Chapter 47

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The courtyard of the Sarutobi compound was serene, its small garden vibrant with late-blooming flowers and carefully raked gravel paths. Only the slight scuff marks and damp patches on the stone hinted at the sparring session that had just taken place.

Hiruzen Sarutobi lowered his staff, its weight solid and comforting in his hand. He surveyed the courtyard with an approving eye, then turned his attention back to Naruto, who stood at ease a few paces away. The boy's breathing was steady, and his stance relaxed.

"You're more precise," Hiruzen said, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve. "It's subtle, but I can see it—your Water Release, in particular, is controlled and deliberate. Less unbridled power."

Naruto smiled faintly, though his expression remained modest. "I figured it was time I lived up to your lessons."

Hiruzen chuckled, adjusting his grip on the staff. "I suppose you have. Though, if I keep letting you spar in my garden, it might become a pond before long."

Naruto's smile widened as he glanced at the damp patches where his jutsu had struck. "I tried to keep it contained."

"You did," Hiruzen said warmly. He glanced at the old stone lantern nearby, its base streaked with water. "Mostly." He leaned into a stretch, groaning only partly in exaggeration. 

"Are you alright?" his youngest student asked, a slight frown on his face.

"Quite," he replied, straightening. "Growing old does have its demerits, as I'm sure you're aware."

Naruto smiled. "I knew all that wisdom comes at a price. You'd better retire while you're still spry. Dying under the weight of paperwork is a sad way to go, sensei."

"What do you think my ANBU are for? Were such an occasion to occur, I'm sure they can pull my decrepit self from under the wreckage."

Try as he did, Naruto couldn't stop his smile from stretching, and Hiruzen enjoyed the snort that followed for the second that it lasted.

"Seriously, though," said Naruto, "are you sure you're alright? The tournament's set to start in a few days and people are arriving from all over."

"And your point is?" he asked with a raised brow.

His student gestured in his general direction rather awkwardly. "Well… you're old."

"I'm quite aware of that fact."

"You know what I mean," Naruto retorted, stopping to heave out a sigh. "These people have seen you younger and stronger. Your age doesn't matter to us, but to our allies, I reckon it matters a lot."

"Your point being?" Hiruzen asked, slightly put out at the serious turn their light-hearted conversation had taken.

Naruto hummed. "It might help to have one of our national heroes around. Especially with Orochimaru plotting against the village. Maybe he'll think twice about pulling something if his old teammates are around?"

That gave Hiruzen a moment's pause, enough to give the suggestion a palpable weight. Jiraiya, as fickle as he could be, would come racing at the barest hint of Orochimaru's presence alone. Hiruzen knew his student was still investigating the Akatsuki and their links to his orphaned students from the Rain, but between him and Tsunade, Jiraiya took the discovery of Orochimaru's sins the hardest.

"...Perhaps I will," he replied quietly. Though not yet; summoning Jiraiya could wait a few more days. Naruto's face was troubled, clouded as if he could read Hiruzen's mind. "Despite his ills, I've known Orochimaru his entire life. He's not the kind to mount an assault in broad daylight, as his behaviour in the Forest of Death proves."

"If you're so sure," Naruto replied, sighing.

The two stood in comfortable silence for a long moment. Hiruzen studied the boy before him—calm, thoughtful, and mature beyond his years. During the month of training, Naruto had grown into a shinobi whose talent was matched by his restraint. Hiruzen considered the scroll locked away in his study—the Monkey Summoning contract.

He'd been toying with the idea of passing it to Naruto for some time now. There was a decision there, but one that required care. The boy still had the Chunin Exams ahead of him, and there was something to be said for letting Naruto earn his rewards.

"Tell me, Naruto," Hiruzen said at last, breaking the silence, "what would you say to a little incentive?"

Naruto tilted his head, curious.

"Win the tournament," Hiruzen smiled, "and I might have a rather unique reward in mind."

Naruto froze, only for a second, blinking at Hiruzen, seemingly in shock. He folded his arms, his grin contorting into something sly. "Is that so? Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint you, sensei."

Hiruzen's gaze flickered toward the shadows at the edge of the courtyard. A figure lingered there, barely visible against the deepening twilight.

"First, let me welcome our guest," Hiruzen said evenly. "Do come out."

Naruto's body tensed ever so slightly. He turned, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the red-haired boy standing under the arch of a tree. Gaara of the Sand, Hiruzen believed. His posture was relaxed, but his pale green eyes were sharp and unblinking. The gourd on his back seemed almost alive in the fading light.

"Did you need something, Gaara?" Naruto asked, his tone polite but edged with wariness.

Gaara stepped closer until he was a few meters away from them. "I was watching," he said, his voice soft but laced with something that made the air heavier. "Your control… it's impressive."

Naruto said nothing for a moment, studying him. "...Thanks."

Hiruzen watched the two boys carefully. There was a tension between them, not yet hostile but far from friendly.

Gaara tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Why do you hold back?"

"What?"

"You have power. I saw it just now. Yet you restrain yourself. Why?"

"Because power without control is a double-edged sword; it's destruction," Naruto replied. "And destruction doesn't win battles without cost."

Gaara's lips curved into a faint, unsettling smile. The air between them seemed to shift, thickening with tension. Naruto took a step forward, his arms loose at his sides, his expression calm.

"You think chaos is strength, do you?" Naruto asked. "I think that's just an excuse for you to sate your bloodthirst."

"It's the only answer," Gaara said, his voice rising just enough to reveal the fervour beneath it. "Those who hesitate are crushed. Those who doubt are destroyed."

Naruto's hands curled into loose fists. "And what does that make you? A weapon? A monster? Someone who thinks fear is the only way to live?"

Gaara's smile vanished. His hand twitched toward his gourd. "I am alive because others fear me. I kill to prove my existence—and when we fight, you'll die."

Naruto didn't take that well, his chakra leaking out in response to Gaara's open bloodthirst.

"Enough," Hiruzen said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Both boys froze, their gazes snapping at him. Hiruzen stepped forward, his staff tapping against the stone as he moved between them.

"This is neither the time nor the place," he said, his tone firm but measured. "If you wish to exchange philosophies, do so with words, not fists."

Naruto glanced away, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Gaara, however, remained rigid, his gaze clouded, partly irritated and curious.

Hiruzen turned to Gaara, his gaze steady. "You remind me of someone I once knew," he said. "Someone who believed strength was found in isolation and power was its own justification."

Gaara's eyes narrowed.

"That path leads only to emptiness," Hiruzen continued. "It blinds you to the bonds that give strength its purpose. Without purpose, power is nothing but a shadow. A companion that can neither speak nor provide comfort. It's a pale imitation of companionship born out of loneliness."

Gaara's expression flickered, but only for a moment. Pain replaced his glare as he clutched his head, stepping back. His movements were stiff, and he turned away without saying another word.

Hiruzen watched him go, his heart heavy. The boy's resemblance to Orochimaru was unnerving—not in appearance, but in the way he clung to his convictions, his obsession with survival above all else.

Naruto let out a slow breath, breaking the silence. "I don't trust him," he said quietly. "He's a loose canon—and a powerful one."

"Nor should you," Hiruzen replied. "But do not dismiss him entirely. Even shadows can find the light if they are willing to look for it."

Naruto glanced at him, his expression thoughtful but guarded. "I don't think I can change him."

Hiruzen smiled faintly. "Nor should you be. The final decision lies with Gaara himself—and despite our talk, he may choose to continue as he is. But if he chooses to change, it will not be through fear or force, but through understanding."

Naruto didn't respond immediately. His gaze drifted to the edge of the courtyard, where the shadows of the trees stretched long and dark.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said at last.

Hiruzen nodded, resting his weight against his staff. The courtyard fell quiet again, the tension dissipating like mist in the morning sun. Perhaps, in the end, it was not the inherent darkness that defined a person, but how they chose to respond to it. Orochimaru might have been his failure as a teacher, but his wayward student's wicked conscience was as much to blame.

He only hoped Naruto would not repeat his mistakes.

"So, what now?" his student asked. "There's a few days left before the tournament."

"You're welcome to visit, be it to discuss your tactics or otherwise," said Hiruzen. "Though I advise you to rest until the tournament. There's not much you could do in a handful of days that we have not done already."

Naruto smiled. "I think I'll do just that, sensei."

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— — —

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The bag of dumplings swung from Fuu's hand as she walked down the shaded street. The late afternoon buzz surrounded her—merchants hawking wares, shinobi darting between rooftops, and civilians bustling past with glowing faces that buzzed with festivity. The chaos was oddly soothing, its noise drowning out her thoughts. She bit into one of the skewers, savouring the mix of sweet and savoury as she slowed to a stroll.

Behind her, a group of nobles in flowing robes turned into an alley, their guards trailing close. Shuji's warnings about danger from the arriving Daimyo echoed in her head, but Fuu shoved them aside.

Of course, she couldn't shove Chomei aside as easily. 'That one looks like a peacock, Fuu!'

Fuu snorted, nearly choking on the dumpling she'd been chewing. "What, the guy in purple? Yeah, I see it. Real fancy bird vibes." She murmured the words under her breath, keeping her tone low enough not to draw attention.

Chomei's laughter tickled the back of her mind, warm and easy. 'If he's a peacock, his guards are the tail feathers. Look at how stiff they are!'

She glanced back, the corner of her mouth quirking. Sure enough, the guards were marching in perfect formation, their serious faces exaggerated by gleaming helmets. It was hard not to imagine them fanning out like a tail whenever the noble waved his hand.

"Stop making me laugh," she muttered, though she didn't mean it. Chomei's jokes were a welcome distraction. It wasn't every day she could feel this... normal.

'You need to laugh more,' Chomei said, his tone softening. 'Even I get bored when you're brooding all the time.'

"I don't brood," Fuu protested, though she said it without much conviction.

She rounded the corner to her team's accommodation, the modest wooden frame standing stark against the grander structures nearer the main thoroughfare. From the open windows above, voices floated down—Shuji's gruff bark unmistakable.

"Blah, blah, blah. Stay inside, don't have fun, end of the world." She popped the last dumpling into her mouth, licking her fingers clean as she climbed the stairs.

The moment she stepped inside, the room's tension smacked her like a wave. Shuji sat at the low table, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Rukia. Her friend, as usual, wore her calm like a set of armour, pouring tea with a grace that ignored the weight of Shuji's scrutiny.

"You're late," Shuji snapped without looking at her.

Fuu tossed the dumpling bag onto the table. "Brought snacks. You're welcome."

"Save it," he growled. "You shouldn't even be out there. Do you realise how dangerous it is right now?"

Fuu rolled her eyes and flopped onto a cushion. "I've been hearing this all week. You're like an old man yelling at clouds. Relax, I'm fine. See? No injuries."

Shuji slammed his palm on the table, rattling the teapot. "It's not about you being fine! It's about not putting yourself in senseless danger! The Daimyo are here, and the streets are crawling with shinobi, samurai, and mercenaries from all over. Do you have any idea what would happen if someone figured out who—what—you are?"

Fuu froze, the skewer halfway to her mouth. Her eyes flicked to Rukia's, hoping for backup, but her friend didn't meet her gaze. Instead, she occupied herself wholly with the teapot she was carefully, maddeningly refilling.

"Seriously?" Fuu's calm snapped at the sight. "You too?"

Rukia's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't look up. Fuu felt the familiar prickle of betrayal claw at her chest. This was becoming routine—Shuji ranting, Rukia retreating. What had happened to her? To the girl who once darted as excitedly as her through markets?

These days, she wouldn't leave the house unless forced, her smiles as pale and fleeting as winter sunlight.

Fuu clenched her fists. "You've been a total ghost since a few days back. I had to beg you to take a twenty-minute walk, and you even cut that short—and now you're siding with Shuji?"

"Because she knows I'm right," Shuji supplied, as helpfully snide as always.

Haku set the teapot down with infuriating precision, pointedly ignoring him. "We can't afford to be careless."

Fuu barked a laugh, sharp and bitter. Rukia's calm shattered, her words barricaded behind lips pressing into a thin line.

"Fine. You two sit here and sulk. I'm going downstairs." Fuu shoved herself to her feet, the cushion skidding back with the force of her movement.

Shuji muttered something under his breath, but Fuu didn't stay to listen. She shoved the door to her and Rukia's room open and stepped into the fading light, the hum of the village rushing to meet her.

The knock came as the last orange hues of sunset dipped below the horizon. Fuu sat cross-legged on her bed, tossing a kunai up and catching it. She debated not answering, but the door creaked open anyway.

"Fuu."

Rukia stood there, arms crossed tightly as if shielding herself from a cold breeze. She closed the door behind her.

Fuu didn't look up. "Come to lecture me again?"

"No." Rukia's voice was quiet. "I came to apologise."

That made Fuu glance up, though her expression stayed guarded. "Really?"

Rukia took a deep breath and crossed the room. "I... I should have backed you up."

"...No kidding." Fuu eased back a little to give her a break, if only for the overflowing remorse in her eyes.

Rukia hesitated, her hands knotting together. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Stop shuffling about over there and sit down first." Fuu pointed at Rukia's bed, which was opposite her own. "You're making me dizzy."

She cracked a smile, only for it to be replaced with that airy nervousness from before. "...You were right," Rukia said, once again wringing her hands. "I haven't been myself since the tour—and there's a reason for that. Naruto cornered me on the tour when we separated; he recognised me, Fuu."

Fuu sat up, rapt.

"The reason I've been… a ghost, as you put it, is because I'm afraid that shinobi will haul me off for questioning. There wouldn't be a thing I could do about it either. The reason I didn't speak up against Shuji earlier is that I don't know if they plan on taking any of you in for questioning."

"...Your cover as a Waterfall ninja is completely blown," said Fuu, all at once overtaken by remorse. What use was her freedom to wander the Leaf Village's streets when her friend was living in fear she knew nothing about? "I'm sorry."

Rukia shook her head. "Don't be—I'm the one who should apologise. For putting you in danger… and for failing my master once again."

"You've brought your master up before," said Fuu by way of question rather than a statement.

"He's…" Fuu saw her hesitate, only for the tension to leave her as her shoulders deflated. "...a former Mist Village jonin. He took me in when I had nothing and no one—he made me everything I am today."

Fuu studied Rukia carefully, her brow furrowed. "Your master must mean a lot to you, but what does he have to do with all this?"

Rukia's lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes darting to the closed door as if expecting someone to burst in at any moment. "Everything," she said quietly. "He's the one who sent me here in the first place."

"For the Exams?"

"For you."

Fuu froze. "Me?"

Rukia nodded, her expression tight. "He knows what you are, Fuu. What you carry. And he... he thinks you'd be safer with us than staying in the Leaf. He's been watching, waiting for the right time to bring it up. But with Naruto recognising me and all the political chaos about to descend on this village with all the Daimyo—there isn't time to wait anymore."

Fuu's mouth opened—wordless betrayal flared in her chest—and closed. Caught between confusion and a growing wariness that twisted inside her. "So… what? He sent you to recruit me? I-Is… was our entire friendship a sham?"

Rukia flinched. "No! I won't deny he sent me here to recruit you, but I've come to enjoy your company. My master's been watching the Hidden Waterfall for a while, and he thinks you'd be better off leaving. And after everything I've seen—both here and in the Hidden Waterfall—I can't say he's wrong."

"Like you'd disagree with your master." Fuu's voice was sharper now, the initial shock giving way to incredulity. "And leaving? Just up and leaving? To go with you and your mysterious master? Are you serious?"

At the sight of someone who'd quickly become a fast friend of hers, Fuu felt her blood curdle. Each time she thought people couldn't be any more slimy, they found ways to surprise her that made her sick to her stomach.

Rukia leaned forward, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Think about it, Fuu. The only reason they're not hauling me off for questioning right now is because of the exams. The nobles, the Daimyo—they're a distraction that's spreading the Leaf thin, but it won't last. Once they're processed, everything will calm down, and the Leaf will turn its attention back to things that don't add up. Things like me." She paused, her voice softening. "And things like you."

"I'm a guest here," Fuu said.

"For now," Rukia said pointedly. "But you're my teammate, and I've got a massive question mark next to my name after Naruto figured out who I am. How long before that changes? They might not even let the two of us leave the village once the exam ends."

Fuu clenched her fists. "You don't know that."

"No, I don't," Rukia admitted. "But I do know what it's like to be hunted. To be feared just for existing. I've seen it happen before, Fuu, and I don't want it to happen to you."

Acid burned inside of her, painful and hot. Forced to second-guess every single interaction she'd had with the girl across from her, Fuu glared. "Let me guess, your master told you? Convenient that you ran into me when I was upset."

Haku sighed. "...Because I was hunted for my bloodline ability. I'm sure you've heard of how those like me are treated in the Land of Water. When the news spread, my mother and I were set upon by a mob gathered by my father. I… killed them all, though not before they killed my mother."

Fuu turned her gaze to the floor, the weight of shame compounded by Rukia's words pressing down on her shoulders. Very quickly, it lightened at the remembrance of how easily the girl had manipulated her loneliness the first time.

…And yet Rukia had a point. Staying in the Leaf wasn't a smart choice, given their association.

"You're happier here than I've ever seen you," Rukia continued, her voice filled with quiet intensity. "You've been treated like a person, not a weapon or—or a monster. But can you honestly say it'll stay that way? That it's worth the risk of staying in a village that could turn on you the moment things go wrong or returning to one that loathes you?"

Fuu swallowed hard, her chest tight. "What's your angle?"

"Come with me," Rukia said. "Leave this village—leave your village. My master and I travel the world. You'd be free. And you'd never be alone again."

Fuu looked up, her eyes searching Rukia's face for signs of deceit. "And your master? What does he really want with me?"

"He escaped the Fourth Mizukage's brutality and knows what it means to be hunted and survive against all odds. I think he sees in you the same strength I do, Fuu."

Fuu's hands trembled slightly. The idea of leaving the Waterfall hadn't occurred to her before. For all her boasting of idolising Kakuzu, she had never considered leaving; it annoyed Shibuki's father and brought joy to her. She was a weapon to be pointed at a hidden village's enemy; that fact would not change.

And yet the small, bitter voice in the back of her head latched onto those words—the sweet, intoxicating call of freedom—for the trap that they were. But Fuu desired it all the same. Doing so would mean risking life and limb on the word of someone who'd proved herself totally willing to manipulate her for her own gain.

Despite that, Rukia had shown her a level of kindness she could count on one hand, but the risks loomed large, dark and all-encompassing.

"You don't have to decide right now," Rukia said. She reached out, placing a hand on Fuu's. "Just think about it. Think about it. Because staying here might not be as safe as you think—not for me or for you."

Fuu swallowed, her chest tight with emotions she couldn't yet name.

"I'll think about it," she said finally.

Rukia nodded, her expression a mix of relief and determination. "That's all I ask."

When she left, Fuu looked out of the window. The view was half-obstructed, but straining her neck earned her a glimpse of a sprawling crossroads. A place where children sprinted with wild abandon and people from all walks of life crossed paths.

'You know me, Fuu,' Chomei said, uncharacteristically solemn. 'Where you go, I go. Besides, I like the idea of travelling the world more than being forced to see Shibuki's old fart from your eyes.'

She chuckled a little, finding it hard not to agree despite the still-tender betrayal in her chest. An excited chorus reached her from the streets below as a group her age sprinted past, snacks and trinkets in hand.

She'd give anything for more sights like that.

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— — —

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The Hidden Leaf's rooftops stretched out, the dips and peaks of the tiles forming a pattern Saru had come to know as intimately as his own breathing. Below, the village proper was alive in the soft, flickering glow of lantern light. The streets murmured with activity even at this hour: a clatter of wheels, the faint hum of distant voices, the occasional bark of a dog.

As usual, Saru's focus was on the two figures he'd been assigned to monitor. Rukia, the mysterious foreigner, and her target, Fuu, the Jinchuriki. Their movements across the week had been predictable—mundane, even. Ignoring the initial few days of Rukia's caution keeping her inside their accommodation, their mornings were filled with errands, and they spent the afternoons meandering through the village like idle tourists.

There had been nothing to suggest they were anything more than what they appeared to be except Lord Third's orders. Saru crouched low. His ANBU mask pressed cool and firm against his face, the faint orange paint of the monkey motif catching only the barest glint of light before vanishing into shadow as he shifted.

The two cloaked figures moved through the streets with the deliberate care of people trying not to be noticed. Their hoods were drawn low, but it wasn't enough to mask their profiles. Saru watched their movements with a hunter's precision, his every nerve on edge. Nearby, Enzo stirred, the monkey perched on his haunches with an ease that Saru couldn't help but envy.

Enzo's tail flicked once, brushing against the rusted metal. His black eyes glittered with quiet curiosity as he scratched at his ear. "Their timing's bold," he muttered like he wasn't quite sure whether he should be impressed or suspicious.

"Bold isn't reckless," Saru murmured back. "They've stuck to the same routine—mostly. But look at them tonight. Too precise, right? They're circling places they know but not actually doing anything. And the cloaks?" His gaze flicked toward the pair below. "They're working something, Enzo, I'm telling you."

His summon made a low sound of agreement but said nothing more. Together, they watched as the two girls slipped into the shadows of an alley. Saru straightened slightly, stretching his legs to ease the ache in his muscles before following. The rooftops beneath his feet were rough and uneven. Some of the clay tiles were loose in places, so every step had to be calculated. One wrong move, one misplaced foot, and the clatter of a tile would give him away.

He tracked the faint pulse of their chakra—Rukia's was cool and steady, like water flowing through a narrow stream. Fuu's was brighter, wilder, and tinged with an edge of raw energy that made Saru's teeth buzz if he focused too hard on it.

"Do you think they know we're up here?" Enzo said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Saru hesitated. "If they do, they're not showing it." He kept his tone flat, but doubt gnawed at the edge of his mind. Had they noticed him earlier in the week? He'd been meticulously careful, but Rukia was no ordinary mark.

If she was truly tied to Zabuza Momochi, he would have to keep his wits about him.

The pair emerged from the alley near the northern gate, their pace still unhurried. Saru signalled to Enzo with a quick flick of his fingers. The monkey vanished into the shadowed back streets, his dark fur like smoke in the wind. The northern gate was alive with activity despite the late hour. Merchants and peasants bustled to and fro, packing up their wares or unloading goods from creaking carts.

Chunin guards moved among them, their voices a low murmur as they checked papers and directed traffic. Rukia and Fuu moved through the chaos like ghosts, their figures barely noticeable amid the din. Saru's sharp eyes caught the way Fuu's hand brushed against her companion's cloak. Her shoulders were tense in a way that betrayed her nerves.

Rukia, by contrast, was unhurried, like she had all the time in the world.

Saru's brow furrowed beneath his mask. Fuu often lingered near the gate, chatting with travellers and asking questions about their journeys. It was a harmless habit, one Saru had dismissed as idle curiosity.

"They're waiting," Enzo's voice whispered in his ear.

"For what?" Saru replied.

Enzo didn't answer; instead, he pointed with a gnarled finger to a cart trundling into view off a side street. It was laden with crates, and the driver hummed tunelessly to himself, oblivious to the two gliding around the cart, using the crowd as cover.

Saru's eyes narrowed as they slipped into its shadow, disappearing entirely beneath the canvas tarp. "Clever," he murmured.

Enzo snorted softly. "They won't get far."

They followed as the cart rolled out of the gates.

Saru's chakra dampened his naturally mixed chakra as low as it would go without adverse effects. The forest ahead loomed dark, and as they entered it, a thin mist began to creep along the ground. It curled around the roots and trunks like ghostly fingers. At first, it seemed natural, but when it thickened, Saru felt the chakra blanketing him, pressing against his skin.

"It's her," he muttered. The mist swallowed the cart and the road in its white veil.

"Think they've spotted us?" Enzo asked, his voice tense.

Saru hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe they're just covering their tracks. Either way, we can't lose them now."

The brief flicker of a second chakra signature reached him, breaking away from the cart's path.

"They're trying to throw us off," Saru said, his gaze flicking toward Enzo. "Follow the signature that way. I'll stay with the cart."

The monkey nodded and disappeared into the mist, his form vanishing as though it had been swallowed whole. Saru pressed forward. The cool dampness clung to his skin, and the sharp scent of wet earth filled his nose. The mist began to dissipate, and Saru's sharp eyes caught movement beneath the canvas. Rukia and Fuu slipped out soundlessly, their figures darting into the trees on the far side of the road.

Enzo reappeared moments later, his expression sour. "You're right. It was a water clone."

Saru nodded, though the tightness in his chest hadn't eased. He tapped Enzo on the shoulder. "You're up again. Follow them and stay quiet. Don't take any risks; watch and report back. If anything goes wrong, de-summon yourself immediately. I'll summon you in two hours, alright?"

Enzo nodded once, his dark eyes meeting Saru's briefly before he leapt into the trees. A minute later, the monkey's presence faded from Saru's senses entirely, leaving him alone in the cool, silent night.

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— — —

.

The forest pressed closer with every step, shadows creeping between the trees like silent watchers. Moonlight struggled through the dense canopy, painting pale green streaks over the damp earth. Fuu walked slightly behind Rukia, matching her pace but keeping her distance. She didn't trust herself to walk beside her—not when every glance at Rukia's back stoked the fire in her chest.

Not when she remembered how it felt to have that same girl, the one she had called a friend, use her.

The anger should have burned out by now. She'd been taken, dragged away from everything she knew, forced into the company of a man she wanted nothing to do with. But the fury hadn't dulled; it had sharpened, growing more calculated. A part of her had already decided—she would play along, wait for her moment, and then she would be free.

Rukia's voice broke the silence, calm and steady despite the tension lingering between them. "We're nearly there."

Fuu didn't bother hiding the edge in her voice. "I can see that."

Rukia flinched, barely perceptible, but Fuu caught it. She held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary, letting the weight of her unreadable expression settle before shrugging it off, moving past it as if she hadn't noticed the discomfort in Rukia's stance.

The cave came into view—a jagged, yawning mouth surrounded by shallow puddles. The air shifted, thick with dampness, carrying the metallic tang of wet stone. Fuu hesitated at the entrance, her instincts prickling. Inside, a figure waited, his broad silhouette barely visible in the dim light.

Zabuza.

He didn't need to move to fill the space with his presence. His voice, low and edged with quiet menace, cut through the still air. "You're late."

Haku bowed her head in deference, her voice smooth, practised. "Forgive me, Master."

Fuu clenched her teeth, watching the exchange, almost submerged in a frighteningly cold fury. Was this what Haku had chosen to manipulate her for? A leash identical to that of the Waterfall? She felt a bitter laugh crawl up her throat and swallowed it down.

For all her talk of freedom, Rukia was still bound by her master, still kneeling.

Zabuza's gaze landed on her next. He took her in with a look that stripped away any illusion of safety. "This her?"

"Yes," Rukia answered, measured and careful. "She's capable and resourceful."

Fuu straightened, lifting her chin in defiance. If he thought she'd cower, he was in for a disappointment. "Nice to meet you too," she said, crossing her arms.

Zabuza snorted. "We'll see about that."

Fuu watched as the girl stiffened, the slow grip of nerves encircling her. The reaction was barely noticeable, but Fuu had spent too much time with her not to see it. Fuu met her gaze, searching for something—regret, shame, anything that might prove Haku still cared about what she had done.

Pitiful submission stared back at her.

Her lip curled. "Whatever."

She leaned against the damp cave wall, feigning ease, but her sharp eyes tracked them as they disappeared into the trees. A few breaths later, her patience was rewarded. Movement flickered at the tree line, and she caught sight of a monkey, dark-furred and alert, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intelligence.

Zabuza was too fast for her to react before he returned, dragging the thrashing creature by the neck. The monkey clawed uselessly at his arm guards before vanishing in a sudden burst of smoke.

Fuu exhaled as the realisation settled in, and if she knew one thing about the Leaf, it was that they weren't the kind to let something like this slide. She clenched her hands at her sides. Something inside her turned to ice as she watched the defeated, pitiful subservience on display before her. Haku wasn't like her. She never had been.

"Jinchuriki girl." Zabuza studied her, considering. "What's brought you to me besides Haku? What do you live for?"

Fuu clenched her fists at her sides, the question echoing in her mind. It should've been an easy answer—freedom. She had told herself that a thousand times and dreamed of it even more. But the moment she stood on the edge, staring into the unknown, she hesitated. Zabuza was offering her something—mobility, training, a life unshackled from the Hidden Waterfall's grip.

But was it truly freedom? No, it was just a longer leash, one that would stretch further, offer her more room to run but still bind her all the same. The thought—and the elation—soured in her gut.

Yet… it wasn't as if she had other options. The world wasn't kind to people like her. It would take more than sheer will to carve out a place for herself in this world, and if she was to survive, she had to be smart about it.

"I live for myself," she said finally, tasting the words on her tongue. They felt right. Solid. But a small part of her wondered if she was already making a compromise by standing here and listening.

Zabuza's expression didn't change, but something shifted in his stance. Not approval, exactly, but something close. "Haku was the opposite of you," he said. Fuu's gut twisted, but she refused to react. "But perhaps that too is a better change—makes you less prone towards… fucking up, if I know you're not blinded by stupid sentimentality." His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I'll make you a deal. Do you want to go where you please? Train without a village collaring you? I can give you that. I'll even pay you well."

Fuu didn't blink. "What do you want in return?"

"Your abilities as a Jinchuriki. I've... certain ambitions to fulfil. To do that, I'd require your abilities as a Jinchuriki—and a measure of loyalty. I've spent these last few years amassing funds, so equipment and chakra-sealing tools will not be a worry—I have my contacts, which you will benefit from."

"Any other conditions?" she said, strangely grateful that the intimidating man was being upfront about his willingness to use her.

"Not yet. Instead, I'm going to give you a sample of your village's vaunted hero water upfront." The bandaged man pulled out a tiny stoppered bottle of otherwise colourless liquid. That he would steal the Hidden Waterfall's most prized possession after herself—the very same thing she'd not been allowed anywhere near for fear of escaping their thumb.

An almost elated smile stretched Fuu's face. It was useless for her as a Jinchuriki, but it was less about what the water could do and more about the principle of it. She was beginning to wonder if such a thing as freedom was even possible for someone like her. As a Jinchuriki, there would always be those eager to use her for Chomei's powers against her wishes.

But she had to admit, this was a step closer than she'd ever been.

.

— — —

.

"You've made a mess." His words were quieter but no less sharp than before. "The Leaf will be motivated to move against us because this occurred on their grounds, and the Waterfall will know I have their Jinchuriki."

Haku bowed her head, her fingers curling into her palms.

She saw it—the way Zabuza glanced past her, his focus narrowing on Fuu, on what she represented. He spoke to Haku as if she were another problem to deal with, not his most trusted tool. Panic coiled tight in her chest. If she had failed him one time too many, and if she had no more use—

No. She couldn't let that happen.

Her voice came unsteady at first. "I can make it right."

Zabuza scoffed, dragging his sword from the ground. "Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?"

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. "The Leaf doesn't know everything. They saw me, but they didn't know why I was there. I can make them look inward instead of outward."

Zabuza stilled. "Explain."

"They know my face now," Haku admitted. "But that also means they already have assumptions. One of which is that I'm not going back. To them, my mission was a success. Everyone around will think the Leaf just stole a Jinchuriki. What if I use their assumption and go back to... kill the Hidden Waterfall guests to make it look like that's exactly what happened? It would take a lot of the heat off your back, at least for a time."

Zabuza exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "And then they'll want my head on a spike when they capture you and torture you for everything you know."

"There's an ANBU search party on their way who are probably equipped to deal with all of us," she said, more forcefully than she intended. "If I go back now, I can confuse them, and they'll be split between circling back and pursuing you two."

Fuu shifted, arms crossed. "She's not wrong. Either way, the Leaf will still come. They know that I'm with you. If anything, they'll be more motivated to find us now before rumours can get out."

A sharp silence followed. Haku didn't look up, couldn't look up. She already knew what she'd see in Zabuza's eyes. Annoyance. Calculation. The slow realisation that she was more a liability than an asset now.

Zabuza clicked his tongue.

Fuu shrugged. "Even if it's just to throw them off, the ANBU can't chase all of us at once."

Haku's stomach churned. She had caused this. The ANBU were coming because of her because she had been seen. She had failed, and the only way to fix it was to become something else entirely.

Zabuza sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine. Do whatever you want, but don't leak anything to the enemy. If you succeed, we'll be waiting in the safe house, but if you're not there in two days, I'll assume you've failed and have been captured."

Haku bowed once, deep enough that her forehead nearly brushed the ground. Then, without another word, she turned and ran. She froze in the shadow of a great tree once she was sure she was alone. Her breath came in shallow, trembling exhales as she pressed a hand against the rough bark, steadying herself. Every step away from that battlefield felt like dragging herself through thick, cloying mud.

Her body ached, her muscles screamed, and her mind—her mind was worse than anything physical. She stumbled forward, her movements sluggish and unfocused. The trees thinned as she reached the edge of the forest, revealing the main road stretching into the distance. She was running on instinct alone now, her mind sluggish with grief and exhaustion. The dirt path blurred at the edges of her vision, the exhaustion pressing down on her like a smothering weight.

Then, from the horizon, a lavish caravan appeared, moving smoothly along the road. Silk banners rippled in the breeze, emblazoned with the sigil of the Land of Wind. A palanquin, adorned in shades of gold and deep crimson rested at the center of the procession.

Haku's mind registered danger, but she didn't care enough to act on it. She stood watching as the grand caravan approached. It slowed when it reached her, the guards at the front exchanging murmurs before one moved forward, expression wary.

The palanquin's curtains shifted. From within, a voice called out, smooth and languid. "Interesting."

Haku's fingers twitched at her side, the weight of her senbon pouch a dull reminder of the choices she had already failed to make.

"You seem to be in poor condition," the voice continued, rich with amusement. "And judging by the presence I sensed is pursuing you, it appears you've made quite the enemy. Fortunate for you that we happened along."

The man's tone curled around each syllable with an ease that made her stomach twist. She knew instinctively that whoever sat inside that palanquin was beyond even Zabuza—a Kage of the Great Five.

A pause. Then, "Tell me your name."

Haku hesitated. Names carried weight. She had none now.

"I'm someone of no consequence, Lord Kazekage," she answered finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

A low chuckle answered her. "We shall see."

The palanquin rumbled on, and the Hidden Sand's procession vanished beyond the horizon and towards the Hidden Leaf. Time passed in a haze, her mind caught in a loop of bitter recollections and desperate longing. Zabuza had discarded her; that much was clear. But had he truly abandoned her?

She had failed him, but she could make amends. She would eliminate those who knew of her connection to him, wipe away the stains of her failures, and return to his side as the weapon he needed her to be. Perhaps, then, she could try to earn Fuu's forgiveness—despite her betrayal, the Seven-Tails Jinchuriki was, at her core, a kind person.

But to even think about returning, the Leaf would be her proving ground.

Haku slipped through the gates of the Hidden Leaf with the first blush of dawn. Infiltrating the Leaf itself wasn't difficult; the Fourth Kazekage's passing caravan had ensured she would no longer be followed. After following behind it, she waited out on the main path for a while, dirtying her clothes and face, hiding the scant few weapons she had left, and paying off an incoming carriage to take them with her.

Just in case, the promise of more money—practically all she had left on her—once they stepped foot in the village generally ensured her safety. Any sensory-type guards patrolling the wall didn't bat an eye due to her already exhausted chakra levels.

The streets were quiet, still draped in sleep. She found herself in a narrow alley. Leaning against the cold brick, Haku took a moment to gather herself, her chest tightening with each heartbeat. Both she and her master knew what he meant when he ordered her to tie up loose ends. To ask of her something he'd ignored with a scoff her whole life, always leaving the killing blow to the Demon Brothers.

Then again, her failures merited punishment of some kind. Resolve was all she needed to take advantage of Zabuza's lessons and right her wrongs. Her hands trembled when she saw him—besides the odd silhouette near the northern gate, he was the only one out that she'd seen for a while, padding along the paved roads in a measured jog.

Haku approached the second-floor window, covered by the thick cluster of leaves. She inched along the trunk, weapons in hand. But when she entered, the room blurred, and she blinked rapidly to clear it. Her fingers twitched around the senbon, but her arms felt too heavy to lift.

Would she see it in their eyes, the moment they understood?

Haku forced herself to step closer, but the floorboards creaked under her weight. Shuji shifted, his brow furrowing in sleep.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

She turned, blood pounding in her temples, and disappeared into the thick branches above before she could give herself time to regret it. Her eyes swept across the empty street as she breathed in quiet and shallow breaths, and her hands trembled when she saw him. Besides the odd person near the northern gate, he was the only one out that she'd seen for a while, padding along the paved roads in a measured jog.

Haku's heart twisted—all of this was, in some strange way, all tied back to him. Meeting his father, running into him on a routine bounty where Gozu and Meizu died because of her hesitance, and now here.

Each time she failed, Naruto Uzumaki was there.

A small voice in her mind that sounded deceptively like Zabuza told her this was her chance to get a measure of revenge—no distractions, no witnesses. Just her and him—and she had nothing to lose right now. Zabuza would not tolerate a useless tool that had failed him thrice, so return was not an option.

She still had time to go back to the quarters where the Waterfall ninja slept and do the deed, but Haku instinctively knew she wouldn't find the strength to go through it. Haku was a failure of a tool. A useless kunoichi who couldn't even do the most basic of assassination missions because of her conscience.

Not only a waste of time to the man who had raised and trained her, but a burden. Because of that, she had no place to go. The realisation slammed into her gut like a physical punch, leaving her breathless.

Then, her eyes settled on Naruto's form again as he passed through the road again. Perhaps this was foolish, but Haku was a fool. Feeling numb, she slipped silently into the shadows, trailing him in the dark, still uncertain what exactly she was doing. The senbon were heavy in the pouch at her back. The rhythm of his movements was hypnotic. He hadn't noticed her yet—she could strike whenever she wished.

She gritted her teeth when he veered off into a park, his pace never faltering. Naruto slowed, his steps easing into a walk as he reached a small clearing. He stretched his arms overhead, letting out a quiet sigh, his breath curling in the air.

Her fingers tightened around a few senbon. Here, she knew, was the perfect moment to kill him; he was alone, hidden from view, vulnerable, and unaware of her presence—circumstances Zabuza would gleefully take advantage of. Her body tensed, ready to move, but when he turned, his blue eyes swept the treeline and back.

His gaze didn't land on her—he didn't seem to see her at all—but the action stopped her cold all the same. There was no tension in his stance, just an ignorant openness. Her hand trembled, the senbon shaking in her grasp. The killing blow was there, waiting. But she couldn't throw the weapons—why couldn't she?

Right then, she couldn't help but hate herself more intensely than ever before. Her kindness had always disappointed her master, but he'd bore it with irritation until it led her to failure. Gozu and Meizu's corpses were used as funds because of her inability to kill to ensure that they lived.

Too guilty to kill the son of one of the only people she could call a friend.

Naruto stretched again, rolling his shoulders as he began jogging. Haku stood rooted to the spot, her pulse racing. Her mind once again roiled with frustration and shame. She'd been handed a perfect opportunity but fell short—again.

A rustle to her left. Haku's heart jolted, her body tensing as she whipped around—but there was nothing there. Just the faint sway of a branch disturbed by the breeze. She exhaled slowly, calming her nerves.

A voice broke the silence behind her. "You've been following me for a while, you know."

Haku spun, her senbon flashing in her hand for the second it took to return to its pouch. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Naruto stood barely a few steps away, his sharp blue eyes watching her closely.

"How—?" The word slipped out before she could stop it.

He shrugged. "You should've seen me coming, but you didn't. I don't know why."

She took a step back. "I wasn't—"

"Planning to attack me?" Naruto finished. "Because if you were, now's your chance." He spread his arms slightly, leaving his torso open. His gaze didn't waver from her, though there was no malice in it. "Go ahead since I'm all warmed up. Let's have at it; you were holding back when we fought in Tenka Village, so we might as well set things straight."

"I wasn't holding back," she said evenly, though the lie sounded thin even to her ears. He frowned, and she resented the desire to justify herself. "...And I don't owe you an explanation."

"No," Naruto said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at her senbon pouch. "Sure you don't."

She tightened her jaw, pushing down the confusion and doubt fighting for dominance over her. "What do you want from me?" she demanded, the senbon sliding back into her hand.

"You're the one who followed me, but somehow, I'm the one in the wrong," he pointed out with dry amusement. "And based on the hand at your back and the way things ended last time I saw you, you can't be here for anything good."

"I…" The words hovered on her tongue. Then she stiffened, her mask slipping back into place. The senbon pressed against her palm, but her fingers loosened around it. "You're right," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn't for anything good."

Naruto's expression didn't shift, but his eyes searched hers, probing deeper than she was comfortable with. "So, what now?" he asked, his tone light as if he wasn't speaking to someone who might have killed him moments ago.

The question echoed in her mind, mocking. Haku was a tool without a purpose, moving according to the instinct drilled within her bones that she was no longer sure she understood. Right and wrong, her resolve and reason to act, all of it had crumbled to dust, and its last vestiges were slipping between her fingers like grains of sand.

Devotion to Zabuza destroyed her friendship with Fuu, and her weakness had cheapened her image in Zabuza's eyes.

"I…" Her voice wavered, so she bit her lips into silence rather than floundering towards a declaration she couldn't make.

She couldn't kill him. Naruto Uzumaki's death served no purpose and fulfilled no mission or goal but to soothe the frustration of her lack of resolve. Even if it did, Haku couldn't even bring herself to harm him when he was looking at her like that, not when his presence seemed so… unthreatening.

The senbon dropped from her hand into its pouch.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, hands clasped in front as she bowed. "I shouldn't have disturbed your morning."

Naruto blinked, clearly caught off guard by the apology. "That's not what I expected," he said with a sheepish scratch of his head. "But… apology accepted? Even though I still don't get why you were—"

"It doesn't matter." Haku cut him off, her voice gaining a hint of its usual steel. She couldn't let him dig further. Otherwise, she felt she would fall apart right under his gaze. "I'll be going now."

"Wait–" his voice echoed behind her. "You don't look well. Err—we can talk if you want."

A hoarse chuckle slipped from her mouth. "And why would you care about a stranger like me?" 

"Clearly not a stranger if you stalked me," was the clever reply. "Look, shelve all animosity for a second. I know how it is to feel lost, and you look plenty lost right now. So, we can talk—and I'm curious about a few things myself."

His idle tone suggested it wasn't anything serious. Not a target to be interrogated, but a chat.

"You want to talk?" Haku asked, not even hiding her disbelief. "With me?"

"I mean… you look like you need someone to talk to?" Naruto asked, running a hand through his sweaty mop of blonde hair. 

A dismissive scoff involuntarily escaped her lips. "As if talking would help."

"It does, at least a little," was the dry response. "But, well, I won't force you."

Haku studied Naruto carefully. There was not a single shred of deception on him, no ulterior motive, just an honest desire to help, according to him. 

"...Thanks," she whispered, her mind an even more jumbled mess than before.

Eventually, the silence between them turned awkward, and Haku bowed and simply left, feeling confused at the offer long after they parted ways. For her to receive a genuine offer here and now was disjointing. Zabuza, as grateful as she was to him, took her in because of her bloodline and its usefulness in making her a weapon. And like he did with her, she'd treated Fuu as a means to an end, not stopping once to think of her as a person in need of a friend.

No, that too she took advantage of to redeem herself in Zabuza's eyes. Only when Haku destroyed that budding friendship, only when Zabuza so easily put Fuu above her, did she realise that the devotion and duty she felt towards him were… unrequited.

Zabuza hadn't lied once. To him, she was a tool; one that he favoured, but replaced when he acquired a tool of greater worth. But still, her feelings remained—and so too did the memory of more recent events. Deeds that could not be undone and words that could never be taken back weighed on her mind.

Her steps carried her deeper into the quieter corners of the Leaf. When she finally stopped, the sun hung higher, its warmth failing to reach the cool shadows of her chosen refuge—a narrow, abandoned alley tucked between the outer walls of a crumbling warehouse.

Haku leaned back against the rough stone and sat in the cloying reality of her failures.