Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Konoha, Land of Fire 

Two months after the Academy Graduation 

"Cat", Hiruzen called. 

The door creaked open, and Cat. Dressed in tight black armor that hugged her lean, muscular frame, she moved with effortless power. Her mask obscured her face as her dark eyes assessed the room. 

Hiruzen leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head with a soft groan. A year ago, Cat would have found this gesture strange—perhaps even unsettling. A year ago, even such a simple movement would have felt out of place, a sign of weakness in the eyes of some. But now, it was the least odd thing he did, and for that, she was almost grateful. No blood to spill today, no unexpected reforms, no Kakashi demanding the impossible. It was a peaceful moment, by her standards.

Hiruzen didn’t look up immediately. He knew she was there—felt her presence, as always. After a beat, he slid two envelopes across the desk toward her, the names Sandayū Asama and Doto Kazahana inscribed on them in neat, purposeful strokes.

“Distribute these,” he said, his voice low, but commanding. “Through Gato’s Canal. Make them believe they came from him. I’ve already imitated the handwriting.”

Cat’s eyes lingered on the envelopes for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she nodded, her fingers brushing the paper lightly, as if testing it. “Understood,” she replied, her voice smooth, devoid of emotion, but there was a glint of calculation behind her gaze.

“Is the caravan ready?” Hiruzen asked, finally meeting her eyes.

“Twenty-two cartwheels,” Cat answered, her tone sharp and direct. “Food, tools, medical supplies. Everything’s in order.”

“Perfect.” Hiruzen’s lips quirked slightly, as though pleased with the efficiency. He paused before continuing, his eyes narrowing slightly. “One last thing, Cat. Send an Anbu to the Kusakage. We’ll be paying him a…diplomatic visit soon. Make it sounds…routine. A routine visit to strengthen diplomatic relations, yes.”

“Poor Kusakage,” she almost wanted to whisper. But she didn’t respond with anything more than a grave nod.

"Your will will be done, Lord Hokage"

Without another word, she snapped a salute, turned and left, her footsteps as quiet as a whisper, leaving the Hokage to his thoughts. Hiruzen leaned back once more, the faintest of smiles on his lips. Just another day, he thought, his eyes glinting with the weight of it all.

— — — 

Somewhere in the Land of fire 

Shizune stood in the doorway, her hands gripping the edges of her sleeves to keep them from trembling. The faint clink of glass echoed through the room as Tsunade placed a vial into her pack. One hand braced against the open luggage, the other reached for the next object—a rolled scroll. The one given by the Hokage. The one with the names. 

The room felt smaller than it had moments before. Crates lined the corners like soldiers in disarray, half-empty bottles of sake abandoned on the floor. Tsunade’s cloak was draped across the back of a chair, its fabric still heavy with dust from their last stop. The smell of the place—aged wood, a bitter trace of alcohol, and the faintest hint of herbs—hung in the air like a memory refusing to leave.

“Are you sure, Tsunade-sama?” Shizune’s voice came soft, almost swallowed by the space between them. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked. It wouldn’t be the last, if her resolve cracked further.

Tsunade didn’t look up. She rolled her shoulders, easing the tension gathered there, then pulled a bundle of bandages taut before tossing it into the bag. “Yes, Shizune…"

Tsunade finally paused. Her hand hovered over the pack, fingers curling faintly as though they might grasp at something unseen. For a fleeting moment, Shizune thought she might speak, that she might let slip some fragment of hesitation—something to make sense of this decision. But then Tsunade straightened, her spine rigid, her face set into that mask of impenetrable steel Shizune knew far too well.

— — — — 

Konoha 

Kurenai’s gaze flicked toward Hiashi Hyuga, her lips tightening as she caught his eyes. The nerve of him—his arrogance, his belief that he could dictate every aspect of his daughter’s life. She hadn’t dared to look at him like this before, but now, the oppressive weight of his presence felt a little lighter. She would never have given him this look a few years ago, but things were different now. She was no longer the young, uncertain chunin who hesitated before her elders. And…the fact they had the Hokage seated in front of them helped. A bit. Okey, a lot. The man was still the Head of the most powerful clan in Konoha. 

The Hokage exhaled a soft sigh, the kind that suggested he was already weary of the back-and-forth. "So, it seems we’re at an impasse, aren’t we?" he remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The words hit the air with a casualness that only someone of his stature could afford, as if he’d heard this same argument countless times before. Kurenai resisted the urge to roll her eyes—he had probably heard it all before. But it was hardly the time for indifference. Not when Hinata was caught in the middle, sitting in the corner, trying to fade into the shadows.

Kurenai’s chest tightened at the sight. The girl’s head was bowed low, her posture hunched as though her very presence were an inconvenience to the room. The way she clutched her arms to herself—Kurenai knew it wasn’t from the cold. Hinata was like a ghost, her confidence crushed by her father’s words, by the weight of expectations too heavy for anyone to bear. Kurenai couldn’t ignore the flicker of pity that tugged at her heart, but she quickly buried it. She deserved better than pity. She deserved to be seen. Kurenai wouldn’t let Hiashi turn her into a shadow.

She focused her attention back to the Hokage. His calm demeanor helped steady her own frustration. "Hokage-sama, it's necessary for all ninjas to complete C-rank missions as part of their development," she began, keeping her voice firm but respectful. "Hinata’s team is ready. And it’s just a C-rank mission—there’s no real danger."

Hiashi’s expression twisted into one of disdain. "Absolutely not," he snapped, his voice cutting through the room like a sharp blade. "I will not allow her to leave the village. She’s not marked, and she's weak." He spat the word as though it were a curse, his voice growing colder still. "I won’t risk the Byakugan on an outside mission, especially with a rookie Jonin who probably can’t protect her."

Kurenai froze, her pulse quickening at the word. Marked. Hinata flinched at it, her shoulders curling inward, as though she’d been struck. Kurenai caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, the way Hinata trembled ever so slightly at the weight of Hiashi’s scorn. It took everything Kurenai had not to snap at him, to defend her student. To tell him it was because of his she was like that. Growing without love…But she didn’t. Instead, she let her gaze shift briefly to the Hokage, as if to remind Hiashi that he was the one in charge here.

Kurenai opened her mouth to speak, but the Hokage’s hand raised in a subtle gesture, halting her before she could protest. His eyes, ever watchful, remained focused on Hiashi.

"It wasn’t a problem for you when you were a Genin, Hiashi," the Hokage said, his voice measured but carrying an edge. "You went on plenty of missions outside the village."

Hiashi’s lips curled in irritation, his jaw tightening. "It’s not the same," he growled, his arrogance swelling. "I was strong—as Hyugas normally are. I could protect myself. But Hinata?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "She’s weak, very weak for a Main Branch member."

Kurenai bit the inside of her cheek, her grip on the armrest tightening. Weak? Was that really what he saw when he looked at his own daughter? The girl who came to every training session, to every mission, hoping she could prove herself—not to anyone else, but to him. Weak.

The Hokage sighed again, though this time there was no real weight behind it. "Then, I have an alternative," he said, sitting up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "You remember our little deal with Neji?"

Hiashi’s face darkened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes at the mention of his nephew. Kurenai could almost hear the bitter memories surfacing in his mind—the humiliation of Neji’s defeat at the exams. By an Academy student. Hiashi’s pride had been bruised then, and it was still a raw wound.

"I unfortunately do, Lord Hokage, and I apologize again for the disgrace," Hiashi muttered, his voice low and strained.

The Hokage didn’t miss a beat. "Well," he continued smoothly, "the Military Police went back into action last month. I’m sure they could use... a Genin intern. Maybe she’ll learn something there. And Kurenai can only take Shino and Kiba on the mission outside."

Kurenai could see the glint in Hiashi’s eyes. It was a gleam of victory—one that Kurenai couldn’t ignore. He had won, in a way that suited him. The Military Police was a safe route for him. Hinata wouldn’t be exposed to the dangers of an actual mission, and Hiashi wouldn’t have to risk his daughter’s safety—at least, in his mind.

She knew the deal was done. Hiashi would accept it. But for the first time, Kurenai felt the bitterness of the trade-off settle in her stomach. Hinata wasn’t being given the chance she deserved—not yet. But Kurenai wouldn’t give up on her. Not after all they’d been through. Not after everything Hinata had shown her.

"Understood," she said, her voice calm, even though her mind raced with the implications of the decision. The Hokage had made a choice. And, for now, that had to be enough.

— — — — — 

Somewhere (else) in the Land of Fire 

Pakura’s sharp eyes followed every movement, every twitch in the fight between Sura and Zabuza. The clash of Samehada cutting through the air filled the quiet space like thunder, followed by the sound of Zabuza’s sword meeting it with a grunt of effort. The impact echoed—steel on scales, a sharp, violent note of tension. Sura grinned, the battle seemingly effortless for him as he took a wide, deliberate swing, the heavy sword almost skewering Zabuza in one clean strike.

"Good—but dodge, don’t block," Sura’s voice sliced through the noise, low but firm. "Try not to exhaust yourself. You're a ninja, not a samurai."

Zabuza barely registered the feedback, stepping back quickly, adjusting his stance with a grunt. The two warriors locked eyes for a brief moment before the next exchange began. Pakura couldn’t help but notice the fluidity in Sura’s movements—how each strike came without hesitation, like a river carving through stone, but always under control. Control — that was the word, she had learnt, that defined him best. 

"Good boss, heh," Anko’s voice rang out from beside Pakura, filled with her usual mischievous energy, though her words carried a thread of admiration. Pakura glanced over, noting the bruises marring Anko’s otherwise confident posture. Both of them had their share of superficial wounds from the past few weeks, but neither cared. They had left the Land of Water weeks ago, directionless for the most part, though Sura had made it clear that there was no time for laziness. The training had been relentless—brutal at times.

Sura didn’t just train them—he pushed them to the breaking point. And, as strong as he was, he always strived to improve himself. Even when sparring with Zabuza and Anko and the same time, he deliberately handicapped himself, using only basic Academy jutsus. It was like watching a wolf hold back its teeth — only to learn how to bite better. Pakura hadn’t expected such a leader, but she was starting to understand the method to his madness.

The fight paused. In the same motion, Sura stopped, retracted his sword, and kicked Zabuza lightly, as if to send a final reminder. A flick of his chakra seemed to make Samehada hum to a quiet rest, the sword’s intimidating presence suddenly settling. 

Pakura stood unmoving, her expression neutral, yet inwardly she felt the weight of her decision. There was no regret in following Sura—not anymore. His methods, his leadership, and the way he structured everything—it was a stark contrast to Rasa, her former Kage. Rasa had betrayed her, treating her like a pawn to be discarded, offering her to the Hidden Mist as though she were nothing more than a tool. But with Sura, there was a sense of purpose, even if it remained somewhat elusive to her. As long as he and the Hokage honored their word, the promise Sura had made to her when he recruited her, she would stay by his side. Trust, even in its fragile form, was something she was willing to give.

For now.

Anko, feeling the shift in the air, jumped to her feet with a swift motion. Pakura’s gaze briefly flickered to her—Anko’s exuberance impossible to miss, even with her injuries. There was something... noisy about her, but she was loyal, at least.

"So, boss-man," Anko teased, “Looking like we’ve got a destination now, huh?”

Sura turned to her with a playful grin. “Yep, underling #1. We’re going to the Village Hidden in the Stars.”

Pakura’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion in her otherwise calm expression. "Hoshigakure?" she asked, her voice quiet, the name foreign to her.

Sura didn’t explain further. Instead, his grin remained, and he turned toward the horizon, as though everything was already decided. It didn’t matter that Pakura had never heard of the place; she wasn’t here to ask questions.

— — — 

Hinata sat stiffly in the chair, her hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap, trying and failing to keep them still. The new headquarters of the Military Police was nothing like the places she was used to. It felt sterile, intimidating, and as if the walls themselves were closing in on her. She shifted uneasily, glancing at the door, wishing that she could be anywhere else.

Her father had gone on and on about the Military Police’s return a month ago, how it was a prestige for the Hyuga clan, especially for those chosen to serve within it. He spoke of it as if this was the ultimate honor—every Hyuga in the force a shining example of discipline and power. It had always been about prestige with him. Always about being seen as the best, even when it meant crushing those who didn’t fit the mold. The military might of the Hyuga clan was one of his obsessions, a status symbol for the family. But for Hinata? She felt as though she was suffocating beneath its weight, every expectation threatening to crush her into something unrecognizable.

She’d heard how the Military Police had worked with the Torture and Interrogation division to reduce ninja criminality within the walls. The village needed protection, and they’d done good work. She couldn't deny that, though she didn’t fully understand all their methods. What she did understand was the sense of purpose they held, and how they’d been the ones to stop the plot against Naruto. She clenched her fists at the thought.

Danzo. That traitor.  The Archtraitor, her father and the newspapers — and the 'undercover' chunins charged with PR and ninja-civilians relationships — had said. Hinata remembered the chilling details her father had told Neji about the harassing of Naruto—how ninjas had disguised themselves as ordinary civilians, only to assault him and to bully him. It had been part of a larger, twisted plot. Danzo had orchestrated it, hoping to break Naruto, to make him lash out, to kill someone. He’d wanted to push Naruto into becoming a danger, something that could be controlled. To convince the Hokage that he was a weapon to be trained, not a child to be protected. The mere thought of it made Hinata’s stomach churn. Naruto was not a weapon. He was kind, good-hearted... He didn’t deserve any of this.

And yet, here she was. Sitting in the belly of the beast, waiting for someone who might not see her as anything but a tool. The door creaked open, and Hinata’s heart skipped a beat.

The figure that entered was nothing short of terrifying. The man who emerged seemed to consume the space, as though the very air around him bent to his will. His presence filled the room with a suffocating weight. He was tall—towering, really—and his cold, strangely black-and-white gaze locked onto hers with the kind of intensity that made her freeze. His eyes glowed faintly blue, a haunting glow that only intensified the unsettling feeling he radiated. Every line of his body was like a weapon, a machine designed for destruction.

His mask concealed most of his face, but his aura, his very presence, felt like an impenetrable wall. Commander T. She’d heard rumors about him, about how he was an unrelenting force, a man feared by every Konohans ninja — including his own subordinates. He had trashed a jonin who had tried to peek in the public baths…It was ugly. Brutal. Bloody. She had seen it with her dojotsu, and she understood why nobody had peeked after that.

And as he stepped forward, his black armor gleaming, Hinata felt a chill crawl up her spine. She tried to stand but stumbled as her legs gave out beneath her. She caught herself just in time, her heart racing as she fought to steady her breath.

“Hello, SirOfficerLeaderMisterChief,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, but even that felt too loud. Her palms were sweaty, her knees weak. She wanted to disappear. 

The Commander’s eyes didn’t leave her. He surveyed her, the silence stretching out unnervingly. Finally, he spoke, his voice gravelly and sharp, like a blade cutting through the air. “So, you’re my new…intern, huh?” His words were blunt, no warmth, no humor. “Our Lord Hokage told me I had two months to... mold you.”

The way he said it made her stomach flip. Mold? What did that mean? And two months ? Wasn't it supposed to be shorter? His tone made it clear there was no room for negotiation. No room for Hinata.

He took a step closer, and she felt as though the walls were closing in on her, his presence suffocating. “Future heir of the Hyuga, isn't it?” His eyes gleamed with something that was either disdain or amusement—it didn’t matter. It made her skin crawl, and she could feel her breath shallow, her chest tight.

Hinata wanted to speak. She wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in her throat. She lowered her gaze, trying to push the lump in her throat away, and muttered, “I... I think it would be Neji or Hanabi, not me.”

Commander T’s laugh was low, cruel, and without humor. “Nonsense,” he said, his voice laced with authority. “Not after I’m finished with you.” His gaze locked onto hers, intense, unwavering. “For the glory of Konoha,” he added, as though he were bestowing a blessing.

Hinata’s stomach twisted. For the glory of Konoha? The words felt too heavy. She did not know what they meant. They were supposed to mean something, weren’t they? But the way he said it—there was no sense of warmth, no understanding. It was a command. A demand.

She couldn’t breathe. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come. Her body shook, and she managed a stammer, “For... for the glory of Konoha?”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed, and a chilling silence filled the space. “Why does it sound like a question?” His voice was low, dangerous, and it made her heart race even faster. “Say it again, intern Hyuga.”

She couldn’t form the words. She opened her mouth and they stuck. His gaze bored into her, forcing her to obey. The weight of his presence was overwhelming. “Louder,” he commanded, stepping closer, stopping his mask one inch away from her nose. “INTERN HYUGA.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her chest tightening with every breath. Her throat closed up, but finally, finally, the words spilled out, louder this time, though they tasted like ash in her mouth.

"FOR THE GLORY OF KONOHA!"