The early morning sun was sharp, cutting through the crisp October air. The Ryokan District was quiet, the party from last night washed away by the diligent street sweepers.
Well, mostly quiet. Behind the inn, the air was filled with the rhythmic thud-thud-clack of heavy equipment crates being strapped down onto a line of reinforced transport wagons.
I stood outside the inn, my breath misting slightly. My new polarized glasses filtered the sunrise into a tolerable, muted glow.
A crew member wrestled a massive, canvas-wrapped boom arm into the back of the second carriage, cursing softly as the metal pole clanged against a stack of prop swords.
"We have to go," I muttered, checking my watch. "The caravan is leaving in ten minutes."
"Just a second," Naruto said. He wasn't looking at me. He was glaring at Yukie Fujikaze.
The actress was standing by a stone lantern, nursing a headache that probably registered on the Richter scale.
She winced as a nearby door slammed—bam—the sound making her flinch physically, as if the noise had slapped her.
She wore oversized sunglasses and a travel cloak that looked like she had slept in it (because she had).
Suddenly, footsteps pounded on the pavement.
"Princess! Princess Fūun!"
Four kids rounded the corner.
They weren't random kids. They were the civilian echoes of our own class—the "Civilian Team 8 and 10."
Leading the pack was a boy in a green beanie with a bandage on his nose. Shippo Inuzuka. He had the frantic energy of a puppy but none of the red fang markings.
Behind him was a girl in a red qipao dress with twin buns. Sen-Sen. She looked exactly like Tenten, but instead of scrolls, she was clutching an expensive-looking autograph board with a calculator charm hanging from it.
Then came a heavyset boy in a yellow hoodie, clutching a bag of chips like a ledger. Choroku Akimichi.
The bag crinkled loudly—crinkle-crunch—releasing a cloud of artificial seaweed and salt scent into the clean morning air.
Trailing behind, looking bored and annoyed, was a boy with a pineapple ponytail. Shikatei Nara.
"You found her!" Shippo yipped, bouncing on his heels.
They swarmed Yukie, thrusting pristine white boards and markers into her face.
"Princess! You forgot to sign!" Sen-Sen said, her voice sharp and business-like. "We waited all night! This board is imported cardstock!"
Yukie swayed. She pulled down her sunglasses, revealing eyes that were bloodshot and dead.
"Oh," she rasped. "Right. The autograph."
She took the boards. Her hands were shaking slightly.
Naruto watched from the shadows of the alleyway, his arms crossed.
Behind him, the third carriage sagged visibly—creeeak—as two grips hoisted a heavy steam-generator unit onto the flatbed, securing it for the long trek to the coast.
He wasn't smiling. He was watching her like a hawk.
Yukie uncapped the marker. She scribbled something on the first board. Then the second. Then the third.
The marker squeaked painfully—skreee—against the glossy cardstock, smelling sharply of chemical solvent.
The kids beamed. Shippo looked like he was going to explode.
"Take a good look," Yukie whispered.
RIIIIIP.
The sound was violent in the quiet morning air.
Yukie tore the heavy cardstock down the middle. Then again. She ripped the autographs into confetti.
The kids froze. Their smiles died instantly.
"There," Yukie said, her voice devoid of emotion.
She threw the pieces in their faces. The white scraps fluttered down like snow.
"Now you have a puzzle," she sneered. "Go fix it. Just like you think you can fix everything else."
Shippo's lip quivered. Sen-Sen looked at the ruined cardstock, calculating the financial loss. Choroku dropped his chips. Shikatei just sighed, as if he expected disappointment.
"You're... you're mean!" Shippo wailed.
They turned and ran, scattering down the street, their hero worship shattered on the pavement.
"You..."
Naruto stepped out of the alley. He wasn't yelling. He was vibrating with a low-frequency rage that was infinitely scarier.
Yukie didn't look at him. She capped the marker.
"Save the lecture, kid," she muttered. "I taught them a lesson."
"What lesson?!" Naruto demanded, stepping onto the confetti-covered street. "That you're mean?! That you hate your fans?!"
"That heroes are paper!" Yukie snapped.
She turned on him, whipping off her sunglasses. Her eyes were raw.
"They rip! You think I'm strong? You think 'Princess Fūun' is real? I'm just ink on a page, kid! And ink runs when it gets wet!"
She gestured violently at herself.
"This? This is a costume! Underneath, I'm just... meat. Breakable, scared meat."
She thumped her chest—thud—the sound hollow and weak against the heavy cloak, emphasizing her frailty.
Naruto stopped.
He looked at the torn paper on the wet ground. He looked at the "Inlet 1-2" zoning sign across the street—the dead end she had run to last night.
The anger drained out of his posture, replaced by something heavier. Something I recognized.
It was the look he gave Tsunade when she was shaking from hemophobia. It was the look of a coach watching a star player bench themselves out of fear.
"You're not scared of Dotō," Naruto said quietly.
Yukie paused, her hand halfway to her flask. "Hah?"
"You're not scared of the armor," Naruto continued, taking a step closer. "You're scared that if you go back... you'll prove that you really are just ink. You're scared you'll fail."
Yukie flinched as if he had slapped her.
"Shut up," she hissed, gripping the flask until her knuckles turned white.
"Prove it," Naruto challenged.
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It wasn't a fancy autograph board. It was a blank mission request form.
He held it out to her, along with a kunai.
"Sign it," Naruto ordered. "Put 'Princess Fūun' on the paper."
Yukie stared at the kunai. "I'm not a ninja."
"I know," Naruto said. "But you're the only one who can play the part. Come with us. If you're fake... you'll die, and you'll be right. We'll bury you in the snow."
The brutality of the statement hung in the air.
"But if you're real..." Naruto's blue eyes burned with intensity. "...You might actually save someone."
Yukie looked at the paper. She looked at the kunai.
She snatched them from his hand.
She didn't write politely. She carved the name into the paper with the kunai point, tearing the fiber, leaving a jagged, ugly signature.
Rrip-scratch.
The paper groaned under the steel, the fibers snagging and bunching up under the pressure rather than absorbing the ink smoothly.
PRINCESS FŪUN.
She threw the paper at his chest.
"Fine," Yukie spat. "Let's go die."
She turned and marched toward the waiting carriages, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders.
Naruto caught the paper against his chest. He looked at the jagged signature.
"She's got teeth," I noted, walking up beside him.
"Yeah," Naruto grinned, tucking the paper into his pocket. "She just needs to remember how to bite."
"Team!" Kakashi called from the carriage. "Move out!"
The lead driver snapped his reins—hyah!—and the long line of wagons lurched forward, the wheels grinding against the pavement as the massive production began its slow, heavy roll toward the Land of Hot Water.
We sprinted toward the transport. Behind us, the confetti of the ruined autographs lay on the street, waiting to be swept away.