บท 42: PART 4.
"We should sell food." Osuka said, holding the basket full of flowers between her fingers as she walked. His condescending and formal tone once again dominated his voice. "You know, those chocolate-filled fish crackers."
The other two girls who accompanied her, Sumire and Himawari, looked at her when they heard the mention of that food. It was a dessert of the future, currently in the experimental phase. They couldn't be sure if chocolate was a viable option to add to the inside of cookies.
Hinata Hyuga, Himawari's mother, came from a good family, with connections to other prominent families.
Himawari used to bring those cookies home from the Academy, and his mother would tell him how they used to be simple shapeless crackers. The creator of the biscuits had opted for the peculiar fish shape and variety of flavours after having his first grandchildren. The cookie was called 'Taiyaki'.
"Wouldn't that be stealing?" Himawari asked, sharing the anecdote with her friends as they walked through the busy streets of Konoha night.
Himawari was swinging his arms and looking sadly at Osuka, who joined him closer, making sure not to raise his voice too high.
"I don't think it's right to take away someone's success. Those cookies could have been his great invention, his livelihood."
Sumire nodded silently from the other side, and Osuka simply held the basket with one hand while gesturing to Himawari with the other.
"Do you want to continue sleeping on the floor and eating ramen every day?" Osuka questioned Himawari rhetorically, speaking to him closely. "We are working honestly to make money, but you must remember that our work also has its disadvantages."
Waving the basket almost to the height of her head, Osuka stopped the other two girls. Sumire was a mere spectator, but she seemed just as interested and involved as Himawari, and she wanted to know more about Osuka's opinion.
The people around him went about his routine without suspecting anything, which was good. Although Sumire stood tall, she kept looking around, alert to any prying eyes.
"Wanting to sell more flowers would mean wishing someone dead, wouldn't it?" Himawari commented, feeling the temperature drop suddenly. His expression showed a clear surprise at that unexpected word. "Many of the people who buy the necklaces and crowns are those who are going to bury or visit someone in the cemetery. You know it yourself."
Osuka furrowed an eyebrow, and one of his eyes seemed to glaze Himawari directly. Although she didn't know it, Himawari thought that the way Osuka pursed her lips, forming a kind of pout deviated to one side, and her noticeable fluffy pink hair resembled a pink fish.
Well, I had to admit that the girl had a point. The idea of selling flowers wasn't long, but they had already sold a wide variety of floral wreaths. However, most of them were bought by people from the surroundings of the apartment who went to visit a deceased relative, or by the hunter herself, who was also dedicated to selling them in the less crowded areas of the village.
Morality was questioned, and although Eho and Harika were quick to question the fact that the huntress resold things, Himawari always silenced complaints with a few simple words:
"At least we are not stealing, we were received by a friendly person, we have a place to sleep and we eat every day."
Since then, they have not protested.
"But that doesn't mean it's not wrong." The Uzumaki said in her usual tone that reflected an innocent maturity befitting her age. "That you know that the idea already has an owner, so doing so would be an incorrect act."
"Himawari-san! You're too kind!" Osuka rebuked him in a low tone, as if spitting. She was clearly not angry with Hima, but with the circumstances. "You're right to say it's wrong. But there is no other option, right? We need the money."
Himawari tried to intervene.
"You see, it's as simple as..." Osuka began, but was interrupted by Sumire, who dared to join the small meeting.
Like Himawari and Osuka, she had a basket full of flowers in her hands.
"I think Himawari-chan is right, Osuka-chan." Sumire said in a friendly, level-headed tone that had gained momentum in recent days. "As much as we need the money, we can't take away someone's livelihood here to earn more."
Osuka joked and frowned, although you could tell she was exercising self-control in her yellowed eyes.
"But...!" Osuka tried to protest again, but Sumire continued her resolve, her expression uneasy under her tempered façade.
"We can find many solutions to our current conflicts, and these could benefit us in many ways," Sumire continued, in a more serious tone. "But you must not forget that making such decisions comes with consequences. From now on, doing that kind of thing will be like a taboo for us: they should not be done. We cannot interfere in the lives of innocent people for our own benefit. Never."
Osuka swallowed, feeling a stabbing pain in her throat as the main focus of Sumire's blackened eyes was the main focus.
Of course, the youngest of the Uzumaki brothers did not go unnoticed this light encounter. Sumire had already given signs, and until now that thought had been coming up more frequently whenever a similar discussion came up.
It seemed as if he wanted to show them something, but he couldn't. Protect them, but at the same time, keep away from danger the people of the past who are ignorant of the danger that lies outside. It didn't matter how many times Himawari looked at Sumire.
He felt his insides grip every time his eyes met Kakkei's. I didn't feel the same way when I saw her. I couldn't say if it was distrust or fear generated by his circumstances, but I could say that he fully trusted Sumire, although he would doubt every word he said about "being okay".
I knew what was wrong when I looked at people's expressions. Dad used to give him the same expression, with a special pinch that only he knew how to add. Himawari had grown up, and it is not until now that he learned to reject the idea of accepting only one option.
"Uwawa...!" Sumire exclaimed, surprising both Osuka and Himawari.
The girl with the violet hair waved her hands to appease the situation in which, unconsciously, she had gotten herself into.
"But don't take it the wrong way, Osuka-chan!" He said to the hairy girl, placing his hand on her shoulder, while the basket hung from his wrist in the opposite hand. "I know your intentions are very good. Helping your friends is a very admirable thing, and even more so, considering that you come from a family that had many things that many of your friends did not."
In a moment of silence, Sumire would let nearby people pass by around her. Himawari and Osuka waited patiently.
"But let's refrain from interrupting the flow of things, okay?" Sumire proposed.
"Hai, Sumire-san." Osuka nodded with her head down, beginning to feel embarrassed.
"Very well, now that we have everything..." Kakkei changed the subject, as if it were a past fog. His soft smile was also present. "Do you think we're going home? The others must already be waiting for us for dinner."
Applying a little firmness to her lips, Osuka grimaced in disgust as she spoke condescendingly.
"I still can't get used to calling that pigsty 'home'..."
Sumire laughed nervously at the former Academy student's complaint.
The latter kept her eyes closed, while her right hand seemed to be rummaging through her clothes pocket. Himawari looked at her out of the corner of his eye, without missing the slightest detail of his movements, until Sumire wanted to start returning home.
But when she had taken her first steps, Osuka let out a gasp.
"What's going on?"
Himawari was just as confused as Sumire and remained silent. Osuka put the basket of flowers on the ground gently and used both hands to touch her pockets, looking more desperate as she noticed the failure of her search.
"Osuka-chan?" Himawari asked, as Sumire approached the pink-haired woman.
The brown-eyed woman looked at her with bulging eyes, the concern more than drawn on her face.
"I've lost it!" he exclaimed. "My mother's pendant... It's gone!"
"Pendant?" Sumire inquired in the sudden rain of despair, for she was unaware of the existence of that pendant.
Osuka bent down to open the basket and rummage through the flowers. They were very delicate and any bad treatment could damage them, making them unusable for crowns or necklaces. But that didn't seem to matter to him now.
"It's the pendant that Mama won in recognition of her starring role in a movie... She gave it to me as a birthday present." Osuka said, looking orange-eyed at the eldest of the three, with tears rising. "I can't lose it! It's the only thing... what is left of Mom!"
"Uwawa..."
When Osuka resumed her search and Sumire bent down to help her, the hairy woman gave up exasperated. What she was looking for was no longer found with her.
"What does it look like? What material is it made of?" Sumire asked as Himawari rummaged through her own basket. Sumire looked down the road they had come and sighed. "Good heavens... and everything is already dark. At this rate..."
Sumire meant, "We can resume the search tomorrow," because of the many flower fields Konoha had, they had been in one of the most secluded. So it would be difficult for that pendant to be lost if no one moved it.
But Osuka took her by the arm, kneeling on the ground and ready to beg her.
"I can't lose that pendant! It's too important to me!" he exclaimed. The words slipped down their throats, thanks to the pressure of being surrounded by people from the past. Determined not to be heard by others, she begged Sumire with her eyes like two huge plates. "Please, I beg you! I have to recover it at all costs!"
Sumire looked at her as if she didn't understand what she was trying to tell her.
But she knew. He had understood it perfectly.
For some reason Himawari couldn't decipher as she looked up from her own basket a little, Sumire wasn't about to budge. On his face you could see the sorrow and the desire to help, but it seemed that something was simply preventing him from doing so.
That something was related to what she had called "home." Sumire was, for some reason, determined to return home. Himawari had been watching her on every outing, both from the point of view of a companion and someone waiting for her at home.
Sumire always used to arrive at the same time. Because when the streets emptied, ninjas used to patrol the streets and take into account anyone they saw walking around. Clearly, she didn't want to be involved in something like that having the two girls in her care.
However, Himawari felt the weight in her friend's words. Losing someone is already horrible, but losing a person in a different time than the present made it even more distant, more impossible. As if his mother was even further away than his death could feel. A destroyed, non-existent future. Not even photographs would have survived as consolation.
"I can go."
Himawari offered. The offer of help perplexed the other two. To show herself more confidently, Himawari dragged the basket of flowers toward Osuka, nearly forcing her to take it. Right there, he directed his whispers to Sumire.
"I'm very small and I can easily hide if I saw ninjas." She said, pointing to herself with her thumb. "Under my circumstances, I'm also undetectable."
Osuka quickly raised her head to give her opinion and to join the search for her pendant. However, Sumire stood in the way.
"It's impossible, Himawari-chan. It's already very dark and we can't stay out for long."
Sumire said, with a sorrowful expression that sent Osuka back into depression. Kakkei tried to win her interest again, but to no avail.
Himawari clenched his fists.
"Please, Sumire-san. It's nothing." Himawari pleaded. "It's not like I'm going to get lost to fight."
"But that..."
"Also..." Little Uzumaki scanned her surroundings.
When a lady in colorful yukata walked past him, brushing the fabric through the girl's lavender hair, Himawari cupped her mouth with one of her hands to privatize her words.
"Darkness is nothing if I have the Byakugan on my side."
Sumire did not let that detail escape. His surprise was absolute when he heard it from the little girl's lips, and he looked at her in amazement, his eyelashes opening over her slanted eyes.
He heard rumors when he was at the Academy. A rumor that involved Boruto and his own father. When she asked Sarada that, on a school trip in the village of the mist, the Uchiha could only laugh nervously and call it "a very funny family anecdote."
In addition to the fact that, well, it is another rumor that exaggerated the above, he also heard that Himawari had earned the respect of Shukaku of the Sand himself, when he was somehow sealed in some kind of scrap metal.
He knew that Himawari had the Byakugan, for he had inherited it from his mother. But his ability to use it was far from Kakkei's knowledge.
"Please. Again, Himawari pleaded with him, clapping his hands together. "This time, the girl emphasized her expression, formalizing the security and confidence she had in herself. "I promise I'll be home in less than five minutes. But if Osuka-chan loses this..."
The hairy woman looked up from the ground to see the Uzumaki. The one with the lavender hair looked hurt.
"I proposed the plan to sell the crowns. That Osuka-chan has lost her pendant, somehow also makes me responsible."
The eldest girl, who had only reached Genin's level before retiring, gave Himawari a sorry expression.
Well, I didn't know what was best. He couldn't neglect the children who were at home, with Hinoko-san and Ro-san being just outside the village for their protection. But neither was he to be lenient and allow Himawari to go alone.
But looking at the circumstances... Himawari was reliable, confident, responsible, and knew from Shikamaru-san's comments towards the Seventh, that he had very good comments from his Academy teachers.
It was said that I would pass the graduation exam...
Her eyes shone with confidence, and her hair, embraced by the breeze, danced. Sumire could not help thinking about the future that lay ahead for Himawari, had the Cataclysm not occurred. Perhaps she would have become a good Genin, or even promoted sooner.
Anyway, that future was now just pieces of torn paper.
Sumire let out a little air.
"That place is just outside the Village..."
"I am conscious." Himawari guaranteed, clenching his fists and showing the most serene expression he could give.
"It's far from the door." Sumire counterattacked.
"I run very fast." Himawari defended himself.
"It won't be long before the doors close!"
"I can sneak in somehow!"
The small argument with a lack of strength was seen by Osuka, who exchanged his vision from Sumire to Himawari and vice versa. Sumire didn't want to give in, even if she was clearly aware that it was the best option for everyone.
Sumire watched Himawari from above, holding back the urge to let out some "Uwawa!" at any moment. The Uzumaki remained determined, squatting down without backing down from her word.
He really wanted to help Osuka-chan.
With no other choice, Sumire let out air from deep within her lungs and put a hand on Himawari's shoulder. The girl looked at her with those cerulean eyes, lighter but identical to her brother's when it came to defending his friends.
"Don't be distracted by anything. And don't talk to anyone." Sumire advised. "If they see me a lot on the street, they will start to be suspicious, so..."
"I won't be long, trust me." Himawari declared firmly. "There will be no need for you to go and find me, Sumire-san."
"..."
The three of them rose from the ground, each holding her basket full of flowers. Osuka, his eyes swollen, received Himawari's basket, while a man at a nearby stall kept announcing the sales he offered in his greengrocer's.
Himawari looked sadly at Osuka, as if he shared the same sorrow that was reflected in the hairy woman's brown eyes. The Uzumaki brushed his pale, soft fingers against hers, and after squeezing her hand holding her own basket, she whispered:
"Forgive me, Osuka-chan."
"Hey, it's not necessary..." The girl replied hesitantly. "Better tell me when you have it in your hand and come back before they see you."
"Yes."
The one in the yellow sweater pushed her hand away and looked at Sumire. After nodding firmly to him, Himawari turned and ran in the opposite direction to the direction they were heading. It wasn't long before his figure was lost in the tumult of people.
"We also have to hurry up."
"Hai."
Sumire walked beside Osuka more calmly, though she had to admit that she hoped to continue to see Himawari's figure in the crowd that swarmed the nightstands.
Finally, he gave up on his search and continued walking towards the house they shared with the children.
A whitish and bluish light illuminated almost entirely his feet, thanks to the various lights in the village. That strange light was not visible to everyone, even Sumire had a hard time noticing it until she looked up and realized that it came from the moon.
The moon was different that night. A crescent moon stood against a blackened background, radiating a living light. Particles of light could be perceived if you strained your eyes, and if you were lucky, one passed right in front of your nose. Sumire didn't find it strange or alarming.
But, like her, many people around her noticed the precious phenomenon.
"How beautiful..."
"It's beautiful, simply sublime." The greengrocer commented before to the lady in wonder. "You know? The cucumbers I harvested are similarly shaped. I'm sure the taste has improved too..."
The greengrocer's attempt to sell his merchandise vanished amid the murmurs of the people.
Those murmurs silenced a sorrow that swirled over a building; a house that was treated as a kingdom in the eyes of a lonely young man.
The moon hadn't been seen by his eyes, but its brightness had completely bathed him. His window was always uncovered, and his snoring was scarce a few days ago, a rather noticeable change for him.
However, even if his sleep seemed to be pleasant and peaceful, if his head did not move from the comfortable pillow that witnessed his dreams, that blond boy wanted to do anything but sleep.
The same sensation he experienced on the day of the appearance of the portals had grown within him, taking the form of a nightmare.
It was a huge, reddish, demonic nightmare.
One that looked a lot like him.
(~~~)
Shikadai couldn't find the appetite.
He felt absent, as if his body was too heavy.
Her friends, Inojin and Chou Chou, kept up with the rest of their classmates as they practiced the moves taught by the Great Old Woman.
Everyone, including Shikadai, was outside. It was the second time they had gone out after the break from morning training. The only difference was the location, as Granny had decided that for safety's sake, it was better to change the training location from time to time.
Although their bodies were moving, Shikadai wasn't paying attention, not even when Chou Chou asked him why he looked so disturbed. She knew that Shikadai was calm, and although her father's violent death had affected him, she was sure that he would find a way to move on.
Yet there he was, sitting and watching the others train.
If Granny hadn't stunned him right after Mirai's departure, Shikadai would surely have demanded explanations for his absence today. But now, I didn't even feel like thinking.
It felt stupid and unnecessary.
With the Grand Elder watching them from the front, all the Genin and Chunin were organized into columns, keeping noticeably apart to avoid any accidental clashes. It was as if they were performing some sort of yoga movement, but mixed with martial arts and styles similar to those of Boruto's maternal family, the Hyuga.
Although the positions were similar, the "attacks" were not executed in the same way. Even Boruto had run into trouble more than once since the morning for running them incorrectly. He was so used to his own fighting techniques that they came directly from his family.
The simplest thing Shikadai could use to describe what his peers were doing now would be a "union."
The Great Old Woman's goal was to unite them through nature, teaching them basic combat techniques from scratch in which they had to consider the environment through their own body.
If they could feel the stones under their feet, the breeze coming from afar, and the roots of dying plants beneath the earth, it meant that they had a chance of correctly executing the movements.
The "basic" training had been overcoming obstacles, something Shikadai had seen as a nuisance in the early days. This training was intended to stimulate their nerves to keep them alert when they reached the current level: combat.
He paused for a moment to reflect on it when they went outside for the first time. Shikadai recalled everything from the terms of the scroll to the possible complications they would face as involved. This led him to believe that those obstacles that trained his reactions were a kind of immersion in the past.
They, by this date, did not exist, which meant that being here would bring them problems; problems that were still far from Shikadai's absolute understanding.
He had observed everything, even the slightest reactions, and had studied every detail. From his memories he drew even the smallest lessons from his father, all directed at one person in particular: Sarutobi Mirai.
It was obvious to him: the very liar was planning something, trying to fulfill the promise she had made to Shikadai's father. And he wasn't willing to accept it without confronting her first.
Shikadai, as a boy of almost thirteen, did not remember being so disappointed in his short life. If you were to check the things in your head, you would surely find only nonsense. But no, there was one thing that had shaken him from the first shout.
That's why, given the circumstances, he wasn't surprised at all when he began to notice the first signs that something wasn't right with Mirai.
Being a student of her father, it was normal that she also inherited his peculiarity. However, considering that Mirai was her father's biggest fan and would be willing to move heaven and earth for him, the amount of nonsense going through her head would easily exceed a hundred full bags of chips, just like Uncle Chōji used to eat when he was alive.
Shikadai didn't want to think about it, let alone believe it. His feelings were a tumult, and the last thing he wanted was to provoke a fight.
He was aware of the situation and, therefore, of the weight that Mirai had on his shoulders. Like any son, he would curse anyone who separated him from his father's dying body. However, none of his feelings towards Mirai were similar.
He loved her, and therefore respected her, though he would never admit it in front of her, because she could be very pretentious when she was around him.
But all that had changed now. The future, its present... He had taken with him everything he wanted, everything he admired. Everything he respected.
He never expected Mirai to be one of the things sucked into the portals. Those beliefs, those thoughts, all those plans with a stupid end. Those own sacrifices and that damned King.
Hopefully, she had left her mother home alone. With the firm conviction not to break in front of her, he made his way towards Hokage Tower, only to be dismissed and never greeted by the man who claimed to be his father.
All those good memories, those hugs, those words of encouragement. Everything was gone, even before the Cataclysm itself, because it had come before, devouring all sincerity and turning it into mere greed.
With so many stalls, he couldn't even pay his spouse a short visit? She didn't understand it until Dad disappeared.
Shikadai had faced more than one enemy, supported by his team and Chunin as a backup. Moegi-sensei had said that he would return, giving them the order to stay right outside the village. With a glimmer of hope, Shikadai headed back home, adding his own mother as a civilian to be rescued, given the conditions of his unknown illness.
He had separated from his team, each heading towards an unimaginable destination.
I had heard of the King. But his figure, his meaning itself, was never clearly present in his head.
As a child, Shikadai did not witness the King's appearance until he saw ninja after ninja vanish on his way to disaster. By the time Shikadai analyzed it all, he remembered his father's talking, his constant attempts to minimize his spouse's illness, and his mother's pleas not to intrude, his father was already dead.
That image would never be erased from his mind.
Dad in front of him, right behind Mirai, with a sharp rock piercing all over his chest. The depth of the blow was such that the rock, which looked more like a giant sharp-tipped mallet, raised its tip upwards, controlling Nara's numb and lifeless body.
His father's eyes were open, so wide that they seemed to look out into nothingness and beyond, passing through the rainy field of the sky as drops of bloody water and lightning shook the world. Something in his gaze left Shikadai frozen, something more meaningful than all the words of old Nara who constantly told him not to be like his father.
His father's lost and deep gaze gave the feeling that he had already foreseen that end, as if he were already prepared for it.
Shikadai would never forget it.
The way the blood gushed out, the internal remains of his father hanging or stuck to the rock that did not leave his pierced chest. His intestines, if they weren't attached to the rock, were desperately trying to get out of the bubble of blood that threatened to burst inside his father.
And the person who controlled the rock...
He didn't remember seeing her. But even if their encounter did not last long enough to have known his name, would Shikadai be able to forget it, no matter what. Well, that person became the first, besides his mother, who made him tremble with fear.
Reddish, bloody eyes, with white shining on every hair on her face; Every strand of her hair and every lash over her eyes.
Affected by the rain of blood descending without permission from the sky, the gray hue had dyed his hair, and the protruding black belt of his head fell over his forehead, passing right between his two eyes and descending above his nose.
And his voice...
He never thought that, after so many stories he had heard from his father, so many stories from his father's master, so many games of Shōgi and too many lessons, both strategic and physical, the person responsible for his agony, his departure, his extinction, was someone who shared Mirai's generation.
His murderer was only a child, a young man who was no more than twenty years old.
A young man who, even if he hid somewhere, radiated the essence of his victims. The smell of blood like an expensive perfume, dressed in an almost vampiric and elegant suit, with a white handkerchief as an attempt at a prestigious tie.
That moment had stuck in his mind, as if the world had stopped. He had understood what his father meant by "protect the king," when Mirai swore to him to take care of Shikadai. And surely, Mirai understood it too.
But a gap had opened heartbreakingly in front of the young man's green eyes. When the stone was extracted in cold blood from his father's chest, the young albino pushed the rock aside with a sharp gesture and threw Nara Father out of the way with a single kick, causing him to hit a nearby tree where, in a few minutes, he would ascend to the other plane, witnessing his departure his children.
Code looked at them with expressionless contempt. There was nothing on his face but the desire to kill. Some of her father's insides lay at the boy's feet as he stepped toward them, while Mirai felt the firm grip that young Nara had imposed on her hips. Shikamaru's killer stood in front of them, and with a few simple words, he had spared their lives:
"Killing them would be so easy that I'd be ashamed to walk around here with their heads."
The thin young man, with his shoes stained with blood and the liquid that evidenced Shikadai's kinship with the man lying in the tree, spilled on the ground due to the thick drops of rain. He spat out poisonous words, words that Shikadai would never forget. A small speech that would be the key to suspecting Mirai.
"Although, if it were up to me, I wouldn't mind walking around with your head." He'd said, his slanted eyes narrowing as if the grotesque scene before had been just a warm-up for him.
Mirai hugged Shikadai, facing him, but with her nerves tense in her throat. At the time, it was unknown to whom those words were addressed.
"It would be beautiful... a tender and captivating moment. I can't wait to prostrate you in front of the doors so that everyone can see you, and witness what I did to Shikamaru and her beloved son. That damn guy had better die at once. He's already given me enough trouble to fix my full attention on him."
Shikadai's heart skipped a beat the moment his companions let out a unanimous cry.
Sweaty and with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he turned his gaze to where his friends were. It didn't take long for him to discover what they were witnessing.
Denki, his skinny body trembling, defended himself from Tsubaki's attacks.
Although Tsubaki did not excel in hand-to-hand combat, being more of a sword-wielding samurai, she lunged at Denki with agility and precision, mainly directing kicks to his neck. Denki defended himself as best he could, backing away when Tsubaki spun on his feet or leaped back and forth like a grasshopper.
Despite being shorter than Denki, her posture was impressive. With his chest up and his shoulders straight, he kept his fists down and made small jumps in preparation. He didn't give Denki a chance to counterattack, and when he least expected it, Tsubaki made an astonishing sideways leap that elicited screams from everyone present, and then picked up momentum to run towards Kaminarimon.
Denki used his forearms to protect himself, but he had opened his eyes wide before he even did so, causing him to lose a few crucial seconds. Taking advantage of his agility and light weight, Tsubaki crouched down and slapped Denki's wrists protecting his face, in a move similar to Boruto's.
The simple contact caused the boy to hesitate, awkwardly seeking to recover, as Tsubaki made a graceful turn and, in a fluid motion, knocked Denki to the ground with precision. At the same time, with swift and beautiful dexterity, Tsubaki caught one of Denki's wrists in mid-air, while his foot served as a support for Kaminarimon's head.
The screams were not long in coming and the amazement was widespread: Tsubaki seemed surprised by her own ability, as if even she was not aware of her ability. Even Shikadai, who had emerged from a traumatic trance, was perplexed.
Tsubaki was not skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and Denki was a Chunin. The irony of the confrontation left everyone stunned.
"Not bad at all." The Old Woman said, silencing the others. "I want you to remember that feeling, that fluidity that invaded your body. That's what I want for you. I want them to be able to defend themselves, even if time has blindfolded them."
Very few made the attempt to comprehend it (the first to do so were his friends, Inojin and Chou Chou), while most simply pretended to do so.
They had learned not only by absorbing the teachings without questioning them, but also that, if they left the old lady alone, she would eventually explain things clearly.
It was as if he enjoyed stretching out words.
If Shikadai hadn't seen her in the morning, he would think the same too. But at the time, she looked serious, immersed in her deepest thoughts and letting things move on their own, even if she didn't like them.
He thought that this tactic of dragging out words more than necessary was simply to avoid questions. I knew that old lady wasn't crazy. If he was, he would have allowed Shikadai to accompany Mirai.
Even he knew that would have been crazy.
But there was nothing crazier than sacrificing oneself. To give up and give up everything for lost. There were many other options, and he could have considered them if he hadn't been treated like a child.
If he were the Shikadai of old, he would have obeyed his father without protest. But now... with Mirai doing who knows what, she didn't know who to believe in or what to believe. The belief in patience, growth, and hope that was instilled in him as a child were now just tiny bubbles that vanished on their own.
He was understanding his father. But at the same time, I didn't want to do it and I wanted to shout all the obscene words I knew at her.
I was in the gap between what is right to do and what should be done.
His father's act left him at a crossroads, as if he had tackled both sides of the same coin, and now he was confused.
What was Mirai trying to do? The right thing to do? Or what she considered right?
What if what he considered right was something bad? Something that simply "had to be done"?
Good and evil had different meanings for each. What was important to Mirai? To sacrifice himself so that Shikadai would simply live dead in life?
His mind was shattered. A sea of thoughts, all of them beliefs, words, memories; once used by him, but now swept away by the current into the abyss of the stranger.
He was changing, he could no longer recognize himself.
"Many will die if I don't do the right thing." Mirai had said, the last time they met.
Mirai looked different. Just like his father in the last weeks of his life.
He had found a culprit.
Those eyes.
Those damned, abominable eyes, brimming with confidence to devour the world with words and intelligence, no matter who cared about them.
Everyone who had been influenced by that belief had ended up dead. The King, the King, the King. Shikadai could understand it, he would protect that king in his own way if he were at home.
But now, there was only dirt, rock, and sand.
His friends slept on the floor, barely ate, and the passage of time seemed to affect them even in their appetite. Those who were like them, under fifteen to sixteen years old, had lost the ability to feel hungry.
The enemy's whereabouts were unknown. With Mirai gone, Shikadai knew there must be something to be done, if the Great Old Woman would keep him so guarded. It didn't matter how many times I'd asked him, even threatening to tell one of the remaining Chunins.
"Do it." Grandma snapped. "To have them dead will be your punishment."
They treated him like a child. They saw him as someone incapable of protecting himself, or his friends. Even Mirai, who was only a few years older, saw him as a hindrance. A simple brat who didn't even know how to use his shadows to eliminate an enemy.
Because yes, he had never killed a person. But as far as he knew, Mirai hadn't either. Wasn't he, like Chunin, supposed to protect his friends?
Lowering his head in front of Mirai, he was nothing more than a brat dressed as a Chunin. If it was the case that someone would hold Inojin or her friend ChouChou in the same way that Sarada was grabbed before falling under the Great Elder's care, he wasn't sure how he would act.
Would he be able to kill him? What would I learn from being locked up? Even if he were as skilled as Tsubaki or as strong as Iwabee, he didn't see the point of staying locked up learning things he would never use.
"You have these three days to think. To be understood, one has to have the ability to understand."
Think more about Mirai's wishes, Nara. The Old Woman told him. The feeling he experienced when he heard those words was difficult to describe.
It was the same feeling she had when she got into a fight with Dad, the same feeling she had when Mirai yelled at her, the same feeling she had when she saw Dad hit the tree.
The same one he saw Mom stay with, all sweaty and with her eyes lost, on the futon. It was nausea. The same nausea that arose when he saw those eyes, guided by a morality that was good at the time, but that he now believed led to perdition.
The king. If they were the only children left in the village, then there was no king to protect. They were the future, even in the past, according to the logic of Dad and other madmen. He wouldn't have to fight.
But under his circumstances, being the last child of the Nara and with no one less to protect, he would not break any rules if he armed himself and fought against anyone who stood in his way.
He would think of strategies, he would plan an endless number of situations that would make him a winner. His generation was already lost, he had no salvation.
Therefore, they no longer had any king to protect. He was not to be weak in front of anyone, nor to ask favors from anyone to lend him a weapon.
Even if he had to use his shadows or his bare hands, Shikadai would kill. But not before discovering the reason why Mirai was so secret with Grandmother. He wasn't an idiot, and he wouldn't do anything that would put his teammates and his position at risk.
As a Chunin, he was obliged to be informed and act according to the rules set by his strategy, outwitting the enemy in the process.
He had to act meaningfully and avoid disturbing Mirai in any way. Even if I didn't agree, I would obey her.
However, I wouldn't go down the path of doing good things that seemed bad. He recognized that his weakness lay in himself, an orphan child like all his friends. To him, it was clear that Mirai's actions were due to that situation. He didn't blame her for it.
He hoped that she would not blame him for seeing him act that way either. He did not want to face those authoritarian eyes again, which followed a morality that dictated what he could not do. As the last remaining generation, I felt a deep helplessness at not being able to do anything because of a cursed promise.
In the midst of all this, she longed for only one thing: that her mother hadn't suffered if she was really so sick.
She wished that her departure from this world would not be as painful as that of her grandmother. However, he quickly ruled out that possibility. She knew that no good mother would leave so peacefully if she left her child exposed in a world consumed by the distant past.
His mother was not as blinded as his father. Although she loved and respected her father, she only hoped that he hadn't believed that Shikadai would blindly follow Mirai's orders.
He should have always known that he would not so easily fulfill that oath.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง