In a rather cinematic fashion, the dirtied up, bruised and bloodied young men would stand side by side as the gates to Kirigakure no Sato opened up. It felt like it had been nearly a week since Watsuji had even seen a work of human architecture, let alone the splendid work of art that was the Village Hidden in the Mist. He gazed around with a sparkle in his eyes. Civilization had never looked this good, like a drink of cold water after a long drought. Watsuji was not the sort to become anxious at the sight of new things, but an excitement fluttered around gently in his gut. Not even his constant limp would stop him from enjoying the presence of civilization.

It was midday. The sun hung above the village expanse, obscured by the seemingly endless mist which slowly maneuvered about. It was as though weather patterns were completely nonsensical here. A lovely sunny day on a dockside city, yet enough mist to make everyone uncomfortable and cast a slight gloom over everything. And even so, nothing could cast a gloom over Watsuji. He was in hot pursuit of a bath, along with food, fresh water, and a real bed. All of those things were directly within his grasp. His head turned with excitement toward Kirei, who had likely seen the entrance to the village so many times it was dull. “Kirei, my friend, where might we find amenities? Surely such an esteemed and powerful warrior of yourself has a bed, hot food, and a hot spring lying in wait?”

Watsuji had not said much on the subject, but in their journeys together over the last few days, he had assumed in his own mind that Kirei of the Uchiha must have been among the most legendary and elite shinobi to walk the planet. At the very least, whether it meant anything to anyone else in the world, Watsuji believed Kirei to be an honorable and dutiful warrior worthy of great respect. He had enjoyed his time traveling alongside Kirei. It had provided needed direction in his quest with no leads. Everything from simple pirates and bandits/highwaymen to literal assassin cats had come into the path of the two.

The city streets were flustered with herds of rushing civilians and shinobi alike, rushing to and from this place and that. Everyone seemed to have something they needed to attend to. Watsuji took paces toward nearest inn, looking to obtain every last drop of amenities he could. It seemed Kirei was slightly reluctant but he followed Watsuji anyway. It was a nice little wooden inn with an upper and lower floor along with a bar and a jovial musician. Watsuji had little experience with bars, considering he was only 12 years old. The samurai did have this philosophy that if one were old enough to die in battle, they ought to be able to drink and fraternize as well, though.

The inn seemed to have its own bathhouse built in, much smaller than the large community ones. Of course, no institution like this would show to a room before you paid. Watsuji walked over to the counter to which he was told a price for the room, and in his complete ignorance for the value of currency, he tossed a miscellaneous amount of coin onto the counter, totaling out to at least ten times the cost she named. It was considered a good and wholesome feature by the samurai as a whole for a person not to know the value of different coin pieces.

Now, it was certainly also true that “luxury was the enemy of manhood” in samurai culture, but for a twelve year old boy who had drenched himself in sweat and blood for days in the woods, any rationale was worth using to excuse this nice inn from being considered “luxury” For example, It was also considered necessary for a shinobi to be polite and mannered. How could he be mannered while smelling and looking like a forest hermit?

Lost slightly within his own thoughts, the excited young man looked around the room with a grin before it faded into a look of deep worry and concern. “Kirei, are those...they do not look like the same ilk we dealt with before.” Seated at an individual table in the joyous and jolly bar were two large, muscular men with tattoos and the same colors and symbols about them as the young pirates the samurai and shinobi had hunted in their travels over days. It would seem this quest of Uchiha, Kirei would never come to an end. Not even in the walls of Kirigakure could he escape duty. And Watsuji, as a friend, was obliged to share his arm in battle.

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796 |

Watsuji would find it a relief to learn that the two were not duty bound to fight the two hulking mongrels across the way. He most certainly didn’t have any desire to spend another day second in his filthy clothes or holding the stained hilt of his blade in his bruised and sore hands. Every bit of his being desired to rest and so he brought his gaze slowly away from the two and looked back at the Uchiha boy before him with a gentle smile. “While I may never be one to utilize quiet approaches, intelligence gathering, and subterfuge in my combat style, I can certainly say this is without a doubt the most relieving news I’ve received today!” he let out a gentle chuckle as the two continued toward the baths.

The large bubbling pools of steaming water were dotted about, each looked to have a capacity of around three people comfortably or four of you wanted to be cramped. Kirei had grabbed a towel and lowered himself within, Watsuji followed suit, taking out the time to, in as casual a fashion as he could, analyze the scars littered across his new friend’s body. He could not possibly have imagined the stories behind each of them, but he recognized the value of each. Watsuji himself had some scars across his torso, but far less than Kirei. It was evident which of the two had more experience as a warrior. Watsuji had much he could learn from the shinobi, and Kirei in particular. He had been told for years and at times he was still reminded by Hideyoshi that shinobi had no respect for the traditions of samurai. Yet, Kirei had been ultimately respectful to Watsuji in all of the circumstances so far.

“Not to be strange or invasive but you have quite a few marks of valor upon you. You’re a seasoned combatant, yes? I have heard that the ranking structure of the shinobi military system is unique. I don’t know much, only babble.”

Watsuji would splash water gently across his body and wash himself as clean as possible. The soothing bath took the ache from his muscles and felt genuinely pleasant. He could have fallen asleep right then and there as he leaned his head back. “You’ll grow too soft and lose your edge if you indulge deep in luxury this way. I won’t even start into the disgust I feel about your current whereabouts, boy, but know that I’ll remind you when you are out of code.” Watsuji looked back at the blade laying on the ground, then back to Kirei before sinking back into comfort, grumbling internally at the reminder of responsibility.

He would sit for awhile, listening to Kirei and nudging forward the conversation, hoping to learn more of what shinobi society had to offer. When it seemed Kirei was finished as well and he would realize that both of the young men’s clothing was missing, along with his weapons. “Kirei, where have our clothes gone?”

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511 | 1307

It was surely not going to be a good look, a wandering samurai from lands unknown making his debut in the headlines of whatever media the Hidden Mist Village possessed. Rushing through the streets in only a towel with his blonde friend right ahead of him. Both of them were obviously in pain from soreness, bodies having relaxed from the hot bath they had just left. Each step and dodge brought radiating soreness through Watsuji’s limbs. He pressed himself on, though. Dodging and pushing passed crowds of people on the village streets just outside the inn. He trusted his ally to had identified the thief’s somehow and was leading him in the correct direction. Losing Hideyoshi would be an ultimate sin in the eyes of his home and in the eyes of even the kind ancestors of his lineage. Furthermore, losing his mothers beautiful white blade would strike Watsuji down painfully. He would not allow it.

The sound of bare feet kicking up dirt could be heard around as the two boys pounded the pavement with great speed, though Kirei eventually overtook the samurai, his physical condition clearly more honed. He was a very fast individual. Watsuji took to focusing on the location of his comrade from a distance, making it the utmost goal to have his blonde hair in his sights no matter what. “Kirei! Don’t worry about me, I’ll catch up. Don’t let me hold you back! Just make sure you leave one for me.” he would assure the hidden leaf ninja that he need not worry himself with letting Watsuji catch up. The thieves seemed to have no chance, untrained street rats against a honed and skilled warrior. Even with the insane headstart the scumbags had received, it appeared they were no match.

A hand on his shoulder would catch Watsuji’s attention. He looked up to meet eyes with a hooded individual wearing one of the same sort of white animal based masks. “Identify yourself. Your rank. Your Village. And explain to me what you’re doing rummaging through the streets so indecently.” Watsuji looked at the individual, who wore a white boar mask. Using his reasonable response first. He took a deep breath and gave a smile in his initial response. “My apologies. I am Watsuji of the Miyamoto. I do not hail from your shinobi village’s as I am a samurai. My friend and I were bathing at the inn a few blocks back and found our items stolen by thieves! So we pursued them ourselves.”

The masked individual looked back toward the inn and then at Watsuji again. Without further conversation they grabbed the young samurai by the wrist and began to pull him in the opposite direction of Kirei and the bandits. Walking him into an alley. “Here in Kirigakure we take no prisoners. I have reason to believe you are an invader of our lands and I will have to deal with you as I see it fit.” Watsuji looked at him angrily and prepared to raise his fist when a knee caught him in the stomach with such force and intensity, the boy had never known such strength. His mouth opened and vomit escaped, blood mixed in with it as he had bitten his tongue from the jolt. A fist smashed into his left cheek and his head collided with the wall, hard enough to create a small impression and for some brick to crumble away. Watsuji grasped to conciousness as another blow to his chest sent him back into the wall with the same intense force. Watsuji felt his entire body shudder. On the precipice of collapse, he cling to consciousness with his life. Nearby, Kirei would be dealing with the street thieves with relative ease and would have secured their valuables. A voice would infiltrate the young root shinobi’s head. “One of your ilk with the white masks has taken Watsuji into an alley just back a little ways and has nearly beaten the boy to death. I believe he intends to kill him.”

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683 | 1990

“Your hands and the hands of the your ancestors are soaked with the blood of my people. Why do you feel it acceptable to wield me, BOY!” the rage of Hideyoshi could be felt by Kirei as the words drilled into his psyche. Hideyoshi truly felt so much of his pride defeated and crushed as the young shinobi held the sacred weapon he had been sealed within. The long history of pain and fighting at the hands of shinobi had given Hideyoshi a sort of paranoia. In this time, there was rampant unaddressed post-traumatic stress disorder among soldiers of these gruesome, up-close and personal conflicts. Hideyoshi was no saint, and had done terrible things in the name of war and honor, but his feelings of discomfort were from a place of pain.

The beating was only a single strike away from fatal. Concussed and weak, the young boy’s heart was struggling with the ordeal. Despite excellent physical health, being struck so hard so many times had almost sent him into cardiac arrest. It was just as the last lights prepared to flee his brain that someone arrived to stop the assault. As Watsuji glanced up, his back pressed against the wall and his body slumped slightly forward in agonizing fatigue, he noticed the man carrying his belongings as his savior. He thought to himself that it must have been Kirei. In his hands, Hideyoshi. Watsuji could hardly even fathom the strange sight. But he fathomed enough to smile slightly before tumbling toward the ground.

Kirei was on standby to catch him, helping him into his clothes and supporting his weight as they made way back to Kirei’s dormitory. Watsuji was in and out of consciousness so the journey must have seemed a lot longer to Kirei than to the samurai boy. No conversation took place during this walk, as Watsuji just simply could not manage it. The door to the dormitory opening up and the feeling of being lowered onto a bed were some of the last things Watsuji tuned into. Whenever it was that Kirei would decide to turn over to sleep, Hideyoshi would tune back in.

“I had started to wonder why the fates thought it that I should be sealed into such a novice weapon. I believe I have begun to realize the answers to that question. Watsuji, this misguided young boy, believes the shinobi will accept him. He believes with all of his heart that the past is only behind him. Tonight he feels the sting of his naivety. Nothing I said before could have saved him. I think I know why I’m in this tanto.”

Hideyoshi would pause, the room filling with silence for some time. He would chime in with one final statement “Watsuji must be protected. The only path to peaceful unions between our people lie within that boy. But he will die in your lands if he does not learn, if he does not grow. You are the only one he has here. You are the only one worthy of wielding me, and only to protect the boy. Thank you for doing so. Do not mention this conversation to him. It is only a grandfather’s will.”

Exit Thread

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540 | 2530

Speed: D-0 ~> D-3 (1175) + 150 Ryo
Endurance: D-0 ~> D-3 (1175) + 150 Ryo

Total: 2350 + 300 Ryo