Land of Water
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"Do you think this appropriate, Lord Shimokage?"A mature woman asked the older gentleman, who was in his late 60s and smoking his pipe. The Shimokage looked up to meet a glance from the questioning woman.
"I believe so; after all, we need to get...some form of revenge, right?"
A sparking noise from a lighter came from the right direction of the kage, and the smell of cigarette smoke bellowed in front of the two elders. Standing there was a curvy woman with platinum hair that went down to her knees. There she was smoking. She took a puff and let out smoke from her mouth, and she spoke politely towards them.
"Lady Shinju, I may remind you that the Mist had massacred our village; we were lucky. At least what I can do is get intel..."
A cunning expression came from Yuihime, a woman who lost her parents and sensei to a mist shinobi. Her hatred for the Shinobi, or the whole village itself, couldn't be shifted even after all these years. She took deep breaths and puffed on her current lit cigarette. Lady Shinju looked at Yuihime in disgust at the habit of smoking. She was about to pip up until the Kage's gruff voice interrupted.
"Yuihime, I want you to go to the Mist and learn about their next plans. But don't kill anyone there, understand?"
Yuihime sighed at the request not to kill the certain Shinobi who did murder her beloved ones, but she nodded understanding and took the personal request. The woman strutted out of the Kage's office and began getting herself home to prepare to leave as soon as possible. After she exited the room, Kag, Kag and Lady Shinju, who were married, started arguing over the situation. Shinju wanted peace and let go rather than trying to plot revenge. The folks just outside the office had sweatdrops coming down their foreheads after hearing the married couple arguing again.
TIMESKIP TO 4 DAYS
After a long trip of walking towards the nearest docks, which took about a day and a half, with staying at inns and ryokans and taking the ship towards Kirigakure, Yuihime finally reached the docks on the outskirts of the leading big village on the land. She stepped off the boat that bellowed clear smoke into the sky and stretched, breathing in the air, thankfully on land finally.
Before she could do anything, it was time for sunset, meaning she needed to find the nearest Inn or Ryokan. She spotted a male straggling along the streets; she approached the elderly gentleman and asked where the nearest Inn or Ryokan was. He nodded and explained where she needed to go; she smiled gracefully down at the older man and thanked him for his kindness. There, she set out to find the nearby Inn. Once she got outside the Inn, she stepped into the place. It wasn't up to par, but it wasn't scrappy either. She requested a room for the night, and the woman at the desk gave her a key to a room on the building's first floor, which she nodded and paid. As she walked towards the corridor to her room, she brushed past a shinobi that looked familiar to her.
She looked back, and her eyes widened before she whipped her head back around and continued to walk towards her door. Once she got to her door, she unlocked her door and stepped into her room for the night. There, she locked the door behind her so nobody could get in. She flopped onto her bed and fell asleep instantly.
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Aōi
New member
“Well, I suppose I should get my act together..”
Peaceful winds blew through the seas adjacent to the island known as the Land of Water. The fresh sea breeze could be likened to a splash of fresh water after a long night of overindulgence and heavy inebriation, waking any and all up who were unsuspecting of the rising sun signaling a new day. Some shopkeepers opened up early and started their daily routines and rituals, sweeping the storefronts, counting the starting pool for the day while straightening up the space so as to warmly invite patrons as the day rolled on. A silent marketplace would eventually grow with many bustling busybodies, either walking or running to reach their next destination or to complete the errand that consumed their time. Young children in particular were fairly active, cheerful joys could be heard streaking in and out of the crowd of a thousand voices. Small things such as this were valued only by those who had seen the uglier side of life previously detailed.
Certain shinobi prayed for days like this, serving in a war torn country over a decade ago, everyday life was vastly different. To see the other side of the tunnel was always the goal, the dream, to ensure that as many lives brought into this world would be able to see them through and fulfill their innermost desires and ideas. In some ways, that is what it meant to be a ninja, to endure. To grieve. To hope that there is in fact a better tomorrow.
One Jōnin in particular, hung his hat on attaining and preserving peace. Although young, he has experienced and has first hand experience with the horrors of war, while being responsible for his platoon of shinobi who were all much older in age but did not possess the skill or motor this young man did. He was sharp, cunning and above all else, uncompromising in all facets, disallowing for anyone to harbor a thought that isn't geared toward the success of the mission and the safety of their squad. It was Aōi who understood this, saw the bigger picture and the possibility of what could be after the darkness has been lifted, such as when the Fifth Mizukage arose to the position of Water Shadow and reformed the entire village as well as effectively rehabilitate the bloody and often death grizzled public reputation what was once the ‘Blood Mist Village’, formerly famous for its ninja graduation exam, and the seven chakra enchanted blades that carried different abilities.
It was also the home to some of the world's most dangerous criminals and terrorists, used as a stage for government fraud and sent into societal disparity. Now, it is one of the beacons of the Shinobi world with its many technological advancements thanks to their formerly friendly hidden villages neighbors. With things as they stood politically, fear grew within the upper echelon of ninja that the time of peace would soon pass, and the world would once more be thrust into chaos and death once more. It was on them to be ready for that outcome, to train and fight for the freedoms of their land, though the right of conquest belonged to every-man, therein lies the problem.
Beyond the buildings, the seas border around the island and deep along the ocean's surface in what would seemingly appear to be the middle of open water, knowing the village wasn't more than some few kilometers away, it would serve as the best training and motivation. Sitting upon the face of the water is our Jōnin, his long black dreads blowing to every side that the wind took a liking to, with his Hidden Mist headband tightly wrapped to his forehead brandished proudly for all to see. His uniform however was not wet from the oceans spray, his flak jacket appeared to be unmarked, an unusual occurrence for a shinobi of his caliber. His pants were ever so damp but not cold, wet or gave the sense of uncomfortability. He sat with his forearms and hands turned upwards, relaxed like the unpredictable flow of water around him, his eyes remained closed but not tightly. This did not diminish the focus he was putting into his training regimen, as the air itself would slowly, then rapidly turn frigid, allowing for one's breath to be seen. Flurries of snowflakes started to fall, concentrated on tens of meters outwards from his own body. Through this, he was not cold nor did he allow for his focus to wane nor defeat him and simply spurred himself on through his training. In seconds, the water below his bottom began to freeze over a thick layer, and would continue to do so for many tens of meters out, the ice being not as thick as its originating epicenter, it would still remain difficult for one to free themselves underneath the frozen water with the amount of chakra that has been dispersed and formed. This part of the sea was now a miniature glacier plain.
Snow still fell, but the ice would soon reach its maximum radius from Aōi’s body, now discovering his limit and sensing that the snowstorm won't extend much further past his intended desires. More important still, it was always great to see progress made as he loathed being stagnant, still or comfortable with his own powers. There was always something more he could do and he truly believed that. His eyes opened, and he revealed his uncommonly ice blue hues, gazing at the area around him, nearly doing a one-eighty. Having been satisfied with his result, he slowly lifted himself to his full six foot frame and began walking in the direction of Kirigakure, his home. He held his hands in his pockets because of the sudden inclement weather, which was also a great sign for his progress because it didn’t feel nearly as cold the other day to his immediate body. Even one step in the right direction is better than not taking a step at all.
“C’mon Kenjin, I gotta head back soon. I’m expecting a document from the Kage office.” Aōi said nonchalantly. He also very much appeared to be talking to himself, which was far from the case. Within seconds, the ice behind him broke into multiple large pieces, forming small icebergs in the immediate vicinity, giving the word glacier its true meaning. Through the collection of ice, rose a large turtle carapace that moved towards Aōi. The ninja then leaped up and hopped onto the carapace and sat cross legged as he did prior during his training. He now only had to wait until he reached land as his hard-shell companion sought to see him back safely. He wasn’t much of a seafarer, like his father or grandfather, but he did enjoy the peace it brought him when it did and the company he usually had was never the worst thing he could ask for. It was these small moments that he enjoyed. Silence.
Until his mind floods back to the red rush of war, cries of children and the howl of blood-fueled killers, be it other ninja or regular men. The many visions of a once gleaming blade turned blood soaked and viscous, the visages of the countless bodies of men and women ninja upon a field of white snow, overcast by the grey skies and white falling flakes into the final tears that fell from their eyes. In the center: Aōi. He then reopened his eyes quickly, and shook his head to rid the lingering thoughts of gore and horror. But it was unshakable. His mind then reached back into his memory of a dying man he slayed, his wife ran out of the house begging and pleading for his life, giving up her own in return. All he could remember was taking one look, and a single more second only to lodge his kunai knife into her throat and in the following second, her body falling lifeless into the powder, with a lake of red pooling underneath her. His fist tightened upon his knee, the tension he built from the fist brought his legs down parallel to Kenjin’s shell instantaneously. With further remembrance, a Shimogakure ninja attempted to usurp revenge for his fallen friend, Aōi, who was a much colder person then, allowed the ninja to believe that he had killed him, only to be deceived by a glacier-made duplicate. Getting his kunai stuck within the body of ice, the unfortunate veteran ninja panicked at the unsightly speed of his adversaries jutsu and the once young Hidden Mist ninja then reappeared from beneath the bed of snow and relieved the Shimogakure native shinobi of his head, in one smooth and swift stroke. His domeless body dropped to its knees and fell over to the side while the head laid face down in the white blanket as a firework of crimson liquid shot from both opened ends of his former vessel. Red stained white, like a tye-dye shirt or an ink pen finally wearing out its last breath staining the blank page of a fresh sheet of paper.
Aōi remained still while seated, vividly remembering all those years ago, taking into account the sins of his actions from a past reality in which he had little choice. But yet, he still endured. The boy long dead, the man in constant evolution. With the seabed breaking in front of his enlarged ferry, it was his close friend's head rearing itself from the depths of his most comforting place. Slow but sure, Kenjin will always get there, and to his point faster still.
“It doesn’t bode well to dwell on the past, kid. I told ya this many times. Brooding doesnèt suit you.” he said plainly. He was aware of how Aōi’s mannerisms and flares in emotions shower his body, and his body language spoke all. “...Yeah. I suppose.” was all he could respond with. Within a short ride, he was back on land within Kirigakure within the market square taking a glance at the produce, looking to steal a good bargain. Given his past ninja work and reputation within the village he was able to curry favor with most of the commoners and smallfolk alike. He still intended on making his way to the Kage office, but his attention would not be turned just yet, as he rarely gets to enjoy a regular day such as this.
The Bazaar within the Hidden Mist was bustling with noise, customers attempting to barter, various vendors promoting. Murmurings began to be heard, heads turning as eyes focused on a blue haired woman. What was peculiar about her wasn’t her towering hair nor the pins fashioned within it, but the massive needle-like sword that hung on her back. She wore a face of disinterest as she trudged along through the streets of Kirigakure, that is until something caught her eye. Turning on her heel she changed the direction she was traveling before her arm hooked around the shoulder of a man pulling her over. “Gloomy Aōi. Still sulking these days?” It was Aōi Yuki, a jounin of the Hidden Mist. Like her he too fought in the war, but seemed worse for wear compared to her, the weight of what they had seen and done proving to be heavy on his mind.
Saihō was one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, the wielder of the Nuibari. While a skilled Kunoichi and swordsman, she liked to believe she was far more famous for her skill as a seamstress. In between missions she focused on that craft of hers, often offering to repair the uniforms of fellow shinobi, clothing the homeless with items sewn by her. Despite her sour expression, she was a warm hearted individual who strove to give as much as she had taken from others... perhaps even more-so. Known to come and go at random, a habit shared by her fellow swordsmen, one could only wonder what brought her to the village today.
“Tch, wearing the cheap stuff I see.” She remarked, glancing down at his uniform, grabbing and rubbing the sleeve between her fingers to feel the material. As a seamstress she often ignored personal space to study and analyze the material that made up their outfit. She sighed, shaking her head in disapproval, patting his shoulder as she moved to walk past him. “Come, walk with me snowflake.” She invited him to walk alongside her, though knowing her it was less a suggestion and more an expectation for him to join her. Where was she headed, and why was she bothering Aōi of all people right now?!
“You can tell a lot about a person from what they wear y’know?” Again, she carried on without a care, moving at the beat of her own drum, expecting everyone else to follow suit to her rhythm. “Some people wear tacky clothes, sometimes by choice, sometimes by ignorance. Then you got those who wear something way too small for them, or too big for them.” She played around with one of her needles that she held in her mouth between her teeth as if it were a toothpick. “One shouldn’t wear what doesn’t fit them anymore. Know what I mean?” She glanced his way, it was clear she wasn’t truly talking about clothes here.
Aōi
New member
He had found it. Right in the heart of the market, he had picked up probably the freshest and ripest sets of apples he had come by in some time. He loved apples and the crunch they gave when bitten into and he had his hand on the firmest one in the entire bazaar. “Let me get a half dozen Tsuki, keep the change. How's your dad been?” he asked harmlessly. This was his favorite grocer to visit due to the fresh stock closeness to his generally most frequented areas; the Kage Office, the beach shore that he likes to exit/enter Kirigakure from while atop Kenjin and most importantly: his home was also nearby. Given the busy-ness of his schedule, quick trips requiring minimal chakra for travel is ideal. The sales lady smiled back at the dread-headed shinobi gleefully, “He is well Aōi-kun thank you for asking. I’ll tell him you said hello, and…don't worry about the apples, m’kay?” she responded, winking at him while slyly giving him a bag of eight apples instead of the half dozen he asked for free of charge. Underneath his dark complexion he was blushing at the sweet gesture and gave her a respectful bow, and without any lapse in speed, on his way up he found his neck and shoulder latched onto by a foreign appendage. This was no cause for alarm because he knew exactly who would approach him like this, and his mood instantly changed to that of something more serious.
Being pulled over towards the body of a pale, glasses-wearing, sword-clad woman with a hair color that matches a treacherous midnight fog of Kirigakure’s shorelines. “Gloomy Aōi. Still sulking these days?” the woman asked. Saihō of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, a war veteran like Aōi, wielder of the blade Nuibari and a personal thorn in Aōi’s side. They had fought together, bled together and travelled with one another during the course of the war, and as one of the younger members of the platoon he was assigned, he would be slightly hazed by the older shinobi for his green ways of thinking and linear strategies. She often led the teasing, but would also be just as fast to show him how to properly swing a sword, in which she has done plenty in the past. “Tch, wearing the cheap stuff I see.” She was often well-dressed, much to the annoyance of whomever she may be around at the time because she will always seem to have a comment on whether or not what others are wearing would be “socially” acceptable. Rolling his eyes, before nodding to Tsuki in a goodbye as Saihō pinched the material of his uniform as she inspected it like he figured she would. Walking off in disapproval, she instructed him to follow her. “Come with me snowflake.” she ordered. He took a deep sigh, only knowing this could go anywhere from random to strange. But this didn’t stop him from walking with her.
Quickly catching up to her with his longer strides, they walked the bazaar as she talked. “You can tell a lot about a person from what they wear y’know?” she mused, uncaring of whether or not he was really paying attention. She was always like this, disrupting the flow of things and expecting everyone else to fall into chaos with her. “I keep my uniform simple. I have a simple job, I’ve never been one to be flashy, like you know this.” he responded. “Some people wear tacky clothes, sometimes by choice, sometimes by ignorance. Then you got those who wear something way too small for them, or too big for them.” she carried on, seemingly uncaring of what he just said. But with her there always seemed to stem a point. So he waited. As they walked, she played with one of the many needles she kept on her person between her teeth. “One shouldn’t wear what doesn’t fit them anymore. Know what I mean?” she followed with. The gears were turning now, and she wasn’t referring to fabrics. He continued on as he grabbed an apple from his bag to begin chewing, taking a healthy bite with a satisfying crunch that he loved. Quickly scarfing it down with his mouth closed he responded, “Well that depends on your definition of ‘fit’. Sometimes you don't need to create seams where the stitching is already strong.” Taking another bite out of his apple, chewing more slowly this time. He wondered what was on her mind, as she had the variance of a rubix cube being solved. What was the Seamstress trying to say? “We'd better avoid metaphors. A little grown for that arent we?” he responded, looking for her to say what was on her mind rather than sew together a conversation.
Saihō glanced sideways at Aōi as he bit into his apple with that overly casual calm of his, the crunch louder than necessary—as if it was his way of pushing back without saying much. Typical. His words didn’t go unnoticed, but she didn’t acknowledge them just yet. Instead, she walked a step ahead, fingers tracing the air idly as if weaving invisible thread, while that ever-present needle rolled to the other side of her mouth. “Strong stitching, huh…” she murmured, as if tasting the phrase. Her breath fogged faintly in the cooler mist that clung to the streets, the chill doing little to bother her. “Sounds like something someone says when they’re scared to unpick a seam.”
She stopped briefly, placing her hands on her hips, one heel cocked with practiced attitude, turning just enough to glance back at him from over her shoulder. Her towering hair shifted as she moved, the metal pins catching a glint of stray sunlight between the mist-shrouded buildings. “You were always a little too sentimental about old uniforms. The way you cling to them—stitched and stained, even if they don’t fit anymore.” Her voice was calm but the undercurrent held weight. “You think simplicity is safety. But all I see is a man afraid to tailor something new.”
And yet, there was no rancor in her words—just a strange mix of exasperation and concern, disguised as the usual ribbing. A sigh escaped her, long and drawn out, like steam slipping from a pot left too long on the stove. “Metaphors are how I speak, snowflake. Get with the program,” she quipped, not bothering to look at him now as she moved again, weaving through the crowd. “Besides, if you really wanted me to say what’s on my mind, you’d stop deflecting with apples and one-liners.”
She reached into a vendor’s stall without asking, lifted a length of cloth between her fingers, felt its weave, judged its weight. Then dropped it. “I came back to see what had changed. Funny thing—everything looks the same. Same people, same streets... same ghosts.”
A pause, brief.
“…You still wear yours like a badge.”
Without waiting for his response, she began walking again, her voice trailing behind like thread in a breeze.
“C’mon, gloomy. I need a drink. You’re buying.”
She didn’t say it, but the direction in which she moved was deliberate—toward the centre of the village, where the sea breeze cut sharper and the buildings stood taller.
Aōi
New member
Always a good listener, he was always a great channel to talk with, and receive advice from. Naturally, he was great with people in this sense, but he hardly ever appeared to want the same from his own peers and loved ones. To others, especially the woman before him, his true thoughts and feelings always seemed distant, often compartmentalizing them and placing them in a place unaccessed by even him. They walked the bazaar casually as she replied in a small murmur, mocking his insistence that the seams within the fabric of Kirigakure was stable as the cool light blue mist escaped her mouth and the sewing needle within it switched positions. “Sounds like something someone says when they’re scared to unpick a seam.” she responded. This made him stop chewing, and actually take a glance at her as she kept walking forward tracing invisible thread. The remark was unjustified in his estimation, as she knew probably better than most the demons that he still carries.
He then continued walking on, trying to match her pace and catching back up with his longer strides, only for her to stop and glance back with hands on her hips, in the natural attitude one must come to “love” about her. Almost doubling down it would seem on her previous statement, She was direct and simple, yet calm in her tone and delivery but this didn't stagger him too much, he knew that he still clung to a stained past, one marred with the tears of trauma and survivors guilt. He did crave simplicity, as well as an idea of him being able to foresee and predict everything that comes his way, but it wasn’t fear that bound him to it, it was the weight of his pain and suffering from deep within. Flashes of the woman he killed in cold blood, the ninja who sought to avenge her passing, and…the child. His mind flooded back to it all. The child he found in the white bushes watching in horror as what he would shortly realize was formerly her parents. Horrified at the true barbaric nature of himself, and the reality of what the war had transformed him into hit him in that moment, he could only merely stare at her for a brief moment before vanishing into the white canvas of the blizzard that would soon bury the bodies, but not without the heat of the flowing blood from the dismembered corpse.
He vividly remembered this day. His face remained blank as he continued past her without a word, seemingly now having lost his taste for the bushel of apples he was previously excited about. While he did sense some concern from Saihō, it would prove to be fruitless to her as he lamented the deaths of his victims. “Look Saihō,” he began, but sternly “I’m not sure what your trying to say, but I take my simplicities as seriously as I do with most other things: in stride. Things don't need to be any more complicated for me than they already are. I don't pick at seams anymore, I’ve already done my fair share of it.” he finished as he kept walking, he was uncaring of how fast she may keep up and hoped that she would very soon drop the topic in its entirety. He liked her enough, that much was true, but she wasn’t the proper outlet for him to release his thoughts to. She remarked at how her true thoughts would be much more clearer if he didn’t deflect with fruit and sass. He rolled his eyes as he thought about chewing on another one, obnoxiously this time.
She then paused as she inspected the fabrics she had come across, investigating their thread count before ultimately becoming quickly disinterested as she dropped it while explaining why she had returned to the village before remarking that nothing had in fact had changed, including the ghosts that Aōi allowed to haunt him. He largely ignored the sentiments, growing tired of having to explain that he wishes for this not to continue. The pause brief was indicative of that, she then began walking again proclaiming that they were going to drink and he would be paying. As usual. It would appear nothing did in fact change around here. His strides kept up with her smaller steps easily as they would pass into the busier part of the village, leaving the bazaar and closer into city limits. The atmosphere would change as the wind currents are more direct but the warmth from the sun offset the chilliness of the day.
Eventually they reached the bar and sat in the small booths, they’d been here before so they knew how the two shinobi enjoyed their rounds of drinks, with all Aōi having to do was sit down and swing his index finger in the air twice as the barkeep smiled and nodded while preparing a sake tray. He then began to think about his uniform, there was some truth in what she said, but he didn’t know how he would “switch” things up. “If you had to choose three things you would change about my uniform, what would they be then?” he asked playfully. The barkeep would then soon place the tray of sake down, with a plate of dango for the two to share. He poured both cups and waited to sip before hearing her answer.
Dio
Moderator
“Blareeee! Blaree!!” The horn cried out once more—deep and final—as the passenger ferry began to dock.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! This is Mitsuo, your captain. We have now arrived in the beautiful Port of Kirigakure. We’ve been granted clearance by local authorities, and guests may proceed to disembark this vessel.”
The voice, cheerful and rehearsed, fluttered out from the brass speaker like a gull against a thundercloud—entirely at odds with the gloom outside. Somewhere behind the voice, a bell clanged. Ropes creaked. Metal groaned against wood as the ship kissed the dock with the slow finality of a promise fulfilled. Some stood at the windows to take photos. Others leaned forward with excitement, whispering about Kirigakure’s shopping district, or the famed Water Plaza near the Memorial Park, and of course—its famed Theme Parks!
But the boy standing near the railing didn’t move. Not yet.
Wrapped in a muted green scarf, Nozomi Kori watched the skyline draw closer—steel and stone rising from seawater, glinting under the afternoon sun. The Hidden Mist Village looked nothing like its name. Gone were the damp, suffocating shadows people would've heard of in stories from the old days. In their place stood crystal-paneled towers, wind turbines spinning silently atop rooftops, and bridges of white stone stretching over sparkling canals. Tour banners fluttered from lampposts. Advertisements glowed on display boards near the ferry terminal. The dock was crowded with life—traders, shinobi, civilians, and tourists flowing like currents.
And he smiled. Just a little.
It wasn’t the kind of smile most people would notice—barely a shift beneath the scarf that hid the lower half of his face, more suggestion than expression. But it reached his eyes, softening their usual sharpness for a brief, unguarded moment. The kind of smile that wasn’t meant to be shared—just felt. Wrapped in a muted green scarf, three weeks away hasn't changed much, but time had a way of stretching on the island he arrived from. Things were always quiet there, always slow. The wind felt different. The ocean harsher. The cold sharp to the bone, yet... it was still homely. That old house—his old home—stood just where it always had in the thick snow. It was strange to think of it now as a holiday home, even if no one ever called it that aloud. Not out loud, no. But it was what it had become: a place to retreat to, to improve his Frost Release, and to go back to visit when he can.
Beside him stood his mother.
She held an umbrella over her shoulder, shading herself from the sun with a practiced distaste. “It’s too strong,” she had muttered earlier, “Makes everything feel slippery.”
Nozomi understands what that meant, knowing she hates the heat and the sun.
She was unlike him in almost every way. Where he was patient, she was not. Where he watched in silence, she narrowed her eyes and acted before most even noticed something was wrong. Her temper was quick, her voice sharp, her instincts honed like cold steel. And yet she was calm now—at ease, for once.
Her hair was the colour of silver, decorated by two kanzashi's attached to large gold hair pins, holding her hair in a bun elegantly framing her youthful face. She wore a pale blue haori over an off-white kimono, simple yet refined, with the gentle outlines of camellias embroidered along the sleeves. But what was more impressive, at least to Nozomi, was her face being uncovered—always was—and if she noticed how people looked at her, she gave them nothing in return.
She could’ve passed for someone in her twenties, but Nozomi had long since stopped trying to guess. He was bad at remembering the age of his Mother. The thought of time passing brought too many questions he didn’t care to ask. His Father's absence was already more than enough. It was easier to let himself believe she’d always be there, unchanged. Forever.
She glanced at him briefly, as if to check he was still present, and then turned her gaze to the approaching dock. A small hum escaped her lips. She wasn’t a woman prone to sentiment, but it was clear she, too, was quietly pleased to be back in the city.
“You’re making that face again,” she said casually, eyes forward.
Nozomi glanced at her. “What face?”
“The one that says you’ve seen something profound. Or mildly disappointing.”
She tilted her umbrella, shielding herself more from the sun.
“Either way, try not to look so mysterious. People might start thinking you’re important.”
She said it with the kind of dry ease only a mother could wield—cutting without cruelty, familiar without warmth.
Their break was nearly over.
He had taken time off to train—not just alone, but under the eyes of the clan’s elders, those cold, weather-worn figures like they turned into part of the island itself because of traditions. They had tested him in silence, spoken rarely, and offered no praise. But they had called him steady—a word that, from them, meant more than approval. It meant he could be relied upon. That he endured without complaint. That he held firm where others might freeze. And for Nozomi, that was enough.
His mother had taken the opportunity to accompany him too, using the excuse for time off work. Though even now, Nozomi wasn’t sure what her work actually was. She was based in the Mizukage Tower—he knew that much—but any time he asked what she did, she would deflect with that same half-laugh, half-warning tone she used for closing doors.
“Too boring to explain,” she’d say
Or,
“Another time, Nozomi”
Or,
“You already asked. You don’t need to ask again.”
And that would be the end of it.
Now, as the ferry’s ramp clanged into place and the port welcomed its latest round of arrivals, Nozomi stepped down beside her, blinking at the familiar glare of sunlight off polished stone and steel. Kirigakure stretched out before them—lively, gleaming, and exactly as they had left it.
It hadn’t changed. But after weeks away, it felt a little sharper. A little louder. A little more alive.
And for now, that was enough.
“They’re staring,” she said, tilting her umbrella slightly as her eyes swept the crowd.
Nozomi gave a quiet shrug. “At you.”
“If it’s me, I suppose I can’t blame them,” she said with a faint smirk.
Then, nudging him lightly with her elbow:
“If it’s you, maybe they’ve finally spotted the elusive Kori smile. Rarer than snow in summer, that one.”
A flicker of amusement reached his eyes—but he said nothing. Instead, he offered her a wave, and a bright smile, before turning on his heel and heading off at a quicker pace to downtown.
He didn’t say where he was going. He didn’t need to.
He was wondering where his sensei might be.
A few weeks ago...
A loud squawk could be heard from a messenger hawk that perched itself on the window ledge of an Inn's window. This caught the woman's attention, she looked at the window and smiled as she saw there must be intel for the mission, at hand or perhaps at least accommodation for her in this place, as she wouldn't know how long she would be in the dreaded land. Going over towards the bird, she softly took the piece of paper from its leg, and the hawk began to tuck its head into its wings, grooming itself as Yuhime read the letter.
The outfall of at least 100,000 Ryo caused her to gasp at a large amount of money, and she sighed as she took the money and placed it in her pocket. She read the note in great detail, analysing every word.
"This money should buy you a decent place and some clothing to fit in, as we need you there for at least a year. To gain great intel on the place where we could plan our attack.
She gripped the money notes and began to walk out of the door, instantly going around the mist village, finding places that were for sale. Eventually, she found a small apartment in somewhat of a somewhat nice neighbourhood, but it wasn't the wealthiest end nor was it in the slums. She nodded at the letting agent on wanting to take the place, immediately giving the asking price, which was roughly 70,000 Ryo. Of course, it was the cheapest she could find, and she was happy enough with it. With how money-hungry the man was, he instantly grinned and shook Yuihime's hand. There she began to go back to the inn.
Once she got back to the Inn, she packed the items that she bought over from Shimo, placing her cloak on to become hidden, she paid the innkeeper and instantly ran towards her new place.
Present day...
Been a few weeks since Yuihime moved into the place and she made it like her home, is it the most beautiful? No, it was basic but yet so pleasant to the eyes, otherwise you could tell a woman furnished it. She went to her fridge to see if there was anything to eat however, there was nothing, just a few drinks and a couple of leftover raw ingredients. She sighed at this and placed on her dark blue sandals that complemented the muted blues of her new outfit. She flicked one side of her hair forward, of course, the length of the hair never changed; it went down towards her ankles when it was not up in a ponytail. There she went out of her door and locked it securely, looking around cautiously. After all, she was a foreigner in these lands, and many were discriminated against due to being outsiders; to extremists, it was their bane to their existence.
Yuihime started to stroll out, running down the stairs and onto the newly laid-out sidewalks. Oh, how Kirigakure changed from its previous look; it looked modern instead of its blood-mist days. Of course, not everyone was welcoming to the new clean look. The sky began to get grey, with heavy snow clouds soon began to snow. Yui looked up at the sky at the falling snowflakes. Of course, this greatly reminded her of home, where there was snow nearly all the way around year-round. She struts down the main street looking around, She stumbled upon a market stall, where she looks at all the produce. She looked up at the tall male beside her, his dark complexion and his dreads were unusual for a Kirigakure ninja. She noticed his interactions with the shopkeeper, looking like they were flirting, in that way his face was flushed. Then a memory flashed to a similar-looking face, or rather, back, she noticed it might've been him who massacred her village. What a shame. He was a pretty handsome man to be the killer.
Of course, then a woman who appeared to know the male, as "Aoi", of course naturally, the platinum-haired female got curious and listened to their conversation about his appearance. She gave a small chuckle to herself after buying a few locally sourced fruits and vegetables and thanked the shopkeeper girl who flirted with Aoi. Yuihime then noticed Aoi and the swordswoman who wielded the Nuibari had started to leave. Of course, she could not let him go this easily, without gaining intel. Yuihime covered herself in a suspicious-looking cloak and placed it over the hood, not revealing herself too much, and started to follow them.
After the hiding and hiding, she eventually came to a bar which was just outside the village. She sat behind the two, listening to their conversation. She ordered a bottle of sake, and Yuihime began to drink, slowly indulging in the delicious alcohol. Of course, the waiter brought her a massive bottle by mistake, and she knew she only wanted half. She sat there, wondering but also half listening to their conversation before replying to Aoi in a soft tone of voice. There, she grabbed the half-drunken sake bottle and decided to get up and sit next to him.
"Well der' you could lose the outdated flak jacket for starters, it makes you look like you're about to scare off a woman"
Of course, Yuihime has a high alcohol tolerance, which means she doesn't get drunk so easily. She remembered her mission was to gain intel and not act so rashly. She was a spy, she needed to get into the Mizukage's good books to gain the information she sought after for. Yuihime placed down the bottle and looked towards the female opposite them and smiled, eyeing up her nuibari. Ah, a swordsman or, in this case, a swordswoman. This meant she had to be extra careful with what she said, her actions. Before even speaking more, Yuihime took out a cigarette and lit it up. Taking a puff and smoke billowed out from her mouth, and she questioned in curiosity.
"So, how long have you been a member of the seven swordsman?"
She asked Saiho as she offered the other two a cigarette of their own. Yuihime crossed her right leg to her left leg as she waited for the response and took another puff. She glanced at the decoration of the place; to her, it was dull and outdated compared to the rest of the land. She must admit living in Kirigakure wasn't so bad after all, definitely a huge improvement from their Blood Mist days, where everything looked dull, sad and a hotspot for crime. She offered the two her half-empty bottle of sake, and she mumbled softly.
"A lady can't finish the big bottle by herself now, can she?"
Once she got back to the Inn, she packed the items that she bought over from Shimo, placing her cloak on to become hidden, she paid the innkeeper and instantly ran towards her new place.
Present day...
Been a few weeks since Yuihime moved into the place and she made it like her home, is it the most beautiful? No, it was basic but yet so pleasant to the eyes, otherwise you could tell a woman furnished it. She went to her fridge to see if there was anything to eat however, there was nothing, just a few drinks and a couple of leftover raw ingredients. She sighed at this and placed on her dark blue sandals that complemented the muted blues of her new outfit. She flicked one side of her hair forward, of course, the length of the hair never changed; it went down towards her ankles when it was not up in a ponytail. There she went out of her door and locked it securely, looking around cautiously. After all, she was a foreigner in these lands, and many were discriminated against due to being outsiders; to extremists, it was their bane to their existence.
Yuihime started to stroll out, running down the stairs and onto the newly laid-out sidewalks. Oh, how Kirigakure changed from its previous look; it looked modern instead of its blood-mist days. Of course, not everyone was welcoming to the new clean look. The sky began to get grey, with heavy snow clouds soon began to snow. Yui looked up at the sky at the falling snowflakes. Of course, this greatly reminded her of home, where there was snow nearly all the way around year-round. She struts down the main street looking around, She stumbled upon a market stall, where she looks at all the produce. She looked up at the tall male beside her, his dark complexion and his dreads were unusual for a Kirigakure ninja. She noticed his interactions with the shopkeeper, looking like they were flirting, in that way his face was flushed. Then a memory flashed to a similar-looking face, or rather, back, she noticed it might've been him who massacred her village. What a shame. He was a pretty handsome man to be the killer.
Of course, then a woman who appeared to know the male, as "Aoi", of course naturally, the platinum-haired female got curious and listened to their conversation about his appearance. She gave a small chuckle to herself after buying a few locally sourced fruits and vegetables and thanked the shopkeeper girl who flirted with Aoi. Yuihime then noticed Aoi and the swordswoman who wielded the Nuibari had started to leave. Of course, she could not let him go this easily, without gaining intel. Yuihime covered herself in a suspicious-looking cloak and placed it over the hood, not revealing herself too much, and started to follow them.
After the hiding and hiding, she eventually came to a bar which was just outside the village. She sat behind the two, listening to their conversation. She ordered a bottle of sake, and Yuihime began to drink, slowly indulging in the delicious alcohol. Of course, the waiter brought her a massive bottle by mistake, and she knew she only wanted half. She sat there, wondering but also half listening to their conversation before replying to Aoi in a soft tone of voice. There, she grabbed the half-drunken sake bottle and decided to get up and sit next to him.
"Well der' you could lose the outdated flak jacket for starters, it makes you look like you're about to scare off a woman"
Of course, Yuihime has a high alcohol tolerance, which means she doesn't get drunk so easily. She remembered her mission was to gain intel and not act so rashly. She was a spy, she needed to get into the Mizukage's good books to gain the information she sought after for. Yuihime placed down the bottle and looked towards the female opposite them and smiled, eyeing up her nuibari. Ah, a swordsman or, in this case, a swordswoman. This meant she had to be extra careful with what she said, her actions. Before even speaking more, Yuihime took out a cigarette and lit it up. Taking a puff and smoke billowed out from her mouth, and she questioned in curiosity.
"So, how long have you been a member of the seven swordsman?"
She asked Saiho as she offered the other two a cigarette of their own. Yuihime crossed her right leg to her left leg as she waited for the response and took another puff. She glanced at the decoration of the place; to her, it was dull and outdated compared to the rest of the land. She must admit living in Kirigakure wasn't so bad after all, definitely a huge improvement from their Blood Mist days, where everything looked dull, sad and a hotspot for crime. She offered the two her half-empty bottle of sake, and she mumbled softly.
"A lady can't finish the big bottle by herself now, can she?"
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She strolled, swayed and sauntered through the streets, shooting judging glances here and there, watching what passed for fashion as of late. Needless to say she was disappointed. Shrugging with a sigh, she shook her head and continued on. It was unclear what this meant, but who else but her could ever hope to understand her mind. As they arrived at the bar she strode in as if she owned the place, never missing a step. She took her seat in the booth to her liking; lighting was everything after all.
“If you had to choose three things you would change about my uniform, what would they be then?”
Fully prepared to answer the question, instead another chimes in. Saihō reached out grabbing a stick of Dango taking a casual bite, looking the girl up and down before looking back towards Aōi with a look that was both sympathetic and judging at the same time. She watched as the woman lit up a cigarette and began to smoke, another bite taken of the Dango at that time.
"So, how long have you been a member of the seven swordsman?"
Saihō cocked her brow, finishing her stick of Dango before grabbing her cup of sake, downing it in one gulp. She had not said anything vocal up to this point, granted her expressions and looks always spoke volumes in her voice's stead. She played around with one of her pins, sucking her teeth at the same time before adjusting the glasses that rested on her face.
"Sorry dolly, never touch the stuff. Can't have my skin looking and feeling like leather."
She declined the smokes offered to her, she truly hated the stuff. The smell of smoke always stuck to one's clothing, ruining perfectly good fabric in the process. It was because of this that she rarely ever made clothes for those who did smoke, believing their habit would ruin her masterpieces.
"I'd say I've been a swordsman longer than you've been a stalker. Ey snowflake, despite that tacky cloak she was sporting the stalker's right. I'd lose the gaudy vest for starters, go with something a little more chic. Nothing in the rules say you've gotta look boring on missions or the battle field."
In a casual manner she revealed that she had noticed the woman tailing them, earlier on. The seamstress circles back around to the question posed, and while the stalker had offered a reasonable answer unlike her, Saihō was an expert in the field of clothing and fashion. She grabs the jar of sake that had been placed on the table for them, pouring herself yet another cup, lifting up to almost eye level.
"Next, I'd pick far better material. Get with the times snowflake, you can find something that both protects you and feels good on the skin too. Finally...I'd probably shake up the colors, find something to compliment your skin tone, or bring out your eyes. You listening? Taking notes?"
Like before she downs the cup, slamming it on the table before her. Her head tilts one way then the other, her hand lifting up to her chin, holding it as she leans in towards the woman, squinting her eyes. Closing her eyes she shakes her head, dropping it momentarily, peeking out at Aōi with one eye.
"So you been busy or what? That why you gloomy? Did you hit and run, now dolly here has caught up with ya to get you to pay for the kid? Shame on you snowflake tsk tsk."
She insinuates that the Jōnin has fathered a child with the woman she has outed as following them, and has been neglecting his duties. As always, her humor left much to be desired. It remained unclear if she suspected the woman that had been following them and now finally approached them as an enemy or a threat, especially as the Seamstress so far at least, hasn't done anything to show hostility or alarm towards their third wheel. Perhaps her making light of the matter would have the Yuki follow suit. She knew just how tightly wound he could be after all, as of now there was no need to jump the gun. Just like sewing, one should take it slow and steady, one stitch at a time.