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The celebration banquet began in the evening.
The open space in the center of the Village was filled with long tables and benches.
Those tables were uneven—some missing legs, some cracked—but no one cared.
There weren't enough benches either; some people stood, some squatted, and some sat directly on the ground.
The food wasn't exactly lavish: dried salted fish, rice balls, boiled wild vegetables, and a few pots of steaming miso soup.
But everyone brought out the liquor they had hidden away for years.
Kisame brought over three large jars. They were bigger than a human head, their mud seals intact; one look and you could tell they had been hidden for quite some years.
He set the jars down on the table with a dull thud:
"Siphoned off from the mission spoils."
His expression was indifferent, as if speaking of something not worth mentioning.
Ao contributed a barrel of his own brewed sake. It was a very plain barrel, made of wood and bound with iron hoops.
But when it was opened, a fragrant aroma of liquor drifted out, and those around sniffed the air.
Ao poured a bowl for everyone. When it was his turn, he picked it up, sniffed it, and frowned:
"The taste might be a bit strange."
But no one minded.
Zabuza held his bowl, leaning against the wall, taking small sips.
Chōjūrō cradled his bowl, his face already red, though whether from the alcohol or something else, he didn't know.
There were also the Anbu members, the children from the orphanage, and those Kekkei Genkai holders who had once been ostracized.
They all held their bowls, sitting by the long tables, standing in the crowd, or leaning against the base of the walls.
The setting sun descended, golden and warm, shining upon everyone.
Mei Terumī was plied with a lot of liquor.
She was the protagonist, the protagonist of this evening. Everyone knew that starting tomorrow, she would be the Fifth Mizukage.
So everyone came to toast her:
The Anbu, the Elder Council, the subordinates who had followed her for years, and the ordinary people she was meeting for the first time tonight.
Ao, with a flushed face, stood before her holding a wine cup.
That usually composed old Ninja was currently as red as a cooked shrimp, flushing from his cheeks down to his neck and ears.
His hand holding the cup was trembling, causing the liquor to slosh out and spill onto the table. His tongue was thick, and his speech was slurred:
"Mi-, Mizukage-sama... finally... finally, you can rest..."
After finishing, he cried first. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face, flowing into his beard and into the wine cup.
He stood there, holding the cup, crying like a child.
Mei Terumī patted his shoulder; her hand landed on his shoulder, patting twice, very lightly.
Then she picked up her own wine bowl, tilted her head back, and drank it.
Ao stood there stunned, watching her finish, cried a few more times, and was then pulled away by someone nearby.
Kisame rarely revealed a hint of a smile. That usually expressionless man was currently leaning against a pillar, the corners of his mouth slightly curved.
The smile was very faint, so faint it was almost imperceptible, but it was indeed a smile.
He held a wine bowl in his hand, watching the rowdy people in the venue:
Some were dancing while hugging wine jars, some were squatting in the corner crying, and some were singing at the top of their lungs with arms draped over each other's shoulders.
Noticing Mei Terumī's gaze, he turned his head, then raised his bowl, clinking it in the air with hers.
Mei Terumī also raised her bowl, and both tilted their heads back, drinking.
Zabuza leaned by the window. The spot he chose was very secluded, at the very edge of the banquet venue, next to an old, dilapidated wooden window.
Moonlight shone in through the window, falling upon him and coating his entire figure in a faint silvery white.
He leaned against the window frame, holding a bowl of liquor in his hand, not really drinking much.
But the corners of his mouth were upturned—not a distinct smile, just slightly higher than usual, as if something had gently stirred in his heart.
He gazed at the moon outside the window; the moonlight spilled onto the ground, illuminating the rowdy people and this Village that had finally found peace.
Chōjūrō was being dragged by Ao to drink.
The bespectacled youth was currently just like Ao, his face as red as a cooked shrimp, flushing from his cheeks to his neck, to his ears, and even the area behind his lenses was red.
He waved his hands while saying, "I can't, I can't," his voice thin and soft.
But Ao didn't care, and neither did the people around him; they stubbornly pressed him onto the stool, forcing him to drink bowl after bowl.
He was forced to drink several cups; after each one, he would cough for a long time, causing his glasses to slide down, and he would scramble to push them back up.
But after coughing, he would also join in with a silly laugh, his eyes squinting into slits, his lenses fogged up completely.
Kisame Hoshigaki remained silent, though his gaze never left the joyful people present.
Shinji had been sitting in the corner all along.
That spot was inconspicuous, in the shadow of an old tree.
Farthest from the long tables, farthest from the crowd, yet able to take in the entire venue.
He sat there, holding a bowl of liquor, drinking slowly. Watching those people laugh, those people cry, those people hugging each other, singing and dancing.
Watching Ao finish crying only to be forced to drink again, the rare smile from Kisame, Zabuza's profile as he gazed at the moon, and Chōjūrō, flushed red, still laughing foolishly while being plied with drink.
Then Mei Terumī walked over, holding a wine cup.
She didn't walk fast. Passing through the crowd, passing through the rowdy people, passing through the hands reaching out to toast her.
Someone called out to her, she waved them off. Someone blocked her, she sidestepped them. Just like that, step by step, she walked to the corner, to Shinji's side.
She sat down beside him.
The spot was very narrow, just enough for two people to sit side by side.
The shadow of the old tree fell upon them, and moonlight leaked through the gaps in the leaves, falling in fine, fragmented pieces between the two.
No one spoke.
The two just sat there like that, watching the lively scene.
After a moment of silence, she spoke: "Why aren't you drinking?"
Mei Terumī turned her head, looking at the bowl in his hand. The liquor in the bowl was still half full; he had been holding it for a long time without finishing it.
"I am drinking," he said.
She gave an "Oh," and didn't ask again.
Another moment of silence. From afar came a burst of laughter; someone had drunk too much and was acting rowdy.
Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating her slightly flushed cheeks and those eyes that were brighter than usual.
She suddenly leaned in a little. Very lightly, very faintly, as if unintentional. But her shoulder brushed against Shinji's.
Shinji's hand holding the wine bowl paused for a moment, then continued holding it.
But he knew his heart was in turmoil.
The two sat there like that, watching the lively scene, shoulders brushing shoulders, moonlight falling upon them.
She spoke, her voice very soft: "The position of Mizukage, I'll give it to you."
Shinji turned his head, looking at her.
Moonlight leaked through the gaps in the leaves, shining on her face, making those eyes very bright.
In that brightness, there was the coldness of the moonlight, the slight tipsiness from the alcohol, and something he had never seen before.
Soft, earnest, as if she were holding out the most precious thing to offer him.
She wasn't testing him. She was serious.
"I don't want that," he said.
Mei Terumī was stunned for a moment. The pause was short, but enough for the moonlight to shimmer in her eyes for an instant.
She looked at him, as if confirming something, or perhaps waiting for something.
"...Then what do you want?"
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