Chapter 33: Matasaburō of the Wind
Even though most of the country is desert, winter in the Land of Wind is by no means hot.
"Haa..."
A puff of white mist escaped his lips. Hiiro Rinko, now dressed in winter clothes, suddenly stopped on the path to the library, as if waiting for someone.
Though called "winter clothes," his beige high-collared sweater and long, brown trench coat looked more like autumn attire compared to the heavy cotton jackets most people wore.
Hiiro Rinko loved winter. Or rather, he loved this invigorating chill that cleared his mind.
This was his third year in Sunagakure, but he still hadn't adapted to the dry air and scorching climate.
It didn't matter that Suna's winters were even drier. A dry mouth and eyes could be solved by drinking more water. But if he wanted to feel a truly cool temperature, this was the only season he could hope for.
Of course, he loved his life here.
Studying ninjutsu, training taijutsu, forging weapons, researching Barrier Jutsu and Sealing Jutsu, finding new research topics, and, every so often, taking a break to walk around the village with Pakura and Karura.
This monotonous, repetitive life was something Hiiro Rinko cherished. He was the type of person who easily got lost in his own rhythm, and a life that so thoroughly satisfied all his desires was exactly what he wanted.
"Are you still not coming out, Oyaji?"
After waiting a bit longer, Rinko turned his head in a certain direction and sighed.
"Sheesh, how is a brat like you so perceptive?"
A light breeze swept past his ear, and a large hand landed on his head.
Turning around, Rinko saw a tall, red-haired man standing behind him. He was holding a pile of bags in his left hand, and he rubbed his chin with the hand he'd just lifted from Rinko's head, a look of frustration on his face.
"I'm an Uzumaki. Isn't it natural for my sensory abilities to be sharp?"
This tall man was Chiyo's husband and Rinko's adoptive father, Matasaburō.
In truth, Rinko rarely saw him. The man was always traveling outside Sunagakure. While "intelligence gathering" was the official reason, it was more Matasaburō's personal preference. He was the type who could never stay in one place for long, his gaze always fixed on the farthest horizon.
Rinko felt that Matasaburō was less a shinobi and more like a romanticized pirate from a fantasy story.
Born in solitude, sailing with pride, dying with valor.
As a father and husband, Matasaburō was hardly responsible, but as an individual, he lived by his own will, through and through. This self-centered nature, which bordered on ignoring everyone else, was very similar to Rinko's. Perhaps because they sensed this similarity in each other, the two of them got along quite well.
"How long are you staying this time?" Rinko asked, his arms crossed.
"Eh… I'll probably leave the day after tomorrow?" the red-haired man replied, scratching his hair, his tone vague.
"Aah, it's because you're like this that Nii-san is so crushed by the Old Hag's talent that he has no confidence."
Rinko squinted and kicked lightly at Matasaburō's leg, his voice full of open complaint for his adoptive father.
"Ha, and you're not part of the reason? You're the adopted kid, but you're the one who inherited my Wind Release. I think that's a bigger blow to Yūsa, don't you?"
Matasaburō, long used to such criticism, didn't care at all. He just shrugged, like a pig that doesn't fear boiling water.
Perhaps because of his wind-like personality, his mastery of Wind Release (Fūton) was unprecedented. He was known as "Matasaburō of the Wind," and had even once been listed by the Second Kazekage, Shamon, as a candidate for the Third Kazekage.
But obviously, his personality meant he would never sit in an office handling paperwork.
A Wind Release master like Matasaburō—his notes on jutsu were a priceless treasure. Yet Hiiro Rinko, in just three years, had learned all the techniques he'd developed, using them with perfect ease.
That talent—like an abyss greedily devouring all knowledge it touched—was already being called 'abominable' by some.
In truth, just as his personality had been softened by the influence of his body, his soul had also enacted changes on his body.
For example, his Chakra nature.
The Uzumaki Clan rarely has conventional Chakra natures; their elemental jutsu are all attribute changes learned later in life, based on their foundational Yang Release. This wasn't common knowledge, but it wasn't unknown.
But during his training, Rinko clearly felt that Wind Release came far more smoothly to him than Fire Release. Feeling something was off, he proactively asked Chiyo for a piece of Chakra paper.
The result: the paper split in two and became soaking wet. The symbols of Wind (Fūton) and Water (Suiton).
At the time, Chiyo was completely baffled by this. Every possibility ran through her head, from Rinko's mother having an affair to him not being an Uzumaki at all. In the end, she had to check countless archives before finding a plausible reason.
Although Chakra nature is an innate physical talent, Chakra itself is a mixture of physical and spiritual energy. If the "spirit" undergoes a severe distortion, the Chakra nature can change as a result. And because children are at their most malleable, this phenomenon is most common in them. (So the ancient records claimed.)
Chiyo had even posited a grand theory: the Chakra change was proof of Rinko's complete integration into Sunagakure, and the Water nature was probably his subconscious reacting to the Fire-nature Chakra of the shinobi who killed his parents.
But Hiiro Rinko knew the truth. His body's Chakra nature had been rewritten by a "spiritual upheaval," but it had absolutely nothing to do with Chiyo's analysis.
In the shinobi world, the Wind nature is seen as a blade that can sever anything. The Water nature is seen as suitable for versatile transformations and excellent support. But in Rinko's view, Wind and Water shared a commonality:
Absorption, conversion, flow, and circulation.
In a word, it was the nature of flow and change.
It was the same nature his former Cursed Technique possessed. It was the most fundamental expression of who he was.
"What do you want me to do? New knowledge and techniques are right in front of me. You expect me not to learn them?" Rinko replied, just as righteously. "In the end, we're both just bastards who have a hard time considering other people's feelings."
"We're bastards who are lucky enough to be loved anyway," Matasaburō sighed, looking up at the clear winter sky.