Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Zabuza stood motionless at the cracked window, the rain streaming down like a shroud over the blood-soaked courtyard. His grip on Kubikiribōchō was steady, but tension rippled through his frame as he watched the unfolding carnage below. Ao was fighting—not just fighting, but desperately surviving—against a foe Zabuza couldn’t fathom.

The Sarutobi was unrelenting, wielding Samehada with a fluidity that belied its monstrous size. Ao, commander of Kiri’s Hunter-Nin, Zabuza's ex-captain and a man he knew to be stronger than himself, unleashed everything. Water dragons surged from the storm, roaring with murderous intent, their jaws wide and crashing toward their target. The Sarutobi didn’t even flinch. With a single swing of Samehada, the dragons split apart mid-air, collapsing into torrents of harmless rainwater. The blade growled, its hunger for chakra palpable even from where Zabuza stood.

Ao pressed on, his movements sharp and calculated, honed by years of hunting rogue shinobi. He weaved through the mud, his hands a blur as he unleashed another devastating Suiton—Water Severing Wave—a cutting torrent that had once decapitated three enemies in one stroke. It tore through the courtyard with deadly precision, slicing through the rain like a blade.

The Sarutobi didn’t dodge. He stepped into it.

Samehada hissed as it absorbed the technique, the attack unraveling into harmless droplets before it could touch the man. Ao’s jaw tightened, his chakra surging again. A second wave followed, even larger and more destructive, aimed to overwhelm. The Sarutobi responded with a flick of his hand, redirecting the water back toward Ao. The shock on Ao’s face was unmistakable as his own jutsu turned against him, slamming into his chest with bone-shattering force. He flew backward, skidding through the mud, blood spraying from his mouth as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

“Get up,” the Sarutobi called, his voice devoid of emotion, carrying effortlessly through the storm. “I expected more from you. The legendary hunter-turned-traitor.”

Ao staggered to his feet, his body trembling from the impact, but his resolve hadn’t faltered. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, mixing with the rain and streaking down his chin. Zabuza’s sharp eyes tracked his movements, noting the slight hitch in his breathing, the barely perceptible limp as Ao shifted his weight. Mei right-hand man, huh? Seemed things in Kiri were as complex as ever. So…Had Ao betrayed their Kage? Well, ex-Kage for Zabuza? 

Ironic. How the turntables. 

Ao charged, his chakra flaring in one last desperate gambit. He hurled kunai with deadly precision, the steel slicing through the rain. They never reached their mark. Samehada swung in a lazy arc, deflecting the projectiles as if they were inconsequential. He closed the distance, his fists striking out in brutal taijutsu combinations. He aimed for the neck, the ribs, the stomach—vital points designed to cripple and kill. The Sarutobi parried each strike with terrifying ease, his movements so precise they bordered on nonchalant.

And then, in a flash of motion too fast for Zabuza to follow, the Sarutobi struck back.

Samehada smashed into Ao’s side with a force that made the earth tremble. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the mud beneath them. Ao stumbled, gasping for air, but the Sarutobi didn’t stop. Another blow landed—this time to the chest. Zabuza winced as he heard ribs crack, the sound sharp and visceral. Ao collapsed to one knee, coughing violently as blood splattered from his lips. His chakra was draining rapidly, devoured by the cursed blade that loomed over him like a predator savoring its prey.

The Sarutobi tilted his head, his expression hidden behind his mask. “You’re not even trying to live,” he said, his tone flat, almost bored. “Pathetic.”

Ao’s hands trembled as he formed another seal. His chakra surged again, weaker now but still formidable. A thick mist engulfed the courtyard, cloaking him in shadows. Zabuza’s heart twisted. This was Ao’s last move—the signature technique of a Hunter-Nin. The Mist was his weapon, his refuge.

It didn’t matter.

The Sarutobi moved, his silhouette blurring into the mist like a phantom. A sickening crack rang out as Ao’s body hit the ground again, sliding through the mud until it stopped in a lifeless heap. Blood poured from his mouth, mixing with the rain, his chest barely rising with shallow, labored breaths.

Zabuza couldn’t move, his chest tight with something he refused to name. Ao wasn’t dead—yet—but the fight was over. The Sarutobi stood over him, Samehada resting against his shoulder, rainwater streaming down the blade. He didn’t finish Ao. He didn’t need to.

"Anko, heal him. I need him alive". 

Zabuza tore his gaze away, forcing his breathing to steady. He glanced at Haku, who stood beside him, her face pale, her eyes wide with something he hadn’t seen in years: fear. The rain plastered her dark hair to her face, but she didn’t move to brush it aside. She was frozen, her usual serenity shattered by the sheer brutality of what she had just witnessed.

“Haku,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but no less commanding. “We’re taking the deal.”

She turned to him sharply, her expression a mix of disbelief and something else—fear? “Are you sure, Zabuza-sama?” Her voice wavered, something it almost never did. “I know they’re strong, but... to become their subordinates? And they said they want to…separate us.”

Zabuza’s jaw tightened. “You’re still too naive.” His words were clipped, his tone hard, but there was an edge of frustration beneath the surface. “I’m strong, Haku. I’m one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist. But that man out there...” He glanced back at the courtyard, where Ao’s lifeless body lay crumpled in the mud. “He’s not human. There’s more distance between me and him than there is between you and me.”

Haku flinched, her lips trembling as she struggled to form a response. Finally, she whispered, “I can distract them. Buy you time to escape.”

The words hit him like a knife. Zabuza’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white. The thought of her throwing herself into a fight she couldn’t win—of her dying for him—made his stomach churn. But he couldn’t let her see that. He couldn’t let her see the fear that coiled in his chest. He was Zabuza Momochi. He didn’t feel fear. He couldn’t afford to. He was Zabuza Momochi — the Demon of the Hidden Mist. The man who had slaughtered his entire class to graduate. Fear had no place here. Feelings had not place here. But…

“No,” he said sharply. His voice was harsher than he intended, but he didn’t soften it. “It’s not because they’re strong. The deal is good", he lied. The deal was good — but it totally was because they were strong than he intended to say yes. 

Haku blinked, clearly unconvinced. “But—”

“Listen, Haku.” He cut her off, his tone cold and sharp as a blade. “We—you—this is an opportunity. I join this man. I officiously join Konoha. And you, officially, you—”

“And I stay in Konoha as a hostage,” she interrupted, her tone turning ice-cold. Her eyes met his, unwavering, filled with a pain he couldn’t name. “That’s what they want, isn’t it?”

Zabuza’s chest tightened again, but this time, he forced himself to breathe through it. No, he thought bitterly. Not a hostage. A chance. A way out. She didn’t understand yet, couldn’t see the larger picture. She had not defected from Mist — wasn't in a bingo book like he was. She wasn’t a missing-nin. She wasn’t marked for death like he was. If she stayed in Konoha, she could have a future—a real one, away from blood and betrayal. He knew how the tree-huggers treated their ninja. Their young. It was…better for Haku. Better than stuck with him, constantly on the run. 

“No,” he said aloud, his voice steady but quieter now. “You’ll train. You’ll become a great shinobi under their teaching. And then, when the time comes, you’ll be more useful to me. A better tool.”

Haku recoiled slightly, her expression falling. She nodded after a moment, but her eyes carried a weight of unspoken words. “Yes, Zabuza-sama.”

Zabuza turned back to the window, his grip on Kubikiribōchō loosening slightly. The rain continued to fall, masking the blood and gore in the courtyard, but the image burned in his mind wouldn’t leave. Ao’s screams. The Sarutobi’s detached expression. The sound of bone snapping like dry wood.

“Survival first, Haku,” Zabuza murmured, the rain swallowing his words almost as quickly as he spoke them. His voice was rough, not from exhaustion but from the weight of the moment, a weight he wasn’t sure he could bear. “Everything else… comes later.”

He hesitated, the silence between them sharp enough to cut. His gaze dropped, unwilling to meet hers. He didn’t need to see her face to know what he’d find there—faith, trust, that quiet devotion she always carried. It was unwavering, unearned, and it pressed on him in ways he couldn’t describe. Her presence, so steady and resolute, had always been his strength. And now? Now it only made his chest ache.

“And I’ll come to see you,” he said finally, the words awkward and foreign in his mouth. He was Zabuza Momochi, the Demon of the Hidden Mist. Promises were not his currency. He never made promised. It was for the weak. “Often. I promise, Haku. They said I could.”

His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, forcing the words out before they could choke him. “I asked if I could, and… they said yes.”

He kept his eyes on the rain-drenched window, unwilling to turn. He couldn’t. To look at her now would mean seeing what he wasn’t ready to face: belief. Belief in him. It was the one thing she had given him freely, without question, and it was the one thing he couldn’t give back. What could he even say? That he didn’t deserve it? That the promise wasn’t for her, but for him—to see her, to remind himself that something in his life hadn’t turned to ash?

If he had turned, he would have seen her face soften, just slightly. Not in pity—Haku didn’t pity him—she respected him too much for that. She didn’t need his words. She never had. And somewhere beneath the tension, there was the faintest, rarest hint of a smile. 

Of a true, happy, smile. 

— — — 

Konoha

Sasuke lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the quiet room, shadows from the trees outside shifting lazily across the walls. His hands rested on his chest, his body still, though his mind churned with thoughts that refused to settle. The gentle rustle of leaves outside brushed against his ears, mingling with the low, almost rhythmic snores of Jiraiya echoing from somewhere down the hall. The Sarutobi compound was peaceful in a way that felt foreign, its stillness a gentle hum rather than the suffocating silence he’d known before.

Sleep was a distant concept. His mind pulsed with a restless energy that neither exhaustion nor discipline could dull. It wasn’t frustration—it was sharper, alive. Two days ago, he had graduated from the Academy. He was no longer a student. He was a genin.

The first step toward a greater goal.

A step closer to him.

His fingers brushed the cool metal of the forehead protector tied at his waist. The slight contact sent a jolt through him, as though it carried the weight of everything he had to prove. Itachi’s face flashed unbidden in his mind, not in warmth but in fire, the kind that burned without comfort. Sasuke exhaled through his nose, forcing the embers to subside.

No. Breathe.

He remembered the words of the Hokage. Anger was a weapon only if controlled. Unchecked, it became a weakness—and the Hokage’s words surfaced in his memory. Rage killed as many fools as it avenged. Dead fools accomplished nothing.

Quietly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the wooden floor cool against his feet. He stood, and padded out into the hall.

The Sarutobi compound had a different rhythm at night. The rooms felt lived-in, not haunted, their silence punctuated by the occasional soft shuffle of someone walking around or the distant murmur of someone shifting in their sleep.

Sasuke stepped into the courtyard. The space opened before him, serene and ordered, with its raked gravel paths and the sturdy, old tree in the center. He stopped, letting the cool air touch his skin. The minutes stretched on, each one filling him with a calm focus that felt sharp, clear. He didn’t mind waiting. He had learned to wait. Patience had become part of his survival.

Then, a sound.

A step.

Sasuke’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles, sharp and fleeting. He turned his head slightly, catching the movement as a figure emerged from the darkness. Cloaked, composed, the man stepped into the faint light of the moon, his expression unreadable.

“Lord Hokage,” Sasuke said, bowing deeply. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a restrained eagerness that he couldn’t quite hide.

The Shadow Clone of Hiruzen Sarutobi gave him a small smile, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Sasuke,” he said warmly. “Congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” Sasuke replied, straightening. He kept his tone respectful, though his chest tightened with anticipation. He didn’t want flattery. He wanted what came next.

The Hokage tilted his head slightly, studying the boy in front of him. “How has the last week been?”

Sasuke hesitated, his gaze flickering to the side for just a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to answer—he simply didn’t know how. The question felt too large, too layered. “I… think it’s been good,” he said finally, his words slower than usual. “I saw the Yamanaka… twice.”

He refused to say the word therapist. It grated against his pride, but he couldn’t deny the strangeness of the sessions. Talking about revenge, about dismembering Itachi with clinical precision, should have made the therapist…uneasy. Afraid. Instead, the Yamanaka had just nodded, asking pointed questions that left Sasuke unsettled. 

The Hokage nodded, his expression softening slightly. “And how is Nono treating you?”

Sasuke’s expression tightened. “Fine,” he said stiffly, unable to keep the faint irritation from his voice. Nono was... efficient. Kind, even. She reminded him of his mother in ways he didn’t like to think about, and he knew the Hokage had placed him there on purpose. But no one could replace his mother. No one.

“And Naruto?” the Hokage asked, his voice light, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Sasuke’s scowl deepened. “The idiot is insufferable,” he said sharply, crossing his arms. “But… he’s not weak. Not anymore.”

With the strange clone technique their pervert of a neighbor had taught him, he was strong, even.

The Hokage’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Is that… respect I hear?”

Sasuke stiffened. “He’s improving,” he muttered, avoiding the question. “That’s all.”

The Hokage’s smile grew. “Good. You’ve both pushed each other in ways that are invaluable. But enough of that.” His tone shifted, becoming heavier, more purposeful. “Do you remember the third part of our agreement?”

Sasuke nodded, his jaw tightening. Of course he remembered. The words had echoed in his mind every day since they’d been spoken: Learn to heal. Learn to connect. It didn’t make sense to him, not entirely, but he had agreed. If it brought him closer to power, closer to Itachi, he would do it.

“Good,” the Hokage said, his voice lowering as if the weight of his words demanded silence. “Then let me tell you about your future teacher. He’s not just anyone, Sasuke. He was one of my finest ANBU captains, a prodigy who handled missions that others wouldn’t dare. When the time came, he took on a long-term mission, a decade-long one without any contact with the village—one that likely saved his life. If he hadn’t…”

Sasuke felt the weight in the Hokage’s pause, his heart beating louder in the stillness.

“…he would have fallen. Like the rest of his kin — except you.”

Kin. The word hit Sasuke like a kunai to the chest. His jaw tightened, and his thoughts raced. Was the Hokage insinuating what he thought he was? His hands clenched reflexively, but he said nothing, forcing himself to listen. Had…Had…No. Impossible. Why? He should have known! Someone should have told him! But if the man had been away for a decade, had just learnt about what had….had….the tragedy… WHERE HAD HE BEEN WHEN SASUKE WAS ALONE AND COLD? And…What if he had learnt about what happened when he returned? Just now?

Had he felt like Sasuke had felt?

Loneliness. So much solitude. So much anger and hurt and…

The rain fell harder, a relentless rhythm against the stones of the courtyard, drenching Sasuke’s hair and seeping through his clothes. He barely felt it. All of his focus was fixed on the man who stepped forward, the faint squelch of boots on wet stone cutting through the downpour. The figure seemed to carry the rain with him, the droplets clinging to his simple ANBU garb and the dove mask that hid his face.

Kin. Family. Strong family. 

“And now,” the Hokage continued, his tone returning to its steady rhythm, “he’s back. Only a week ago. He is one of the strongest ninja in this village—perhaps stronger than even Kakashi. One that can teach you to become even stronger than Itachi.”

And then Sasuke saw them.

The eyes.

Red, spinning, endless.

Sharingan.

Sasuke’s breath hitched, his body tensing as though a blade had been pressed against his throat. 

Those eyes—he had seen them before. They were seared into his memory, burned into every nightmare. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as his mind screamed: Itachi.

But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t. The Sharingan was not unique to his brother. It was the inheritance of their blood, of their clan. Still, the trauma surged like a flood, paralyzing him in its grasp. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out even the rain. The sight of the crimson spirals was suffocating, pulling him into memories of fire, of screams, of the endless silence that followed.

Yet, beneath the crushing weight of it, there was something else. Something quieter, deeper. A flicker of warmth that fought its way through the chaos in his chest. The Sharingan weren’t just Itachi’s eyes—they were his eyes, too. The eyes of the Uchiha. And in this man, standing before him with calm stillness, Sasuke saw not just a weapon, but a reflection of himself. A clansman. Kin.

The thought struck him like lightning, his breath catching in his throat. The man wasn’t old—no older than his late teens, maybe twenty at most. Just a few years ahead of Sasuke. His lean, upright frame and the subtle tension in his stance spoke of someone who had seen battle, who had fought and endured, but there was no hostility. No threat. Only the quiet weight of his presence, like a shadow cast long and deep.

Sasuke’s mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. This was what the Hokage had meant. The mission of love. The third condition. The meaning he had been tasked to find. The man before him wasn’t just a teacher, a guide to make him stronger. 

He was like him. 

A survivor. 

The only other survivor.

A kinsman. 

A clansman. 

A brother. 

The two of them stood there in the rain, their eyes locked. Sasuke couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, his body frozen in the storm of emotions battering him from every side. The familiar pull of the Sharingan, the haunting reminder of his past, was tempered now by something unexpected. A strange sense of connection, of understanding without words. For the first time, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

The man tilted his head slightly, the crimson spirals of his eyes steady and unblinking. The rain streamed down his mask, pooling in tiny rivulets along its edges, but he stood unmoving, his presence as unshakable as the stones beneath them.

Sasuke took a shaky breath, forcing his fists to unclench. He didn’t look away. He couldn’t. This man—this teacher—was more than he had expected. More than he could have understood before this moment.

And as the rain fell between them, Sasuke understood something else. This wasn’t just a mission to grow stronger. It wasn’t just about power. It was about the future of what was left of the Uchiha. For better or worse, that future now rested on the two of them.

The Hokage’s words echoed in his mind: “Love. Compassion. Meaning.”

Sasuke didn’t know what that would look like, but for the first time, he didn’t dismiss it entirely. Maybe it was possible. Maybe… this man could show him.

And for the first time in years, standing there in the cold rain, Sasuke felt the faintest flicker of hope.