Chương 15: Disciple and Sword - 1

Nii-san?!" Sasuke came pelting out of his room like something was on fire. He had his bow on his back and a quiver at his hip—ready, like he'd been ready for a while. Itachi was sitting on the wooden veranda in the morning light, sorting through his gear. He looked up at his little brother with something between surprise and a smile.

"Sasuke."

"You're going out again?" Sasuke planted himself in the doorway, cheeks puffed, arms crossed.

"You promised."

"... Ah." Itachi's face shifted with recognition.

"I did." Sasuke gestured at himself. At the bow. At the considerable effort he had clearly put into being prepared.

"You said you'd come with me."

"I know." Itachi set down what he was holding.

"I'm sorry. Something came up. I can't."" Hmph." Sasuke turned his head away. Showed him the back of his ear. Itachi watched him for a moment—the set of his shoulders, the carefully maintained not-looking—and then reached out. Sasuke barely saw it coming." Ow—" He clapped a hand to his forehead, rubbing.

"That hurt!"

"Next time." Itachi's voice was gentle. Sasuke dropped his hand. He looked up. Itachi was smiling at him. The real one—the quiet one, the one only Sasuke ever got.

"... Fine." He tried very hard not to turn red." This time. I'm not making a habit of it." Itachi's smile deepened. He stood, and the morning light behind him shifted— And then he was gone. Where he'd been standing, light moved through empty air.

"... Nii-san," Sasuke said to the space where he'd been. He looked at the veranda boards for a moment. The way the light fell in thin strips through the slats.

"Getting busier every week," he muttered. He turned back toward his room—and stopped. His father was sitting at the table. Quietly. As though he'd been there a while. Sasuke straightened fast." Father." Fugaku said nothing. His expression was the one it always was—brow set, jaw level, a weight to him that didn't need announcing. Mikoto came in from the side room with a tea tray, setting it down without fuss.

"Did Itachi leave?" she asked Sasuke.

"Just now." She made a small, fond sound of complaint.

"He could at least say goodbye properly."

"He's probably on a mission," Sasuke said.

"He's ANBU captain now—" He felt the room change. His father's eyes opened. Fugaku looked at him." And?" Sasuke went very still. He wasn't sure what he'd said wrong.

"Being ANBU captain," Fugaku said, and each word carried its own weight, "means what, exactly, Sasuke." Sasuke didn't answer." Hmph." Fugaku rose slowly from the table.

"Clan business," he said, without looking at either of them, and moved toward the door.

"You're heading out too?" Mikoto asked, a little surprised.

"Someone in the clan made trouble again." At the Inuzuka compound, the afternoon was slow and warm. Kiba dropped another vegetable into the basin and wiped his face with his sleeve. Beside him, Shin worked steadily, rinsing greens in the outdoor washtub. Hana crouched between them in her apron, separating roots. Akamaru was investigating a corner of the garden with great seriousness.

"Hey, Hana-nee." Kiba's patience lasted about four minutes.

"Who's the guest?"

"Someone from the Uchiha clan." Shin and Kiba both looked up.

"The head, actually." Hana kept working.

"Sasuke's dad?" Kiba said, like the words tasted bad. He already didn't like Sasuke. The feeling extended naturally. Not Shisui. Shin kept his face still, ran through it quickly. Then probably not about me. Hana looked up.

"Kiba, be nice."

"I didn't say anything."

"It's about the thing that happened this morning." Hana tilted her head, thinking.

"Mom was in town and there was a... situation with some of the Military Police. I'll tell you later—" She caught herself.

"Actually, you don't need to know."" What?"

"Just wash the vegetables." Kiba hunched over the basin with enormous grievance. Shin watched the water. The vegetables turned slowly in his hands. Akamaru made a small doubtful sound.

"Don't you start," Kiba told him.

"Woof." If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it." Traitor." The front door opened. Hana stood first, wiping her hands. Shin and Kiba followed. The man who came out was tall, with a hard face—sharp angles, brow permanently set, a kind of gravity that moved around him. Nothing about him was decorative.

"Are you leaving?" Hana bowed. Shin and Kiba fell in beside her and did the same. Fugaku swept his gaze across the three of them, unhurried. It stopped on Shin.

"You're Shin Takami." It wasn't quite a question. He was already looking at the answer. Shin met his eyes.

"Yes." Kiba, beside him, did not move a muscle. Fugaku looked at Shin for a moment longer. Taking stock.

"Sasuke is in your care," he said.

"Not at all. Sasuke does well on his own." Fugaku made a short sound—not dismissal, but something like recalibration. He hadn't expected that answer.

"Good." He held Shin's gaze.

"Keep your position at the top of your class."

"..." Why do all of them say that. Is there a script somewhere. Shin kept his face even.

"I was acquainted with your father," Fugaku said then. Something in Shin went very still." Hey." Fugaku paused. His gaze slid to the side. Tsume Inuzuka stood in the open doorway, arms folded. The two of them regarded each other for a beat. Fugaku looked back at Shin.

"Come by the Uchiha compound sometime," he said, and then walked through the gate without another word. Hana watched him go." You're welcome," she murmured softly, and went back to tidying up. Kiba exhaled through his nose. Shin looked at the gate for a moment after it closed. Your father. Again. First Genma. Now the Uchiha clan head. He'd heard Genma say his father might have been in line to lead a jonin squad. They weren't a clan. There was no rank to inherit, no bloodline to trade on. And yet—"Shin."

Tsume's voice from the doorway.

"Come in."...... She was already seated when he came inside. Kuromaru lay near the wall, watching with the calm, heavy attention of an old animal. Tsume had her arms folded, her expression closed.

"Sit." He sat.

"Have you had any contact with the Uchiha clan?" she asked. Straight at him.

"Sasuke Uchiha is in my class."

"Anyone else?" Shisui. He kept his face still. The word sat behind his teeth.

"No." Tsume looked at him. Her eyes were difficult to read—Kiba had her coloring and her directness, but not her particular depth of quiet.

"Good," she said at last. A beat.

"That invitation Fugaku just extended," she said.

"Don't take it."

"All right." She looked at him again, longer. Something shifted in her expression—too small and too brief to name.

"Is there something you want to say?" He was quiet for a moment.

"... Could you tell me something about my father." The room went still. Tsume's arms came down from their fold. Kuromaru raised his head. The silence lasted long enough to have weight.

"... Why do you want to know," she said finally.

"He's my father." Shin met her eyes.

"I think that's reason enough."

"Is it." Her voice was flat, but something moved behind it.

"You've never said anything about him." He kept going, careful and steady.

"Not once. I've always wanted to—""He was a fool," she said. The words landed clean and final. Shin went still.

"Leave it at that."

"But—""That's enough." She looked at him once, hard and brief.

"You can go." A moment passed.

"... Yes." Morning. Konoha's training forest. Shin arrived with his pack slung over one shoulder and a bento box dangling from his other hand, heading toward the clearing he'd been using for months. He didn't need to find it anymore—the trees had mapped it for him. Bark stripped to bare wood. Trunks carved with the ghost-marks of a thousand throws. A space worn into the earth by the same two feet, day after day. He set his pack and bento down on the ground. A sharp sound split the air.

Shin's body moved before his mind did—he twisted backward, pushing off the ground. Thwack. A shuriken buried itself into the dirt where he'd been standing, skewering his bento box clean through. He looked at it for a moment.

"My, my." A familiar voice came from somewhere above and behind him.

"Diligent as always." Shin said nothing. He turned. A few trees back, balanced easy as breathing in the fork of a branch, Shisui Uchiha stood watching him. Civilian clothes. Expression somewhere between fond and entertained. He flickered. Reappeared directly in front of Shin.

"Morning, top of the class." Shisui's smile didn't move. Shin stared at him.

"What?" Shisui tilted his head.

"What's with that face?" Shin kept staring.

"You're not actually scared, are you?" Shisui looked him over, searching for injury.

"I aimed wide."

"..."

"... My bento."

"Hm?" Shin took a slow breath. He turned and pointed at the ground, where the shuriken still pinned the lacquered box to the dirt.

"My bento."

"... Oh." Shisui's smile went stiff.

"That was—cough—that was an accident."

"How are you going to make it up to me." It wasn't a question.

"... Name your terms." Shisui scratched the back of his neck. Shin turned back to his pack, crouched down, and opened it. Inside: shuriken, wire, kunai, a pair of weighted gloves. He began laying them out with the unhurried focus of someone who had a plan.

"Buy me lunch."

"... Fair enough." Shisui pressed a hand to his forehead. He stepped closer, coming around behind Shin.

"You're here early."

"I had things I wanted to work on." Shin pulled on the specialized gloves, then picked up a shuriken and a length of wire.

"I have something on this afternoon, so I came early too." Shisui watched him work.

"You don't have to feel obligated to keep showing up, you know. I mean that."

"I wasn't going to stop." Shin paused. Glanced up.

"Should I?"

"—No." Shisui blinked.

"That's not what I—" He laughed, a small defeated sound.

"You're really not cute at all, are you." Shin gave him a look.

"Sasuke, now," Shisui said, spreading his hands, "when his brother cancels on him, he gets this expression. All furious and helpless at the same time. It's something."

"You're not my brother." Shisui went quiet for a moment. Then—"Lucky for you."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." Shisui smiled wide, his eyes curved into crescents, and leaned in close. Shin put his palm flat against Shisui's face and pushed him back.

"Too close."

"You hit surprisingly hard for your size." Shisui reached up and rubbed his cheek. He didn't sound especially bothered. Shin returned to his work. Shisui waited a beat, then reached over and plucked the shuriken and wire out of Shin's hands. Shin looked at him.

"You wrapped it wrong." Shisui sounded like he was trying not to laugh. His fingers moved efficiently—unwinding, realigning, starting over.

"Like this. The way you had it, the shuriken couldn't spin." He handed it back.

"Here. That's the right way." Shin took it. Studied it.

"Most shinobi use wire with kunai," Shisui went on, "and even then it's usually support. Wire-wrapped shuriken as a primary offensive weapon—" he tilted his head "—that's Uchiha-only. We're the only ones who bothered to figure it out."

"You should be grateful."

"..." Shin looked up.

"... Thank you." Shisui made a small sound and covered his mouth, but the laugh escaped anyway. Shin glared. Shisui made an effort. Composed himself.

"Right. Sorry. —There's also the Wind Release Shuriken, but that technique carries too much of a signature. Anyone who knows what they're looking at would know the source. I'm not going to teach you that one."

"Besides," he added, "the Wind Release Shuriken needs supporting ninjutsu to work properly. The limitations outweigh the advantages for your purposes. You don't need it."

"That's fine." Shin was already measuring the wire again.

"Go ahead and try it." Shisui took a few steps back and leaned against a tree. Shin stood still for a moment. Then he exhaled. One hand gripping the shuriken. The other holding the wire. He threw. The shuriken sang through the air. The wire unspooled behind it, flashing a line of reflected light before the blade caught a branch above— —and stopped. The shuriken wrapped itself around the branch and stuck. Shin looked at it. The wire dangled. The shuriken turned slowly, uselessly, going nowhere.

"..." Shisui laughed.

"What's funny."

"Nothing, nothing." He straightened up, still smiling. Walked over and took the wire from Shin's hand.

"Watch." One sharp pull. Crack. The entire branch—adult-arm thickness—snapped clean and dropped from the canopy. The shuriken swung back into Shisui's waiting palm like it had never left.

"Your technique isn't wrong," he said.

"Your arms are just too weak." He turned the shuriken once in his fingers.

"Pay attention." He threw. A wide arc. The wire unspooled and turned and— Swish. Swish. Swish. —three separate lines of light traced the air. Below them, three branches fell at once, their cut faces perfectly clean.

"See?" Shisui said.

"You understand the motion. You just need the strength behind it. Taijutsu work, arm strength, wrist strength—you need all of it." He handed the shuriken back.

"Add it to your training."

"Understood."

"Also—the wire changes the shuriken's arc. You need to compensate. Hit the same curve you'd get without the wire, or the whole thing's just a liability."

"I know."

"Good." Shisui stepped aside.

"Go. Wire or no wire, up to you." Shin looked at the shuriken in his hand for a moment. Then set the wired one down, and reached into his pack for three plain ones. Shisui watched from behind him, and smiled where Shin couldn't see it.