Chapter Text
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
With friends surrounded
The dark mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever
The day of Sakura’s funeral, the weather was beautiful.
It was not too cold, not too hot. It had rained that night, and the trees glittered with moisture, but during the funeral, the sky was silent. The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a wonderful interplay of shadow and light on the clearing. The breeze was warm and pleasant, blades of grass dancing along the wind.
Tsunade stood in front of the memorial stone, looking out over the gathered crowd. There were dozens of people in attendance, maybe even a hundred. The chairs prepared for the event weren’t enough, half of the people left standing. Most of them were civilians. The amount of civilians attending was unusual for a shinobi of Sakura’s rank, especially compared to Kakashi’s funeral, only a couple of days ago.
Kakashi’s funeral had taken over three hours. There’d been speeches, and music, and a formal march. It had been pompous, and stiff, and absolutely horrible.
Here, for Sakura’s funeral, there was no fanfare. It was just her.
“I have thought long and hard about what to say to you all,” Tsunade said, her hand clutching her elbow. “I couldn’t find the words. I don’t think I ever will. So the only thing that’s left is honesty.” She took her time looking around the crowd, taking in the people on which Sakura had such impact that they wanted to come say goodbye. “I’ve written four speeches and trashed them all, angry they weren’t good enough for her. I tried to make a list of everything Sakura has done for this village, only to lose myself in my memories, staring at nothing. I tried to write how much I loved her, how much I regretted not saying that more often, and started crying so hard my tears were ruining the parchment and the ink blurred and I couldn’t read anything anymore.”
Tsunade breathed in, harshly. In the crowd, several people were sobbing. She blinked, hard, willing away the tears.
“Maybe it’s for the best. Fancy words or flowery speeches don’t suit someone like Sakura.” Tsunade sniffed. “Sakura has always been a woman of action, not of words. And she’s done so much. In the hospital alone, if I were to list them all, we would be standing here until deep into the night.” In the front row, two nurses fell into each other’s arms. “The list of things she’s done as a shinobi of Konoha is even longer. Her strength, her courage, and her love for her friends… These are all reasons we all will miss her.”
In the middle of the crowd, what was left of the Konoha 12 huddled together. Ino was crying silently, clutching at Chōji with trembling hands.
“But aside from all of that,” Tsunade continued, voice wavering, “I will miss her because she was Sakura. My apprentice. And I loved her.” It was too much. The tears started to fall. Behind her, Shizune stepped closer, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I loved her. That’s the only thing that mattered, in the end. So. Yeah.”
Tsunade knew she should say something else, something fancy and ceremonial, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t need to. Kakashi’s funeral just yesterday was full with diplomatic representatives of other nations, rows of elite ninja, and even the goddamn Daimyō himself. Today, they were gone. Tsunade wasn’t saying all this for them. She was saying this for her.
“Some of you might be wondering why we are only holding this funeral now.” Tsunade paused. “The truth is, everyone from the KCH wanted to attend. We ended up having to close the hospital for the day as best we could.” She swallowed. “This underlines what Sakura meant for us. What she was. Loved.”
Turning around, Tsunade faced the memorial stone. She raised the hammer and chisel and crouched by the stone. “Sakura,” she said, softer, truly crying now. “I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t help you. I failed you.” Kanji by kanji, she carved the words Haruno Sakura into the stone. “I’m sorry. I’ll never forget you.”
It was done.
Tsunade stepped back, fading into the crowd. There were other speeches, after her. Ino, crying so hard she could barely speak. Shizune, voice wavering. Hinata. TenTen.
Naruto’s absence was palpable, an unspoken shroud hanging over the funeral. But there was one other person absent, and it was the person Tsunade missed the most.
She hoped Jiraiya would be back soon.
“Did you hear Fusei-san cheated on her husband? With another woman?”
Jiraiya was wet.
“Irui Fashion isn’t going to make it, trust me. Their clothes are mediocre quality and the boss is a jerk. They’ll be bankrupt within the year.”
His clothes were wet. His feet were wet. His hair was wet, a heavy weight on his shoulders even with the absence of the usual scroll on his back in his disguise. His skin was perpetually damp. Even when Jiraiya took shelter in one of the many shops littering Amegakure, the air was so humid his skin wouldn’t dry. The sweet, sour smell of rain clung to everything, and the soppy feel of his cotton clothes was unpleasant. Jiraiya was glad he kept his hidden weapons well-oiled, or he would’ve been covered in a dozen little cuts where his soggy skin rubbed against the metal.
“My neighbour said she heard from her uncle, whose best friend is a jounin, that Kami-sama is going to lift the travel ban for civilians! Maybe I can finally visit my mom again!”
But it was all worth it to hear the gossip of the town.
It was useful gossip, too. Very useful. Jiraiya learned a lot while scouting out the city that was apparently not under the control of Hanzo the Salamander. Jiraiya had been unaware of the leadership change. His ignorance raised far more red flags than the change itself.
Amegakure’s people were… strange. Colourful and diverse, both in ethnicity and in clothing. Religious, often mentioning a ‘Kami-sama’ and a ‘Tenshi-sama.’ Cheerful, yet with an undertone of something strange and solemn, some undercurrent Jiraiya couldn’t lay his finger on.
Stepping in yet another puddle, Jiraiya gave into his annoyance and went into the nearest store for shelter, futile as he knew by now it would be. It was a grocery store. There wasn’t a lot of choice in produce, but the prices were low. As he browsed, a civilian approached the checkout register.
“That’ll be eight hundred fifty ryō, please,” the cashier said with a small smile. The customer, a thin man with dark skin and a strong jaw, handed her the money. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thank you,” the man said. He accepted the paper bag, then looked at it nervously. “Uh, if I may… would you happen to have something to keep them dry in the rain?”
The cashier chuckled, her curly hair bouncing with the movement. “A new stray, aren’t you? I have a few handy double-covers for sale here, just ten ryō each.”
The man tensed. “A… stray?”
“Oh, I mean no offense, sir!” the cashier said quickly, waving her hands in the air. “It’s simply what we call all newcomers. Often those who make the choice to stay instead of only trade in the Port are strays in some way or another.”
The man relaxed. “I understand. And, honestly… I can’t really deny it.”
The cashier shrugged. “There’s no shame in it – most of us or our ancestors ended up here that way. Say, have you attended your first Gathering?”
“No, not yet. I was invited to one tomorrow, though.”
“Are you planning on going?”
The man scratched his head. “I thought they were, uh, mandatory? But I’m not sure what they’re for.”
The cashier giggled, playing with her hair. “Of course not, silly!” She paused. “Or, well, I think not. Anyway, it’s the best way to meet new people. You’ll meet other people who are getting used to the same things you are, and Kami-sama will make sure there’ll also be some Ame-born folk who’ll help you get settled.” She smiled coyly, looking the man up and down. “But if you want some more help to settle in… I get off at five.”
As the man stuttered out an answer, blushing, Jiraiya quietly left the store.
He’d known Amegakure was closed to outsiders, but it seemed there was an exception to traders who did not want to trade at ‘the Port,’ whatever that was. \Mentally, Jiraiya shifted through his array of alter egos. Chosho Hon the book seller would be a good addition to Ame.
Out on the streets, there were people everywhere busy preparing for some sort of event. Even the shinobi, who Jiraiya noticed travelled only on the rooftops of the tall, dark buildings that filled the city, had descended to the lower level of Ame to help.
Around him, people were setting up stalls. Two men were squabbling over who was assigned which area until a kunoichi came to break it up. A couple of young men and women were hanging up small paper angels everywhere. Jiraiya had seen white ones hanging around the city, but these ones were coloured bright greens, yellows, blues, purples and more dotting the streets. Some of them even had a small paper butterfly on the angel’s shoulder.
Jiraiya stared at the nearest one, a bright yellow colour that reminded him of a certain hot-headed kind-hearted young shinobi. Naruto… I hope you understand why I sent you away. Naruto hadn’t been happy when Jiraiya told him he was going straight to Mount Myōboku and that no, he couldn’t go to Kakashi’s funeral. In fact, he’d been downright pissed off. But then his expression had changed, defeat creeping into his voice and guilt pulling at his mouth. Jiraiya had drawn him into a hug. It’s for your good as much as it’s for the safety of others, my boy. Please understand.
The strong-jawed man from earlier came out of the store behind him, pushing past Jiraiya to pass through. Jiraiya blinked and realized he had been standing there for too long. He quickly drew his hood up and started walking again, trying to take his mind off the stiff, awkward and overly-formal theatrics of Kakashi’s funeral.
Jiraiya walked through another street, then another. Several clothing shops were having sales on white robes, boasting sharp prices and unique cuts.
It was in one of these stores Jiraiya spotted a flash of pink hair.
Immediately, he slipped into the shop, senses on high alert. Could it really be–?! He pushed aside a rack filled with white pants proclaiming themselves to be of the highest quality. Jiraiya took care not to rush his movements. If it was her, he was fairly confident his disguise would hold, but only if he didn’t draw attention to himself.
The back half of the shop was stocked with the colourful clothes common to Ame. It was there he saw the flash of pink again. The woman it belonged to stepped out of the changing room. Jiraiya’s heartbeat quickened–
–and slowed down again as the unfamiliar and mature face of a civilian was revealed.
It’s not her. He narrowed his eyes. But these people look familiar.
“What do you think, dear?” the woman said to a man leaning against the wall. Matching rings. She twirled around in the white dress. “Is it cute enough for tomorrow? Do I look good?”
“You always look good, darling.”
The woman shook her head fondly. “Shinku… your honest opinion, please.”
Shinku made an innocent face, tucking a strand of his crimson hair behind his ear. “It is my honest opinion! Honestly, Midori, darling, it really does look good. And it’s short-sleeved, which means you’ll be able to enjoy the sun without being too cold.”
Midori relaxed. “You’re right. I’ll take it. We don’t have a lot of time left, if we want to go by the butcher before she closes for the festival. I want to make sure we’ll have everything we need for when she comes for dinner.”
Shinku laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Honey, I’m sure she’ll be glad to just spend time with us. She said so last time, remember?”
Midori wrung her hands. “I know, I know… I just don’t want to offend her. It’s so nice to have family around. And Ako-chan really likes her. He thinks she’s even cooler than Kami-sama, the dear. He’ll be sad if she doesn’t come back.”
Something clicked in Jiraiya’s mind. Acting on instinct, he grabbed a white cloak from the rack and walked towards the back of the shop. Midori and Shinku both looked up as he approached. Jiraiya briefly raised both his eyebrows in faux-recognition. “Good day.”
“Hello,” Midori said, while Shinku nodded in greeting.
“Excuse me, madame, but you seem familiar,” Jiraiya said, acting surprised. “Have we met before?”
Midori blinked, studying him for a moment. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Your hair – could it be you are related to Haruno Sakura, by any chance?”
“Oh, well, yes, actually!” Midori turned to him. “Are you a friend of hers?”
“I’d like to think so, yes. I haven’t been here for long,” Jiraiya said sheepishly, sticking to his cover story, “but when I just came here, I became sick. The doctors weren’t sure I’d make it. I prayed to Kami-sama to help me, and there she was, like an angel! She saved my life.”
When he mentioned Kami-sama, the two civilians didn’t react, confirming his hunch saying such a thing wasn’t out of place. But at the end, they suddenly tensed up.
“You met Sakura-san in the hospital, you say?”
Jiraiya nodded, still smiling, but his mind whirred, connecting the dots. “She was great, and so kind, too!”
Shinku rose from his slouch. Midori folded her arms. “We don’t appreciate you lying to us,” she said fiercely. “I know Sakura-san doesn’t work at the hospital.”
Jiraiya blinked. “Oh, but, I–”
Midori didn’t let him finish. “Come, darling,” she said to her husband, “let’s go.”
Together, they brushed past him. Jiraiya stuttered out some excuse, acting embarrassed, though he was really surprised at the sudden protectiveness – and that his guess was wrong.
“Some people will say anything just to get close to someone important,” Midori scoffed just before they disappeared from sight.
Jiraiya watched them go. This was very worrying. First, it confirmed Sakura was alive. And in Ame. Which meant she was a traitor – and was the one who killed Kakashi.
Jiraiya clenched his teeth, a low, hot anger simmering in his gut.
Second, whatever Sakura was doing here, she was apparently not working in the hospital. But then why would these people think he needed to get close to Sakura?
What else could she be doing here that was so important?
“It’s so good.”
Sakura smiled.
“So good.”
Sakura smiled wider.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
Sakura opened her mouth to make a dirty joke, then decided not to.
Itachi, who was wearing the most blissful expression she’d ever seen on him, didn’t even notice. He was too engrossed in the dango he was eating. His black eyes were half-lidded, his hands holding the dango almost reverently. It looked adorable.
Itachi swallowed, then sighed happily. “You said Kakuzu recommended this place?”
“He said it had the most value for your money. I thought he just meant it was cheap, but apparently it also meant it was good.”
Itachi pointed the empty dango stick at her. “I shall have serious words with him. To think we’ve been colleagues for over five years and he has never shared this knowledge with me…” He shook his head. “Unacceptable.” He jabbed the stick at her to underline his point. “This village is merely half an hour’s run from Ame. It is practically in our backyard. I could eat here almost every day.”
Sakura rested her chin on her hand. “Or we could keep it as our date spot?”
Itachi eyed her. “Convince me.”
Sakura held out one of her dango sticks.
“I’m convinced.”
They finished their dango slowly, taking their time. Itachi tipped thrice the bill, thanking the server so earnestly she actually called the cook from the kitchen, so Itachi could thank him too. The young chef blushed cherry-red at Itachi’s ‘most profound’ thanks.
Sakura was having the time of her life.
“We are going back there,” Itachi declared severely as they exited the little café.
“I’m glad you liked it, darling,” Sakura said, entwining their hands together. Itachi jerked a little as she did so, but then slowly relaxed into it. “And I was teasing you before. If you want to go here every day just to eat their dango, even without me, of course you can.”
Itachi shook his head. “No, I agreed to your proposal.” He tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear and looked at her shyly. “You paid your price, and a steep one at that. It would be dishonest of me to renege on our deal now.”
Sakura pressed a kiss to the back of Itachi’s hand. “That’s true.” She felt her face break into a smile, the warmth in her chest needing an outlet. “Alright then.”
It was mid-afternoon and the sun shone brightly on their faces as they strolled down the village of Hanagasaku, just over the border in the land of Grass. It was a lovely village, famous for the beautiful fields of flowers that surrounded it. The flowers were in full bloom, the sweet smell of them permeating the air. Every building in the village was decorated in style, from a couple of planted flowers in people’s yards to garlands interwoven with flowers hung over the storefront of shops.
This was the second reason Sakura had chosen Hanagasaku for their date.
“It’s beautiful,” Itachi said as they stood on the edge of the fields. The flowers in front of them were arranged in lines of colour; white, yellow, purple and pink the most prominent.
“It is,” Sakura said, looking at Itachi.
Itachi noticed her looking, blushed a little, and looked down.
“You blush really easily, you know that,” Sakura teased, leaning closer.
Itachi blushed harder.
“It looks pretty on you.”
“Let’s go see the flowers,” Itachi said loudly, stepping forward, jerking her along.
But he didn’t let go of her hand.
Sakura let herself be pulled, feeling warm and giddy. The flowers were beautiful. Some of them had even been planted in such a way objects could be seen in them, like a painting made out of real flowers. She saw a heart, a tree, and a spiral.
They weren’t the only ones here on a date. There were at least five other couples in sight, walking, giggling, flirting and kissing.
It was nice to feel like a normal couple for once.
The earth crunched softly underneath their feet as they walked. Sakura breathed in. The smell of the flowers was even stronger now. A bee flew by, curiously circling her head, before deciding the flowers were more interesting then her. “Aren’t you glad I made us put on sunscreen this morning?”
“You are very wise,” Itachi said obediently, looking at the purple tree painted in the flower field. It was a beautiful work of art. Sakura could make out leaves, roots, and even a couple of birds in pink surrounding it.
Sakura elbowed him. “We agreed no Sharingan.”
Itachi guiltily turned slightly to show his crimson eyes, which then faded to black. “But they’re so pretty,” he said, slightly petulant. Then he sighed. “You are right, of course. We did agree to try and have a ‘normal’ date.” He made air quotes with his hands at the word normal, which made Sakura snort. “I simply like to try and capture the beautiful sights instead of only the bloodied ones.”
“Ah.” Now she felt bad for her admonishment. Sakura disentangled their hands to lay her arm around Itachi’s waist. She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. That sounds like a great idea.” She watched one of the other couples in the distance, the boy playfully chasing the girl through the flowers. Her squeals of laughter were audible from all the way over there. “It’s kind of dumb to try and be normal, anyway.”
Itachi followed her gaze. “They are running through the fields instead of walking along the designated paths. How rude. They will ruin the flowers.”
“We’re not normal,” Sakura sighed, almost to herself. “Why try to pretend?” The boy had caught up with the girl and spun her around, kissing her in the midst of the field, surrounded by colourful flowers. Itachi was right. They were being quite rude. “It’s just… I grew up civilian, you know. I used to be one of them. And now I’m so far removed from that life I say ‘one of them’ like they’re a different species.” She huffed. “And in some ways, they are! Their lives, the scale on which they operate, the things that are normal or strange to them, the risks they have to deal with – they’re completely different from us. The older I get, the more that life as a civilian seems far away. Faded. It’s strange.” She paused. “So strange,” she added softly.
Itachi was quiet.
Sakura turned to look at him. “You know?”
“I’m afraid I cannot relate,” Itachi finally said. His brow was furrowed in thought. “I’ve always felt different. Separated from others. Not merely from civilians, though they might as well live on another world. I’ve always felt distant from my fellow shinobi, too. Things that seemed so difficult for others came naturally to me, and things that seemed so normal to them seemed horrifying to me.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I don’t know how much it had to do with how my father raised me, or how much was simply… me.”
Sakura squeezed Itachi tighter, the warmth of his body pleasant against hers. “You mean, as heir of a shinobi clan?”
“That, and more,” Itachi said. He was quiet for a moment, pensive. In the bright sunlight, his black eyes seemed more like a deep, dark blue. Then he continued. “What is your earliest childhood memory?”
“My first memory? I think…” Sakura hummed in thought, watching a butterfly pass by. “I think I was walking through Konoha with my mother, and we passed by some cherry blossom trees.” The memory brought up a knotted mix of emotions, settling in her stomach. “She told me I was named after them. That cherry blossom trees were beautiful, graceful, and loved, and that she wanted me to be just like them.”
“That sounds nice,” Itachi said. “My earliest childhood memory was when my father took me to the frontlines of the Third Shinobi War aged four, where I watched countless shinobi from either side kill each other needlessly. Afterwards, I walked amongst the fallen, tried to help an almost-dead Iwa shinobi, who then tried to kill me. I stabbed him on reflex. That was my first kill.”
Sakura physically flinched away, then straightened. “What the f*ck.”
Itachi watched her calmly. “Do not distress yourself over it. It was long ago. I’ve come to terms with it.”
Sakura folded her arms. “I seriously doubt that,” she said dryly.
“It was a traumatic experience,” Itachi said blandly, like he was saying yes, this is a new pair of shoes, thank you for noticing. “Yet it also made me realize the horrors of war and forever ignited my drive to strive for peace no matter the cost.”
Sakura clenched her fists and shook her head, trying not to let her anger out. “Your father is f*cked up,” she said. “If this is how he raised his child, no wonder the Uchiha clan decided civil war was the best answer to not feeling accepted in the village. It’s honestly a wonder you developed a moral code on your own.” She narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to pace. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d hunt him down and beat him up myself.”
Itachi cleared his throat. “This is my father you’re talking about.”
Sakura winced. “Oh, sh*t. Sorry. Foot in mouth. I’ll stop talking now.”
“I accept your apology,” Itachi said, pulling her back to his side. “And although your words aren’t kind, I can’t deny there is a truth to them. Though I loved my family very much, the Uchiha were burdened with the curse of hatred.” His voice was heavy. “In a way, I am glad I am the last of them.”
“Alright,” Sakura said, stepping back. “That’s enough serious talk for now. We’re here to have fun and do date stuff. Not in a civilian way, but in our way.”
Itachi blinked. “You’re right. My apolo–”
“Nuh-uh,” Sakura cut him off, “our fault, our date, and now our choice to do something else.” She smirked. “I think the couple over there had a good idea.” She nodded to the boy, who was now being chased by the girl. “Give me a three second head start and then try to catch me. Deal?”
“Deal,” Itachi said solemnly, but his eyes were twinkling.
“And remember, no Sharingan,” Sakura said, shaking her finger at him. “Okay… go.”
As soon as Itachi started to count, Sakura turned around, concentrated, and replaced herself in a perfect henge with one of the countless flowers growing in the field.
Mid-countdown, Itachi cursed.
“The Divine Blades would be a job like any other.” Konan folded her hands together. “They would also become one of the recommended jobs offered to new strays. The proposal for the Divine Blades is outlined in the scroll you have just received. Pein and I would like to hear your thoughts.”
The words sent a ripple through the ten civilians sitting in Konan’s office. Some blinked, as if surprised by her request, while others straightened, puffing up their chests and lifting their chins.
Konan was glad to see it. If they were to start a civilian military group in Ame, they’d need the support of most of these people. And so they would get it – one way or another.
There was a moment of silence as the attendees read through the proposal.
“A civilian guard,” one of the men seated in her office said softly, almost to himself. “Just like in the outer villages. That I might live to see the day it happens here in our holy city.”
Konan smiled, conveying kindness and reassurance, and didn’t comment any further. At her lack of objection, Yoi Bekari, an elderly woman who owned the most famous and successful bakery in the city, shifted. Her eyes flicked to the corner, where Nagato’s Human Path stood silently, watching over the proceedings. His Rinnegan glowed softly in the shadows of Konan’s office. “Permission to speak freely, Tenshi-sama?”
“You have it, Bekari-san.”
Bekari swallowed, then steeled herself. “Where would the Divine Blades stand compared to Amegakure’s shinobi forces?”
“A fair question,” Konan said, leaning back. “The Divine Blades would only handle disputes within Amegakure itself. Think of missing items, civilian bar fights, or accusations of theft. Missions outside of Ame would still only be handled by our shinobi, as will any shinobi matters and serious disputes within the city itself. However, given time and training, we might consider sending the Blades on missions outside of Ame.”
This set off a whole new set of reactions in the group. Konan listened patiently, answering some questions, ignoring others. She kept talking in the kind, calm and authoritative way she had perfected while speaking to civilians.
“I’m still interested in which tasks the Divine Blades would be responsible for,” Bekari-san said as Konan guided the discussion to a close. “It is certainly a new and interesting idea to explore, Tenshi-sama.”
Haruno Midori, who’d been silent until then, straightened. “It would make the safety of Ame less dependent on shinobi.” The other civilians fell silent as she spoke. “This seems to me like a job like any other. I don’t see any objections to this proposal.”
“It seems like honest work for fair pay,” another civilian, Kodomo Uso, added.
“Think about it, if you will,” Konan said, rising from her seat. Quickly, the civilians mirrored her, clutching the scroll to their chests and shooting not-so-subtle looks at Nagato standing behind her. “We will see each other again next week. Thank you for your time.”
A chorus of “Thank you, Tenshi-sama,” rose from the crowd as they departed. Only Kodomo Uso lingered behind.
“Yes, Uso-san?”
“If you have the time, Tenshi-sama,” the man said nervously, clutching his elbow, “I would have a request I’d like to discuss with you privately. If that’s possible. Please.” He bowed.
Konan paused. The other civilians held their breath. “Of course, Uso-san. Please, take a seat.”
Haruno Midori was the last to leave with a curious look at Uso and an awed look at Nagato. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Konan folded her arms, leaned back, and tapped her finger against her arm. “Will they agree?”
From behind her, there was a rustle of cloth as Nagato stepped forward. The Human Path might be the least useful combat, but its ability to literally detect lies might make it the most powerful Path of them all. “They will agree. Only Yoi Bekari will have to be convinced.”
Konan nodded. “I had the same impression.”
Nagato stepped around Konan’s desk, his long orange hair swaying with each step. “You will convince her, won’t you?”
Kodomo Uso, who’d been sitting quietly in front of Konan’s desk, looked up. His face rippled, the brown skin and red hair fading away into the far more familiar and far more grotesque face of Uchiha Madara. He straightened from his affected slouch. “Of course, Leader-sama.”
Nagato stopped in front of Madara, looking down on the seated man. “Good. Now… report.”
“The information Kakuzu and Sakura acquired was accurate,” Madara said in his true, deeper voice. “I have successfully located the Four-tails” he twitched slightly, “all alone in the mountains.” He giggled. His face twitched again, like he couldn’t stop it. “He didn’t spot Tobi at all, the dummy!” He giggled again, childishly high.
Nagato didn’t react to Madara’s odd behaviour. “I’m glad to hear so. We already know the Five-tails is in Iwa. As for the Six-tails, Hatake Kakashi was aware of a great many things.” Out of his cloak, Nagato drew another scroll. “The Six-tails is a man by the name of Utakata. He is a nomad. This is his last known location.” He held out the scroll. “Find him. Observe him. Do not let him know you are there.”
Madara accepted it with a trembling hand. “Of course, Leader-sama. No one ever knows I’m there… No one ever knows…” He started giggling again. His lone eye shone with madness.
“Good,” Nagato said, voice tinged with approval. He laid a hand on Madara’s head.
Madara stopped giggling. He looked at the hand, then at Nagato. A moment passed like that, the two shinobi focused on each other with a strange intensity.
At some unseen cue, Nagato removed his hand. “Go.”
Madara rose and bowed shortly. “It will be done,” he said, calm and collected. He put on his orange mask and disappeared.
After they’d fooled around in the flower fields – taking turns hiding as flowers, leaves, or in one case, a civilian’s hat – Sakura and Itachi dusted themselves off and went back to town for dinner.
Sakura was overjoyed to realize Itachi shared her sweet tooth, and together they shared a ‘Sparkling Creamy Chocolate Special Delight,’ which was exactly as horrible and delicious as the name implied. Then they went to the local art gallery. It was a small one, a simple room with a dozen or so artworks displayed, surprisingly not of the flowers themselves but of the vases. As they lingered on some of the artworks, Itachi proved himself surprisingly knowledgeable about them, which made Sakura ask about his teapot collection. Apparently, there were different kinds of kyusu, traditional teapots, each of which had a different use and meaning.
On their way out of the village, they saw a group of children trying to climb a tree and poking each other with sticks. One of the boys had a nasty fall, and Sakura rushed to help, healing the boy’s leg. The kids were ecstatic. Sakura quickly excused herself before the parents came to investigate.
“That was kind of you,” Itachi said as they walked away from the children, who were now all poking the boy’s just healed leg.
“I like to help where I can,” Sakura said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And I like healing people.”
This time, it was Itachi who laced their hands together. Sakura’s stomach fluttered happily. “Now that you’re truly back in Ame, are you planning to help out at Ame’s hospital?”
Sakura shook her head. “Honestly… no. I like healing people, but I don’t want to run a hospital again. I’d like to think I was pretty good at it, and I liked the nurses and staff at the KCH, but I didn’t enjoy the work itself. It’s a lot of paperwork, and it’s very reactive – taking care of the wounded afterwards instead of helping deal with the problem itself. It’s not really something that makes me happy.”
“That sounds like a wise choice,” Itachi said.
“Really?” Sakura said, surprised. “You’re not going to tell me I’m at my best in the hospital?”
“Of course not,” Itachi said, almost affronted. “You’re a very action-oriented person, and you’re a fighter as much as you are a healer. To put you as the head of a hospital would be underutilizing your qualities and would not challenge you enough in the long run. I could imagine, however, there might be complex surgeries you might enjoy assisting in or even leading, which would also allow you to teach others in the process if you wished. You wouldn’t be working there, not really, but you could be called in as a last resort for the really complicated problems.”
“That’s,” Sakura blinked, “that’s actually a great idea, Itachi. Maybe I’ll do that.” She kissed him, soft and sweet. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re blushing again.”
Itachi didn’t move away this time. “You enjoy it, don’t you?”
Sakura smiled playfully and didn’t deny it. “It’s getting late. Shall we head back to Ame soon?”
Itachi stared at her lips. “It isn’t that late yet.”
“Well, it’s just, I was thinking…” Sakura kissed him again, and again. “If you’d like to…” Again. “I was wondering if you’d want to spend the night in my room, maybe?”
“Oh.” Itachi was flushed, and his lips were wet, shining in the late afternoon sun. “Yes. Yes, I would like that.”
Sakura smiled and kissed him again. What a great day to be alive.
Luring the two Ame shinobi into his trap was easy. Getting them to talk was harder, but after literally turning one into a toad, the other one cracked.
Jiraiya might not be an interrogation specialist, but he had his methods.
Not that the information was very enlightening. Kami-sama was apparently named Pein, and the Ame shinobi followed him like a god. The word outsider was spat into Jiraiya’s face like a curse, but Pein’s abilities remained a mystery – though his ruthlessness did not.
Only at the end did the man reveal something interesting.
“There’s a new member too,” the shinobi said, talking fast. “I don’t know much about her, but there’ve been rumours. It’s a woman, and she’s the bomber’s new partner. She’s great at taijutsu, apparently, but I know nothing more! I swear!”
Jiraiya leaned back. “I believe you.” And with a snap of his fingers, the man fell unconscious.
The shinobi-turned-toad croaked.
Killing the toad swiftly and painlessly, Jiraiya looked around his temporary safe space. “It’s time to go,” he said to the toad whose stomach he was currently in. “I’ve gotten enough on the Akatsuki. It’s time to report to Tsunade.” The Akatsuki were in Ame, for one. From what Ino’s intelligence implied, there should be ten members, each wearing a ring. Orochimaru defected and Sasori died, so that would be eight left – although either of them might’ve been replaced. “Then we’ll have to find out who the other Akatsuki were.” Kakuzu. Hidan. Itachi. Kisame. Deidara. Three left. “No way this ‘Kami’ figure isn’t Akatsuki’s leader, and I bet this ‘Tenshi’ is a part of it too. One left.”
Jiraiya started painting a couple of seals on the unconscious shinobi in front of him, preparing his getaway technique. He would control the man from his shadow, walk him out of Ame, then kill him and disappear. The only downside was he would have to leave off his disguise.
“There’s only one mystery left,” Jiraiya muttered to himself. Sakura. What was she doing here? And more importantly, why was she here? Money, fame, family? From what those two civilians said, she was something important. Could Sakura be the newest Akatsuki member? Or could she be… Tenshi-sama herself?
No. That idea was absurd. Sakura wasn’t a leader, and her skillset wasn’t suited to being an Akatsuki at all. Besides, this Tenshi-sama was too well-established to be so new.
Still, the idea lingered.
Jiraiya finished the jutsu. A few moments later, he was hidden in the shadow of the Ame shinobi, standing under a bridge in the middle of Ame. It was still raining. With a nudge, Jiraiya commanded the man to start walking.
Before the man had even made it out of the street, a paper kunai came from nowhere, aiming at the man’s shadow – at Jiraiya. Jiraiya flipped out of the way, emerging from his hiding place. Busted. He landed on two feet, his hair forming a shield on his back. The light behind him cast a shadow on the floor.
A figure, hovering in the air, with two giant wings.
“Do those wings help you feel like an angel?” he taunted just before he turned around. “Does putting on an act like that–” Jiraiya finally got a good look at this Tenshi-sama, and immediately stopped talking. “Konan?!”
The Ame shinobi fled, begging for mercy as Konan beat her giant paper wings, once. There were dozens of small papers floating around her like birds of prey. “Sensei,” she said, but it was cold and bland.
“Konan,” Jiraiya said again, disbelieving. The child he’d trained for three years had changed so much, yet not at all. Outwardly, she seemed almost the same, but the look in her eyes was off. Distant. And that cloak… “So you’ve become part of the Akatsuki.” A dozen of emotions flared up within him, wrapping themselves around his throat. His voice was thick. “I thought you were all dead.”
Konan didn’t even blink. “You never checked. Not even as the war raged for years and years. Even after the Third War ended, the fighting didn’t stop, not in Amegakure.” Another beat of her wings, threatening. “The peace you promised us was near never existed.”
Jiraiya swallowed. Unbidden, a memory rose up, the green-haired Fuma shinobi raising his fan with a haughty look. As long as we’re cursed to live in this world of shinobi, there can be no peace. “I didn’t know. I truly believed back then the war would be over soon. I spoke out of hope.”
“You lied.”
Jiraiya swallowed. Another memory rose from his years on the road, the blue-haired man, long hair swaying, so beautiful and wise. Training cannot stop a war, but it can teach people to survive. “I trained you. I helped you survive.”
“You trained us, and as a reward for our growth, you left us.” For the first time, there was emotion in Konan’s voice, and it was venom. “In the end, the only thing you gave us was more pain.”
Jiraiya flinched. “I only wished to help you make better choices. Your own choices. I never imagined it would come to something like this.”
Konan laughed harshly, a crack in the unfeeling mask. “Way back then, you should’ve done as Orochimaru suggested. Isn’t that what you’re thinking?”
“No,” Jiraiya denied, recalling the moment. His past was near today. Meeting the three orphans, already so tired, so weary – yet their love for each other so clear. Tsunade, snarling at them, unusually harsh, the war taking its toll even on her. Orochimaru, as cold as ever, trying to be sympathetic in his own way, sure death was the only peace this world could live.
After all these years, Jiraiya still wasn't sure if he’d been right.
“I have no regrets about letting the three of you live,” Jiraiya said. “No matter how this may end.” He swallowed. “You were my students. That is a bond that never fades, not truly. Even if you attacked me now, without even saying hello.” He chuckled without humour. “I’ll admit, that hurts.”
“You seem to believe you still have a bond with us. You know nothing about us,” Konan spat. The papers around her trembled. “You left.”
“You’re right,” Jiraiya said, placating. “I don’t. Not anymore. But joining the Akatsuki… Why?” He was aware he was starting to sound desperate. “You must see what they’re doing is wrong!”
Something about his words seemed to make Konan regain her calm, the mask smoothly sliding back in place. “How soon your affection for us has waned and gone, like fleeting paper on the wind. Not that I had expected anything else, considering how easily you discarded us.” Her eyes were hard. “Like trash.”
“You were the kindest and gentlest of the three of you,” Jiraiya said, almost begging. “What happened to you?”
“You could never look past my gender, could you?” A strand of Konan’s hair floated in the wind, framing her face. How could something so beautiful be so cold? “You never truly saw me, or you’d have known how wrong you are. I was never the kindest and gentlest, you fool.”
Jiraiya changed tactics. “What about Nagato and Yahiko? What happened them?”
Konan didn’t answer.
“Ah.” Jiraiya felt his heart break further. Was this really going to end up this way? “So tell me, which of the other two ended up becoming Pein?”
“You seek answers, yet you do not understand the questions you are asking,” a new voice said from above. “I do not blame you. You never could. Jiraiya-sensei.”
Jiraiya looked up, startled. The orange hair, the cloak… and the Rinnegan. “Nagato?!”
“Thank you for detaining him, Konan.”
“Nagato,” Jiraiya said, the sharp feeling of relief at seeing another one of his students alive quickly turning to dread. He looks… different. “Where is Yahiko? What happened to him?”
Konan winced, ever-so-slightly.
Jiraiya’s expression turned grim. He remembered Nagato’s words, sitting with the small boy in the rain. All I want to do is protect those two, no matter what kind of pain I’ll be forced to endure.
Nagato co*cked his head. “Yahiko has been dead for quite some time. All that remains… is pain.”
Jiraiya closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Shut up!” Konan shouted, her calm veneer cracking with sudden force. “How dare you say those words!” Her whole body trembled, and with it, the papers around her folded themselves into knives. “You have no right! No right to come here, after abandoning us, after leaving us to die, and then dare to say you’re sorry–”
“Konan,” Nagato said, calm and reassuring.
Konan stopped and looked at Nagato. The cloud of razor-sharp paper in the air trembled, then disappeared. She breathed in, then out, the sound harsh and primal.
Jiraiya could only watch.
“You are right,” Konan said, and the mask slid back into place. And then, without any more words, she disappeared.
sh*t. Jiraiya felt his stomach drop. There went my only way in.
“I suppose it is something you still remember our names after discarding us so quickly,” Nagato said, pulling Jiraiya’s attention back to him. This is not good. “I suppose I have to thank you. You reinforced the lesson that the only thing that matters in this world of shinobi… is pain.” The Rinnegan glowed in the shadows. “Even innocent, foolish children will have to grow up in the face of pain.”
Jiraiya’s palms started to sweat. “But abandoning the love you have for others – is that really what it means to grow up? From pain grows kindness, Nagato. Isn’t that what I taught you?” He dug his nails into the palm of his hand. “Is that how far you’ve strayed from the right path?”
Nagato – and it had to be Nagato – was unmoved. “Sensei… You do not understand. I do not need you to. I have endured endless pain, and it has transformed me, opened my eyes to the truth of this world. You are caught in the web of lies you have become a part of, and though your heart might be in the right place, you cannot help but inflict pain on others. It is, by now, in your nature.”
Jiraiya clenched his jaw. “You really have changed.”
“I have seen the only true path to peace.”
Jiraiya narrowed his eyes. “Just what exactly are you planning to do?”
“You do not need to know,’ Nagato said. “After all… you are an outsider.”
Then he attacked.
First, there were summoned animals, then more shinobi carrying the Rinnegan, and then, after Jiraiya had killed his own student, the bodies reappeared, resurrected, as if they’d never been killed at all.
The fight was brutal.
For the first time in his life, Jiraiya was outclassed. Scared. This might actually be the end. If Tsunade and Orochimaru had been here, they would have had a chance – but those days were long gone.
Then, a single moment of triumph as Jiraiya managed to pull the first Rinnegan bearer with him into the sealed-off stomach of one of his toads. Strangely, as soon as the shinobi landed in the stomach, he collapsed, like a puppet without strings.
All that was left was a corpse.
“What on earth?” Jiraiya said out loud, stepping closer to the now limp body. The line of the toad’s stomach underneath his feet made strange, wet sounds as he walked. The air smelled sharp and unpleasant, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. “It’s a corpse. It’s a f*cking corpse.”
“The real Pein must be controlling them somehow,” Ma said from his left shoulder.
“Probably through those steel piercings,” Pa added.
“That’s what I was about to say,” Ma snapped.
Jiraiya ignored them, kneeling by the corpse. His limbs ached, and his chakra was dangerously low. The only reason he was still standing was because of the sage chakra flowing through him. “We need to get this corpse to Konoha,” he said, turning the corpse around. The Rinnegan. It’s gone. He cursed. “They might be able to learn more about Pein’s powers.”
“Jiraiya, boy,” Ma said, sounding pained.
Jiraiya ignored her. “Ma. You need to go home. And I need to keep fighting.”
“Absolutely not,” Ma snapped, affronted. “You’ll be killed if you go up there.”
“I have to figure out who Pein is,” Jiraiya said. “I’m the only one who can. And you need to take this body and the intel about Pein back to Konoha.”
“I won’t,” Ma said, but Jiraiya cut her off.
“This is not a request.” He closed his eyes. “And tell Tsunade I love her.”
Silence reigned for a moment.
“We can take them, easy,” Pa said, and all of them knew he was lying.
“You better be back by dinner time,” Ma commanded.
Jiraiya rose to his feet. His vision was blurry. “Of course. Thank you.”
A beat, and Ma was gone.
Pa was silent on his shoulder. Jiraiya prepared himself for what would most likely be the last fight of his life, and looked up. “Tsunade. Orochimaru.” The words were a whisper. His hands started making signs. “I’m about to do something very stupid.”
You self-sacrificing idiot, the Orochimaru in his mind snapped at him, golden eyes still carrying a hint of warmth, the hitai-ate on his head unscratched. Stop charging ahead alone, you fool! We’re a team for a reason!
Listen to Orochimaru, dumbass! the mental image of Tsunade bellowed at him. You know you’ll be dead in minutes if you go out there without us!
“I know,” Jiraiya whispered to his ghosts. “Forgive me.”
The jutsu finished. Jiraiya was spat out back into the real world.
One objective left: find out who the real one is. Jiraiya’s mind was sharp, his goal clear. The five Pein stood in a circle on the water, each looking in a different direction. Jiraiya hid behind a fallen piece of rock and attacked.
It failed.
Within moments, Pein was upon him, distracting him from above as the real attack came from below. One Pein grabbed his hair, punching at Pa which such force the old toad was thrown from his Jiraiya’s shoulder, falling into the water.
“No!” Jiraiya shouted. With only Pa there to help him, his control of the nature chakra within him had already been tentative, but now, it started to rebel. He flew through the air, fighting not to turn into stone when he realized–
The real one is not among them.
His stomach plummeted. This whole fight had been a farce, the real puppet master not even showing his face. And that could only be Nagato, the real Nagato, with his crimson hair and thin face.
I have to get this knowledge to Tsunade.
“Jiraiya!” Pa shouted as he fell into the waters below.
“Pa,” Jiraiya grunted, but already he couldn’t feel his toes anymore. He was forced to focus inwards, to control the nature chakra growing wilder and wilder within him.
The moment of distraction was enough for two other Pein to come close, grabbing both of his arms by the elbow. Jiraiya grit his teeth and tried to flare his chakra, but couldn’t get it under control. He swore, and then swore again as the two Pein placed their feet on his body and pulled.
With a great, horrible noise both of his arms came off at the elbow. Jiraiya screamed in pain, blood seeping from the open wounds. The last Pein, still holding him by the hair, threw him down like a discarded toy. Jiraiya was lucky to hit a rock instead of the water. He smacked face-down into the stone. The next moment, six steel poles were rammed into his back, hitting his vital organs.
The pain was so overwhelming it tipped over into relief. I’m done. It’s over. He braced himself for the final blow.
It didn’t come. Around him, Pein backed off, all six of him stepping back.
“Leaving me to die, huh,” Jiraiya whispered, throat raw. The numb feeling crept higher, enveloping his feet. “What love you have for your old sensei.”
The only answer was the sound of retreating footsteps.
Jiraiya tried to laugh, but it ended as a painful sob. The air around him grew colder as the arms of the Shinigami started to wrap themselves around him.
His vision blurred. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore.
But then – hope. Out of the water came Pa, the little sage toad far more stealthy than anyone gave him credit for. “My boy,” he choked.
“Pa,” Jiraiya rasped with the last of his strength, “listen to me.” From a great distance away, six pairs of footsteps paused. “The–”
A foot appeared from thin air, crushing Pa into nonexistence before Jiraiya could finish.
Jiraiya’s heart filled with dread. He looked up, and saw–
Akatsuki’s blood-red cloak–
feminine legs and hips–
and a face he knew all too well.
“You,” he spat, full of spite.
“Me,” Haruno Sakura said evenly, her face devoid of emotion.
“Tsunade should have loved you less.”
The lower half of his body was already naught but stone. From above came Pein, crushing him and the rock he lay on. The pain returned, and the last of his strength left him.
Jiraiya sank under the water and was no more.
