44: Leaving the Village

No matter what Hana said, Shin wouldn’t get up.

He stayed on his knees, and when he spoke at all, it was only to ask her to go home and rest.

……

The sky had barely begun to lighten when Hana rushed back to Shin’s house, dark circles under her eyes. She found him exactly where she’d left him—kneeling on the floor, unmoved, as if the night hadn’t passed at all.

She sat down beside him and glanced at the pale glow seeping through the window. A yawn escaped before she could stop it.

“It’s morning, Shin.”

Nothing. Not a twitch.

She sighed, pushed herself up, and went into the kitchen. The fridge held a few sealed cartons of milk and some packaged bread. That was it.

“Shin, do you not have any groceries?” she called out, already rummaging through the cabinets. The kitchen was bare—knives, a pot, a few bowls. Not even a full set of seasonings.

“Shin?”

No answer.

She stepped back into the living room and found him the same as before—head bowed, shoulders sagging, a gray exhaustion settled into every line of his body.

She crouched beside him and brushed the hair from his forehead, fingers gentle.

“You’re tired. Go lie down. It’s okay to skip a day.”

He raised his eyes just enough to look at her, then slowly shook his head.

“Shin…”

Another sigh. She went back into the kitchen, found a carton of eggs, and got to work. A few minutes later she came out carrying a tray—a plate of fried eggs, a glass of milk—and set it on the floor in front of him.

“Breakfast,” she said, smiling. “Want to wash up first?”

He shook his head.

“Then just eat like this. That’s fine too.”

Another shake.

“Shin, please. Don’t do this.”

Her voice cracked at the edges, nearly pleading. Before she could say more, the front door scraped open. A figure appeared in the entryway.

Tsume Inuzuka. Kuromaru at her side.

“Mom…” Hana murmured.

Tsume walked into the room, took one look at Shin still kneeling on the floor, and something complicated moved behind her eyes. She stopped in front of him, looking down.

Shin lifted his head. The exhaustion was plain—hollowed cheeks, bloodshot eyes.

“Auntie…” he whispered.

Tsume’s expression shifted. Something like reluctance. Something like disappointment.

“Get up,” she said. Flat. Simple.

Hana’s face lit up. She reached for Shin’s arm to help him stand, but he gently pushed her hand away.

Instead, he placed both palms flat on the floor and lowered his upper body until his forehead touched the backs of his hands. A full prostration.

“Shin…” Hana breathed, staring.

The sight made Tsume’s jaw tighten. She looked away for half a second, then back.

Shin tried to rise. His legs wouldn’t obey—numb from the knees down, dead weight after an entire night pressed against hardwood. He swayed, and Hana caught him, pulling his arm over her shoulder and guiding him onto the couch.

“Want to eat now?” she asked softly.

He nodded. A faint, exhausted smile. “Thank you, Hana-nee.”

She brought the tray over. When she tried to feed him, he stopped her.

“I can manage.” He took the plate himself and picked up the chopsticks.

While he ate, Hana knelt and carefully rolled up his pant legs. Both knees were swollen—angry red, the skin tight and hot.

She touched the edge of the swelling. Shin’s face twitched.

“Do you have any liniment? I remember having Kiba bring one over a while back.”

He nodded without looking up. “Bottom drawer of the cabinet in my room.”

Hana left. Tsume settled into the opposite couch, and Kuromaru lay down beside her.

Hana returned quickly, a dark glass bottle in hand. She’d found two in the drawer and grabbed one at random.

“Shin, when did you get a second bottle? Have you been getting hurt?” She unscrewed the cap, then paused, noticing the label.

“Yamanaka?”

Tsume glanced up.

“A classmate gave it to me,” Shin said, eyes on his plate.

Hana nodded and let it go, kneeling to work the liniment into his swollen knees. Shin sat still and kept eating.

Tsume, though—Tsume sat very still, watching, a distant look in her eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hana.” Tsume’s voice cut through the quiet. “Pack a few changes of clothes for him.”

Shin’s chopsticks stopped. He and Hana both looked at Tsume.

“Why?” Hana asked.

“He’s coming with me. We’re leaving the village—heading to the Land of Rivers for a while.”

“What?” Hana’s voice pitched upward. “That’s so sudden—why the Land of Rivers?”

“No reason. Taking him on a trip.”

Shin set down his chopsticks. He said nothing. He understood exactly what this meant.

Tsume was taking him out of the village. Away from the Uchiha. Away from whatever was about to happen.

What’s going to happen to the Uchiha…

Shisui’s face flickered through his mind.

“How long will you be gone?” Hana asked, hesitant.

“Hard to say. Could be a few days. Could be a couple of weeks.” Tsume’s eyes were on Shin as she spoke.

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He offered no objection. He picked up his chopsticks and went back to eating.

Hana studied his face, then nodded. She finished applying the liniment, rolled his pant legs back down, and went into his bedroom to pack.

The feeling crept back into his legs slowly—pins and needles, then a deep, throbbing ache. Walking was still out of the question.

Before they left, Shin strapped the black-scabbarded katana across his pack and climbed onto Kuromaru’s back. Together with Tsume, they walked out the front door.

---

Breakfast had restored some of his strength, but a sleepless night left marks that food couldn’t erase. Shin’s face was still drawn, his eyes heavy.

They reached the main gate of Konoha and found a small group already waiting—several wagons, a handful of workers. A merchant caravan.

A middle-aged man spotted Tsume and hurried over, bowing deeply.

“Tsume-sama. We’re truly grateful you’ve agreed to escort us to the Land of Rivers.”

Tsume gave a short nod.

Shin looked confused, and Hana leaned in to explain.

“Mom must have taken a C-rank escort mission. These are usually handled by genin or chunin.”

“Ah.” He nodded.

The merchant turned to Hana and bowed. “And you are, shinobi-san…?”

Hana blinked, then laughed and waved her hand. “I’m not coming along. He is.” She pointed at Shin.

The merchant stared. Shin could practically see the man recalculating—the boy’s age, the absence of a forehead protector—before the merchant reminded himself that shinobi defied ordinary expectations. Age meant nothing in their world.

“A pleasure,” the merchant said, bowing to Shin atop Kuromaru.

“Likewise. I’m not actually a shinobi, though.”

“Ah—my mistake.” The merchant chuckled easily.

After a round of pleasantries, the group moved to the gatehouse. Tsume handed over a mission form.

“Tsume-sama…” The gate guard—a shinobi in a bandanna—stared at the paper. “You’re running a C-rank?”

“Is that a problem?” One glance. One flat word.

“Not at all.” The guard smiled, looked at Shin on Kuromaru’s back, and handed the form back with both hands. “You’re cleared.”

“Let’s go,” Tsume said.

……

Shin looked up at the great gate of Konoha. A strange feeling settled over him. He’d lived here for eight years, and never once set foot beyond this gate.

Hana fussed over him one last time: take care of yourself, make sure you eat, and for heaven’s sake keep an eye on Mom—she can barely look after herself, let alone you.

“Move out!” The merchant raised his hand, and the caravan lurched into motion.

Hana waved goodbye, her smile tight. Shin rode Kuromaru at Tsume’s side, passing through the gate and onto the open road.

The moment they cleared the archway, Tsume pulled a Konoha forehead protector from her belt and tied it across her brow.

Beside them stretched the long column of wagons and travelers. Shin glanced over his shoulder. Hana was still standing at the gate, watching him.

He let out a long breath. The fatigue lifted, just a little.

Above the treeline, the sun was climbing. The sky flushed pale red at the edges.

Leaving the village…

Eight years in one place, and I’m finally walking out.