章 12: INTERLUDE: The "Pacifist" Inside
Over a week later.
Growing up is when one realises Konohagakure is a truly evil, deeply flawed place.
Some might argue that the universe Kishimoto created was a cruel and barbaric one. They might say that the system the world ran on was an inherently flawed one. They might then go on to claim it is unfair to single out Konoha, insisting that all shinobi factions are equally horrible.
"That's just the way things are," die-hard fans would claim—pointing out that the other major villages aren't saints either—as they typed furiously on their flashy RGB keyboards in sheltered, complacent abodes.
However, consider—for a moment—this…
What if it didn't mater? Do we justify the existence of a bad actor with the existence of a whole cohort of bad actors? Just because others are just as bad doesn't make the Laf somehow good.
Deluded, small-minded, or incompetent leaders…
Inane policies…
Darwinian customs and values…
Weaponised propaganda…
A history of warmongering, systematic genocide, and human experimentation.
If one observed from a purely academic standpoint, without any prior bias, the Village Hidden in the Leaf bore all the hallmark signs of a truly dystopian, antagonistic faction.
How many world-destroying villains existed in the fictional series this existence seemed to spawn from? Count them: Sasuke, the Akatsuki, Nagato, Itachi, Obito, Madara, Kabuto, Orochimaru, Danzo. Of all these entities, how many can be asserted to not—in some convoluted way or the other—bear some defining connections to the Leaf?
Under that flimsy facade of wholesomeness and nostalgic beauty, Konohagakure remains a dirty, corrupt place with little regard for any that does not serve its core purpose. There is simply no denying it; those who do deny it, do so because that is simply easier to do than to grow a pair and confront the uncomfortable reality that is the Narutoverse. Because of flimsy concepts like husbandos and waifus.
"Itachi, best husbando!" Ugh! These memories felt even more unnerving now that I was the one those miscreants all seemed to lust after.
It is understandable, then, the simmering irritation that might coalesce in one's chest when approaching the village's main entrance. The gate loomed ahead in all its rustic grandiosity. As always, the hiragana あん—meaning "peaceful hermitage"—remained proudly on both halves of the towering oaken barrier. The markings caught the light of the setting sun, glimmering in a dull, crimson hue.
A humourless smile creased the corners of my lips.
Lies, told, literally, right out of the gate.
To proclaim such a horrible place a hermitage was misleading, to say the least; to call it peaceful was just outright deceitful.
Years ago, when I was much younger, I had always desired to flee Konohagakure at my earliest convenience. I had no interest in involving myself in the sack of shenanigans that was the "Plot." Heroism did not come easily to me. Neither did the willingness to die for a cause I did not believe in.
In my heart was a clear preference for selfishness, caring only about a scant few while being indifferent to what was left. The rest of the world could burn for all I cared, I couldn't be less bothered. After all, these people were nothing more than figments of a talented man's vivid imagination.
…Yet, attachment grew.
Slowly, the idea of falling off the face of the earth and settling down in some forgotten corner of the world became less viable. Were I strong enough, I might have simply kidnapped my family, as well as a few others I took a liking to, from the village. To where? It did not matter; anywhere else seemed a likely better alternative than this sages-forsaken place.
But my strength was lacking, and perhaps it always would be. Kidnapping even one of my parents was already a tall order; kidnapping both Fugaku and Mikoto was a concept that existed in the realms of impossibility unless I became a literal god in all sense of the word. Hence, compromise became my only option.
"Welcome back," the Chunin guards at the gate greeted. I ignored them, much unlike the rest of my team. Friendly greetings and waves were exchanged behind me; someone cracked a joke. They all laughed, but I wasn't paying attention.
Compromise. Compromise. Compromise. That seemed to be all I was doing lately. My false smile morphed into a genuine, thoughtful frown. A pattern was starting to form; one I was not particularly comfortable to let be.
Drastic changes need to be made.
Thirty minutes later, I parted ways with the rest of Team Nine, my attention turning to settle on the ROOT agent still trailing me. Killing intent bubbled up to mix with the irritation in my chest. On my face I donned a mask once more; crescent eyes and soft wrinkles at the corners of my lips—a smile.
The facade said I was happy to be here in the seat of Konoha's power.
Purchasing a takeout serving of Oyakodon, I turned north towards my clan's district. The sun was setting. Night crept ever closer.
A wave at Uruchi-Obasan and a slight nod at the Shinobi standing guard at the entrance had me crossing the threshold into the Uchiha district. Wary of being caught stalking by an errant dojutsu, my ANBU tail grew longer, lingering further away to avoid detection. I took a turn at an intersection, then another—and then another—using the terrain to break the agent's line of sight for a single, solitary moment.
虎.
Tora.
"Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!"
…
Awareness came like a breath of fresh air as I, the shadow clone, split from the original to merge with the shadows of a nearby telephone pole. I watched my real body walk away before disappearing around the bend down the street. He was headed home and would keep up appearances for the duration of my existence.
A simple arrangement, it might seem, but simplicity was rarely ever the wrong means to employ.
Hours passed as I waited in hiding. Night crept closer still, the darkness growing colder and denser. My tail remained oblivious to the change, distracted by the antics of the Original.
When I was certain the time was right, I made my move.
The village blurred past as I backtracked. Minutes later, the Konoha's Intelligence Division building sat ahead of me, three hundred meters east of the Hokage Building and just off to the left of the mountain bearing the Hokage Monuments.
Directly infiltrating the building would be sheer foolishness on my part. Humility was my bulwark against an overwhelming enemy. Hence, I bore no delusions that I would succeed in directly penetrating the heart of Konoha's covert operations where thousands before myself had failed. In a few more years, perhaps, but not now. I was simply too inexperienced; Konoha's security too robust and its counter-measures too encompassing.
Yet, even a system as robust as the Leaf's was not impenetrable. In a system so intricate and dense, weaknesses were bound to exist; and the weakest part of any intricately designed system would always remain the people. People could be forgetful. Negligent. Incompetent.
Days passed before I singled out a weakness. A Jonin I had come to dub squid-eater. He wasn't especially unique, just your average war-scarred Shinobi: Jaded, skittish and positively rote. In the morning he would arrive at precisely the same dozen minutes, remain within until the end of the day, and purchase the same snack on his way home…
Precisely within the same dozen minutes.
Hidden in the eaves of a nearby apartment building, I watched as the Nara clansman stopped to purchase his usual skewer of roasted squid before heading home for the night. His feet were light and his calloused fingers never strayed too far from the weapon's pouch by his waist. Dangerous, but predictable.
Sedately, I emerged from hiding to stalk him. The evening had arrived in full when we reached a mid-sized apartment at the centre of the Nara clan district. The residence was mostly quiet except for the sound of faint breathing, most of which was lost in the low drone of the night breeze. Inside, in the living room, a boy no older than my Original's body was fast asleep on a couch with a large parchment scroll sprawled carelessly over his chest.
I watched as the Jonin sighed in exasperation before moving the child to one of the rooms and settling in for the night himself. As his eyelids slid shut, I emerged from the darkness, my arm snaking forward to grab him by the throat. My victim's eyes snapped open and, instinctively, his arms rose in a taijutsu blow to lethally strike me in the chest.
Alas, it was too little, too late.
Expressionlessly, I parried the move with my free arm as I continued to flood the Jonin's chakra network with my turbulent chi, bypassing his potent essence with practised ease. Like a malignant parasite, my intent slithered up his spine into his brain to stimulate his hypothalamus and render him comatose within moments.
A few seconds more passed before I cut off the stream of chakra I was pumping into my victim's system and freed his windpipe to allow air back into his lungs. There was little struggle, yet a light bruise had begun to form around his neck. Too much force, I scolded myself internally, before ignoring the matter altogether; no point crying over spilt milk.
With one hand placed on the Jonin's forehead, I wove a single one-handed hand sign.
蛇.
Hebi.
Yin Release: Mind Parasitism Jutsu(陰遁・思用寄生の術, Inton: Shiyō Kisei no Jutsu).
My heavily Yin-aligned chakra body dispelled as the chakra-intensive technique took hold and immediately drained my reserves. But rather than returning to the original, as a normal Shadow clone would after being dispelled, my consciousness reformed into a Yin avatar that parasitised the nearest nexus of sentience. My chosen host, Shinichi Nara, instinctively fought back but I rebuffed his efforts with practised ease.
Merging with another's subconscious would always be a strange experience for me. The experiences differed almost as much as the way the minds of all of my victims did from each other. Entering this one felt like falling into a tub of warm, aged, pine-scented oil, his memories flowing through me like viscous liquid through a sieve.
Moments later, Shinichi's eyes opened and I "awoke" to a world softly blurred at the edges, as if viewed through a pane of fogged glass. The sharp, crystalline precision I was accustomed to had dissolved, replaced by a gentler, more muted clarity. Objects once keenly defined were now enveloped in a delicate haze, their outlines softened, and their colours subtly diffused. It wasn't that my victim's vision was poor; it was simply… ordinary. I blinked, a futile, subconscious attempt to restore the lost acuity of my Sharingan, but the world remained slightly veiled, inviting a slower, more deliberate gaze.
With a knowing sigh, I partially relinquished control of the Jonin's body, allowing it to fall back into a state of slumber. Content with my hold over his motor functions, I turned my attention to Shinichi's consciousness within.
"...Who are you?" the Shinobi asked, his gaze wary and stance guarded. "What do you want?"
I stared at him for a long moment before replying. "That matters little," I told him.
"Not like you would remember anything either way, so why bother?"
…
The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting delicate patterns on the tatami mats. Shinichi stirred from his futon, his internal clock rousing him from his slumber.
He rose quietly, as was befitting his station as a shinobi. Subconsciously, he allowed his awareness to spread beyond the vicinity of his apartment as he took stock of his bearings. Content with the lack of activity, he slipped into his slippers and padded softly to the kitchen where he prepared breakfast. Measuring out two servings of rice into the cooker, the Jonin set a pot of miso soup to simmer before cleaning the vegetables and fish that would accompany the meal.
As the enticing aroma of breakfast filled the air, Shinichi visited his son's room. There, he knelt beside the boy's futon, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Yuki, time to wake up," he said softly.
His son groaned slightly, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. "Morning, Father," the boy mumbled, stretching his arms.
"Good morning. Breakfast will be ready soon," Shinichi informed him before asking, "Also, I hope you did not forget to study for your test today?"
Yuki shook his head. "I studied last night."
Shinichi ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Good. You'll do great. Now, go wash up."
While Yuki got ready, Shinichi turned his attention to the table in the living room. On it, he laid out bowls of steaming rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables, and grilled fish. As Yuki emerged from his bedroom, freshly washed and dressed, they sat down to eat.
They ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the clink of chopsticks and the occasional slurp of soup. Shinichi glanced out the window at the rising sun outside; it was almost time for him to leave. He finished his meal quickly, clearing the table and washing the dishes with swift, practised movements.
"Are you all set for school?" Shinichi asked, drying his hands on a towel.
Yuki nodded, slipping his scrolls and notebooks into his backpack. "Yeah, I'm ready."
"Good. I'll be leaving for work soon. Remember to lock the door behind you," Shinichi instructed.
As he donned his undergarment and flak jacket, Shinichi caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He adjusted his forehead protector wrapped around his arm, ensuring it was perfectly level, and then turned to face his son. "Have a good day at school, Yuki."
"You too, Dad," Yuki replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Shinichi stuffed his arms in his pocket and headed for the door, his mind already shifting to the tasks awaiting him at the office. But as he stepped outside, he paused, glancing back at his son who stood in the doorway, waving.
Shinichi felt a small smile grace his lips. Turning away, he waved back as he departed.
…
As Shinichi approached the entrance to his workplace, he was met by a squad of Jonin security personnel. He greeted them with a single, respectful nod, which they returned as he displayed his identification badge. The wooden token bore a series of seals and markings verifying his identity and clearance level.
"Declare yourself," the lead Jonin ordered monotonously. "Name, Rank, Department and Purpose of Visit."
"Nara Shinichi," Shinichi replied easily; it was simply routine. "Jonin. Torture and Interrogation. Administrative Matters."
"Morning then, Nara-san," the lead guard replied, as he momentarily eyed Shinichi's badge with a critical eye before nodding to the furthest Jonin away to grant access. A reinforced steel door slid open and Shinichi entered the main lobby where an industrial-looking scanner sat. Stepping onto the device, he felt a slight warmth suffuse his being as the machine scanned him before beeping as a signal for him to step off.
"Welcome," a calm voice intoned from a large speaker hanging from the ceiling of the empty lobby. "Everything looks good. You may proceed further. Have a productive day, Nara-san," the officer beyond the wall said as another massive, reinforced metal door slid away to reveal a well-lit hallway.
"Same to you."
Shinichi stepped out of the hallway into a bustling office space. Rows of desks were equipped with CTR monitors displaying still images and flickering video feeds. The walls were adorned with projected images of mission charts and strategic maps of the shinobi world, constantly updated to reflect the latest intelligence available.
Shinichi's desk was neatly organized. It was bare, save for some files, stationeries and a positively ancient typewriter sitting on the left side of the table.
"Good morning, Nara-san," someone greeted him as he settled in.
"Morning, Genki," Shinichi replied without looking up at the Chunin who spoke. "You have something for me?"
"Yes, sir," Genki replied. "Hikaru Junto finally gave a confession a few hours ago. I have the transcript with me if you would like to attend the matter, sir."
"The spy from Kiri?" Shinichi asked with a frown. "Wasn't he just brought in yesterday? I know he's just a Genin, but to betray his village that quickly? Seems unlikely… Are you certain of the validity of his confession?"
In response, Genki paused for a moment, his expression turning awkward before he finally spoke. "...Ibiki-sama was free for a few hours last night and chose to attend to a few of the inmates personally. We were able to extract testimonies from four prisoners before other matters distracted the boss again. Perchance his involvement should be enough to confirm the validity of the testimony, sir?"
"You should have led with that," Shinichi scolded, tsking as he snatched the transcript from his subordinate. "What about the fellow from Kumo? The one that was brought in two weeks ago?"
"Akame, sir?"
"Yes."
Genki shook his head in response. "Still no progress, sir. The Analysis team took another shot at his file recently but made little progress. The suspect's mental blocks remain very resistant to even Lord Inoichi's Psycho Mind Transmission Jutsu. I doubt we will see any improvement on this matter anytime soon, sir."
Shinichi paused from skimming through the files he was handed. "...Are there any transcripts available for this case?"
"Yes, sir. Records should have the few gathered over the past week, but none are substantial enough for any serious investigation. Should I bring them to you, sir?"
"No need," Shinichi said as he rose from his feet at the bidding of a sudden compulsion forming in the back of his mind.
"I'll go check myself."
…
Inside the archives, the air was cool and sterile, the scent of paper and ink filling the room. Rows of filing cabinets stretched out before Shinichi. He knew not what he was looking for, but intuition led him to begin his search.
Reaching the section on foreign relations, he scanned the labels until he found the shelf he needed: "Kumogakure", it was tagged in sublime red ink on cream parchment. Shinichi pulled a scroll and began to skim its contents. The document detailed maps of Kumo's terrain. Another scroll contained tactical analyses of the Shinobi village's military strength, while a third listed exhaustive dossiers on key figures within the village. Shinichi noted the precise assessments of Kumo's elite shinobi in a fourth scroll; their abilities, and the potential threats they posed to Konoha.
The archive was an impressive record of the effectiveness of Konoha's intelligence apparatus, meticulously organized and heavily encyclopedic. The shelves were lined with numerous files and scrolls, each containing invaluable information. And this wasn't taking into account intel locked far beyond the reach of even Shinichi's clearance level.
One particular document however caught his eye: a recent report on Kumo's diplomatic overtures to the other hidden villages. The scroll detailed mission logs extracted from detained enemy operatives, hypothetical alliances formed in secret, as well as the strategic implications of said alliances for Konoha.
A frown formed on Shinichi's face as an uneasy feeling formed in his chest. However, before he could parse it, he felt a presence emerge from the shadows at the end of the aisle.
"Why are you here?" Lord Inoichi questioned, his features expressionless.
Shinichi turned to face the other Shinobi, inclining his head slightly in greetings. "Reporting, sir," Shinichi replied. "I am looking into the records for more context on Akame's case, sir. I had a hunch there was something we weren't considering."
"...A hunch?"
"Yes, sir."
Lord Inoichi stared for a moment longer before nodding in understanding. "...Carry on then," he said as he walked past.
"Yes—"
Shinichi leaned out of the way of a Kunai hurtling towards him. Instinctively, he deflected the projectile as he realised it was moving too fast to be evaded completely before looking up to face his opponent. Three ANBU operatives emerged from hiding to block off all escape routes whilst Lord Inoichi himself stood across from him with his hands poised to execute the Yamanaka clan's signature jutsu.
Mind Body Disturbance Technique(心乱身の術 Shinranshin no Jutsu)
"Who are you?" the clan head asked, as Shinichi's body seized up and Itachi was forced to relinquish all motor controls.
…
I stared at Inoichi through narrowed eyes, mildly irritated at the interruption but otherwise unsurprised. It was unlikely I would have gotten away with snooping around much longer anyway, so this was hardly a loss.
Without further ado, I sterilised my host, internalising all the data gathered before immediately decoupling from Shinichi's psyche and returning to the Original. Another person might have allowed themselves to be goaded into getting in the last word, but I refused to be that complacent around a skilled mind-reader.
In a blink and another, I was once again whole and coherent save for the need to reconcile multiple days of memory into one timeline. A mildly disorientating but otherwise mundane task. My foray into Konoha's archive had proven productive, alas I was now saddled with an uneasy decision to make.
"Itachi?" Yuna sensei asked upon seeing me pause midstride to turn a contemplative eye up towards the Hokage building ahead. We were headed to see the Hokage in order to receive our second-ever C-rank mission. Exciting stuff, it seemed.
"Is anything the matter?" she asked.
"What would you not be willing to do for those you care about?" I asked her instead, seeking a touchstone upon which I might gauge what was left of my conscience. Kaede and Tatsuya turned curious glances towards me, but I ignored them, my gaze fixed solely on my sensei. Hachi, the ninken, watched me with an indiscernible expression in its gaze.
"...Nothing," Yuna said eventually, a small, approving smile gracing her lips. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for those I care about."
"...Very well then," I said finally, my resolve hardening.
"I guess it just cannot be helped."
週次パワーステータス
-- 推薦
ランキング 
-- 推薦
チケット