16: Disciple and Sword – 2

Time passed without announcing itself.

By midmorning Shisui had migrated to a branch above the clearing, lying on his back with his head propped on one arm, eating something small and round that might have been a fruit. He was talking—half-sentences, nothing requiring an answer—while below him Shin threw shuriken until the sweat soaked through his shirt.

The sun was overhead when a small object sailed down from the tree and knocked Shin’s shuriken out of the air mid-flight.

Shin turned.

Shisui was sitting up now. He pointed at the sun.

“You’re throwing sideways,” he said. “Your wrist is giving out.”

Shin looked at his arm. Didn’t argue. His legs found a patch of ground and folded under him, and he sat there with his hands braced behind him, breathing.

Shisui dropped from the branch, landed without a sound, and crouched down in front of him.

“Come on.” He extended a hand. “Up.”

Shin took it. Stood.

And then warmth flooded through him—not sunlight, something directed—spreading from Shisui’s palm into his hand and up through his arm, moving through his chest and shoulders and the burn in his wrists.

The sweat on his skin evaporated. He watched it happen, a thin curl of steam rising from his forearms.

“…What was that?”

“New application I’ve been developing.” Shisui looked pleased with himself. “Fire chakra. Controlled diffusion.” He let go. “Useful, right?”

“…Can I learn it?”

“Depends on your nature affinity. I run fire and wind, and fire chakra tends to be on the intense side.” He pulled back. “You’d need to get tested first. I’d guess you have water—your father’s water jutsu was considered exceptional.”

Shin went still.

“You knew my father.”

“Knew of him.” Shisui scratched his chin. “He didn’t know me. I’m a generation younger.” He saw the question forming and answered it first. “Don’t ask me to tell you about him—I don’t have much to tell. We never spoke. By the time I made jonin, Tsukasa Takami had already stepped back from active service.”

Shin closed his mouth.

“You’re young,” Shisui said. His voice had gone quieter. “You’ll learn what you need to learn.” He reached over and ruffled Shin’s hair. “Come on. I owe you lunch.”

Shin pushed his hand away.

“Don’t touch my hair.”

“Ha—” Shisui grinned. “—haha. Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

Konoha’s market district.

“What do you want to eat?”

Shisui walked with his arms folded behind his head, unhurried, letting Shin lead without quite letting him lead.

“What do you want?” Shin said, scanning the stalls as they passed.

“It’s my treat. I’m asking you.”

“I’ll eat anything. Pick what you like.”

“Generous of you.” Shisui tilted his head, thinking. Then: “There’s a dango shop around that corner. Let’s go.”

Shin looked at him.

“…Dango is lunch?”

“Dango is absolutely lunch. You said you’d eat anything.”

“I didn’t expect—” Shin paused. “Won’t it be too sweet?”

“Uchiha like sweet things.” Shisui said it like a fact. “You didn’t know?”

“Sasuke told everyone on the first day of school that he hated sweet things.”

Shisui stopped walking for a moment.

Then he covered his mouth, shaking silently.

Shin stared.

“…What.”

“Nothing.” Shisui composed himself with visible effort. “Forget I said anything. Dango it is—come on.” He caught Shin’s elbow and steered him forward before any further objections could be lodged.

The dango shop was small and unhurried, the kind of place that felt like it had been there longer than the village. Shisui pushed through the curtain and called out to the owner before they’d even found seats.

“Six skewers of the sweet bean. —You?” He glanced at Shin.

“Something less sweet. Or savory.”

“Six more sweet bean,” Shisui told the owner.

Shin opened his mouth.

“Try it first,” Shisui said.

“That’s not what I—”

“I’m not letting you not try it. You’re a child, you should eat sweet things.” He settled into a seat with the easy authority of someone who frequented this place. “Sit down.”

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Shin sat. Four plates arrived. He looked at them.

Across the shop, another customer—young, short-haired, a woman—sat behind a mountain of empty plates, working through another stack without apparent urgency.

“…There are others like you,” Shin said.

Shisui glanced over and smiled at his food.

“Why do you like sweet things so much?” Shin asked.

“Why would anyone prefer bitter?” Shisui picked up a skewer.

Shin didn’t have an answer to that.

Shisui’s smile softened slightly—something happening behind it that didn’t quite surface. “You’re still young,” he said. “You’ll understand eventually. There are days when something sweet is the best thing in the world.”

Shin said nothing.

He’d read about Shisui. Not much, but enough. Shisui of the Body Flicker was a name that had come up in conversations about the Third Shinobi War—the kind of war that left people with specific ideas about sweetness and what it meant.

Shin’s previous life had been comfortable. Inheritance and insulation and nothing to want for. He didn’t have a reference point.

He picked up a skewer. He ate two of them. The rest disappeared into Shisui at a pace that suggested he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

“That was good.” Shisui sat back and pressed a hand to his stomach with deep satisfaction.

Shin looked at the mostly-empty plates.

“You said you were taking me to lunch.”

“I did take you to lunch. You ate.”

“Two skewers.”

“And they were very nice skewers.” Shisui waved this away. “If you’re still hungry we’ll go somewhere else.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You trained all morning. You’re hungry.” He was already standing. “Come on.”

“This sake is excellent.”

Shisui was half-reclined in his seat, turning a cup in his fingers.

In front of Shin: a small plate of snacks he had no appetite for.

Around them: an izakaya, midday and quiet.

“You brought me to a bar.”

“I brought you to a restaurant that serves excellent sake.” Shisui closed his eyes, savoring. “The food here is also good. You should eat.”

“You wanted to drink.”

“I wanted good sake and lunch. These are compatible desires.” He cracked one eye open. “You’re not going to drink, obviously.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

Shin looked at the sake cup. Looked at Shisui. Looked away.

“You have something this afternoon,” he said. “Drinking won’t affect that?”