The World Was All Before Him

The World Was All Before Him

- SuishouTenshi

A/N: Hey guys. I'm back after not having internet for 3 weeks. I almost died.... Anyway, hi. I hope this chapter will make sense. I've always been very interested in the intricacies of politics, but has never been particularly good with it myself.

Some terms you'll see:

Seiza - The Japanese formal way of sitting on one's knees with one's buttocks supported by his or her feet. Very painful. I myself could only last for 10-15 minutes.

Tea Ceremony - A very detailed, very ancient process. Look it up on Wikipedia if you're interested. The style I'm writing about in this chapter is the Chaji, which could last up to 4 hours. BTW, one tea master I spoke to said he could sit seiza for a maximum of 45 minutes, and he's been practicing tea for the last 30 years.

So keep this information in mind, and please read on. Have fun!

Act IV, Scene V: His Own Hangman

A young shinobi-to-be’s schooling was expectedly extensive and, sometimes, even excessive. Aside from the usual weaponry skills, chakra mastery and hand-to-hand training, one was also taught the classics and annals, advanced arithmetic, natural philosophy and even introductory lessons for the most common musical instruments.

Some courses often appeared absolutely useless, such as the flower arrangement classes targeted toward aspiring kunoichi, and for the boys, a seminar subtly titled, “Etiquette in Courtship,” or, as the entire village cheekily called it, “Seduction - Start Them Young.”

The school curriculum detailed these supplemental workshops as “Worldly skills, of which if employed appropriately, assist in elevating an undercover shinobi’s cogency.”

And so it was due to such a lesson that Sasuke found himself, along with the rest of the boys in his first year Academy class, stuck in Sandaime Hokage’s personal tea room.

Apparently, Sandaime himself suggested this addition to the Academy curriculum several decades ago. As an active tea master, it was his personal belief that all young men should be trained in this aesthetic discipline.

To a collective of four-year-olds, however, sitting seiza for hours was the equivalent of physical torture. With the added expectation for them to be still and restrained throughout, tea ceremony classes were the ultimate preparation for possible sadistic enemies in their future career.

Naruto was the first to give up the proper kneeling position. Yondaime had but one Eastern-style room in his mansion, so Naruto grew up with the full comfort of chairs and couches. It was only their first lesson, and Sandaime had merely asked them to try their best. But Naruto had whispered a dare to their little corner group to see who could sit still the longest. The gauntlet was only vocally taken up by an enthusiastic Kiba, but Sasuke, too, fought to rise to the challenge.

Naruto lasted a total of ten minutes. Sandaime didn’t even blink when Naruto fell to his side, collapsing unto Sasuke’s shoulder, mimicking sobs for his poor numbed shins.

Five minutes later, Kiba fell backwards, and Sasuke was suddenly sandwiched between the two most hyper members of their class, now free to sit however they wished. And apparently, they wished to sway and giggle.

Sasuke managed to persist for another twenty minutes, despite the constant jostling from his neighbors, beating a red-faced Chouji by fifteen, but lost to a composed Shino and, surprisingly, Shikamaru, whom had evidently fallen asleep on his knees some time during the lesson. An hour into the class, Sandaime threw a disparaging glare their way and ended it with a sigh.

The announcement was met with cheers, Sandaime’s vow to treat them to sweets drew even louder applause. Some twenty-plus boys fought to sit on the few mossy stepping stones within the adjoining garden, their exuberance a clear contrast to the severely spartan atmosphere of the tea house.

Sasuke didn’t rush. The Uchiha compound had always been able to afford the up-keeping of a similar tea cloister. The scenery was nothing new to him. He sat lotus style on Sandaime’s immaculate tatami, musing at the bustle of his classmates outside. When a wrinkled palm waved a cookie under his nose, Sasuke took it with a murmured thanks.

“You would not like to join them?” asked Sandaime, lips smacking together almost unnaturally, as if seeking for something to wrap around. He made a self-imposed rule never to smoke his pipe in the tea room, and it seemed he was beginning to feel the push of his personal limit.

Sasuke shrugged and subtly shifted away to his right. Sandaime was probably the nicest old man in his generation, but he still smelled like prune juice and pipe smoke.

In the garden, the sweets were wolfed down and the boys began to wrestle.

To the retired Hokage’s query, Sasuke replied, “Father said not to get my clothes dirty again if I could help it.”

Sandaime chuckled. “But it’s in my experience that young men need dirt patches on their clothes to grow properly.”

“My brother grew up fine, and Father said he always came home clean.” Sasuke didn’t mean to, but his words sounded bitter even to his own ears. He had yet to patch things up with Itachi after their recent fight. He’d rebuffed his brother the few times Itachi tried to bride him, even though he wasn’t even mad anymore. Sasuke just didn’t know how to look at Itachi in the eyes, his mind still echoing the things Itachi accused him of, without any effort or improvement on his own part to prove those hurtful words wrong.

He snuck a look at Naruto, who was clutching his belly and happily guffawing to his new ring of followers. Naruto made many new friends since school started three weeks ago. These were the same boys who would never speak to Naruto in front of their parents, but liked the little blond well enough to sneak a grin or a thumbs-up even when their other hand clung to their worried mothers’ aprons. Sasuke dismissed them aloud only once, because Naruto had in turned dismissed his dismissal, as if he was perfectly alright with his so-called new friends turning their backs on him every time their mothers tugged on their fingers a little harder.

Sasuke didn’t understand the outright rejection of Naruto from the village grownups, though it was a phenomenon he’d witness long since he could remember. He could never be sure whether Naruto took any notice, however, since he honestly couldn’t remember the last time Naruto didn’t wear a visible grin on his face.

Suddenly realizing that he’d tuned out in the middle of a conversation with Sandaime, Sasuke turned back to the old man’s questioning glance. He didn’t hear whatever it was said to him half a minute ago, and there was no way he’d find out without revealing just how little attention he was paying to a former Hokage, so he asked instead, “Sandaime-sama, do you know how to do a Katon?”

Sarutobi’s fingers twitched a beat faster than the corner of his lips. “And why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to learn, but Father doesn’t want to teach me until I’m a little older.”

“Maybe that’s a wise decision. You could hurt yourself.”

The denial left the tip of his tongue in a rush. He’d expected this reaction and was ready to fight it. “I wouldn’t. I’ve never hurt myself before, not even tripping and falling, like Naruto does sometimes.” He blushed. Sasuke could never go long without bringing up Naruto in some form. He did this at home, too, and has just recently realized how much this bothered Itachi at the dinner table. Pushing away the momentary embarrassment, Sasuke plowed on, “I’ve never even cut myself on a kunai or shuriken, and I’ve already gotten the correct throwing forms down. Iruka-sensei said hand-to-hand training takes time, but I think I’m ready to practice chakra-based jutsu.”

“But why not start with something simpler? Like a bunshin?”

“I think I’m old enough to learn Katon,” the littlest Uchiha insisted.

Amused brown eyes silently praised the self-assured four-year-old. “And what will you do with it after attaining mastery?”

Dark blue eyes snapped to Naruto’s direction at once. “I’ll teach it to Naru-chan, I mean, Naruto-kun.”

Sandaime only hummed in response. Two seconds later, he whistled loudly through his teeth, momentarily disturbing the children’s ordered chaos, and beckoned, “Naruto-kun, will you join me for a moment?”

Naruto promptly disbanded his surrounding fans and hopped back onto the tatami mats. After casually surveying the expansive emptiness to Sandaime’s left and the little space bookended by Sasuke’s body and a wall, he took an uncomfortable seat next to his young friend. Sasuke graciously scooted an inch away to give Naruto some room, but they still ended up kneeling with their sides pasted to one another.

“What’s tootin’, Granps?” Naruto hollered.

“Good god, and who taught you that particular greeting?”

“Shisui-nii!”

“Of course. And that which I am currently... ‘tooting,’ if that is the correct usage, is a question concerning your interest in learning a Katon.”

Round sky-blue eyes blinked incomprehensibly. “Are we having a pop quiz on it tomorrow? Iruka-sensei really likes pop quizzes. I hate them!”

Sasuke eye-roll brought out a full-toothed grin on Sandaime’s face.

“No, I don’t believe so, Naruto-kun. Nor will you be quizzed on it anytime soon, if, really, ever.”

Naruto cackled and bumped his shoulder into Sasuke’s. “Then why do I gotta learn it?”

Sasuke interrupted in the most serious tone he could muster, “It looks really awesome.”

“Then you learn it, Sasuke. And I’ll watch!”

The words were conveyed via Naruto’s typical grin. Sasuke had no doubt that his friend would forget ever saying them in a matter of hours. But he took the order and beamed a meaningful glance at a Sandaime who was studying him with an almost unnatural soberness. To his right, Naruto straightened out his legs to kick at air. He didn’t leave Sasuke’s side for the rest of their class’s stay.

A week later, Sasuke’s nonplussed father took him out to a sandy training ground and told him of Sandaime’s personal request for him to teach Sasuke the Katon technique variations.

During his fifth birthday celebration that July, standing like a little prince with an Uchiha seal emblazoned onto the back of his navy blue yukata, Sasuke conjured an inferno for Naruto.

The guests awed and applauded as the glistening sand beneath their feet struggled to resist against an imminent metamorphoses into glass. And as that last breath of ember fought for survival in midair, Sasuke caught the smile on Naruto’s whiskered cheeks from across the courtyard. His blue eyes were aglow with the inextinguishable reflections of Sasuke’s fire.

--------------------

A month had passed since Uchiha Fugaku broke the news of Mist Village’s newly ascended Mizukage. It was a month of sending out streams of spies into Mist for information, a month of heightened security alerts just in case Mist’s domestic affair was a preclude to an international altercation. It didn’t help that Mist didn’t broadcast their change in regime to any outside sources at all, not even to their supposed allies.

Then, four days ago, Konohakagure’s own Yondaime left with a mere entourage of two to attend an emergency meeting at the Fire Country’s capital city. Aside from changes of clothing and basic toiletries, Minato only took with him a secret scroll obtained from Mist, within which was supposedly written the reason for this gathering of the nation’s leading Lords and Governors.

The meeting didn’t take too long. Yondaime sent back word earlier that morning of his scheduled return in, according to Kakashi’s scarily accurate internal clock, half an hour.

Kakashi was currently pacing in Yondaime’s dining room. It irritated him that he couldn’t even go to the Hokage tower to wait for his sensei’s return, not when Naruto had just been put to bed an hour ago, and he was the sole babysitter. It felt like he’d been pacing aimlessly since Minato left the village... since Minato left without telling Kakashi about the contents of the scroll.

That was more than enough cause for alarm. The last time Yondaime had actively tried to hide something from Kakashi, he was about to go and battle Kyuubi. Furthermore, as Kakashi silently said goodbye from behind a tree at the village front gate (because whatever this was, it was bad enough that Yondaime even ordered Kakashi not to see him off), he could see for the first time signs that reminded him sensei was turning thirty this year.

After Yondaime left, Kakashi briefly entertained the thought of prying his fellow shinobi for details. For a hyper secure hidden village, gossip had a way of magically spreading around. Leaf ninjas shared about as many intel with one another as they kept from their enemies. But he held himself back. If Yondaime truly didn’t want Kakashi to know, then finding out from anyone else would do Kakashi no good whatsoever.

The grandfather clock in the living room struck eleven, and Yondaime appeared in the middle of Kakashi’s pacing path, adorned in his Hokage ceremonial gear.

One leg still in motion to take its next step, Kakashi asked stupidly, “You came home straight away?”

The Hokage hat was thrown onto the dining table. “Yup. Nara was practically crawling as we got close to the village. Said he didn’t want to go home to his nagging wife just yet. I left Momo to deal with him. Besides, it’s late. No one will care if I wait until tomorrow to file a report.”

“You should still go in. Koharu-sama and Homura-sama are waiting at the office right now, Sensei.”

“They’ll figure it out once Momo manages to drag Nara’s lazy ass back.” Minato stretched his back and reached for a cup of water on the dining room table.

Before he could get within range, Kakashi wedged in and blocked his way.

One eyebrow rose. Minato leaned an inch forward, pushing his chest into the many pockets and indents of Kakashi’s Jounin vest. As Minato exhaled his next words, Kakashi felt each little puff of breath through his own lungs.

“You’d be so cruel as to deny me a cup of water after a long day of travel, in my own house?”

Kakashi was glad he hadn’t taken off his hitai-ate. Having Yondaime’s jocularity twinkling so close to his face was dizzying enough without the help of his Sharingan sight.

“Tell me about the scroll, and the meeting, and I’ll let you drink.”

Rumbles of low laughter rocked against Kakashi’s diaphragm.

“Is this an interrogation?”

“If you want to think of it that way.”

“Doesn’t the accused get a seat, at least?”

Kakashi boldly slapped away Minato’s hand as he tried to grab a nearby chair.

“Ah, okay.” Minato nodded. The smile didn’t leave, but the gaiety did. “So it’s more of an interrogation-slash-torture session, huh, Hatake-kun?”

What was commonly known as a polite honorific somehow sounded extremely belittling coming out of Minato’s mouth. Irritated, Kakashi pushed back, “What did the intel say that made you so tense? What was so important you had to leave for the capital right away? Tell me. We don’t have secrets, Hokage-sama.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t trick the answer out of some loose-lipped Chuunin from my office.”

With their eyes now so close Kakashi could see nothing else in his line of sight, he demanded one last time, “Tell me.”

Yondaime shrugged and tore away Kakashi’s mask.

“Okay. But I refuse to stand here at a disadvantage.” Cold air hit the bridge of Kakashi’s nose, cooling the sweat that had gathered there. “No secrets, you said? Sure. No problem.” He went for the hitai-ate next. Kakashi had to shut his right eye to protect himself from the sudden onslaught of Yondaime Hokage across the entirety of his second vision. “And from now on, Kakashi, when it’s just the two of us, alone, you are never, ever, to wear these things.”

Minato took a step back, giving Kakashi a mere fraction of the space he needed to breathe comfortably. Mask and forehead protector securely imprisoned in one hand, Minato traced his other up and down the vertical zipper of Kakashi’s vest, threatening to take away that one last shield as well.

As last, Minato settled for fiddling with a random button around Kakashi’s left rib area. Gulping, Kakashi hazarded a glimpse at Minato’s face. Instead of the taunting mien he’d honestly expected, Kakashi found Yondaime uncharacteristically contrite. Worried, even.

“Sensei?”

“The new Mizukage is no one. No one important. Somewhat skilled with a small trail of A-class missions. Average even.... It’s the one backing him that had me rushing off to meet with the entire council.”

Infuriatingly, Yondaime paused.

Kakashi pushed the cup of water into his hand. If it couldn’t force Minato to talk anymore, then it could at least make him stop fidgeting with Kakashi’s button.

Of course, Minato then decided he wasn’t thirsty after all.

“It’s Ryuuza,” Minato finally admitted with a grimace. “Uzumaki Ryuuza.”

The Namikaze dining room floor remained luckily undamaged as Kakashi retained just enough composure to keep his grip on the cup that Yondaime rejected. “Kushina-sama’s...”

“Yup. My esteemed father-in-law. Naruto’s grandaddy. One rich old bastard formerly allied with the Whirlpool Country.”

“But he disappeared after Kushina-sama’s passing.”

Minato looked up through his blond eyelashes and away from the victimized button. His smirk was a distraught one. “And now we know where he went.”

Kakashi silently processed the news. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to Yondaime, especially when this all powerful man of influence was obviously so overwrought that he seemed like he’d be content to play with Kakashi’s button until this whole episode resolved itself.

For all intents and purposes, how a foreign former Lord spent his money was none of their business. But it was ground for concern when the same wealthy Lord decided to support another hidden ninja village in another country, specially one with whom Leaf had shared some bad history. The clincher, of course, was that Mist didn’t feel the need to tell anyone about their newly acquired sponsor (that is, if Uzumaki’s involvement was really a fresh development). An omission this extreme tend to indicate guilt.

Fire’s long-term friendship with Whirlpool meant they could not control the matter within the Leaf village. The entire country was now involved. The very first business, if Kakashi could recall his international politics lessons, was to contact the Whirlpool Country, Uzumaki’s old home, and gather as much information as they could.

Lastly, Ryuuza had always been a weak point of Minato’s. When Ryuuza delivered his only child’s hand to a loveless marriage under pressure to make nice with the Fire Country, he was already full of contempt. And when Kushina died in childbirth, there was nothing in the world that could have quelled Lord Uzumaki’s enmity. He wasn’t capable of physically harming Minato, few did, but then again, the silent guilt had been slowly gnawing at Minato for the last five years. As the person closest to Yondaime, Kakashi understood that lack of love didn’t mean lack of concern. Kushina’s death, though it meant Minato’s freedom, wasn’t something Minato had ever wished for. Kushina’s name was never again mentioned since Minato declared Naruto as Konoha’s son. There was no point in spreading salt on a wound that was never meant to heal.

There was nothing Kakashi could sayto make Yondaime feel better.

“What did the Lords decide?” he chose to ask instead.

“They glared at me a lot. And they blamed each other for not keeping a tighter leash on the old man.”

Scowling, Kakashi bit out, “How could it be anyone’s fault? Everyone was drained after handling the aftermath of Kyuubi’s invasion. Uzumaki made no indication he was going to return to the political world, much less in such a manner. How was anyone to...”

“Yes, yes. But we did treat this problem with an out-of-sight-out-of-mind attitude. In the end, the Lords were only willing to warn Whirlpool’s head administration on our behalf. Everything else, they said, was between two shinobi villages, and we shouldn’t involve the peaceful public.”

The absence of vitriol in Minato’s admission made Kakashi wonder whether the genius Hokage-sama was in too much shock to realize that their own country had effectively abandoned them. He look another good look at his sensei, at the casual slump of the man’s robed shoulders, the sluggish bend of his right knee, the almost childish attachment he’d formed with Kakashi’s button, and backed into the dining table so hard he almost tilted it over.

Minato smiled, unperturbed and oddly pleased.

Yondaime was not perfect, Kakashi knew, but for all his flaws, he’d always remained resolute despite the severity of any given situation. No, Yondaime was not perfect. But he was never a quitter. Determination had always been his strongest asset.

This new Yondaime was a stranger. This calmness wasn’t the unflappable poise of a man with a purpose. Resignation was not a good look on him.

“Sensei, you have a plan.” Kakashi’s voice didn’t rise in pitch at the end of his question. It sounded like he was begging.

Sky blue eyes smiled apologetically. “I have a course of action in mind. Contact the other Kages, partial disclosure to the Mist about what we know of their change in leadership, and hope that father-in-law won’t make this any more difficult by hiding from us. Maybe all this worrying could be for nothing. The best case scenario would be to have no need for a plan.”

And maybe Ryuuza spent a fortune to raise an average shinobi to the height of power purely out of kindness.

Minato was floundering, grasping at straws because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t really want to go against an opponent.

Kakashi didn’t have the heart to call him out on the fact.

“What can I do to help?” he asked after swallowing a sigh.

“I don’t want you involved in the Mist matter. But,” he quickly added just as Kakashi opened his mouth to argue, “I have another mission for you.”

Kakashi grunted. The Mist situation was their current top-most priority concern. He couldn’t think of any other active cases important enough to warrant his attention.

Yondaime’s long fingers gripped the bony corners of Kakashi’s shoulders. He gave his former student one tiny shake. “Know this, I can’t have you denying this command, mostly because I can’t focus on Mist if I’m apprehensive about something else. Also, if you deny me, I have no other person to turn to. I apologize, Kakashi, but even though this will displease you greatly, I must order you to take yourself off of the active duty roster and apply for admission into the Uchiha police force.”

A sharp intake of breath was all that was needed to prove Yondaime’s words correct, Kakashi hated the idea.

Having expected the hesitancy, Yondaime squeezed Kakashi’s shoulders ever tighter, as if to prevent him from escaping. “I need you to do this for me, Kakashi. I need to know exactly what the Uchihas are up to. You are the only non-Uchiha in this village with the right and privilege to infiltrate into their inner most circle.”

A thumb brushed against the corner of Kakashi’s Sharingan eye. Involuntarily, he pressed his exposed scar closer to Yondaime’s warm palm.

“They dislike and distrust me. They will know immediately that I’m spying on them for you.” One eye was never going to be enough to earn Kakashi acceptance into the Uchiha clan. They would never call him comrade. This was where he belonged, in this dining room which smelled like ramen, with this man before him cradling his cheek and the gem of their hearts gently asleep in room above. He didn’t want to go, not to a place where he would not be able to trust the men watching his back, where every word spoken contained hidden daggers.

But Yondaime was insistent. “Of course they’ll know. They’ll be watching you watching them. And knowing your purpose there, however unstated, they will gradually feel the need to involve you, if only to prove that they have nothing to hide. Meanwhile, you’ll be able to dig into the projects they try to conceal. You will do this.”

Yeah. He will. And Yondaime knew his answer before he even made the request. No, not request. An order. Because ever since Yondaime became Kakashi’s teacher, Kakashi took the man’s every word as an order.

So he nodded, fast and blind. Yondaime puffed a breath of air and pulled Kakashi to him, tucking silver locks between his ear and shoulder. Kakashi had no qualms about clinging back, not if this was the only reward he’d get for volunteering to walk into the one place he was afraid to go in to.

- TBC

A/N: Title: "Every guilt person is his own hangman. " - Seneca the Younger. I really hope this chapter made sense... I spent, on average, 20 minutes mulling over each sentence, so the overall idea might've gotten lost somewhere in the writing process. Um, ask me if you're confused, I guess?

And oh, yes, Yondaime is a cradle-robbing tease. But I love him anyway, and I hope you do too.