Capítulo 94: Discrepancies
Under the gloomy cloudy skies, in the Konoha cemetery, Shino, Hinata, and Kiba stood silently in front of the grave of their beloved teacher, Kurenai. The weight of their loss hung heavy in the air, mingling with the mist that clung to the tombstones like a shroud.
Hinata gently laid a bouquet of delicate white flowers on the grave, her white eyes locking onto the engraved words. She traced her fingers over the etched letters, as if seeking solace in the memories they held. Her heart ached, and a tremor ran through her being.
"Kurenai sensei said I am strong," Hinata whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of their collective breaths. "I am strong… So I won't cry. I won't let Kurenai sensei see me cry."
Kiba clenched his fists, his nails digging into the bandages wrapping his hands. He struggled to contain the torrent of emotions raging within him. Akamaru, sensing his friend's turmoil, rubbed his head against Kiba's legs, whimpering softly in an attempt to offer comfort.
Meanwhile, Shino stood stoically in the center of the trio, his expression unmoving as he gazed at Kurenai's grave. His eyes, hidden behind his shades, betrayed a profound sense of intrigue. In a low voice, barely above a whisper, he broke the silence.
"Hinata," Shino spoke, his voice carrying a rare tenderness. "You can borrow my shoulder if you need."
"I- I…" Hinata's fragile composure crumbled, and her body trembled with the weight of suppressed grief. She leaned over and buried her face in Shino's shoulder, her sobs echoing through the cemetery. Shino's presence offered her a much-needed anchor in this sea of sorrow.
Unbeknownst to the grieving Hinata and Kiba, Asuma, their late teacher's lover, watched from a hidden spot in the cemetery.
Click. Click. Click. His bandaged hand raised, attempting to light his cigarette, but the repeated clicks of the lighter filled the somber atmosphere instead. Lost in thought, his dull eyes stared blankly into the distance.
Shikamaru, Asuma's student and loyal friend, had just arrived nearby. He observed the scene unfolding before him, glancing at Hinata in the distance, tears streaming down her face, and then shifted his gaze to Asuma, whose attempts at lighting his cigarette seemed futile.
"How troublesome…" Shikamaru's mind registered the whole situation as troublesome, but his heart ached for his teacher.
With a heavy sigh, Shikamaru approached Asuma, his steps measured and purposeful. He stood beside him, his shadow casting a slight shadow over Asuma's slouched figure, and called out his name softly, almost hesitant.
"Asuma."
The first call went unnoticed, as Asuma remained lost in his thoughts. Shikamaru, unyielding, summoned the strength to call out once more, his voice louder, filled with an urgency born out of concern.
"Asuma!"
Finally, Asuma's attention flickered, and he glanced in Shikamaru's direction. His eyes were clouded, detached from the reality unfolding around him. He responded in a gruff voice, his tone tinged with desolation.
"I'm not in the mood, Shikamaru."
Shikamaru, undeterred, sighed deeply, the weight of his words hanging in the air. In a decisive move, he reached out his hand, raising it before Asuma's gaze, and presented Asuma with a cigarette. It was a silent offering, a gesture of understanding and support.
The sound of the lighter clicking paused, and Asuma's dull eyes trailed down to Shikamaru's outstretched hand. Slowly, he registered the absence of a cigarette in his own mouth, a realization that struck him with a sudden clarity. No wonder his world was filled with darkness… it was because he didn't have a cigarette.
With a sense of resignation, Asuma's head bowed forward and bit down on the cigarette clamped in between Shikamaru's fingers, a gesture that seemed to ground him in the present. Click. His lighter came to life with a spark, finally igniting the end of the cigarette.
Putting his lighter away, the click echoing into the silence, Asuma took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a puff of smoke that mingled with the heaviness of the air. His eyes remained closed as he tilted his head back, facing the gray expanse above. The moments ticked by, carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts and shattered dreams.
As the smoke curled into the air, the silence of the cemetery persisted, but it now bore the weight of shared grief and a flicker of newfound resolve. Shikamaru stood beside Asuma, a pillar of unwavering support in his world forever changed.
Finally, Asuma spoke, his voice tinged with sorrow, as if each word carried a burden too heavy to bear. "It all feels so unreal," he confessed, the sadness seeping through his voice. "Sometimes, I imagine that in the next moment, I'll wake up on the battlefield. That everything - this world, this pain - is just the enemy's genjutsu. And maybe, just maybe, that moment would be my end. But at least she would be alive..."
Shikamaru, the eternal pragmatist, remained silent for a beat, contemplating Asuma's words. Then, he replied, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. "Sometimes, I wish I was a cloud. Just floating along, free from the weight of sorrow and the anguish of parting. But the problem is, the world won't let me be a kid forever. So I can't lie around crying about it. Asuma, you're no longer a kid."
A rueful chuckle escaped Asuma's lips, punctuated by a cough that disrupted the rhythm of his smoke. With a wry smile, he retorted, "Shikamaru, you really don't know how to comfort someone, do you?"
Shikamaru scratched the back of his head, a gesture of both frustration and admission. "It's too troublesome," he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his voice. And then, after a pregnant pause, he bowed his head and whispered, almost to himself, "Sorry... I failed again."
Asuma's hand, momentarily frozen around the cigarette, released its grip. He sighed heavily, then extended his hand to ruffle Shikamaru's hair gently. "No need to say sorry," he murmured, his voice carrying a blend of understanding and reassurance. "Missions are unpredictable, Shikamaru. You can't shoulder all the blame. No one will blame you - not the Hokage, not Team 8, not me, and most importantly, you shouldn't blame yourself."
Shikamaru's body trembled, his unease palpable. He mumbled in an unhappy tone, the weight of his self-doubt evident. "I came to comfort you, not to be comforted."
Silence reclaimed the space between them, a familiar companion amidst the ebb and flow of emotions. The duo watched as Hinata, Shino, and Kiba slowly departed from the gravesite, their steps heavy with grief and yet tinged with a newfound resolve.
Shikamaru lowered himself to a squat, his gaze fixated on the brooding clouds above. He closed his eyes, cupping his fingers together, as if seeking solace and guidance in the shadows of his own mind.
Asuma noticed the turmoil in Shikamaru's eyes. He took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around him like a shield against the truth. Then, with a hint of resignation, he asked the question that hung heavy in the air, laden with both curiosity and trepidation.
"So, did you just come to try to comfort me?" Asuma's voice carried a somber weight, as if he was both grateful and skeptical of the solace Shikamaru might offer.
After a moment of silence, Shikamaru's mind churned, thoughts swirling like tempestuous clouds. He asked Asuma a question, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and suspicion, revealing the gears turning in his analytical mind.
"Asuma, didn't you find something strange about the mission?"
Asuma took another drag of his cigarette, his tone bordering on indifference. "Strange?" he repeated, his curiosity piqued.
Shikamaru began to unravel his thoughts, words tumbling forth as he recounted his introspection.
"I went home after the mission, replaying everything in my mind. I couldn't help but dwell on what I saw as my failure, dissecting the moments that led us to this predicament. But... amidst all the self-reflection, I stumbled upon something... strange."
Shikamaru's gaze flickered towards the silent figure of Asuma, who, though appearing lost in thought, listened intently, his eyes betraying a hidden depth of confusion, clearly hinting at him to continue.
So, Shikamaru expounded on his thoughts that left an unsettling taste in his mouth.
"It's hard to explain, but it's like... a series of inconsistencies, like jagged puzzle pieces that just don't fit together. The enemies we encountered earlier were different from the ones we faced towards the end. Outside of their apperances, their tactics, their intentions... it was as if they belonged to separate groups. And it wasn't just that. The battles themselves felt... abnormal, as if they were distractions rather than true confrontations, diverting their attention away from another hidden purpose. Finally, everything was too clean, too precise, the ambush, the battle, the ending, and even..."
Asuma's hand, holding the cigarette, froze in mid-air. His eyes fixated on the trembling ember as he asked in a low tone, laden with a mix of apprehension and anxiety, "What do you mean, Shikamaru?"
Shikamaru, finally opening his eyes, stood up slowly, his gaze meeting Asuma's. His face betrayed his hesitation, the struggle to voice his suspicions weighing heavily upon him. In the end, he found the courage to speak the words that lingered on the tip of his tongue.
"There's a possibility," Shikamaru began, his voice quiet but resolute, "That the events we experienced... might have been staged."
With a sudden jolt, Shikamaru found himself shoved forcefully against a nearby tree, the impact reverberating through his body. Thud!
His brows furrowed in pain, but he remained silent, steadfastly staring at Asuma, whose face contorted with a mixture of hope and disbelief. A hint of anger crept into Asuma's voice as he growled, his bloodshot eyes betraying the depth of his emotions.
"Do you know what you're saying, Shikamaru?!" Asuma's words cut through the tense air, his grip on Shikamaru's shoulder both desperate and fierce, as if clinging to the remnants of a fragile hope.
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