Chapter 9: Dinner with Ghosts
Sometimes—very rarely—when I'm lying in a bathtub full of ice, silently cursing every deity I can think of after working myself to exhaustion, I think about maybe pulling back a little.
Just a little.
Maybe I don't need to study my fuinjutsu scrolls tonight. It won't hurt to get six hours of sleep for once.
Whenever I have these traitorous thoughts, I seek out Itachi. Covertly. Subtly. Just to watch him move.
Itachi is death.
He is silent, because the grave is silent.
He is cold, because the heat of life has fled from him.
He is smooth as black ice, fast as a snapping rope, sudden as a crumbling ledge.
He doesn't practice in any of the public training grounds anymore—a subtle mark of ANBU status—but his very presence radiates perfectly controlled lethality even in a civilian setting. Every movement just so. Not a single action wasted or without purpose.
He is absolutely harmless.
And that, more than anything, is what fills me with exactly the right sort of near-manic terror to keep pushing as hard as I possibly can. No matter how many bruises, cuts, sprains, or very late nights I need to sacrifice to the altar of power.
Itachi is harmless, until he is not.
x-X-x
Passing a basic teamwork test is not the same as becoming fast friends forever.
We worked together out of a sense of camaraderie, which I tried to help along with mixed success by being as helpful and eager to please as I could without unduly irritating my team with excessive obsequiousness.
But we weren't friends. And that might come back to bite us if allowed to continue.
"Would you like to come over tonight for a team dinner?"
I timed my suggestion carefully. Both for a window during which Father was unlikely to be home from a mission, and for a day when our training was slightly lighter than normal.
Exhausted people want to go home and take a nap. Tired and hungry people want free food and a little relaxation.
Nikkei shrugged indifferently, throwing another peach into the collection basket with expert accuracy. "Sure, why not?"
Wasabi seemed a bit more aware of possible repercussions. He glanced quickly at the form of our Sensei, standing in the green shade a few yards away and flipping idly through a Bingo Book.
"It wouldn't be a problem, right?"
I offered up a confident smile, which I did not quite feel.
"Of course. Kakashi-sensei is a respected Jōnin. I don't think there will be any problems."
That was not quite true.
Kakashi had been given legal clearance to hold the Sharingan from the clan, but they weren't happy about it. No one would try anything if he just came by for an evening, but it might elicit some grumbling amongst the elders.
To be perfectly honest, I considered that a bonus. Anything I could do to subtly snub the clan was another step towards keeping myself safe from the purge. Feeble though the attempt admittedly was.
Everyone arrived. Even Kakashi, though he was half an hour late.
Mother was far too polite to comment on Nikkei's somewhat careless speech and Wasabi's occasional off-color joke. But I think they picked up on the fact that it was politeness that kept her from commenting.
The Uchiha haven't quite mastered cutting politeness to the same degree as our distant cousins the Hyuuga (we make up for it in arrogance), but there is something about being improper around someone who you know won't say anything that makes one uncomfortable.
As my teammates began slightly stilted small talk around the dinner table, I considered the problem of my clan anew.
An Uchiha without clan backing has never happened before. Not even Itachi at his most overt, or Shisui's undying cheerfulness have actually openly flouted protocol in that way.
If I emancipated myself from the clan... moved out of the compound... got a new name...
I don't know what would happen. I don't know if I would be allowed.
My lip quirked in a mirthless grin before I reshaped it into a proper smile at one of Wasabi's milder jokes.
Scratch that. I know exactly what would happen.
Without the clan to raise a fuss about it, I would be quietly disappeared into ROOT. Every trace of self erased through brutal conditioning. Sent to an early grave via suicide mission after suicide mission.
Perhaps that is the dark truth every member of the Hyuuga Branch House knows, deep down. Better to suffer the tyranny of the Main House than god only knows what outside their protective umbrella.
My shoulders slumped just a fraction of an inch as I took another bite of rice.
It's a moot point, anyway. Genin get more legal rights, sure, but age is not entirely discounted. I need to be at least twelve, or a Chunin, before I reach legal adulthood and can emancipate myself from my 'family'.
"So, how are you liking D-ranks?"
I blinked at my mother. She was wearing a very slight smirk as she sipped from the pale orange porcelain of her teacup, appreciating the break from morbid lines of thought.
Nikkei grumbled unhappily, arms folded into her lumpy tan jacket. "Boring! Picking fruit, painting fences... I want a real mission!"
I smiled cheerfully at her, thankful that her inexperience prevented her from reading my mood as accurately as mother could.
"Well, it pays pretty well, doesn't it? And it's supposed to give you more chances to hone your skills. Peach picking is easier when you can walk up trees, nee?"
Kakashi nodded approvingly, face solemn.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, kiddies. You'll be going on real missions soon enough."
------
Want to jump 30+ chapters ahead right now?
You can read the advanced chapters and support me directly on p 4 treon.
Link in the synopsis & profile: p 4 treon > ForgottenDaoist