Desolation of the Caged Bird Chapter 41 - Old Men Move Mountains

Funerals are troublesome…

Nara Shikamaru watched the procession for the Fourth Hokage in silence. The gathered crowd numbered every shinobi in Konoha, everyone, which was only allowed because of the temporary ceasefire. Shikamaru saw faces he had not seen for a long time, and saw faces he had almost forgotten existed. Clansmen of the Nara Clan, shinobi who had been in deep cover and shinobi who had been deployed to the furthest battlefields and had not been home in years, all of them were present, here, for this moment.

Walking down the middle of the road, as the Hokage’s Guard carried a casket, was the Hokage’s wife, dressed in a ceremonial white kimono, said to symbolize purity and aid in accompanying one’s journey to the afterlife. 

The body of the Fourth Hokage, had it been retrieved, would have been dressed in white as well, and the casket would likely have been opened for many to see him for a final time.

When Shikamaru was younger, he’d told his father he’d hoped to live a mundane life, marry a mundane wife, have one son, retire, die, and be buried peacefully. His father had chuckled and told him that Shinobi rarely retired and did not have peaceful ends. As he grew older, Shikamaru crunched the numbers, and he found, statistically, it was true. The average lifespan for a shinobi was about thirty-five years. Any who lived longer than that was either a shinobi who avoided battle, or an elite shinobi whose skills allowed them to survive longer than their peers. 

For the vast majority, they died in battle, and for the vast majority, they died young.

Following the Hokage’s wife was his daughter, Mito, and following beside her was Biwako, also dressed in ceremonial white. At the forefront was a blond boy Shikamaru could consider a fond acquaintance at the best of times, or an annoying friend at the worst of times, whose eyes were obscured behind the bangs of his spiky blond hair. He had grown it out, somehow, to be longer than it was normally. Grown it out to the point that were it not for the three marks on his cheeks, he’d be mistaken for a carbon copy of the Fourth Hokage.

Rather, his father had told him, somewhat morosely. If you do die, Shikamaru, it is likely not even your body will be retrieved. 

Certain villages, such as Kirigakure no Sato, had Hunter-Nin Squadrons entirely dedicated to the retrieval of bodies of certain shinobi to avoid valuable intel and information being uncovered by the enemy. In Konoha, that job was often delegated to the ANBU. However, even then, the success rate of body retrieval was lower than many would expect. In the most fortunate of cases, the body of one’s comrade would become food for the wild animals, the beasts, the birds, the insects. In the least fortunate of cases, the body would be taken by their enemies, plundered for all its secrets.

The bodies of the First Hokage and the Second Hokage were reportedly lost in battle, with no one being able to find them. The body of the Fourth Hokage, too, was now the same. Shikamaru heard, once, from his father, that the body of the Fourth Hokage’s student, an Uchiha, had similarly been lost. This was from a time before he was the Hokage, and yet, he had asked the Sandaime, the Third, to let him lead an ANBU Squadron in search of the body. He had gone and spent days searching the area where he had died, and found traces of someone unearthing the spot. 

Thus, they assumed, as was often the case, that the enemy had taken the body long before they could reach it to pilfer it of all its secrets.

Something in Minato perhaps changed that day, his father told him. After he returned and found no trace of his student’s body, he looked at me and asked if the lives of Shinobi were worth less than those of dogs. Because how could it be that even in death, a shinobi could not find peace?

Shikamaru closed his eyes.

Given the current political climate and the nature of Hokage’s actions… the powers-that-be aren’t going to sit down any longer. Konoha might seem in dire straits, but the truth is…

Shikamaru was privy to a lot of secrets, courtesy of his sensei. His sensei’s technique, the Tsukuyomi, had fed him with information, some of it sensitive, others not. It had painted a full picture of the current geopolitics of the world, and it was why he was certain that Namikaze Minato’s death had only one outcome—

…The war will finally end.

Shikamaru opened his eyes.

Dying for all of us… dying for the sake of peace…

There were no speeches given at the funeral. No words. There was only solemnity and silence, as all gathered to grieve, to mourn, and to pay their final respects to Namikaze Minato.

Shikamaru glanced at the skies. 

No clouds, huh. 

It was a clear day.

Yet raindrops were falling on every face.

XXXXX

“I’m old, cranky, and impatient, and these games have lost their luster. Speak frankly. If there’s something you want to say, say it.”

Ōnoki of the Twin Scales sat across from the Earth Daimyō, Dorogami Hajimoto, within his chambers, as he sipped from a small cup of sake. It was rare for the man to directly summon him, and rarer still for them to meet up like this. Yet, for the past several minutes, the man had been dancing around a matter with a politician’s doublespeak that Ōnoki had no patience for, and the man’s samurai guards and hidden shinobi guards were more apparent than normal, which Ōnoki was not blind to.

“Then, I’ll be frank,” Hajimoto said. “We five are calling an end to all hostilities and are to sign an official pact of non-aggression between our nations. Even that upstart usurper from the Land of Wind, too, has agreed to the terms.”

Ōnoki rubbed his chin slowly as he placed down the cup.

“As the Land of Earth is now allied with the Land of Fire, I cannot have you, or your shinobi, attacking it, nor waging war against its people, Konoha. Any party that does not uphold this peace will be collectively denounced by the other four. We do not want any more bloodshed, Ōnoki.”

Ōnoki lifted the cup back up to his lips in silence. “...You have never interfered directly like this before, old friend.”

“That is because I have never needed to,” Hajimoto sighed. “Your shinobi wars have often been minor affairs conducted amongst your number, but Namikaze Minato’s actions brought your war to the forefront of the world and made it impossible to ignore. Even now, my wife still trembles in fright, expecting to see a blond man brawling in our bedroom. You have no understanding of how deplorable such a thing was, Ōnoki.”

Ōnoki did not. At the time, he had still been under the effects of that blasted genjutsu, so there were many things he was not fully cognizant of. 

“You may consider this an Imperial Edict. I am not asking you as a friend, I am telling you, as your Daimyō, that this war must end.”

Ōnoki frowned.

“Don't give me that look. Find some other means to resolve your disputes once you meet at the Five Kage Summit.”

“It’s a Shinobi Leader Summit, now.”

“As if the other tiny villages even remotely have a say in such matters,” Hajimoto waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever you call it, find a way to resolve whatever grievances you have that do not involve warfare. After all, Namikaze, one of your most hated enemies, is dead. Is that not enough reason to celebrate and rejoice and seek to rebuild rather than destroy?”

“We were made fools of,” Ōnoki grumbled. “Manipulated and made into puppets to attack Konoha.”

“And is Konoha not a victim of this, the same as you?”

“It was done by one of theirs.”

“If a member of my extended family conspires and manipulates my enemies to seek my death, am I thus now to blame for that treachery and manipulation?”

Ōnoki disagreed. “That is not the same, old friend.”

“I do not see things as you shinobi do, so perhaps it is not,” Hajimoto acquiesced. “I hear it is a common tactic you use to disavow the intentions of rogue agents. Who is to say Konoha did not have other plans in place before this Uchiha betrayed them? Perhaps this was one of their plans that went awry.”

The man reached for his sake and drank.

“Regardless of whether it was or whether it was not, the edict is still clear. No more. We have lost enough. Namikaze, that madman, was willing to involve the entire world in his battle. There is no guarantee that a desperate push to destroy Konoha will not create a repeat incident, or worse. I do not want any more men appearing in my bedroom while I’m pleasuring my wife. Do you understand, Ōnoki?”

Ōnoki let out a tired breath that made him feel the weight of his years.

“As you command, Dorogami-dono.”

XXXXX

“He demands?”

The Fourth Raikage, A, was resisting the urge to wring the neck of the messenger in front of him. Were it not for four guards by his side, two members of the Elite Lightning Guard, and two samurai, individuals who were sworn to protect the Daimyō and his family, he probably indeed would have done so. 

His assistant, Mabui, stood at the side, taking notes, as A reigned in his temper, and the snotty, white-dressed, cap-wearing messenger continued his message with an uppity, dismissive tone. The messenger was clearly a person belonging to the Lightning Daimyō’s inner court, one of noble upbringing, and one who hated being here and delivering the message as much as A hated hearing it.

“Kaminari-dono’s beloved four-year-old daughter was amongst those injured by Namikaze’s wanton rampage across the world. Thus, he demands a complete cessation of all hostilities and that you pursue a peaceful co-existence with Konoha following your attendance at the Shinobi Leader Summit by the month’s end.”

The Fourth Rakage, A, clasped his large hands together over the table as he spoke. “His daughter was injured, and he wants peace? Namikaze Minato is dead. We can—”

“The man has a son,” the Messenger cut him off. “Are we truly to believe that his accursed technique died with him? No. Konoha, as it is, is a cornered animal. Kaminari-dono dreads to see the outcome of what would happen if we were to provoke it. He demands peace.”

Demands, there it was again. That word. Not asking, not suggesting, not recommending, but demanding. The Daimyō was outright demanding that this was the course of action he was to take, and nothing else other than compliance would be accepted. The Raikage, A, slowly ground his teeth.

“Know that if you continue this war, you will be doing so at the extreme ire of Kaminari-dono,” the Messenger continued. “You shinobi do not have farms, you do not work the fields, and you do not produce anything. Murder, espionage, and freelance services are your only exports, and I doubt you can maintain your economy on such alone without Kaminari-dono’s blessing. I doubt your capacity to wage a war on empty stomachs and dried coffers.”

The Raikage, A, swallowed down the rebuttal that almost came. Shinobi relied on the Daimyō and the nation more than the inverse was true. If every shinobi in the world were to vanish without explanation the next day, the world would continue. However, the same was not true for the nations themselves, such as the Land of Lightning, the Feudal System, and the Daimyō, which predated even the concept of shinobi villages.

It was less than a hundred years ago that the concept of Shinobi Villages came to be. When he was growing up as a boy, there was no shortage of men around him who remembered vividly the world before Shinobi Villages. No shortage of men who recalled fondly a time before Madara and Hashirama came together and formed Konoha, which incentivised others to follow in their footsteps. Shinobi Villages, formed from Clans, did not produce at the scale needed to be entirely self-sufficient. Clans produced food at a limited scale, and their food was obtained mostly through plunder and warfare with each other. Due to the end of that Era, they found they had more mouths to feed than before, and their previous methods were no longer viable.

One could not rob and raid their former enemies for food, and the small-scale food production they had before was no longer efficient, so where were they to get food from? How did they stop themselves from starving?

The answer was to swear fealty to the Daimyō. 

Grain, food, wine, and more were provided in accordance with their sworn loyalties, and soon, they became reliant on this system. It was set up from the time of his predecessor, the First Raikage. The reliance on the Lightning Daimyō, the Land of Lightning, for food, coin, and funding was impossible to sever at will and whim without severe consequences.

Shinobi did not farm. They simply could not. What shinobi had time to rake fields all day under the sweltering sun? What time could they find for such things? When they were being sent off to battle as soon as they could walk? When they were training and honing their skills to avoid dying?

The Raikage, A, himself did not know the first thing about farming. He doubted he could find a single shinobi in his ranks who could tell him the first thing about such a thing. What he did know was that the vast majority of farmland belonged entirely to the Daimyō, and the peasant farmers merely working on them did not truly own any of them. Earning the ire of the Daimyō meant that very Daimyō could tell those farmers not to sell to them, or put embargos on selling to them, or simply execute any farmer caught selling to them.

If it were a nation like Konoha—

The Land of Fire was flat and arable, and Hashirama Senju’s Wood Release had made vibrant forests and created vast swathes of fertile grassland and farmlands around Konohagure no Sato. According to a few of his spies, one didn’t need to worry too much about where to farm because everything and everywhere was saturated with the remnants of Hashirama’s potent chakra. Just tossing seeds on the ground was likely enough to guarantee they sprouted. Moreso, Konoha had formed trade contacts with varying nations; thus, even if their Daimyō ever turned on them in that way, they would still survive and thrive because Konoha had routes that could easily be reached by traders.

Kumo was not Konoha.

Kumogakure was Hidden in the Clouds. It was a village surrounded by mountains on all sides, which peaked high into the sky, which danced amidst the clouds themselves, and thus, farming here at a large enough scale to be self-sufficient was impossible due to the natural geography. Even worse, traders would rather avoid the village because of the steep, mountainous terrain, which doubled the difficulty of trade and increased the risk of goods being lost in transit.

“Kaminari-dono has sent messengers to the other Four Daimyō, and they are all in agreement that this skirmish between you Shinobi has gone out of hand,” the Messenger continued. “Never before has one of your quarrels reached even the homes of those who have nothing to do with your conflicts. Never before has one of your squabbles affected those who should be furthest from the fighting. This escalation is worrying. None of them desires a repeat incident.”

“Are you saying the others are—”

“Yes. Namikaze’s death is sufficient to please all parties involved. Any further bloodshed or escalation will not be tolerated. Remember, at the end of the day, you all are shinobi, in service to your Lords.”

Namikaze’s death is sufficient to please all parties?

The Fourth Raikage, A, understood what was not said. Namikaze Minato, the Whisper of the Wind, had become notorious for his actions leading to the eventual death of the Wind Daimyō. There was the crux of it. A challenge to the status quo that had never been challenged, because no one else would dare to challenge it. His actions had disturbed all the Daimyō, and now that they had confirmed his death, now that the greatest threat was gone, the Daimyō did not wish to stick the hornet’s nest any further.

Is it possible…?

Konoha, perhaps, was the only one capable of it.

It was the only Shinobi Village that could become completely free from the influence of the Daimyō if they wished to do so. Kumogakure could not do so, due to its location. Kirigakure, located on an island surrounded by thick mist, similarly could not do so. Iwagakure, located in mountainous rocky ranges, could not do so either. Sunagakure, located in the desert, was the least likely of all to do so. 

All the Major Shinobi Villages, except Konoha, were located in places that made farming difficult, feeding mouths difficult, and trade difficult; thus, all of them, no matter what, would always be at the whim of their Daimyō, because the Daimyō put meals on their table.

All but Konoha.

…Tch. Senju Hashirama and Uchiha Madara pulled a fast one. They successfully put leashes on everyone but themselves.

As the Fourth Raikage, A would never dream of rebelling against his Daimyō. He could not do so because even if he did seize power, the vast majority of civilians would hate him and consider him a usurper. He still needed people to farm, people to work, people to produce food, and such people could not be his loyal shinobi, which meant it would be the civilians, the very same who hated him for being a usurper, that he would need to rely on. Such people, zealously loyal to their previous ruler, would sooner commit seppuku than obey his instructions. There would be mass sabotage, unrest, and starvation, all of which he would have to handle while simultaneously juggling the politics of ruling a nation and avoiding the gazes of other nations smelling blood in the water.

He stood to lose more than he did to gain.

The same was not true for Konoha.

Someone like Namikaze Minato, at the peak of his fame, his popularity, having a status of being beloved by the people, was a man who, within the Land of Fire, would not be considered a usurper, or if they did, he would not be as hated and loathed as others. They would gladly accept his reign, had he attempted it. With Konoha’s land, with the man’s popularity, with that technique of his…

He had everything he needed. Everything.

A had been under the control of a genjutsu for a long time, and now that he was free from its influence, he was seeing the finer political workings behind the war. Even if there had not been a puppetmaster controlling the strings, war would still have broken out.

The Fire Daimyō must have seen Namikaze’s popularity and fame and dreaded the outcome. Which is why he made that seemingly foolish decision to invade the Land of Wind, and Konoha, having sworn fealty, had no choice but to follow him into war due to the backlash that would emerge if they did not…

Namikaze’s death, indeed, suited all parties. The Fire Daimyō, who did not have to worry any longer about Konoha striving for independence, the current Wind Daimyō, who did not have to worry about Namikaze’s influence after the man killed his predecessor, the other three Daimyō as well, who now were certain that the man whose mere words and existence could lead to their deaths was out of the picture…

At first, A had pondered why Konoha released news of the man’s death so promptly, rather than doing all they could to suppress that information; now, however, he understood.

The war would have continued onwards… perhaps indefinitely… until he perished… 

Because none of the Daimyō would have been able to rest as long as Namikaze Minato lived…

Minato… That blond bastard…

He had always considered the man his rival, but A could not entirely say he could do what Namikaze had achieved like this. Wittingly or unwittingly, his death was going to become the reason the war ceased completely. 

The reason the world would attain, however briefly, peace.

A did not like it.

He wanted retribution. Retribution for the destruction Namikaze wrought upon his village, and retribution for the humiliation he had endured. He wanted to remove the shame from him, the feeling of having shit smeared all over his face. He, the Raikage, had been controlled by one man’s genjutsu for upwards of a decade. A decade! Ten years of his life, where he had moved to the whims and danced to the puppetry of a fucking Uchiha! 

Not only was his pride at stake, but his sense of self, of control, of authority. Even knowing that, supposedly, this had been done to all of the Kage did not wash away the feeling of shame and mortification. Which was why he wanted more than anything to use the combined powers that had gathered and crush Konoha once and for all.

Yet…

“Has the message been received?”

His hands were tied.

Neither vengeance nor shame was worth outright going to war against his Daimyō. That was an act that guaranteed self-destruction. 

A grunted. “...Yes.”

“Good.”

The messenger got up and, with his four guards, left the Raikage’s Office. A hated the feeling he was left with. He loathed it. One Lariat was all it would take to have sent that messenger to the Pure Land for his attitude, yet he did not have the power to do so. He dared not do so. The consequences were unfathomable. He had power, physical power, might, unspeakable might against a civilian, against a non-shinobi, but it alone was not enough. He had political power; he was the most politically powerful man in his village, and in front of one civilian with the backing and protection of his Daimyō, he was as powerless as an infant. 

Shinobi were subject to the whims and commands of their Daimyō. If their Daimyō sought war, there would be war, and if their Daimyō sought peace, then there would be peace.

It was because even the strongest shinobi in the world could not defeat humanity’s oldest enemy—

Hunger.

XXXXX

Within the Uzumaki Clan Compound, Wuji Zi casually appeared in the home of his student. To appear and disappear at whim and will was simply to utilize his mastery of the Body Flicker Technique and his Divine Sense that granted him knowledge of all places and all things within Konoha. His eyes closed, Wuji Zi let out a soft sigh.

The home was quiet, as everyone was attending the funeral procession of Namikaze Minato. Indeed, almost everyone. Wuji Zi walked down from the living room until he descended into the cellar. Large barrels of ink were stored, as were endless barrels of sake, wine, and materials needed for fūinjutsu. There, he found another, hidden door, disguised with fūinjutsu seals, yet his vision pierced it as easily as day. 

His hand waved across the locks, which he undid with a tiny fluctuation of chakra.

Within the Hokage’s House, he entered a secret room. The air reeked of liquor, as did it reek of the filth of a person who had not showered in days. Several defensive seals activated simultaneously, and a barrage of chains lunged at him, firing one after the other. He casually sidestepped the barrage, dodging, leaning, and making the barest minimum of movements as he stepped closer and closer, until he finally stood before and in front of a red-haired woman.

“Have you given no thought to what your children would say if they were to know you sent a Shadow Clone to your husband’s funeral?”

Uzumaki Kushina sat with her back against a wall, in a drunken, disheveled mess, with her long red hair splattered like ink all around her. Clad in a striking red nightgown and nothing else, hiccups emerged from her lips ever so often; she held a large bottle of sake in one hand, and a picture, a wedding picture, in another.

“...How did you know I was here?”

“Nothing in this village escapes my eyes.”

Slowly, drunkenly, she glanced up towards him. Her eyes were empty. Hollow. “You shouldn’t have been able to bypass the blood security seals on the gates of the Clan Compound...”

“Mito is my bride-to-be. She granted me access to all places within the Uzumaki Clan Compound.”

Slowly, she reached for the sake and drank even more. “Does she know she’s betrothed to a Shadow Clone?”

Wuji Zi smiled. 

“Besides Itachi-kun and Hinata-chan, you are the third person who has been able to tell. However, given how we are alike in that manner, it is no surprise you saw through it.” 

“Alike?”

Wuji Zi tilted his head. “Do you wish to play coy? You have been down here for years.”

Uzumaki Kushina stiffened.

“Indeed, you have sent clones to celebrate all your children’s milestones, sent clones to live your life for years—”

A barrage of chains lunged at him from all directions. The sound of metal hitting a surface echoed out like steel, as all the chains were deflected from where they came without so much as touching him.

“I am not here to condemn you,” Wuji Zi shook his head. “Nor am I to scold you.”

Wuji Zi glanced at the woman’s silky nightdress with his closed eyes and smiled fully.

“You isolated yourself here on the anniversary of your wedding, years ago, placing yourself as the reward for a prize that your husband would search for. You left clues, hints… trails of red hair. You hoped to rekindle the spark that led to your love, hoped that he would find you here, drag you out, and you both laugh at how silly it was, and perhaps engage in passions you had forgotten. Alas…”

Wuji Zi calmly cleared a small space in front of the woman as he sat down.

“...Your husband never searched. That day, your anniversary passed, and he did not come for you. A week passed, and he did not come for you. Stubborn as you were, you stayed. Another week. A third. Your Shadow Clones continued to perform your tasks and duties. Thus passed a month.”

The woman trembled. Wuji Zi smiled as he reached for the sake.

“To leave after spending a month in the dark due to a failed anniversary idea would be too humiliating. Such a thing would be vented upon him. So you convinced yourself that you only needed to be patient. You were certain he would come sooner or later. Another month passed, and yet another. Your children’s birthdays passed, as your clone delivered cake and you ate in the dark and in silence. Then, the anniversary of your wedding came once again. A full year.”

“You knew then that your husband would not come for you,” Wuji Zi continued. “He had not noticed that for a year, his wife had not been by his side. Or worse… he had not cared.”

Unfortunate… even I do not know if Minato had indeed noticed or not… but, so convinced then that his fate was to destroy the world, even if he did notice, he would not have acted differently, no doubt perhaps believing it better, if you were far away from him…

Perhaps, a part of him hoped you would come to loathe him… hate him, and denounce him… because he could not bear the thought of you loving him even if his destiny was destruction… such love would be his undoing…

The drunkenness in her breath abated. Kushina was trembling. Sobriety was rapidly returning to her features as she rapidly got up to her feet. 

“How…?”

Wuji Zi slowly pulled down his sleeve, revealing a tattoo that resembled a Three-Tomoe-Sharingan.

“I created a fūinjutsu seal that allows memories of a Shadow Clone to be permanently retained with photographic clarity, using my teammate’s dōjutsu as inspiration. For an odd reason, there is a side effect. In flawlessly mimicking the Sharingan’s perfect recall, the seal also mimics its copying ability.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “You mean—”

“When a Shadow Clone is dispersed within my range of vision and memories are being transmitted… I ‘copy’ those memories. Even if the clone was not mine, I would receive the memories as though it were I who created the clone.”

Kushina slumped back down to the ground.

“You— that means my— you know my—”

“I did not do so intentionally,” Wuji Zi shook his head. “This side effect, perhaps, only exists because I am a Shadow Clone myself.”

Wuji Zi gently poured some sake for himself and poured some for her, which she slowly accepted.

“I must appear so pathetic.”

“Who am I to cast judgment? Love makes fools of even the strongest of us.”

She barked a dry, bitter laugh. “What do you know about love?”

“Of the sort between man and wife? Little,” Wuji Zi admitted. “I have never let myself be vulnerable enough to feel such stirrings. A part of me has always believed such vulnerability will only be used against me. It will be the knife that twists deepest in my back. I accept that it is normal to be hurt by my enemies, but I have no eagerness to feel such pain from those I have sworn to cherish.”

“Aren’t you marrying my daughter, ‘ttebane?”

“We both know it is a union born of political motivations, not passion,” Wuji Zi chuckled. “Naruto-kun tells me your love with your husband was born purely from a single moment. You did not initially like Minato, did you?”

“No,” she snorted. “I thought he was flaky… girly… but…”

“But after he saved you, your thoughts changed.”

“...Yes.”

“He was a good man.”

“Was,” Kushina said bitterly. “I heard… saw… what he was planning to do. The things…”

“Being a good man does not mean one cannot be unjust,” Wuji Zi said. “Just as being a wicked man does not mean one cannot be righteous. There is good in evil, and there is evil in good. No one is purely one or the other.”

Kushina’s gaze lingered on him. “Why do you sound like an old man, ttebane?”

“Perhaps I am one. I am but a foolish old man striving to move mountains… knowing of the difficulty of my task, yet attempting it all the same, stone by stone, pebble by pebble.”

“What mountain are you tryin’ to move?”

“One called Uzumaki Kushina.” 

“That mountain’s immovable.”

“Perhaps…” Wuji Zi mused. “One must wait for certain mountains to move themselves.”

Wuji Zi dusted his clothes and got to his feet.

“I only wished to provide you with a glimpse of solace. I need not overstay my welcome,” Wuji Zi paused. “I would only ask, if it is possible, that the one comforting your son was not made of chakra.”

“I—” Kushina hesitated. “He’ll… feel something’s different. He’ll know that— that I’ve… that for years I’ve not—”

She faltered.

“It’s different when I send Shadow Clones. They… know how to act… better than me. They’re… the versions of me I should be. Not the one that I am.”

“You are the same person.”

“They don’t… have the same fears. The same worries. A Shadow Clone… it is you… but… It’s not you… they can do the things… You never thought you could… do things you’re not certain you… can. You understand, don’t you?”

“...Yes.”

The Self was not the Clone.

But the Clone was the Self.

“I understand.”

Wuji Zi sighed.

“I will speak nothing of this.”

“You… won’t?”

“What have I to gain from spreading more misery?” Wuji Zi shook his head. “I will remain silent. None will know of the truth, that the Fourth Hokage’s wife is hidden in a secret room in a cellar in her home, drowning sake in a red nightgown.”

Wuji Zi turned around.

“Wait,” she stopped him. 

“Is something wrong?”

“Will you… Be back? I have not… spoken to anyone… in person… for… a long, time, and I—”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” 

“Is there something you’d like me to get on my return?”

“My clones bring me everything I need.”

“I see.”

“But,” Kushina continued. “...Ichiraku Ramen. No one has… bought me… that in a while.”

“Very well. When next I visit…”

Wuji Zi smiled.

“We shall share a cup of ramen.”