Watsuji of the Miyamoto had spent two long years at home, helping with his parents’ endeavors and voicing his experiences to the samurai leadership. He had become something of a celebrity and a controversy in the tiny village he called home. A fierce debate now raged on whether the small community would entangle themselves once more with shinobi kind of remain in their hermit-like isolation from the world which began with their elders. Leading the effort to end the xenophobic isolation was Watsuji. Not only did he proclaim openly the folly of such isolation, but he protected the weak who believed similarly to himself. In a society like that, if those in power did not like what you had to say, they took care of you. Not on Watsuji’s watch, however.

Having entrusted his political revolution with his parents and close friends among the samurai people, Watsuji made his way out of his home once again. The scolding from Hideyoshi had never come to an end, even as the two grew more synchronized as a combat unit. As the blue robed samurai boy of fifteen years walked with an excited gait toward the long and open dirt path toward Konohagakure, the angry spirit had little to say. He was somewhat fond of Kirei of the Uchiha, and knew the young man would not lead his misguided ancestor astray. For Hideyoshi it was not Kirei’s identity as a shinobi that allowed him trust, but who he was beneath the titles. For Watsuji, it was the entire package. The young samurai believed the goodness and comradery he had found in Kirei was not only because of who he was on the inside, but also because the world needed to join forces in this way. It was a sign in of itself that good would come of defeating the differences among people. Shinobi and Samurai would merge for once in history.

The steady clunk of his sandals would become rhythmic to him as the hours passed. His journeys across these lands took far less time now, with his physical prowess having grown quite a bit. His hair was still that unique navy blue color, despite his mother swearing it would eventually pass into a more natural tone. Perhaps Watsuji still had a few years left before something like that occurred. One would have mistaken the young man for a immature armory as he toted all of his many weapons with him across all of the small villages in between him and his destination.

It was obvious at the moment in which the surrounding area became nothing but foliage and dirt paths through an expansive forest - Watsuji had almost reached his destination. The greenery was something to behold - it truly did shield Konohagakure from prying eyes. As Watsuji marveled at the lush setting, he paid almost no mind to caution. Only a few things rummaged through his mind. What would Konoha be like in comparison to Kirigakure? Would the people here take kindly to strangers or would he experience another unfortunate setback like he did in the Mist? No, that wouldn’t happen to him now that he had some muscle behind his actions.

And Kirei. The Uchiha boy that had become more of a brother to Watsuji over the course of their friendship. That was who Watsuji hoped to find more than anything on this journey. It was unknown to him whether or not Kirei was even still there, or even living. As Watsuji stood in the middle of the dirt path in the center of the woods, his straw hat hung behind his head and his blue and white robes blustered in the wind. It was time.

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