Interlude 9

Tea Capital
Harumuna ‘Shimaka’ Sencha, Daimyo of Tea Country

He had never lived through an attempted coup before. He found himself reluctantly grateful for the experience. As the Buddhas said- misfortune is the birthplace of wisdom. Sencha wasn’t sure what wisdom he had gained from all of this in precise terms, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had gained something. That small amount of comfort was very important for him to retain.

Otherwise, he’d still be lying in his morning bath and staring at the ceiling, fingers long pruned and water cold. He wasn’t useful to anyone in such a state, and now more than ever he needed to be useful.

In a half-destroyed building that used to be a fully functional office, he sat with one of his accountants. Processing official paperwork and accepting meetings in one efficient if mentally straining affair. An official proclamation of what exactly had transpired over the recent weeks would be made this evening. Evening because that was soon enough after the coup to be reasonable and long enough to give him time to determine an appropriate official story.

His accountant, a withered old man who had served his father and grandfather, processed all the paperwork that did not require the Daimyo’s direct attention and passed off the rest to him. Mostly papers related to summoning construction companies and the like- the repairs were going to be astronomical.

“Lord Daimyo. I have two requests, if you would permit them.”

He glanced up to the ninja in his office- the young man with the straw hat from Sunagakure. Currently bearing all the telltale signs of chakra exhaustion and leaning on a pair of crutches, present to collect both his impromptu mission-payment for the death of Laughing Smoke and bounty for turning in his head.

This was supposed to be just a routine festival and an opportunity to find a potential wife. He had been putting it off for years at Tenchi’s advice, advice which now seemed far more sinister in hindsight.

A small exhale escaped his lips. “Speak.” He had to be gracious to the ones who had aided him in this, even if he was already paying them.

The ninja nodded, his face weary and slightly unfocused from the strain of being up and about. “The bounty for the death of Laughing Smoke- I would like to distribute it eight ways among the Ninja Offense Group. It was part of our cooperative agreement with one another.”

“Granted. You will have to point them out to my accountant.” He easily accepted, the accountant nodding as rolled beads across an abacus and recorded a new sum. As the issuer and distributor of the bounty, his office would remove a standard processing tax. It wasn’t quite the same as saving money, but it shaved the edges off otherwise immense expenses.

Official policy in Tea Country set the taxation rates low to encourage large volumes of luxury trade. If he had the figures correct, this ninja would be walking away with a sum of one million, seven hundred and fifty thousand Ryo from Sencha’s coffers. He could afford it easily enough, but the amount was still enough to make him grunt.

His samurai did not demand such a high price for their services- though he supposed that might have been a motivating factor for rebellious Tenchi. A slight increase in salary for all Samurai who remained loyal, perhaps? “Your other request?”

“The body of Laughing Smoke- if possible.”

He paused, staring at the page in his hands for a few moments, before lowering it and bringing his full attention to bear upon the ninja in his impromptu open-air office. “Explain.”

The ninja nodded with a grimace, raising a hand up to rub his chin. “I know it sounds odd- but it’s an unspoken policy among most ninja villages to secure the bodies of fallen enemies and bring them back for evaluation. Many jutsu leave physical traces in the body, and studying them could bring our ninja a future advantage.”

He attempted to shrug, a motion failed by the lacking strength in his shoulders and unsteady stance. “The Kazekage would reprimand me if I didn’t make a request for it, at the very least.”

…At least the ninja was aware of the morbidity of his request. He briefly considered saying something impolite, before closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighing. He reached for a blank piece of paper, quickly wrote an official proclamation, then signed it with his ink-stamp. Letter signed, he gently waved the paper to dry before holding it up for the young man. “Take this letter to the morgue- I trust you can find your way there on your own.”

“Yes Lord Daimyo. Thank you, Lord Daimyo.” For an apparent vulture, the young man was quick to bo-

A thump sounded through the open air office as the ninja collapsed forwards.

Sencha pressed his lips together. “…Are you unharmed, ninja?” He asked, slightly irritated but understanding.

“Yes Lord Daimyo. Forgive me, Lord Daimyo.” The voice was pained and tense.

“I’ll leave the paper on the desktop, retrieve it with your account-note once you manage to stand.”

“Thank you, Lord Daimyo.”

It was almost comical to watch the ninja slowly push himself back up into a standing position, crutches used almost like ladders to pull himself up again and limbs shaking with exertion. What it provided was an office that was mostly quiet for a minute or so, something he decided to relish as he had the opportunity.

“There will be a continuation of the Golden Tea Ceremony, in spite of everything. You are, of course, invited as a guest of honor.” Sencha explained calmly as the ninja returned from his trip to the floor.

“My presence is predicated upon the desires of my client. I will attend if my client wishes me to, and be unable to attend if they wish to leave.” Professionalism was something he could appreciate, at the very least.

“Lady Ikeda, is that right?” Sencha asked, receiving a small nod in return.

He made a note to see about bribing her to linger- an uplifting celebration was required after a mess like this. A show of strength in spite of the traitorous actions and the sudden appearance of a great demon.

…Ah, perhaps that’s the angle he could use. ‘Commander Tenchi- possessed by the evil of an ancient demon’. Something that could be used to explain his actions without needing to insult any particular party.

He took a sip of his tea- and briefly wished he was like the leaves in the cup.

Floating in a hot bath, free of worries.

…Except the part about a giant drinking his water, he supposed. That he could go without.

Harumuna Sencha’s bureaucratic day had just begun and he was already tired.

—

Sunagakure
Rasa of the Golden Sands, Fourth Kazekage

Gaara was a very small baby. He noted as much while letting his son play with his pinky. The black rings normally indicative of Magnet-Release persistently framed his eyes, indicative of a natural affinity gifted from the mad ghost sealed within him. Much smaller than either Kankuro, who had been nine point one pounds, or Temari, who had been seven point six pounds.

Gaara’s sand, an ever-present companion that followed the child, swirled calmly around them. The living will of Bunpuku, lusting for blood. It had attempted to crush him six times now. He had thwarted each attempt thus far, holding down the writhing sand with his gold, and intervals between attempts were growing longer and longer. The Sand Demon was learning that it could not overcome him, not bound as it was.

The observation of his son’s weight was uninspired, the reasons obvious. The stress of sealing the Great Sand Tanuki within him while in the womb had forced an early birthing process. Shortly after, Karura died despite the best efforts of the medical staff.

Honored Elder Chiyo had called it an unforeseen consequence of chakra entanglement and partum shock, the mother and child sharing a network until the splitting of the umbilical cord. This resulted in her momentarily being a pseudo-jinchuriki before Gaara was born and their chakra networks were suddenly separated. Jinchuriki cannot survive long after such a removal, and so she started to die the moment the Sand Demon’s chakra left with Gaara.

This was overall an acceptable cost to ensure the secure transfer and containment of the Sand Demon. His lips twitched downwards and his brows tugged together, loathsomely staring out across the rounded rooftops of Suna. Gaara wriggled, tiny fist weakly shaking his pinky around.

He made sure to fully understand the reasons behind her death, even if just intellectually. Emotionally, all he knew was that he wasn’t ready to be a widower. Temari and Kankuro weren’t quite developed enough to understand why their mother wasn’t coming home ever again and why they couldn’t play with their new baby brother. It would be another two or three years before they started to develop the capacity to form proper long-term memories.

That was also an acceptable cost.

He ignored the pit in his stomach and the twitch for a hookah- Karura had made him promise to put the habit away before she passed.

“Lord Kazekage. Jonin Ryoma and Special Jonin Mari are here to see you for a post-mission report.” The voice of his front-desk secretary called through the landline speaker system. Something imported and installed during his early tenure as a way to facilitate his bureaucratic duties.

It was also useful for avoiding his secretary, who had been unsubtly attempting to charm him now that he was a widower. He rose, Gaara in his hand, and stepped towards the speaker. A focused glare was enough to press the iron button on his end. “Send them up.” He answered back, before letting go of the button and carefully extracting his pinky from Gaara’s infantile grasp.

“Yashamaru- take Gaara to the Suppression Chamber.” He called out to empty air. Immediately after, the form of Suna special-forces ninja appeared in a puff of smoke and the disappearance of a potted cactus in the corner. Sandy blond hair, fair skin, and violet eyes. His brother-in-law and a man Rasa found difficult to look at for all his resemblance to Karura.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He was the only ninja willing to handle Gaara without Rasa himself being present, even if just to take him to the Suppression Chamber.

Gaara hated the Suppression Chamber- a dark mostly-bare room covered in an array of inwards-angled seals. The chamber that the mad monk had been imprisoned within while alive, bars walled up and new doorway installed to allow somewhat easier access. Even if it had been made more comfortable, it was still a prison cell at its core, and his infant son was greatly bothered to be within it.