Fandom [naruto] halfbreed || itliveswithin & arbus

[roxybirdie]

”...I think you know this already.”

All of the sudden, the overwhelming scent of fire and woodsmoke invaded his nostrils. As the elder Uchiha stepped closer, Kakashi suppressed his battle-honed instincts. It screamed to fight, to retaliate, but he maintained his lackadaisical stance. Slouched shoulders and curved spine. Seemingly harmless and unassuming. Designed to be underestimated. Kakashi met the Clan Head’s gaze directly, charcoal hues gleaming with defiance. Regardless of the Uchiha’s cutting tongue, the silver-haired nomad had the gall to smile. His mask stretched, hinting the feral grin underneath the dark fabric. He tilted his head, eyes curving into an infuriating eye-smile. “We stand here because of what I am; what I represent; what I can do. Not because of a single miscalculation I made.” Kakashi stepped closer, peering at the elder man’s obsidian hues. “You’re sorely mistaken, Uchiha Madara. We do not fear your clan’s retaliation.” Contrary to popular belief, fear didn’t influence the elders to accept his proposal. On the other hand, they acknowledged the calamity of the situation. Therefore, they chose the path with least bloodshed.

“Despite your blatant implications...” His eyes bled crimson, invoking startled gasps from the clansmen surrounding the Uchiha Clan Head. Three tomoes spun around his pupils languidly, almost mockingly. A few seconds later, Kakashi deactivated his dōjutsu. “...a single pair of eyes isn’t worth a war. Deep down, I know that’s the last thing you want. You gain nothing from our bloodshed.”

”...you have come up in the world.”

His grin widened. “Maa, a lot can happen in ten days. I technically was unaffiliated when we first met,” Kakashi mused.

Nōka suppressed a snort. The boy had a spine of steel and a tongue sharper than a sword. It was refreshing and without a doubt, it would induce many, many headaches. Kakashi was her descendant through and through. “You have one week to send us a correspondence.” Her tone was dismissive, indicating the end of their meeting. As Nōka folded her arms across her chest, her partner snarled at the Uchiha envoy, signaling them to scram.

Without another word, Kakashi lifted his hand and waved. Not a hint of the elder Uchiha’s smugness deterred his unflappable demeanor.

 

[arbus]

It was a slap in the face, to be presented with his clan's dojutsu in that way. Was a more sincere, more aggressive form of threat than the Hatake had displayed up until that point, and something inside Madara twisted, coiled into a dark, angry knot. Hard to tell if the mutt's defiance was bravado before the watchful eyes of his clan of mongrels, or something entirely different -- something personal, undefined, impossible to grasp. The fake smile was as infuriating to Madara as it was sickening.

It drove the smugness out of him in an instant. It left behind a cavity, insignificant but irksome nonetheless. Uncomfortable.

There was an urge to set fire to that scroll, throw away all his carefully crafted plans for that instant satisfaction to stop talking and punch that grin off his face, but he did not allow the feeling to overwhelm him. Instead, he remained still, the twitch of his jaw muscle the only indication of his returning anger.

An anger that was not loud, not boisterous. This kind of anger was silent, simmering, went deep beneath his skin to settle, to remain.

The implications of the Hatake's display were clear enough: He placed himself firmly before his clan, very much affiliated now, a new player to be reckoned with in their fragile balance of power. It was a statement of power, a line drawn in the sand; reminiscent of the way the younger Senju used to face them, chin raised and tight-lipped and stubborn.

"We do not fear your clan's retaliation."

Madara scoffed. "Certainly you don't", his eyes wandered, took in the clan head and her family, the wolf, to land on the young Hatake so close before him again. "now that your clan has our prowess to cower behind."

He took in the snarling creature, unfazed by the blatant threat, even while all Uchiha but Izuna flinched under the hungry eyes of the wolf. To leave behind a man that walked with his clan's dojutsu, that was so clearly, undeniably theirs, practically leaving the Hatake clan with a weapon greater than even the fangs of their biggest mongrel, hurt almost physically. His father would demand retribution, would have never left with nothing more than a scroll of parchment.

Madara, however, did.

*​

"What were you thinking?", Izuna asked. He was stubbornly keeping up the pace to stay at level with him as they traversed through the twilight of the forest. "You should have ripped out his tongue for the way he treated you! The way they showed us nothing but disrespect."

Izuna's voice was a constant, angry hiss by his side, kept down as not to alarm the rest of the convoy, although Madara found it rather obvious, that way his brother kept shout-whispering to him.

Madara had to unlock his jaw to speak. He was white as a sheet, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than usual, but his words were unexcited, serene. "It doesn't matter. We have what we wanted."

Izuna stared at him, clearly aware of the warning signs, yet his own anger, a deep-seated disbelieve, propelled him to respond: "We have not taken the bastard's life."

That was, undeniably, true. Then again, despite what Izuna seemed to think, Madara had not once given the question a serious thought.

*​

Five days later, a raven landed on a certain maple tree inside the Hatake clan's dwelling. It bore a message:
No escort to the harbor.
The Uchiha agree to all other terms.

The message contained a seal, insignificant in its amount of chakra. If activated, it produced a bottle of fine sake.
As a sign of goodwill.
-M

 

[roxybirdie]

Hi no Kuni — Five Days Later

“Maa, so stubborn,” drawled Kakashi.

His great-great grandmother — it was hard referring her as kaa-san in his head — barked out a laugh. “You were right,” Nōka mused. A few minutes prior, her descendant approached her with a raven. After retrieving the scroll attached on the raven’s leg, the avian creature left with a flap of its wings. Once she opened the scroll, Nōka was honestly surprised the Uchiha agreed to their terms. However, she cannot accept the request. Outsiders are forbidden on Hatake lands without a proper escort. Intruders often meet a gruesome fate. Proposing a political alliance was exceptionally dangerous, but necessary. While Nōka, Kakashi, and the older generation are genuinely unafraid of the Uchiha, they cannot ignore the welfare of the younger and future generations. Rejecting a meeting and hiding Kakashi not only was unwise, but it threatened the lives of her people.

Nōka protected her pack.

After reading the message, Nōka unsealed the gift. She uncorked it, sniffing the content. “Not poisoned,” she declared.

“You sure about that?” Kakashi inquired.

She huffed, a smirk tugging on her lips. “Pup, if they wanted to poison us, they would address it to you,” Nōka pointed out.

“I’m not that bad,” Kakashi grumbled, a pout evident in his tone.

Nōka snorted, ignoring the boy’s tone. “You’re worse.” Without another word, the Clan Head retrieved a blank scroll, jotted a reply, sealed it with a gift, and tossed it at her great-great-grandson. Similar to her descendant, Nōka experienced difficulties referring him as her son. She had one kid and he was a handful. Her nine-year old, Sakumotsu, was besotted with his new older, half-brother. Hero worship at its finest. Honestly, watching Saku interact with Kakashi was hilarious. Who knew Kakashi was horrifically awkward around small children? “Your up, ambassador. Try to come back in one piece, ne?”

“Thanks.” Kakashi’s tone was drier than a desert.

Hi no Kuni — Uchiha Compound

One day and a half later, Kakashi arrived at the northern gates of the Uchiha compound. Two weeks ago, he was captured and imprisoned. Now, after he escaped, Kakashi connected with his clan, trusted his great-great-grandmother with his biggest secret, and became an official ambassador. Kakashi wouldn’t admit it, but he never intended to avoid his clan. Truthfully, three years ago, Kakashi yearned to meet his clan. His father was his last connection and after he lost him, Kakashi grew up without a pack. His summons and connections to Konohagakure grounded him, but the bonds never filled the void in his chest. Nothing can truly compare to the familial bonds of the Hatake clan. Unfortunately, when Kakashi first arrived, he was petrified. Fear, self-doubt, and cowardliness prevented him from seeking his clan. At some point, Kakashi convinced himself that maintaining his distance protected them. However, deep down, he was terrified of rejection.

A combination of avoidance and carelessness orchaestrated his capture, but Kakashi was done running away. He would protect his pack by any means necessary.

If a certain Clan Head opened Nōka‘s message, it read:

One escort. Our ambassador, Hatake Kakashi.

If agreed, our terms are finalized.

Enclosed is a gift of gratitude.

— N.

A small seal was painted on the bottom. When activated, it produced a jar of exceedingly rare herbs harvested from the infamous Shikkotsu Forest. The healing properties in the herbs are powerful. While the Hatake clan isn’t renowned for its healers, its farmlands are prosperous. Since their territory bordered the infamous forest, the Hatake clan have an amicable relationship with the slugs originating from the sacred terrain. Compared to the fine sake, the gift was more generous, befitting an Uchiha.

 

[arbus]

Hi no Kuni — Eleven Years Ago

"Pay close attention, boys. It is going to happen any moment now."

Tajima's voice was a rumble in the stillness; Madara raised his head, his hand resting numbly around his younger brother's. Izuna was nervous, but Madara was not. White clouds hung before their mouths. It had been a hard winter, and the emptiness in his stomach felt like a tight, hard knot. His father had gifted him with a deer hide after he had developed his third tomoe, and it was placed around his and Izuna's shoulders both. His younger brother -- youngest, now that Seijo was no more -- was shaking; if from excitement or fear, Madara could not tell.

Before them, on a plain clearing, knelt a man on the hard-packed snow. Surrounding him, their faces hovering like ghosts above high, furred collars, stood the rest of the clan. As far as Madara could discern, almost everyone was there -- a total of almost a hundred people, a large clan, standing in rows, still like statues on a deathwatch. None of them was used to the cold and the strain of winter; Fire Country's usually moderate temperatures had spoiled them, his father said, weakened their resolve, made them soft. Soft like Senju.

A hooded figure stepped onto the clearing, his wrinkled face familiar to Madara from the meetings his father made him attend. He was one of the elders, a potato-nosed, hunched invividuum, a war hero of old that had been blind since Madara could remember. He lined up in front of the kneeling Uchiha, whose dark brown hair hung shagged into his face. He kept his head bowed. He did not look. He could not look, because they had taken his eyes away.

"Aniki", Izuna whispered. Madara squeezed his hand in reassurance, staring, and he did not realize how his sharingan spun to live as the elder weaved the familiar hand signs and spat, sizzling flames emmitting from the thin, meatless lips, his yellow teeth bared. A murmur went through the crowd; Izuna whimpered, winced, pressed his face into Madara's shoulder. But Madara kept staring, as the flames consumed the traitor, as his screams cascaded into shrieks that did not sound human anymore, that rose like the smoke and the stench of burnt flesh into the white, white sky.

"Remember it", Tajima said when it was all over. When the clan dispersed to return to their hearths and the shelter of their homes. He ignored Izuna's red-rimmed eyes, ignored the rigid set of Madara's shoulders, "this is what we do to bloodline traitors. This is what they deserve."

*​

Hi no Kuni — Uchiha Compound — Present Day

Madara opened his eyes, and squinted against the slant of sunlight falling onto his face. He was sprawled on the engawa before his study, hands folded on his stomach. The warmth of the sun was a comfort in the cool breeze. His father's words echoed in his head like the whisper of the wind, and he turned his head to rest his gaze on the sweeping branches of the willow.

" ... a single pair of eyes isn’t worth a war."

That was what the Hatake had said, and for the first time, Madara wondered if it was true. In a different world, perhaps. A world that was not jagged from jealous fights over territories and resources, over power and influence in the civilian word.

"Deep down, I know that's the last thing you want."

Madara wondered, idly, what had made the Hatake say such a thing. A strange assumption to make; he was well aware of his reputation. Even his own people saw him as a warmonger, relishing in the bloodshed he caused. Insatiable with the hunger for power. And he kept wondering, where a man whose power simmered underneath a calm surface of nonchalance, had appeared from so suddenly. Where he had been hiding for all those years.

A shift in the air told of Izuna's presence. He did not bother to sit up. He regretted to be at odds with his brother; seldomly their opinions had diverged so drastically. "Faster than expected", he said as Izuna handed him the scroll, which he untied and read, using a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. The gift was generous, lavish even, and it was such an irony to be head of one of the two strongest clans in the shinobi world and to lack the prosperity other, smaller clans so clearly possessed.

War had not only torn the land; it had ravished their resources, and while they should be prospering under the power they wielded, instead they were struggeling, withering underneath the settling frost.

"Agreed", he said, handing the scroll back to Izuna, whose face scrunched up in that way that told Madara he wanted to protest, but tried hard not to.

"Kakashi", he said instead, eyes skimming over the parchment. On his lips, the name sounded like a curse. "What kind of name is that?"

*​

When Izuna returned to the Hatake, who had been kept waiting in front of the northern gate under the watchful eyes of Hikaku and two other men, not more than a handful of minutes had passed. He held out a scroll.

"A treaty, in accordance to the agreed-upon terms, signed by my brother. He thanks your mother for her generous gift, and wishes to let you know that he plans to travel through your clan's land as early as next week." Izuna was tight-lipped, strained, met the eyes of the mutt with spite in his own glance. An alliance with another clan was not something one entered lightly; it required trust, which the Uchiha certainly did not possess in abundance. Which was why they, for as long as Izuna could remember, had never formed one in the first place. And the worst thing was that, for the first time, he doubted his brother's judgement -- but he needed to back his brother in this, because the whole clan frowned upon his decision. No matter how much he hated to bow and scrape before that mutt. The loyality to his brother was more important than the betrayal, more important than the flearidden bastard, wielding the Uchiha's kekkei genkai as if he had the right.

 

[roxybirdie]

In a way, the fortified structures — from the formidable walls and imposing gates — reminded him of Konoha. While the structures are smaller compared to his former village’s, the architecture was exceptionally similar. Kakashi never realized the structures protecting his villages originated from the Uchiha. A small, seemingly insignificant aspect lost in history. From the corner of his eye, Kakashi glimpsed at the glowering Uchiha assigned to guard him. Pure, unadulterated hatred was evident in the obsidian eyes fixated on his sleeves. After integrating into his clan, his great-great — kaa-san, his mind corrected — emblazoned his clothing with the Hatake emblem. On both sleeves, near his biceps, was the iconic sectioned farmland diamond. The muted bluish-charcoal stitching contrasted with his dark grey yukata. If a single look could invoke instantaneous death, Kakashi would be six feet under.

Contrary to the lackadaisical visage he portrayed, Kakashi was familiar with the politics regarding his eyes. Years ago, after Obito gifted him his left eye, the Uchiha clan erupted in unholy fury. It was a political nightmare on par with the ramifications of his father’s failed mission. At some point, the Uchiha elders demanded his left eye or his head on a kamidamn spike. While his situation wasn’t technically bloodline theft, the Uchiha deemed him a traitor. His sensei, combined with Kushina-nee’s and Sandaime’s support, convinced the Uchiha to accept and respect Obito’s last dying wish.

The Uchiha perceived him ignorant, but Kakashi was intimately aware of what his eyes represented.

“Traitor,” muttered a clansman. The leader of the guardsmen, Hikaku from what he heard, elbowed the man. “Quiet,” he hissed.

He ignored the sneer. Traitor, bloodline thief, friend-killer — Kakashi heard it all. Words are unforgiving tools, but instead of submitting to them, Kakashi ignored the spiteful jibes. Years of pain, regret, and self-hatred taught Kakashi the importance of overcoming words aimed to kill. Fifteen minutes later, the northern gate opened, revealing the Clan Head’s younger brother. The Sasuke-lookalike — Izuna, his mind supplied — handed him a scroll.

”...and wishes to let you know that he plans to travel through your clan’s land as early as next week.”

Kakashi inclined his head, accepting the scroll. “Maa, I’ll be waiting,” he replied. Unlike the clansmen assigned to watch him, the unadulterated anger and spite in the shorter male’s eyes was fierce, bordering on unbridled rage. The man in front of him was unquestionably consumed by his clan’s violent curse. It reminded him of ... maa, it seemed the lookalike and his former student had a lot more in common than physical appearances. After a respectful bow — believe it or not, Kakashi was capable of diplomacy — the silver-haired nomad vanished in a vortex of leaves.

Izuna glared at the leaves fluttering on the ground, indicating the flearidden mutt’s departure. “Resume your posts,” he commanded. Without another word, the raven-haired man turned around and entered the compound.

 

[arbus]

Hatake Clan Territory — A Week Later

In contrast to the last visit to Hatake territory, Madara's convoy consisted of only two others: Hikaku, who, even at the young age of sixteen, was developing into a talented team leader and capable shinobi, and Yakumi, a man of sparse words but fierce loyality not only to their clan, but to its leader (no matter who that leader happened to be). Indeed, Madara's standing with the elders had not improved during this last week -- while he cursed them to be inflexible, calcified old geezers, they perceived him as rash, unreasonable and, which angered Madara most, too dense to understand their arguments. Too stuck in their ways to understand the plight the clan would be facing with another harsh winter, they ignored the dilemma in favor or brandishing the same old war cries, insisted on conquering more land without seeing that, if Madara followed the course they advised, he would plunge them into chaos. Ever since Hashirama's ascend into political significance within his own clan, the Senju stopped tolerating any disturbance with the clans they associated themselves with. So starting a skirmish with the Aburame, for instance, would end up as an all-out battle against Hashirama and his clan of fools.

There was no gain in that, not until spring came and they recovered from last year's unfortunate mixture of a bad harvest and the lack of financial income, by roaming the forest for berries and wildlife. They could not survive on fish alone; not when they needed to stay battle-ready, to defend themselves. And how crucial it was to keep up the facade, because if any other clan sniffed out their momentary weakness, they would be taken advantage off -- Senju Tobirama, for one, was too shrewd a shinobi not to use the Uchiha's current troubles to his advantage.

"The sun is about to rise", Hikaku announced. He was perching on a branch, looking to the east. They had traversed throughout the night to arrive at the border of the Hatake clan territory by first light, as Madara wished to return to the compound as fast as possible, before anyone learned of his absence. Little did he know that far across the Naka, inside the compound that housed the Senju, sat a white-haired sensor who, at all times, could discern his whereabouts -- his chakra, while mastered, was not particularly tightly controlled, simply because he was gifted with so much of it. It was the reason why he had little patience for anyone not being able to keep pace: He simply never suffered such a thing as chakra exhaustion, his pathways brimming with energy at all times; long and hard had to be the fight that had him drained in that way, even though his muscles would grow sore and then stiff just like anyone elses, and he would be incapacitated by having strained himself beyond his body's natural capabilities.

"The Hatake is late", Yakumi provided, entirely unhelpful. Madara was aware of this fact perfectly well himself. He stood with his arms crossed on the frost-hardened ground, his clan's usual attire not suited for the cold weather. They had been waiting for almost an hour, and his overheated muscles had long turned stiff from the cold.

 

[roxybirdie]

Hatake Clan Territory — 45 Minutes Ago

In the heart of Hatake territory, surrounded by acres of prosperous farmlands, stood the Hatake compound. It paled in comparison to the prestige and mightiness of the Uchiha compound. Nothing, but a small settlement of quaint traditional homes circling a larger estate. However, despite the fertile lands gracing the Hatake territory, the Hatake clan was humble, valuing hardwork and family over status and lavishness. Kakashi was currently sitting on the engawa of the Clan Head estate, the largest settlement in the compound. While the last remnants of autumn faded, a winter chill ravaged the land. Before sitting on the engawa, Kakashi exchanged his previous yukata with a winter yukata. He lifted a cup, taking a sip of his tea.

“Don’t you have a mission to attend to, ambassador?” drawled his great-great-grandmother.

Kakashi eyed the wolf woman taking a seat on the engawa. “Don’t you have a correspondence to decline, Hatake-sama?” he countered.

Nōka snorted. “Touché,” she mused. She glanced at the darkened sky, spotting the first signs of dawn. “The Senju won’t be pleased. We corresponded with them far longer than the Uchiha,” she admitted.

“You denied everything they offered,” Kakashi pointed out.

“We’re in a political alliance with the Senju’s worse enemy. They’ll find out,” Nōka reminded.

The silver-haired nomad hummed. “Do you regret it?” Kakashi lowered his cup, staring at the swirling liquid.

She huffed out a laugh. “I’ll never regret protecting my pack,” Nōka announced. She glanced at her son. While Kakashi technically was her future descendant, she deemed him her son. Sage, the boy and her shared more than looks! How can she not consider him her pup? “Shouldn’t you get ready?”

His eyes curved into an eye-smile. “Maa, it would be rude of me to waste a perfect cup of tea,” Kakashi replied.

Nōka snorted. “You’re a terrible ambassador,” she deadpanned.

“You appointed me,” Kakashi reminded.

Hatake Clan Territory — Present

”The Hatake is late,”

All of the sudden, the branches above the envoy creaked. “Maa, have you considered the possibility that you’re fashionably early?” Kakashi drawled. The silver-haired nomad stood on the underside of a branch, a thin layer of chakra coating his sandals. Without another word, Kakashi flipped and landed on a different branch. He leaped and landed in front of the Uchiha Clan Head. He brandished a scroll and presented it to Madara. “A gift from the Hatake clan. The chill will only grow worse as we travel,” Kakashi declared. Sealed inside the scroll was a bundle of cloaks, more suited for the colder temperature. Besides the winter yukata adorning his frame, Kakashi wore a dark charcoal cloak over his attire.

Unbeknownst to the silver-haired halfbreed, by escorting the convoy of Uchiha through the Hatake lands, he entered a certain white-haired shinobi’s radar for the first time. While Kakashi hid his potential under a mask of nonchalance, his power simmered underneath the surface. Pathways brimming with pure, unadulterated energy. A gift from a wisened Sage. To an outsider, Kakashi was unquestionably powerful. After three years of grueling conditioning, Kakashi learned and mastered his newfound prowess. However, despite his increased abilities, Kakashi was intimately aware of his shortcomings. Regardless of his impeccable control, a powerful sensor of Senju Tobirama’s caliber can detect his hidden potential underneath the layers of misdirection, languidness, and indifference. Unknowingly, the moment Kakashi arrived on the border, he painted a large target on his back. In the eyes of a certain Senju, he was a potential, unknown threat.

“Shall we?” Kakashi tilted his head, the stretching of his mask indicating a grin. His stance remained languid, as if the Clan Head of the Uchiha clan and his convoy didn’t wait for almost an hour.

 

[arbus]

“Maa, have you considered the possibility that you’re fashionably early?”

Madara raised his head. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the Hatake, dangling from the bark like a particularly bothersome bat, wild hair flapping in every which direction. He became accutely aware of this cavity again, that absence within him when something should be present, should be there. An omission, something lost, or perhaps not yet found. Like a question mark. A scowl clouded his face; but he had reckoned with the Hatake's impertinence and refused to let it irk him -- at least, beyond the normal boundaries of his easily raised temper. "Always an excuse on your lips", he commented dryly, taking the scroll from the other.

To be left waiting for an hour was a blatant disrespect, something he would take personally in any other circumstance, had it not been for the mutt's constant display of lackluster behavior. Paradoxically, it was hard for Madara to feel personally afronted when this lack of enthusiasm was so clearly something within the other's nature -- which did not mean, however, that it was anything other than irritating.

He released the seal to distribute the coats, which were of fine thread and high-quality, and huffed out his version of a thanks: "Obviously a necessity, given your apparent inclination to keep us waiting in the cold." Hikaku and Yakumi exchanged a confused look. They would have risked nothing short of getting their heads ripped off if either of them had dared to be just a minute late, and here their cland head was, as easygoing as one could get with a heavy scowl forrowing his brows. They watched Madara don the grey cloak over his shoulder and eventually did the same, albeit haltingly. Fastening the clasp around his neck, Madara's eyes traveled over the Hatake's own attire and caught on the clan symbol embroidered on the sleeves' of his winter yukata. "It appears you've duly arrived."

Despite the discernible discomfort of both of Madara's companions, the atmosphere was nowhere close as tense as it had been during the meeting of the clan heads.

Madara ignored the grin that even the mask could not hide and stepped up to the Hatake, a dare in his eyes to provoke him further and see what would happen, before he rounded him. With a leap, he took to the trees. Hikaku and Yakumi shot the Hatake a glance before scurrying to follow.

 

[roxybirdie]

”Obviously a necessity, given your apparent inclination to keep us waiting in the cold.”

His eyes crinkled, upturned into the beginning of an eye-smile. He returned the favor with his own acknowledgement. “Maa, maa, I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re implying,” Kakashi mused. From the corner of his eye, the silver-haired halfbreed spotted the confusion radiating from the Uchiha convoy surrounding the elder Uchiha. If they looked underneath the underneath, they would notice the hidden messages.

”It appears you’ve duly arrived.”

The unruly-haired Hatake noticed the Clan Head’s gaze. “Maa, a minor technicality. I look like a Hatake, so I’ve been told.” Deep down, in spite of his dismissive comment, Kakashi relished the thought of baring his clan markings. In his timeline, Kakashi never wore clothing embroidered with his clan insignia. While Kakashi was proud of his clan, it was a painful reminder of what he lost. Now, on the other hand, he wasn’t the only Hatake left. For the first time since his father’s passing, Kakashi could look at his clan’s symbol with pride and bare it without an ounce of pain, loneliness, or grief.

As he directed his attention to Madara, the Hatake detected the nonverbal challenge in the man’s obsidian hues. His grin widened in response. Challenge accepted. Without another word, Kakashi leaped onto the lowest branch of a tree adjacent to his position. He jumped higher, following the Uchiha Clan Head. While Kakashi wasn’t originally born and raised in his clan’s homeland, he acclimated to the terrain. His future knowledge, combined with his kaa-san’s patrols, thoroughly educated Kakashi about every nook and cranny of Hatake territory.

Half an hour into the journey, a light snowfall sprinkled the terrain. His winter yukata, combined with his cloak and secondary nature, protected Kakashi from the biting chill. He matched the elder Uchiha’s pace with ease, mindful of the frost blanketing the branches. At one point, one of Madara’s men — Hikaku from what he recalled — slipped. Before the Uchiha could fall, Kakashi appeared by his side in a flash. “Maa, do be careful.” After stabilizing the younger Uchiha, Kakashi released his grip and continued forward. His assistance was unnecessary. As a shinobi, the Uchiha could of stabilized himself before he plummeted. However, Kakashi ignored the concept and reacted instinctively. He wouldn’t admit it, but the Uchiha’s reaction was amusing. Kakashi wasn’t above trivial maneuvering to invoke entertaining consequences.

 

[arbus]

Hikaku‘s face whitened with embarrassment. Choosing not to comment on either his slip-up or the help, he instead straightened his shoulders and continued onward.

Once the Hatake was level with him again, Madara scoffed. „You should have let him tumble down, if he lacks the chakra control to slip from a tree.“ Not that Madara did not know what the mutt was doing; stabbing and poking at them and their pride, trying to find sore spots for him to throw salt into.

And people told him he was being passive-aggressive.

The Hatake might be subtler than most, but there was an anger buried beneath his lax attitude. Mild, in its form, but, to Madara, all the more palpable for it. In this close proximity, Madara thought he felt it, that chakra like electricity raising the hair on his skin, and wondered how he could have overlooked such blatant strength in the first place.

The chakra suppressant seals, most likely.

He kept up a fast pace, bordering on grueling, especially considering the fact that he had them travel through large parts of the previous night. They did pause only once around midday, just long enough for the Uchiha entourage to gulp down some water and stuff their mouths with onigiri, before they were off again. When they finally stopped for the night, the sun hung already low in the west, high time to built a fire before they were not able to see their hands before their faces.

„Holy crap,“ Yakumi panted, so thoroughly drenched in sweat it looked like he had taken a bath.

Hikaku agreed with the sentiment, full-heartedly, even though he understood their clan head‘s need for haste. Madara himself was taking hard, shallow breaths; he had been pushing himself, too, thought admittedly he looked a lot less exhausted than Yakumi, who was not yet used to travelling with the Uchiha leader.

There was one distinct advantage of having to journey with Uchiha Madara, though: Even in foreign territory, they could allow themselves to set up camp and a fire, which was basicsally an invitation for any roaming shinobi or foreign clan, but also a blessing at low temperatures like this. Nearing the sea, the wind had grown sharp around the edges, slicing against the heated skin of their faces. Travelling without the gifted cloaks would have been possible, but highly uncomfortable.

Uchiha, Hikaku thought with vehemence, were simply not made for this kind of weather.

While he and Yakumi gathered firewood, Madara unfastened a leather pouch he was wearing strapped to his obi to produce an envelop filled with tea herbs. From a primitive storage seal, Hikaku produced a basic array of earthenware. A few minutes of rummaging and a small katon jutsu later, they had a nice fire going, and, setteling around it on logs as to not have to sit on the frost-covered ground, unpacked their provisions.

It all happened in a silence established either through routine or discomfort, and while they did not display any fear towards Madara, both Uchiha kept a certain, palpable distance from him at all times, as if they were afraid to come under his scrutinizing gaze.

Madara did nothing to discourage their behavior; Izuna was the one who was good at talking to people, who acted as a link between Madara and the rest of the clan, while Madara kept on the periphery, at times loud, but more often silent and unperturbed to be left in peace. He ate his rice in that way, out of some thin paper using the tips of his fingers, sitting at the far end of the fire, the deeply ingrained habit of a covert introvert.

„Here“, Hikaku said, holding out an onigiri wrapped in tissue to the Hatake, gaze firm and level. „Thank you for the help earlier.“ His tone was as earnest as his eyes, though it was apparent how much it cost him to say such a thing. Madara‘s eyes rested heavily on him for a moment, before stirring onto the mutt's face.

 

[roxybirdie]

”You should have let him tumble down, if he lacks the chakra control to slip from a tree.”

The former nomad hummed. “I could have,” Kakashi acknowledged. From the corner of his eye, the Hatake noticed the younger boy’s poorly-concealed flinch. He directed his attention to Madara. “But I would be a horrible ambassador if I let my clan’s acquaintances hurt themselves,” he added. While the Uchiha and Hatake entered a political alliance, Kakashi didn’t refer them as allies. A foundation of trust must be established before referring each other as allies, not mutual acquaintances. “We take care of our acquaintances,” he pointed out. Underneath the comment’s apparent pettiness, the silver-haired halfbreed jabbed at the elder Uchiha’s blatant indifference.

Deep down, under his lackadaisical demeanor, the scathing remark grated on his nerves. Such blatant disrespect was commonplace in the shinobi world. The behavior wasn’t exclusive to the current time period. In his timeline, Kakashi encountered the distasteful viewpoint every single day. Once upon a time, before life fucked him over, Kakashi emulated the behavior. However, he learned the importance of respect and teamwork. His chakra simmered underneath the surface, roiling and crackling. Due to his impeccable control, the shift was subtle. On the outside, it resembled a minor indignation.

While Madara was fire and brimstone, Kakashi was a thundering tempest.

The pace to the harbor was long and grueling, but as a former ANBU taichō, Kakashi persevered without complaint. During the last three years, his stamina increased substantially, a byproduct of his larger coils and natural reserves. While Kakashi wasn’t a jinchūriki nor an Uzumaki, his endurance improved significantly. The Uchiha Clan Head was merciful enough to grant one break — more for Hikaku and Yakumi than Madara and Kakashi — before they crossed the Hatake forest and entered a cluster of non-affiliated, civilian territories. Unbeknownst to the elder Uchiha, the Hatake clan owned the strips of land leading to the harbor. Outsiders are unaware the Hatake territory extended beyond the clan forest. Due to a series of alliances and negotiations with civilians, the Hatake claimed the best route to the harbor. It was the sole reason Nōka denied Madara’s request and assigned Kakashi to escort the convoy.

”Holy crap,”

Once the convoy reached the last stretch before the harbor, it was nightfall. At civilian speed, it took three days to reach the harbor. Shinobi speed, on the other hand, shortened it to one day. “Maa, it could be worse,” Kakashi commented. A light sheen of sweat coated his face, strands of silver hair plastered against his temples. Compared to Hikaku or Yakumi, the Hatake appeared unruffled. However, his deeper breathing and perspired face indicated his exertion. As the group unpacked for the night and established camp, Kakashi claimed a log stationed in front of the crackling fire. He didn’t mind the silence, but the distance between the Uchiha Clan Head and his convoy was unmistakable.

”Here ... Thank you for your help earlier.”

He met the younger Uchiha’s gaze directly. On the inside, Kakashi was somewhat surprised by the gesture. However, not a hint of bewilderment was evident on his expression. Slowly, the silver-haired halfbreed accepted the onigiri. His eyes curved upward, but unlike his previous misleading or derisive smiles, the movement was genuine. “Thank you, Hikaku-san,” Kakashi acknowledged. And he meant it. He glanced at the elder Uchiha, noticing the ravenette’s heavy gaze. “Maa, maa, if we’re going to be future allies, why are you sitting so far away? You don’t look particularly warm,” he commented. A challenging, I don’t bite, gleam was apparent in his charcoal gaze.

Unbeknownst to the younger Uchiha, Kakashi intentionally provoked Madara. With the Clan Head’s attention on him, the younger teen wasn’t subjected to the older man’s scrutiny.

 

[arbus]

“We take care of our acquaintances.”

Hypocrite, Madara thought. As if both of them did not know that the Hatake‘s helping hand was nothing but another affront; as if Hikaku would not have been able to stabilize himself perfectly well on his own.

Sitting at the fire now, Madara found himself surprised at Hikaku‘s offer. Wondered if that was why his brother had insisted on taking him, his right-hand man and best friend, obviously capable of looking beyond his own inhibitions to reach out to the Hatake like that. Surprised that his brother had even wanted to provide Madara with a person adept to reach out to the mutt, who represented the epitome of the Uchiha's worst fears.

At the Hatake‘s next lilt, Madara‘s eyebrows creased, gaze under dark lashes just short of mistrustful. „I‘m warm enough“, he said gruffly.

Future allies. Madara scoffed at the word. Since the very beginning of their alliance, the Hatake and their ambassador had treated them with nothing but dismissal. True alliance was based on trust, on loyality; this — partnership — was born out of necessity. Maybe the Hatake were not afraid of them anymore, now that their eyesnatching, long-lost son had returned to them triumphant, but they would not want to risk loosing their own in a skirmish, all the same. Considering how long it had taken him to even be admitted a meeting, it was so laughable a thought that they would ever be anything else than regarded a threat.

To nourish his anger, he chose to conveniently ignore the cloak he was wrapped in, but his fingers trailed the seam of the material — an unformed thought, still far removed from resembling (what, hope?) this current reality.

It was not just the Hatake clan. The Uchiha‘s standing in Fire Country was that of the unwanted, albeit powerful pariah. They were known as fear-inspiring, warmongering brutes, thirsty for the blood of their foes and unhesitant in the execution of their ever raveneous will.

In truth, the Uchiha did not substantially differ from any other clan, apart from their numbers and their eyes. It was those eyes they feared, shinobi and civilians alike. It was what made them infamous, reclusive, the reason it took them months upon months of tedious bargaining to strike a simple trading deal with an insignificantly small community in the southeastern sea, was why they had to look for such an outlandish, removed route to get there in the first place.

The mutt‘s demeanor was just the last of a lifetime of affronts, and Madara had been elected clan head for one purpose alone: Protect what was his, nourish what was his, let the Uchiha thrive and make the world see they would not bend to its endless attempts to subdue them.

Hikaku, after having finished his sparse dinner, spread a map on the frost-hardened earth. Madara had studied it before, memorized it without his sharingan as he always did before ventures like this, astute in the reading of coordinates and drawing of strageties. Sometimes it felt he had been on missions, in war, since he knew how to form hand signs. "I expect you to stay behind as soon as we leave Hatake land", he informed the mutt, hands wrapped around a cup of tea, seeking out its warmth because of course he was freezing, it was fucking cold.

 

[roxybirdie]

”I‘m warm enough,”

He arched an eyebrow. “Oh?” Kakashi tilted his head, eyeing the gruff man. Firelight highlighted the silver strands framing his face, enhancing the contours of his higher cheekbones. “Is that so?” The silver-haired halfbreed glanced at the younger Uchiha flanking his log. He spotted the tenseness in the boys’ shoulders, including the anxiousness in their eyes. For a moment, Kakashi grew silent. A few minutes later, instead of furthering his probing, the former nomad withdrew. “Maa, you’re resilient for an Uchiha,” he mused. From the corner of his eye, Kakashi noticed the palpable relief radiating from the younger Uchiha clansmen.

Without another word, Kakashi raised his onigiri. All of the sudden, he felt the probing gazes originating from the young men sitting on opposite logs flanking his. Kakashi didn’t require his enhanced senses to detect the burning curiosity emitting from the Uchiha. His lips twitched in response, remembering the days his students attempted to unmask him. Moments when innocence clung to three naïve genin fresh out of the Academy. Long before the shinobi world irrevocably shattered the innocence. Shaking off the painful dose of nostalgia, Kakashi removed his mask, scarfed down his onigiri in three bites, and donned his mask. The movement was unnaturally fast, to the point not even the Sharingan could detect it.

Sasuke would know. He tried.

Although, Kakashi technically never attempted it against a fully-matured Sharingan.

“H-how—“ In a flash, the Hatake consumed his meal. Hikaku and him didn’t capture a single glimpse; it was that fast.

A chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “Is something the matter?” Kakashi inquired, eyeing the sputtering Uchiha. The sheer disbelief radiating from their frames was almost comical.

“N-no...” As the boys finished their meals, Kakashi watched the elder teen brandish a map.

”I expect you to stay behind as soon as we leave Hatake land,”

He hummed at the command. “I could...” Kakashi leaned forward, tracing a finger over the route they traveled since the moment they left the Hatake forest. “...but this is Hatake land. My clan has direct access to the harbor,” he pointed out. The silver-haired halfbreed outlined the strips of land extending through the non-affiliated, civilian territories with his index finger. “My clan has a series of treaties, trading agreements, and open-negotiations with the civilians. I assure you, your business will be a lot smoother with me there representing the Hatake,” he elaborated. Kakashi retracted his palm, pivoted, and faced Madara. His charcoal eyes landed on the teacup clutched in the older man’s hands.

“Maa, so stubborn...” The former nomad rose into a standing position, withdrew a slim scroll hidden in his obi, and unfurled it. With a small burst of chakra, Kakashi retrieved a thick quilt. He maneuvered around the fire pit, approached the glowering Uchiha, and placed it on the log next to the Clan Head. Instead of another witty jab, the newly-affiliated Hatake pivoted and returned to his seat.

 

[arbus]

Madara eyed the spectacle before his eyes with the appropriate scepticism. Did the mutt think his face was that interesting to make such a fuss about not showing it? He huffed. And those childish fools fell for it! If the Hatake wanted to eat like that -- which was plainly speaking unhealthy -- simply to have his companions gape like idiots, then, well. Whatever. And Madara pointedly had not looked, from under batted eyelashes, as the mutt removed the mask. If anyone claimed otherwise, he would deny it.

(Granted, the movements were quick. Perhaps a jutsu.)

He huffed again, decidedly not of the opinion that the chuckle emitting from the mutt's firmly concealed lips was a pleasant noise.

But then, the mutt moved, his finger trailing over the map, and the further along their route it went, the higher Madara's eyebrows rose. "My clan has direct access to the harbor." Which meant, the Hatake would accompany them to the ships. "I assure you, your business will be a lot smoother with me there representing the Hatake." For a moment, the words were stuck in his throat. Disbelieve and a building ire making his throat tight, locking his jaw. He had to forcibly unclench it, and his dark eyes followed the mutt's movements. He was practically bristling from indignation, his gaze shifting with every step the Hatake took, from the unsealing, to his placing the quilt like an offer next to him, to his retreat onto his log nearer the fire.

Madara could not decide if he wanted to yell, or throw his teacup at the Hatake's head.

Instead of opting for both (which was clearly the right answer), he said between gritted teeth: "Your mother did not tell me any of this." That he would be tailed by a Hatake spy, able to observe all of his trading deals with the ship masters. And had that long, heavy-knuckled finger brushed over the area representing the actual sea? Madara made an effort to breath through his nose. Yakumi was leaning away from the him, as if that would spare him his clan head's ire. Hikaku had gone very still, eyes traveling from Madara to the Hatake.

There was utter silence, and the moment stretched so long Hikaku firmly wished he had stayed home, and in bed.

Madara, teeth so clearly gritted from the tension in his jaw, put away his half-empty cup, and grabbed the quilt. He was not shaking, but he was tense. As if it took all his willpower not to shout, or spring to his feet. He did neither, instead wrapped the quilt around his shoulders -- it was reeking of dog, for fuck's sake -- and took up the tea again. Hikaku gaped. Yakumi made a sound like an aborted, stunned curse.

Quietly, Madara said: "The Uchiha are perfectly capable of handling their own trading deals. We do not need a Hatake for that." He almost spat the word. "In accordance to our treaty, you will follow us, but you will keep out of my business." There was a sound like the grinding of teeth. Yakumi winced. "Thank you for the quilt. Very thoughtful."

 

[roxybirdie]

”Your mother did not tell me any of this.”

All of the sudden, the atmosphere thickened. A heavy tension encompassed the campsite. The sensation was overwhelming, almost identical to killing intent. However, neither the Uchiha Clan Head nor the Hatake ambassador exhibited the physical manifestation. Instead of succumbing to the sensation, Kakashi met the elder Uchiha’s infuriated gaze directly. His charcoal eyes sharpened, a single crack penetrating his lackadaisical mask. ”Can you imagine the ramifications of such knowledge? If a single word reached the ears of larger, more equipped clans? What they’re willing to do to acquire such resources?” His tone was deceptively calm, not a hint of anger evident in his voice. “The Hatake clan is prosperous, but it doesn’t change the fact we’re small. Outsiders are forbidden of this knowledge. Very few know our secret,” he pointed out. The silver-haired halfbreed leaned forward. While the shift in position was seemingly intimidating, Kakashi retrieved a branch and stoked the flames.

For a moment, the former nomad grew silent. Kakashi refrained from deflecting the comment or ignoring his great-great-grandmother’s ommission. “All travelers traversing our lands require an escort. A convoy of Hatake are originally assigned. As a sign of trust, my mother reduced it to one,” he announced. Kakashi lifted his gaze, calm charcoal meeting agitated obsidian. “The Hatake clan is willing to aid the Uchiha clan. My mother meant no disrespect.”

Admittedly, the newly-affiliated Hatake never anticipated the elder Uchiha accepting his quilt. If the situation was different, Kakashi might of found amusement in Hikaku’s incredulous gapping and Yakumi’s rendition of a dying fish. ”The Uchiha are perfectly capable of handling their own trading deals. We do not need a Hatake for that.” Kakashi arched an eyebrow in response. He never implicated about joining the meetings. ”In accordance to our treaty, you will follow us, but you will keep out of my business.” Despite the older man’s aggravation, Kakashi remained unruffled.

”Thank you for the quilt. Very thoughtful.”

He blinked. “Maa, maa...” Once Kakashi completed his task, he lowered the branch. “...I offered to escort you to the meeting, not join it. I have no interest in your negotiations or violating the terms of our treaty. All you had to say was no.” He directed his attention to the crackling fire. “Traversing the civilian settlement with a Hatake is easier since the harbor is intimately familiar with us. You don’t exactly inspire benevolence,” he pointed out bluntly. Kakashi rose into a standing position once more. “Maa, you can keep it. I hear homemade quilts are perfect for stubborn Uchiha.” After the last minute jab, the silver-haired halfbreed left the campsite, deciding to double-check the perimeter. While the presence of Uchiha Madara invoked fear in the hearts of most ninja, Kakashi wasn’t foolish enough to rely on the man’s reputation.

 

[arbus]

Hidden from view by the thick quilt, which was infuriatingly comfortable, providing warmth, Madara clenched his fingers into a tight, white-knuckled fist. He did nothing else. He sat, and breathed through the red edges of anger blurring his vision, breathed through the thick tension filling the air, until the Hatake was done lecturing him.

He felt sick to have bared his throat in that gesture of submission, all the more for the other‘s chiding words dealing stabs of shame and envy, but it appeared they all knew (If a single word reached the ears of larger, more equipped clans?) — Madara gnashed his teeth — that he had no choice but to sit there and take it. The alternative was betraying the treaty, and when it came down to it, when he looked past his hurt pride, it had been his eagerness to sign, his foolish overestimation of his own capabilities that had put him in this situation.

He should have been more patient, insistend on clarifying terms instead of rushing into the treaty and giving the Hatake the upper hand. His rush must have come across as exactly what it was: Thinly veiled desperation.

The mutt spoke of trust, of aiding them, but all Madara could hear was gloating pleasure at his own lack of bargaining skills, his naïveté.

He directed his eyes towards the ground and stared. Any anger left within him was self-directed, a feeling close to disgust, so he kept silent.

After the Hatake was gone, Madara raised his eyes to the fire. He doubted that the mutt had just up and left, but he saw nothing wrong in indulging in a bit of false hope. Seeing as he was likely to walk the perimeter of their camp, Madara allowed the other two to go to sleep earlier than intended, and they spread their bedrolls they carried with them on their backs in silence.

Once both his companions had settled down, curling up beneath thick blankets near the freshly rekindled fire, Madara felt a relief wash over him, as it meant to be spared their judging glances for a few hours. He sat, arms propped on his thighs, fingers clasped, his back hunched with a burden that suddenly felt too heavy to bear. No matter. Tomorrow was another day, and as young and unknowledgeable as he knew he still was, he never made the same mistake twice.

This was a lecture he knew he deserved — for his overconfidence alone — and he would cradle it, store it away to observe and analyze and learn, just like he always did.

Yakumi, he knew, had lost his mother a year and a half ago in the battle at the mountainside. He was an orphan now, as his father had died long before that, but no longer a child. Madara would do everything in his power to provide him with a brighter future, for the time when he decided to have a family, so his own children would never suffer through the same kind of loss. Would not have to face their first enemy when they could hardly spin a kunai. If that meant a nick to his ego, he would gladly take it.

Madara did not move from his spot on the verge of the fire. The distant heat of the flames reached his feet and licked at his shins. He drew the quilt tighter around his shoulders, the stench lingering in his nostrils a strange comfort; he did not think on it, his eyes heavy with sleep he did not allow to come, senses honed to take in his surroundings. To sleep in the company of a Hatake was unthinkable; he would catch up on it later, after his meeting with the ship master in the morning. He listened to the crackling of the fire, and the strange absence of noise in the surrounding trees, and his brows furrowed, his muscles twitching with anticipation.

 

[roxybirdie]

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, nightfall swept over the forest. Once the temperature dropped, a frigid chill ravaged the terrain. Kakashi adjusted the clasp on his cloak, pulling the thick fabric closer. The hood was raised, concealing his eye-catching silver hair. While the forest was encompassed in shadows, faint moonlight from the rising moon penetrated the darkness. Even without it, his enhanced senses enabled Kakashi to navigate through the darkness. Before the former nomad completed his perimeter rotation, he stopped. His charcoal eyes glimpsed at the imposing trees surrounding him. “Maa, it’s a quiet night...” Without another word, all traces of his languidness vanished. The forest was too quiet. All of the sudden, a breeze sliced through his frame. Before he could react, a multitude of foreign scents assaulted his sensitive nose.

“Trespassers on Hatake land. Maa, they’re certainly bold.” The silver-haired halfbreed vanished in a vortex of leaves. A few minutes later, Kakashi materialized on a high branch of a tall oak. He pressed his back against the bark, blending with the shadows. After suppressing his chakra, the former nomad examined the seven shinobi huddled on the ground. They wore traditional armor native to the time period. Almost immediately, his eyes spotted a certain crest emblazoned on one of the shinobi’s headband. Senju. Why was a group of Senju trespassing Hatake territory?

“Report,” the leader commanded.

“The Hatake clan and the Uchiha clan are in an official alliance. The foreign chakra Tobirama-sama detected belonged to the Hatake escorting the Uchiha,” one man announced.

“My summons overheard the Hatake mentioning they have a series of alliances and negotiations with the civilian community in charge of the harbor. The land we’re standing on and the strips of non-affiliated territory leading to the harbor belongs to the Hatake,” another man added.

The leader frowned. “The Hatake clan claimed a direct route to the harbor? Tobirama-sama must be notified immediately,” he declared. Officially, the eastern border of Hatake territory ended at the outskirts of Hatake forest. Owning strips of land in a non-affiliated, civilian-dominant terrain was uncommon knowledge. It would be the perfect bargaining tool to ensure the Hatake’s absolute compliance.

“On it.” The man with a summoning contract bit his thumb and weaved a few hand signs. Before he could slam his palm against the ground, a kunai penetrated his hand, halting the movement. The man clutched his injured palm with a cry.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!” the leader barked.

“Maa, maa, I’m afraid I can’t let your plan unfold,” a lazy voice drawled.

Without warning, the group of Senju heard a loud creak. They glanced at a nearby oak, spotting a shadowed figure standing on the highest branch. Once the mysterious ninja lowered its hood, a beam of moonlight highlighted the individual’s silver hair. “It’s the Hatake!” a Senju cried.

Kakashi unsheathed his unsealed chokutō. It crackled with lightning chakra, illuminating a faint violet. “Maa, I didn’t want to do this, but ... you gave me no choice.” Before the Senju could react, the silver-haired halfbreed disappeared. In a flash, the Senju with the summoning contract fell. Due to a direct wound to the heart, the man was dead before he collapsed. Kakashi stood adjacent to the Senju’s corpse, chokutō dripping with blood.

“Tenma!” a Senju cried.

“You bastard! I’ll kill you!” another growled.

Instead of retaliating with another comment, Kakashi lunged. While the odds are against him, Kakashi compensated with his superior agility and battle-honed reflexes. Unfortunately, six against one wasn’t a silent affair. Undoubtedly, a certain Clan Head and his convoy heard the clashing of blades and sounds of elemental techniques. In the midst of the battle, Kakashi relied solely on his speed, instincts, kenjutsu, and raiton release. Activating his Sharingan was out of the question. Unless absolute necessary, Kakashi preferred against revealing his complete arsenal. The Hatake clan was renowned for raiton release. Therefore, the Senju anticipated him using it. However, none of them would expect a Hatake utilizing additional elemental techniques. It gave him the element of surprise.

 

[arbus]

Yui, the second-in-command, took a leap backwards to evade one of the Hatake's lightning-quick strikes. Though the blade of his jutsu-enhanced chokuto missed her by a hair's breadth, the crackling lightning lashed out and cut into her arm. She locked a cry of pain behind gritted teeth, her eyes sweeping involuntarily over the dead body of her brother, and the absence of pain was as much relief as it was nerve-wracking. Instead, her chest felt tight, her skin clammy and taunt, and she kicked at the Hatake, swung her legs to get him off balance. Her commander engaged, his broad back moving into her line of vision as if trying to disengage her from the Hatake -- whose killing intent was like a breeze, there and gone, unpalpable. He was so quick, it was as if they were fighting lightning itself.

Yui panted when she landed on the outskirts of their meeting point, ready to dash in again, ready to destroy. The rest of the group, five shinobi in total, were engaging the Hatake, trying to win the upper hand against his unexpected expertise. She had never seen anybody fight like that up close, had never fought with anyone on that skill level -- despite, perhaps, Tobirama-sama, when he joined their training sessions. He was just as quick, and that was a blessing. Because, all of a sudden, she knew what to do. Her hands weaved a sign for a doton jutsu, which employed the deeper layers of the earth; Hime, who had only evaded a deathly blow to the head by pure luck and their commander's interference, saw what Yui was doing. "I got you!", she yelled, over the clinging of weapons and the pained cry of one of the men -- it couldn't be Suma, could it, who fell like a puppet before their eyes -- and then they both were weaving signs: Hime for a suiton release, that drenched the earth and made it soft; Yui for the doton, and the mud rose from beneath the Hatake's feet, aiming to grasp his feet and legs, to render him unable to move.

No time to waste: Yui was producing a kunai, aiming it at the vital point in the Hatake's neck. She raised her arm, aimed, and --

A dull sensation against her temple was all she felt, before she fell to the ground, dead. Madara moved from his position behind her, before her body even hit the ground; he was swift, soundless, and without mercy. The shinobi's doton release melted away, and there was a strangled cry of loss and shock from the other woman, who had performed the suiton. Before she could utter another word, Madara was in her face, which was white, her eyes wide and feverish as he plunged his tanto -- the only weapon he carried with him -- into her stomach.

The commander was lunging for the Hatake, sword drawn in a vertical strike, while another of the Senju, in an act of stupidity or utter desperation, went for Madara's turned back. The clan head, without so much as looking, ducked away from the swinging, chakra-enhanced bludgeon, and as he did so he turned, his sharingan glowing red in the night. The man froze, his body growing stiff with the genjutsu he had just been subjected to.

The fight was over in mere minutes. Madara, as always, felt a mixture of disappointment and adrenaline-enhanced satisfaction at looking upon the dead bodies of his enemies; another fight won, something hungry and dark in him whispered; but there was also that sense of loss, an anger directed at the world for making him do those things, but this anger was his fuel, and so he crouched down to relieve the doton wielder from a piece of armor on her shoulder, his thumb brushing over the cursed Senju crest.

"You alright?", he asked the Hatake, without looking, without needing to, because he knew the answer.

 

[roxybirdie]

All traces of the lackadaisical, unassuming mask was gone. Instead of Kakashi engaging the Senju, it was ANBU Ryōken. A taichō in charge of incapacitating the leader and eliminating the threats. The shift was subtle, almost nonexistent to shinobi unaware of his former profession. ANBU Ryōken was fierce, unyielding, and efficient. Every strike was deliberately calculated, not a single second wasted. Despite the taichō’s disadvantage, he assessed his opponents, pinpointed their weaknesses, and modified his attacks accordingly. His superior agility enabled him to evade the first female Senju’s vicious kick. His honed reflexes prevented the Senju commander from immobilizing him. ANBU Ryōken was unimaginably fast, resembling the element his clan was simultaneously respected and feared for. He danced across the small clearing, resembling a blip of silver under the waning moon.

ANBU Ryōken was unquestionably powerful, far superior compared to the small convoy of Senju, but power could be conquered. Power meant nothing in the hands of shinobi working together to obliterate its existence. Individually, the Senju stood no chance, but together, they could triumph. ANBU Ryōken had the advantage in terms of power, but he acknowledged the impeccable teamwork the Senju demonstrated. They, under no circumstances, are to be underestimated. All of the sudden, the ground underneath his feet grew alarmingly soft. Before the mud could thoroughly imprison him, the female doton user fell. Without her presence, the combination technique was obsolete. ANBU Ryōken freed his ankles with a burst of lightning chakra, leaped out of the mud pit, and raised his chokutō, parrying a vertical strike with his chakra-laden blade. As the Senju commander and taichō engaged, a frenzied Senju attacked the taichō’s comrade.

In the span of ten minutes, the battle was over. Five Senju were dead and two remained incapacitated. Three fell by ANBU Ryōken’s blade and two fell by his comrade’s. Out of the two survivors was the Senju commander. After wiping his chokutō clean from blood, ANBU Ryōken secured the survivors. A combination of rope and chakra suppression seals thoroughly trapped the Senju, preventing all hope for escape.

”You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Unlike his previous slothful drawl, his voice was detached and devoid of emotion. ANBU Ryōken approached the two men bounded in front of a tall oak. Ironically, it was the same tree he landed on prior to the battle. His movements are graceful, akin to a predator stalking its prey; a wolf in the presence of sheep. While the younger Senju trembled in front of the intimidating Hatake, the Senju commander met the man’s gaze directly.

“A-Akihito-taichō—“ The older man cut him off,

“Silence, Kazuma,” the Senju commander interjected.

The former nomad stood in front of the glowering Senju and his cowering subordinate. “Senju Tobirama sent you,” ANBU Ryōken announced. It wasn’t a question, but a fact. “To spy on Uchiha Madara, his convoy, and the Hatake escorting them to the harbor. One subordinate discovered the treaty between the Hatake clan and the Uchiha clan. Another uncovered information regarding the extension of Hatake territory,” he added. Slowly, the Hatake sheathed his chokutō, fastening it on his left hip.

“Your point?” the Senju commander huffed gruffly.

While the older Senju remained unperturbed by the Hatake’s indifference, Kazuma continued to tremble. The killing intent radiating from the wolfman was subtle, smooth and refined. It reminded him of the calm before a storm. Standard ninja might feel unthreatened by the seemingly nonchalant sensation, but unbeknownst to the Hatake, Kazuma was a sensor. He was far from Tobirama-sama’s caliber, but the young man detected the violent storm raging inside the Hatake; a powerful temptest awaiting the command of its master. The man in front of him was a true predator and Kazuma was his prey. Deep down, the young Senju knew he wouldn’t be leaving the clearing alive. The thought should terrify him to the core, but it didn’t. All Kazuma can hope for was a merciful death.

“My point...” ANBU Ryōken tilted his head. “You know exactly what my point is, Senju Akihito.”

The Senju commander spat at the infuriating Hatake. “If you think I’ll hand over information, you’re a fool. You wasted your time keeping me alive,” he countered.

He evaded the saliva projectile. “Perhaps, but...” His gaze landed on the younger Senju. “...there’s a reason I kept both of you alive.” ANBU Ryōken crouched in front of the younger Senju. “He is your nephew, after all.” The signs were subtle, too insignificant for fresh eyes. However, ANBU Ryōken detected every single clue and pieced it together.

The man stiffened. “You wouldn’t,” he hissed.

A dark chuckle rumbled inside his chest. “I don’t take threats to my clan lightly, Akihito-san,” ANBU Ryōken pointed out.

 

[arbus]

After Madara had slain the Senju, he had time to watch the last of the mutt's fight. His eyes followed the graceful movements of that lean, honed body, the killing intent now unmistakable to his senses. That surge of power was like an approaching thunderstorm, focused and yet feral, and it had a cold chill running down Madara's spine.

It was magnificent.

One thing to engage the Hatake in a fight, and their exchange of taijutsu had been satisfying, quick and strong, no punches pulled, but child's play nonetheless compared to this. There it was again, that power simmering beneath the calm surface, breaking through, like crevices in an immaculate facade. It raised questions, but none so urgent as that feeling of the cavity inside of him widening, expanding with a feeling like --

His tomoe were spinning rapidly as they recorded every detail of the other's dance. But they took in the change in the mutt's demeanor, too. It was not subtle; the muscles in his body seemed rigid now instead of infuriatingly lax, his shoulders holding a tension that had not been there before. As the Hatake bound up the two surviving Senju, Madara's sharingan trailed over the dead bodies strewn on the ground like forgotten dolls. The sense of triumph he had felt seeped out of him like a valve had opened, and, listening to the Hatake's exchange with the prisoners, his feet moved almost on their own volition.

“I don’t take threats to my clan lightly, Akihito-san.”

The words, heavy with implication, with threat, hung as much in the air as the mutt's chuckle reverberated inside his head. What a dark sound, Madara mused. What a peculiar man.

He stepped up behind him, felt the fearful eyes of the younger Senju snap onto him, before they trailed back and forth between himself and the Hatake -- as if he could not yet decide who was the larger threat. He was so pale he looked as if he would pass out any moment, trembling so hard as if fear tried to shake him out of his own skin. Madara's hand found the Hatake's shoulder and squeezed, once, lightly. No words were exchanged, just a silent Let me, before he passed the man and crouched down before the commander.

"I'm not afraid of you, Uchiha Madara", Akihito spat, and Madara was sure if he could have mustered up the spit he would try his luck once more; but nothing was concealed before the sharingan, and they took in how dry the commander's lips were, the infinitesimal tremble in his nostrils, the quickened pulse in his neck. His exclamation was a lie, but Madara saw no reason to call him out on it.

"Then you are a fool", he said instead. His deep voice had taken on an almost soft quality, soothing; he widened his eyes, and the moment Akihito realized what was happening, his defiance had already cost him his advantage: It was too late. The heavy, dizzying pull of the genjutsu made his head spin, and before he could gather another coherent thought, he was lost.

To an outside observer, the moment passed in the blink of an eye, and Madara was moving on, turning his head towards Kazuma, the nephew. The younger Senju gasped, his hands straining against the ropes that bound him in an impulse to clasp his hands before his eyes. When he couldn't, he made a sound painfully close to a whimper.

Anyway, it was too late. The pinwheels of the Mangekyo had burned itself into the others conscious long before Kazuma had been aware he was subjected to the genjutsu, and he was crying soundlessly with his head hanging low because of it, because of the pictures that had been planted in his head, which was foggy and worn out as if he had thought too long and too hard about an unsolvable problem.

Madara remained, crouched before the Senju -- both of them now in some kind of half-state, not there but not gone -- and let his hair fall over his face to cover how his palms pressed up against his eyes, which were faintly hurting with a jutsu that had always taken its toll on him. When he finally straightened, looking up at the Hatake as if to dare him to say something, to be contrary just for the sake of it, his vision was vaguely blurry. "Torture won't lead us anywhere. They don't remember a thing; we send them back with a message for the Senju brat, and we will prevent the loss of your clan's neutrality in this war."

He got to his feet, sheathing the tento into the scabbard strapped to his back. "I share the information I gained from the commander, but you won't kill either of those men."

 

[roxybirdie]

As the atmosphere thickened, a heavy tension enveloped the clearing. The sensation was overpowering, rendering the younger Senju speechless. Kazuma was intimately familiar with killing intent, moreso than his clansmen. However, this — in all his eighteen years of life, Kazuma never felt anything like it. Once the Hatake unleashed the powerful thunderstorm, it was simultaneously electrifying and oppressive. It simultaneously energized and drained him. Kazuma knew, without a shadow of a doubt, if the Hatake willed it, he would be burned. The man in front of him wasn’t just a predator; he was lightning incarnate. Despite his uncle’s unquestionable defiance, Kazuma knew he felt it. He knew the older man was overwhelmed. Before the wolfman unsheathed his claws and went for the kill, Uchiha Madara draped his palm on the Hatake’s shoulder. For a moment, Kazuma was convinced the man would be burned, but instead of retaliating, the wolfman sheathed his fangs. Out of nowhere, a traitorous thought penetrated his terror-stricken mind.

Maybe, just maybe, he would live. At this point, Kazuma didn’t care if Uchiha Madara of all people granted it.

Let me.

All of the sudden, a calloused palm clamped on his shoulder. The silent message was undeniable. Almost immediately, his hackles raised. The taichō stiffened completely, muscles taut and back straightened. Chakra roiled underneath, threatening to breach the surface and burn the predator. The Senju scum in front of him was his prey. Their fate rested on his hands. The predator had the gall to steal his hunt — no! Without warning, a voice penetrated the darkness encompassing the wolfman’s mind. The Senju aren’t scum, it said. Before ANBU Ryōken could banish the voice, it unsheathed its claws and dug in. Remember who you are, it demanded. Confusion washed over the taichō. He was ANBU Ryōken, leader of Team Ro. He was assigned to incapacitate the leader and eliminate the threats. No survivors ensured the absolute protection of the Hatake clan, his— Our clan, it whispered. Out of nowhere, ANBU Ryōken was bombarded with an influx of memories. Slowly, the taichō remembered.

His name was Hatake Kakashi, a former member of Konohagakure and Team Seven.

On the outside, the internal exchange lasted for a minute and a half. On the inside, however, it felt like a lifetime. Instead of retaliating, Kakashi backed down. As the elder Uchiha trapped the remaining Senju survivors with his Mangekyō, Kakashi erased all traces of his killing intent. Once the oppressive atmosphere lifted, the silver-haired halfbreed surveyed the clearing. Suddenly, his nose was assaulted with the overwhelming stench of spilled blood and decaying flesh. His stomach roiled from the foul odor, but after years of compartmentalizing, the former nomad suppressed his grimace.

”I share the information I gained from the commander, but you won't kill either of those men.”

He barely registered the man’s words. “I have empty storage scrolls. I’ll seal away the bodies before you release the survivors,” Kakashi muttered. Not sparing the remaining Senju a glance, the silver-haired halfbreed rose into a standing position. While his body language remained tensed, all traces of the Hatake’s former rigidness vanished. The man in front of Madara wasn’t ANBU Ryōken anymore, but Kakashi. Without another word, Kakashi unsealed a bundle of scrolls hidden in the storage seal on his left wrist. He maneuvered through the clearing, sealing the fallen corpses inside the scrolls. His efficiency spoke years of experience. Unless gathered for examination, the standard practice was incinerating the bodies and erasing all traces of a battlefield. However, Kakashi could not — no, would not — deny the fallen Senju a proper funeral. A few minutes later, after all the bodies are sealed, Kakashi stored them in the Senju commander’s pack.

Wasting his supply of empty storage scrolls might be foolish, but the alternative was burning flesh. The former taichō wasn’t certain he could stomach it. “Thank you,” he murmured. A hint of gratitude was evident in the silver-haired shinobi’s bland tone. If Madara didn’t interfere, Kakashi would of been consumed by the hunt. Returning to his ANBU mindset was simultaneously a blessing and a curse. It protected his sanity, but at the same time, it threatened his very identity. One day, if Kakashi wasn’t careful, he would lose himself and never return. He almost lost himself once. With the weight of the future resting on his delicate shoulders, Kakashi couldn’t afford to lose himself once more.

 

[arbus]

Madara observed the Hatake's change. It was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, in the visible parts of his face, in the way his stance shifted just so. A fascinating sight to behold; as was the efficiency with which the mutt did away with the bodies. Never had he heard of such a thing before -- to store bodies inside a storage scroll was a thing unheard of, not least because there were no seals that could hold a human being. Fascinated, taken aback, and curious at the same time, he watched the procedure, his Mangekyo fading into the darkness of his irises. The cost of using his Mangekyo, the elders would argue, was too great to waste it on something insignificant as sparing the live of two enemy shinobi, two Senju. But Madara was not as cruel as that; the fight had been over, and the Uchiha had stopped killing their prisoner's. Had stopped doing so the moment he had become clan head, because retaliation was at the core of every one of their battles, and as foolish and idealistic and naive as he knew Hashirama to be, he was right in this one thing: Every life was worth saving, even if it meant to invite inconveniences down the road.

The mutt put the storage scroll (holding the corpses, how strange a seal, how practical, how eery) into the commander's pouch, a gesture that seemed to underline the shift he had undergone in this few moments. Astonished, Madara raised his eyes to the other man's face. He had expected many reactions -- an attack, for instance, in that moment his hand touched the other's shoulder -- but not gratitude. A pleasant surprise, but one he did not know how to react to, so he furrowed his brows. "Don't thank me yet", he snapped back, "once those two get back to the Senju, they will know my clan is involved in talks with the Hatake. They might not know we are currently on Hatake territory, but even Hashirama is smart enough to figure out what we are doing here."

The only way to overwrite memories was to implant new ones, and half-truths were more convincing to the human brain than any fabricated story. The commander and his nephew, once the genjutsu was lifted, would recall a run-in with Uchiha Madara and his people, would think their comrades, their family had fallen at Uchiha hands. It was the only way Madara could think of, in that short a time, to ensure the Hatake clan's continued neutrality -- if the Senju ever found out that one of their own had acted with the Uchiha in a violent skirmish, Hashirama would have no choice but to declare the Hatake enemies, and that would make Madara's life considerably harder. At least, it was the explanation he would stick to if anyone dared to second-guess his decision. He threw the Hatake a mistrustful glare. Using a kunai, he tore the ropes that held both prisoner's captive, and then barked: "Go home, scum", the aggressiveness in his tone almost as if he had to make up for something, to pretend his own disgust at the helpless men kneeling before him.

They both rose to their feet, much like sleepwalkers would, dazed and heavy-lidded. They did not raise their heads, but walked, and soon vanished into the shadows of the trees.

As soon as they were out of sight, Madara took to the trees to return to their camp. The fire light was dwindling, but both Hikaku and Yakumi stood in alert, katana drawn. Landing in front of them, they exhaled a visible breath of relief. "Change of plans. Decamp, we move now."

 

[roxybirdie]

”...They might not know we are currently on Hatake territory, but even Hashirama is smart enough to figure out what we are doing here.”

Despite the overwhelming rawness leaving his delicate psyche completely and thoroughly vulnerable — a byproduct of immersing himself into a separate personality — Kakashi huffed in amusement. His lips twitched, the fabric of his mask hinting a faint grin. ”Maa, so stubborn,” he mused. He averted his gaze, surveying the upturned earth and scorched trees. While Kakashi erased all traces of their presence, he couldn’t conceal the remnants of battle. Unless the silver-haired halfbreed obliterated the clearing with a powerful katon jutsu, the signs remained. “It’s a high possibility, but ... let us survive winter first before dwelling on the inevitable.” Kakashi knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the Senju would eventually uncover his clan’s heaviest secret. Joining the Uchiha in an alliance, while a necessity, left the Hatake vulnerable to the ire of the Senju. However, despite their smaller size, the Hatake clan was resilient. If push came to shove, they would survive.

”Go home, scum,”

Slowly, the former nomad pieced his lackadaisical back together. Kakashi met the elder Uchiha’s mistrustful glare with a signature eye-smile. If the situation was different, the Hatake might of found amusement in the Clan Head’s aggressive response. Once the surviving Senju vanished, Kakashi followed Madara. A few minutes later, the Clan Head and ambassador dropped in front of the campsite. Without another word, Kakashi doused the flames and erased their tracks. After gathering his minimum belongings and sealing them away, the silver-haired halfbreed awaited the elder Uchiha’s command.

The elder teen, Hikaku, eyed the older Hatake. Something about him was ... off. Instead of making a jab at his clan’s leader, the Hatake waited for them to finish decamping. Despite his burning curiosity, the younger male refrained from approaching the ambassador. Deep down, Hikaku doubted the Hatake would appreciate his probing. Expressing his gratitude earlier was one nerve-wrecking experience he didn’t want to repeat anytime soon.

Years ago, after the Sandaime ordered his immediate retirement from the ANBU Black Ops and appointed him jōnin sensei to Team Seven, Kakashi vowed to leave his mask behind at ANBU Headquarters. While Team Seven was far from perfect — a clusterfuck with a bigger clusterfuck in charge of it, really — Kakashi grew attached. In spite of his nonchalance, Kakashi wasn’t blind to his faults. He was a terrible teacher during the team’s genin years. However, despite his shortcomings, they made it work. His team, no matter how hard he tried not to, became pack. Kakashi failed to save his most troublesome student from pursuing revenge, but in the end, Kakashi ensured his students stood a fighting chance against a goddess. He promised himself he wouldn’t don his ANBU mask, but if it saved his beloved students from a war, he wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his well-being.

Kakashi would die again and again to protect his precious people.

Once the convoy decamped and packed their provisions, Kakashi followed. As the waning moon highlighted his frame, his yukata, chest plate, and hooded cloak was devoid of blood splatter. After ANBU Ryōken annihilated the threats, not a single speck stained his yukata, cloak or mask. Traces of blood unsurprisingly coated his armor and eyes, but the remnants were removed. The lack of blood made one thing unquestionably clear. Kakashi was an experienced hunter.

 

[arbus]

As they erased their traces along the camp site, Madara, who pointedly had not looked as he folded the quilt, rolled it, and stored it with the pottery into the storage seal, finally raised his eyes at the conspicuous absence of snarky comments from the mutt. His gaze traveled over the other's frame, taking in his relaxed posture, the immaculate state of his robes. He did not realize his own cloak, the Hatake's gift, was covered in blood-splatters, nor how it provoked nervous glances from both his fellow Uchiha.

"We are continuing towards the harbor to have our chat with the ship master now.“

„Right now?“, Hikaku asked, incredulous. „It‘s the middle of the night.“

„Then the ship master will have to adapt to our change of plans. We have no time to waste.“

Madara estimated it would take the dazed Senju approximately five days to reach the compound, six if they were lucky. Even if the genjutsu had not lifted at their arrival, by then Hashirama would know something was amiss. Winter, though approaching fast, was still tepid enough to allow an attack on the compound. If Hashirama decided to strike, it would be when Madara was away — not the older Senju‘s style, but a tactic Madara knew Tobirama to be capable of. He could not take the chance, no matter how small, so he needed to get his business over with and be back at the compound in the span of six days. The sea passage to the civilian settlement took merely a day, but even if he hurried, the journey from the harbor to the compound took nearly two days — which left only three whole days to strike a deal with the civilians, and if their petty correspondence was anything to go by, this was a rather optimistic timeframe.

Once on their way, Madara approached both Hikaku and Yakumi to inform them of the details of the fight; both needed to keep their senses peeled — an ambush, now that they had been spotted, was not entirely out of the question. While the Senju leader‘s agricultural streak gave them harvest aplenty, they would strike to use the chance to cut off the Uchiha from the desperately needed provisions. Madara was sure they had not yet caught wind of his clan‘s dire situation, though with his decision to let the Senju spies go, it was just a matter of time for them to count two and two together.

His head began to hurt with all the possibile scenarios and multiple implications, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to fend off the headache, even as he stirred to the right to get into closer proximity of the Hatake.

„I am interested in those storage seals you used“, he said. He had never seen such a thing; the idea to be able to bring the dead, fallen bodies of his comrades, his family, back from the battlefield ... it was unthinkable, at the moment, but with such a seal? „You must use a special sealing technique. I have never seen anything like it before.“ While the seals the Uchiha used could hold things up to a certain weight and size, human bodies had never been transported this way before. „Can you transport living bodies in this way, too?“

 

[roxybirdie]

”Can you transport living bodies in this way, too?”

In hindsight, utilizing his personal storage scrolls was foolishly conspicuous. The particular sealing technique wasn’t invented yet. First, the kage bunshin technique, now the storage seal? If Kakashi wasn’t careful, he would be accredited to an assortment of techniques he never founded. While it wasn’t his biggest concern, it could be detrimental in the future. A prime example was the Nidaime’s technique. If the kage bunshin technique was invented, how will Kakashi justify learning it? “Maa, I’m the only one that knows the technique.” It was the truth, but Kakashi didn’t elaborate. Allowing the elder Uchiha to devise his own conclusions was the safest solution. “The specific seal I used wasn’t made for hosting living bodies,” he added. Kakashi glanced at the Clan Head. His eyes spotted the spilled blood staining the fabric of the cloak the older man wore.

“Maa, you might want to remove the cloak before the meeting. I don’t think the blood will do you any favors,” Kakashi pointed out. The silver-haired halfbreed ignored the lack of blood on his own assemble. Contrary to popular belief, he found no pride in the lack of blood. Before joining the ANBU Black Ops, Kakashi never reached the level of immaculate efficience ANBU Ryōken achieved. After leaving the organization, it became a hollow reminder of the hundreds of lives he snuffed.

“Are you a sealing master?” Yakumi inquired, recalling the storage scrolls his Clan Head mentioned.

He hummed. “I could be in certain aspects ... but maa, does it make you a master if you’re constantly learning?” Kakashi wasn’t a true sealing master, but he was a fast learner. He understood the delicate art of fūinjutsu. Had his sensei lived, Kakashi might of followed in his teacher’s footsteps and surpassed him. While Kakashi wasn’t on his sensei’s or a certain sannin’s level, he knew enough to thoroughly aid his mission.

His eyebrow twitched at the blatant deflection. “I suppose so,” Yakumi muttered.

“Is there a seal that can host living bodies?” Hikaku questioned, overhearing his Clan Head’s conversation.

For a moment, Kakashi grew silent. “In theory ... but it hasn’t been tested,” he answered. Storing and preserving corpses was the first breakthrough in storage sealing techniques. However, the concept of storing living bodies was solely theoretical. In his timeline, it never been tested. Kakashi wasn’t certain if the particular seal was officially invented.