neji studied it in the silence of his room, his thoughts tightening like a fist.
For a long moment, he only observed. And then, with the quiet certainty of conviction, he spoke.
"I wish to make my own Fate."
The snake stirred. Slowly, impossibly, it turned toward him, as though a lifeless statue had suddenly drawn breath. Its golden eyes slid open, bright and merciless, and for the first time they locked with the gaze of a Hyūga.
A smile curled across its narrow face—strangely kind, yet steeped in malice. A jubilant grin that seemed to know too much. Neji flinched at the sight of it, his breath catching for the briefest instant. Yet even as unease prickled through him, his resolve did not falter.
He would not bow to destiny. He would not bend beneath the weight of inherited chains.
He would overcome fate.
And he would forge his own destiny.