Chapitre 31: WHEN IT IS CONSIDERED THAT THERE IS AN ENEMY TO BE SAVED.
Sumire slid her delicate hands through her hair, stroking it in gentle motions. Each rough, tangled strand reminded her of the scarcity of water she had experienced in the past few days, leaving a trail of dirt and dryness in her mane.
The narrowness of his small apartment was palpable in every corner. There was no mirror to reflect his image, not even in the tiny bathroom that lacked running water. The landlady barely provided the service when the old pipe was allowed to work, and when it did, the privilege of using it did not belong to Sumire.
It was the young students of the academy who desperately needed that vital resource. In turn, they had to use the bathroom, following an order dictated by the urgency. However, they had not yet become accustomed to this forced routine.
The hairy group of children at the Academy, accustomed to a home where she had her own bathroom that covered the size of her entire current apartment, felt even more the lack of her home.
During her upbringing, she had been mostly cared for by the housekeepers, always enjoying the best comforts, even compared to her companion Himawari, who was the youngest of the three children of the Hokage and the princess of the Byakugan.
Sumire had finished her vague retouching. In reality, nothing had changed to consider herself extremely "ready" to leave. He only wiped his hair by running the little water that fell from the sink with his fingers, and wiping the dirt from his face and clothes with some deceptive tricks.
Even if she pretended to be a local Genin, and the bruises were explained, nothing promised her that she wouldn't be seen with discerning eyes as she walked out that door.
"Sumire-san..."
A little voice stopped its movements, as if freezing it completely.
Neon Asakusa, a brown-haired girl with pink glasses, was still wearing the overalls in which she had escaped from the Academy. The little girl with brick-colored eyes was the most lacking in initiative of the remaining classmates, even before all this happened.
That's why, when she mentioned her name, Sumire couldn't help but remain static at that abnormality. That Neon, who had refrained from speaking for all this time, even at the canned meals Ro-san brought, would call Sumire by her name, was a cause for concern.
At a slow pace, as if Sumire were made of nuts and rusty metal, he looked at the one who would one day be a mechanical genius if the world hadn't been destroyed.
Neon squeezed the chest of her dirty, scratched overalls, her face expressing nothing but fear and sadness. The nerves on his face seemed to respond to the shock of the last three days exactly, and he still gave that face so creepy of fear.
Neon's mother was a renowned employee at the world-renowned company, Kaminarimon. Or at least it was at some point...
Being the daughter of two intelligent, successful, and friendly people, Neon inherited a deep interest in robotics, rivaling even an old companion that Sumire remembered with nostalgia.
However, despite her previous secretive nature, the disaster only managed to lock her even deeper into her own fractured shell.
His mother had fallen victim to the disaster that devastated the Kaminarimon factory, which specialises in robotics and technology. This establishment became a primary target to prevent the support of the weaponry that was being developed by Konoha in highly confidential facilities.
It was during her time at the Academy that little Neon learned of this horrific occurrence. Amid screams and chaos, characteristics for which, surprisingly, the ninjas offered no explanation, he witnessed the collapse of the buildings of Kaminarimon.
Since then, Neon has not spoken again. At least, no more than to exchange some well-deserved comments after the arduous route that the adults took to get them out of the cataclysm.
Sumire took a breath, determined to reach out and offer her friend some warmth in silence.
She understood why she was hesitant, but there was also a part of her that she didn't know and preferred not to face.
Was it due to mistrust? Was there a lack of confidence in their own abilities?
Although he did not occupy the highest position, he had been very close to Mr. Shikamaru, closely observing his work. This had earned him deep respect from the young woman, whose work resembled that of a secretary.
Now, unofficially and hastily, she had been promoted to a sort of shadow advisor. Although his work did not involve fighting, he could not afford to weaken himself and allow children to get hurt.
"I won't go anywhere, you don't have to be afraid." He said in a calm tone, while his heart pounded, fearing that his tone of voice might worry others. "I'll just take a walk around the village, to observe what is happening up close."
Following their answer, a heavy silence fell upon them, and the gazes of the others were directed to the ground. Avoiding looking at her was like avoiding facing what instilled fear in them.
They were not afraid of Sumire; they were afraid of losing her. They feared losing the one thing that made them feel a little safer.
Kakkei began to twist his own fingers, consciously hurting himself in an attempt to distract himself from the stinging knot in his stomach. No one here had enough power to act freely, to tell and prove everything that had happened to them.
Although it seemed that Konoha was taking action, this only increased the obstacles in his way: more surveillance, increased distrust, secrets.
If they managed to convince someone, something was likely to happen to them before they even reached the Hokage.
The only ones who knew the truth behind this were the two Anbu of the group and Sumire.
The daughter of a resentful former member of the Root.
"Sumire-san." Another call brought her out of her dark thoughts. "When will you return?"
The young woman's gaze faded into an abyss of dark thoughts, and little by little, a menacing expression took over her face. The others felt a chill run down their spine as they watched her transform before their eyes.
His face became an impassive mask, hiding any hint of genuine emotion. The aura around her seemed to throb with an ominous energy, generating an electrical strain in the air. It was as if a storm about to break had concentrated in the small space they occupied.
Despite feeling fear lurking inside, the children also found a strange sense of security in Sumire's presence. They knew she was willing to protect them at any cost, even if it meant stepping into the darkest corners of her own soul.
As Sumire slowly approached them, the children's hearts pounded, unable to take their eyes off her enigmatic countenance. Each received a caress on the head, but instead of comfort, they felt a current of tension run through their bodies.
It was as if his words and gestures contained an unsettling message, an implicit warning of the dangers lurking around every corner. Even as fear clung to their tiny figures, there was also a spark of determination in their eyes, fueled by the trust placed in Sumire.
For an instant, the children found themselves caught between fear and hope, aware that they were in the hands of someone capable of facing the horrors of reality without hesitation. The tension that enveloped them was transmitted to the reader, who experienced the uncertainty and fear that flooded the scene.
Finally, Sumire broke eye contact with the children and walked away toward the door. The little ones watched her leave, their eyes full of sadness and longing.
Himawari, pulled away from them, continued to clench her fists with determination, ready to take responsibility as Sumire stepped into the bright glow outside, which, instead of conveying hope, seemed to scorch a part of Sumire that she preferred not to face.
"H-hey..."
Eho, with his scarf hanging almost in tatters around his neck, tried to stop the violet-haired preteen. However, fear had settled in his throat, causing a small tremor that echoed from his feet to the hearts of his companions.
The door creaked as the light faded, singing its mournful, torn song in the battered ears of the Academy Children. Their eyes dilated as shadows invaded their faces.
The tension was palpable in the air. The click of the lock as it closed echoed in his ears like an ominous echo. Every little creak of the door as it sealed filled them with a gloomy feeling, as if they were trapped in a dark and unknown world.
The image of Sumire slowly fading away behind the door was etched into their minds, and a wave of panic flooded them. They felt alone and vulnerable, left to fend for themselves in the midst of unfathomable danger. The void left by Sumire's departure enveloped them like an ominous fog.
The children hardly dared to exhale, afraid of disturbing the sepulchral silence that enveloped them. Their faces reflected an amalgam of terror and despair, aware that they were now at the mercy of an uncertain fate.
Himawari, his fists clenched and his gaze fixed on the closed door, took on the weight of the responsibility Sumire had delegated to them.
The instant the door was completely sealed marked the moment when the preteen revealed to the one and only Uzumaki the role she should now assume. Their actions were more eloquent than any speech of self-affirmation.
That instant seemed to stretch in time, extending like an eternity. The last crack echoed in his ears like the final blow on a coffin. The room was plunged into oppressive darkness, and the children felt like helpless prey in a hostile world.
The image of Sumire slowly fading as she crossed the narrow streets in front of the apartment was etched in Himawari's retina. However, what she perceived was different, a version of Sumire that her friends did not see as they looked out the window in fear.
That scene evoked a deep uneasiness and a sense of abandonment. The children clung to each other, trembling in the darkness, their eyes fixed on the window that now inspired distrust.
The lavender-haired Sumire seemed to be pretending to listen to her friends' conversation, intelligently but vaguely answering questions she hadn't even heard.
Himawari wasn't convinced to keep talking about the same thing at the time. Worries about whether they would be discovered, whether outsiders would find and kill them, or whether the enemy would find a way to bring about another destruction, did not reassure her at all.
Deeply helpless, Himawari leaned out of the window, feeling that this would not be the last time. If Sumire-san would no longer be the same, then she would not be either.
At that moment, Himawari wished with all her might that she could go back in time and ask for forgiveness again and again in front of her mother's unknown body.
"It's true... I never changed, I will never change. Dad didn't, not even when he became Hokage. And Mom didn't either, even when she became his spouse.
My aunt, my grandfather, my uncle Neji..."
However, Himawari's piercing gaze detected a duality in Sumire's silence. Behind the promise not to change, a secret whispered in the dark was hidden.
His heart resounded with the certainty that there was more than the apparent safety of this lonely place. Like a moth, Himawari was drawn to the light of a past she thought was lost, determined to explore the darkest and most unknown corners for herself.
In the midst of the overwhelming silence of the room, only the constant questions and concerns of his companions could be heard, such as those of Eho, who, despite his fear, demanded answers. He saw it as an insult to his supposed intelligence, something Yuina often considered meaningless.
With no one else present, his thoughts became his only company in that desolate space.
Himawari, staring blankly at the invisible horizon, sailed in the ocean of his memories and desires. The promise not to change resonated in his mind, but he also knew that there was a hidden truth, a latent longing that nestled in his being.
Time seemed to stretch as Himawari plunged into his own labyrinth of thoughts. The shadows of the room stretched out, enveloping her in an atmosphere full of mystery and determination.
In that intimate and lonely moment, Himawari charted his own path, defying expectations and imposed barriers. Her determination was like an invisible thread that guided her to the truth she longed for.
"That's true... They never changed."
(~~~)
Sarada is immersed in a storm of regrets, especially for an act as simple as locking the door. This action triggers an avalanche of thoughts about the consequences of her decisions and the weight of responsibility that comes with being a ninja.
She questions whether her past choices, such as being a responsible ninja, have paid off, and reflects on the complexity of discerning right and wrong in a world filled with uncertainty and moral conflict.
He asks who is right and what qualities make a person worthy of the title of 'reasonable mind'. The emotional charge of these reflections leads her to doubt the decisions made by adults, and she wonders who are the real beneficiaries and harmed by their actions.
Ultimately, Sarada faces deep introspection about her place in the world and the true meaning of justice and sacrifice in her life as a Konoha ninja.
"Sarada-chan." A voice broke the silence that enveloped the room.
Surprise was reflected in Sarada's Onyx eyes as he woke up from his reverie. A weight on her arms nearly caused her to stagger forward when she was interrupted.
She turned to identify the person who had called her and recognized Tsubaki-chan. The name barely came out in a whisper from his lips, since his vocal cords had hardly been used in the last few hours.
Tsubaki approached with gentle steps, and Sarada noticed that they were in one of the rooms of the underground hideout. The Great Elder had provided them with the place so that the girls could change separately from the others, and Sarada was among the last to do so.
Tsubaki's brown hair was slightly disheveled, though she had tried to fix it again after the flower that used to adorn her high bun disappeared during the cataclysm.
However, she was now suffering the consequences of not washing it since they were invoked to the past. Like Sarada, Tsubaki was wearing the simplest and most comfortable clothes available at the venue, the same clothes Sarada was wearing.
Under her button-down long-sleeved shirt, Sarada wore pajama pants, while over it she wore a pale sweater that appeared to be made of recycled fabric. Even though they had arrived with the same shoes, the Old Woman had warned them not to wear them during the first demonstration she would give them.
They were all dressed in white, with some shades of gray. Sarada heard Wasabi comment in the distance about the somber colors of Iwabee's clothing.
Apparently, the taller ones received the fabrics that fit them best, almost the same color as the few garments worn by the men who trained in a nearby place.
Both girls looked at each other, each with her imperturbable expression. Sarada was already familiar with her father's cold expressions, while Tsubaki seemed to have an innate serenity on her face.
Both girls remained silent, as if they were waiting for the other shoe to fall.
Finally, after a few long minutes, Tsubaki broke the silence.
"You're very quiet." She said, puzzled. Sarada, somewhat surprised by the issue, made a sound of doubt in response. "I thought you'd be the first to accept the Great Old-Lady's proposal. But..."
The reason for her bewilderment was obvious, and Sarada understood it without further explanation.
In a clear sign of her understanding, Sarada looked back at her damaged clothes. All that time, she had been lost in her memories and thoughts, paying no attention to her appearance.
Now, aware of his condition and of being the focus of Tsubaki's attention, his expression barely changed, showing only a slight sadness.
However, Tsubaki knew that this expression contained more than just sadness.
He watched as her brow furrowed noticeably, her lips curled in a slight pout, and how her dark eyes seemed to recall every event since she first wore her ninja headband to prove her loyalty.
Tsubaki, who was not born in Konoha, understood Sarada.
Like Sarada, Wasabi, and Namida, Tsubaki had strived to obtain that diadem.
She had faced opponents far more powerful than herself and had discovered herself in the process, realizing that the world was much larger than she had imagined and that each enemy defeated was but a rung on the ladder to even more dangerous challenges.
However, she had resisted and had wielded her sword proudly.
Her family, friends, and fellow trainers had congratulated her on her move to Konoha, and even her sword master and samurai techniques had given their approval, deeming her worthy of possessing and perfecting the sword technique developed with Chakra, a skill reserved only for the most proficient in the eyes of the heir of that technique.
As the last samurai of her time, Tsubaki had understood all of that in a matter of hours after waking up and finding out officially and bluntly about her journey into the past.
She no longer felt part of any place. Her teacher no longer recognized her, her parents were no longer her parents...
And she, along with her teacher at this time, were the only ones who possessed that technique. A technique that he had to protect with zeal if he did not want to put the lives of his family at risk.
And I knew I wasn't the only one who thought so.
The dreams of many were dashed by the cataclysm, but they were reaffirmed when they met the Great Old Woman.
What good was it to be the strongest ninja of all without Chakra?
What was the point of being the first Akimichi considered genius and beautiful, if not even your surname would be recognized?
How important was it to aspire to be Hokage if the village you wanted would never recognize you?
Their new lives would begin from that moment, which carried with it the enormous responsibility of leaving behind everything that previously motivated them.
They no longer lived in Konoha, the village that was saved by great ninjas along with the great nations. They no longer lived in an era of peace and prosperity. They would no longer go out to play cards or eat potatoes while playing on video game machines.
There will be no more hamburgers.
No training sessions with the teachers.
Nor meaningless missions.
All that remained in a past that now lies destroyed in the expanse of infinity, reduced to simple memories that barely shine in the corner of memory. Now, peace has disappeared and they have no choice but to survive in these times of war.
Tsubaki's serene eyes were disturbed for an instant as a dry sound echoed in the quiet gloom. It was the sound of Sarada's clothes, which had been carefully placed in a specific place, but not very selective, despite already being damaged.
The Uchiha, deprived of the red that used to characterize her, coldly withdrew her hands from the neatly folded garments and walked away to keep those last memories of the garments in her mind.
The pants rested under her blouse, retaining only the black top of her old clothes under the pajamas she was wearing. Her stockings and arm warmers were folded at the sides, like a sad decoration of what used to be her attire.
Konoha's red diadem glowed with a freshly polished glow, free of any traces of dirt or sand from the battles Sarada had faced. It was impeccable, as it should always be for her.
"Grandma told us to fill our hands with chalk..." Tsubaki began, watching as Sarada slowly approached her. "First we have to wash our hands, and then, with the chalk, it is supposed to show us what to do..."
Sarada's footsteps echoed with increasing intensity, flooding Tsubaki's ears, whose words faded under the growing tension. A slight tingling ran through his body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and sending shivers down his spine.
He stood motionless as he felt the muffled expression on the Sharingan's wielder's face.
Sarada did not usually behave like this. Like Chunin, she was supposed to be one of the most capable of staying calm, even in adverse situations. But, to Tsubaki's surprise, the tension seemed to weigh more heavily on the shoulders of the Chunins, including Sarada.
"Yes." Sarada replied when she noticed Tsubaki's discomfort. "I'm going to join the rest."
"Okay..." Tsubaki stammered, watching Sarada pass by her.
Sarada's figure disappeared from his sight, and he could only hear her footsteps stop as he reached the entrance of the empty dressing room. Tsubaki resisted the temptation to turn to look at her, aware of Sarada's need for space and privacy at the time.
As the other children waited for their new teacher in whispers down the hall, Sarada's slow, disturbed footsteps faded into the darkness surrounding the dressing room.
Tsubaki swallowed hard as the footsteps were lost, leaving only the melancholy silence of loneliness.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone