Chapter 12:

 

I woke to the distant rippling echoes of cheer and contentment.

The haze lifted off of my mind quickly, but my body felt tired. As if I didn't clearly sleep off the entire afternoon. I struggled to get up, and almost tripped on a bowl placed directly in my path.

On top of which there was a note.

'Lunch. Or dinner I suppose, depending on when you rise. Take it easy today, we'll talk later. ~Your favourite Sensei'

I looked out the window with a half hearted chuckle, up at the darkened orange of the skyline. Dinner, then. The meal was light, simple. A few slices of salmon and mashed potatoes.

Problem was, my stomach wanted more than simple. I felt as if I could eat a horse or three and still have space for more. I went to the kitchen and added a few—let's not count, okay?— boiled eggs to the plate.

As I finally sat down to eat, I felt a feeling of shock cut through the general cheery mood before it disappeared, and I dropped my chopsticks in horror. That feeling came from far off. Farther than I'd ever been able to sense. Farther than I'd ever wanted to sense.

Which meant one thing, really. My range increased. Again.

My palm greeted my face as if they were long lost companions, and I groaned a throaty groan filled with irritation.

Why?

Did I do something? Was this just natural?

When did this end? Would it ever? Would I eventually feel the entirety of the Elemental Nations?

My forehead greeted the table at that thought. Anything but that.

I could feel most of the Nara compound now, and I was starting to believe there wasn't much point sleeping here anymore. The entire point of it was to get away from people, but if my range just kept expanding…

And to make matters more confusing, not only did my horizontal range expand, my vertical range did too.

From the birds in the sky as they soared under the clouds, and flitted from tree to tree; To the moles deep in the ground as they gave off flashes of contentment and aggression. Their emotions felt different than the ones people felt, but the intent was similar, and that was apparently enough for me to recognize it for what it was.

I felt them all as they slept, as they lived, and they died.

It was an experience, okay?

I slowly finished off what remained of my meal, and willed myself to not think about the very concept of mortality, and the way that life and death seemed so intertwined. The way that death seemed to precede—

Nope. I'm far too young for this.

I gazed at, and through my door, as I briefly contemplated leaving the cozy comfort of my arboreous abode.

In the end, my fatigue made the decision easy. I was still exhausted.

 

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Before we set off—again— sensei pulled me aside.

The excitement of the previous day was lost to the wind for the most part. Remnants still existed, but they were buried. Buried underneath what felt like a growing heap of stress. I'd felt better, physically, and lacked that bone-deep fatigue that overcame me, but I was still worried.

Anxious.

"Ino," some of that worry must have been revealed on my face, because when Sensei looked at me, he grimaced, "What you did yesterday… you're not to use it without practice first," I wanted to interject but he raised a hand to stop me, "You're in a shinobi village. Shinobi are very astute, and your actions were very unsubtle."

I gulped as I deflated, "But how can I practice it if I don't get to… you know, practice?"

He placed his fist on his broad chest, in a gesture I'm sure he meant to be reassuring, "Your Sensei will find a way, trust in me."

So many words went unsaid as I stared at my Sensei, but I eventually came to understand. I wasn't happy about it, it was a new 'toy' after all. I wanted to experiment, even just a little bit.

Still, "Alright, Sensei," I grumbled in acceptance, and his relief peeled off like an orange.

After getting something to eat to calm my nerves, we set off again. We took a more roundabout path this time around, and evaded pedestrians easily as shinobi flickered in and out of my range.

They—shinobi, that is— typically flocked to the rooftops, using them as an impromptu shinobi-only road. Their footfalls were silent, and their movements quick, but I felt them all the same.

Behind each one lied a story. A painting of sorts.

Their stalwart determination, the very focus that they used to better their craft. To see things through.

Their exuberant haste as they went from one beat to the next, never resting. Always in the pursuit of something.

Their unfettered joy at seeing their friends for yet another day. The way they used it as fuel. As a reason to exist.

Their fierce pride in both themselves and their teammates. Both a strength and a weakness.

And occasionally… their crippling despair. I… tried not to linger too much on that last one.

Each shinobi left a tiny piece of themself in me as they flickered by, never to be seen again. A remnant of their legacy. I may not be able to put names to faces and imprints, but I'd committed each one all the same.

The roofs weren't the only places shinobi traversed. Masked shinobi favoured the dank and dark alleyways, in a bid to remain unseen. Shinobi in this group—unlike the others— were always alert; Even as they sped by in their haste, nothing escaped their attention.

They held a focus that was both jarring and inspiring.

I knew what they were, like any aspiring shinobi would. They were the shadows in the night, Konoha's silent protectors. They were the fingers of the Hokage. The most elite. The most loyal.

Ansatsu Senjutsu Tokushu Butai. ANBU.

ANBU weren't quite myth. Many knew they existed, but none knew who they were. There was an unbroken layer of secrecy to their profession.

Once they donned their respective masks, they were a new person. A new existence. They left their old name and face behind as they did so.

After all, a background was a liability.

They didn't interact with the populace, and very few even noticed them as they moved.

Each of them had their own story as well, but it was muted. Muffled. Covered by an all encompassing veil of determination to fulfil their duty.

The more I paid attention to them, the more I realized that such a life seemed a little bit stifling, all things considered.

"—What do you guys think he's like?" I snapped out of my thoughts at Chouji's question.

"The Hokage?" He nodded in response. We'd never met the man, not really. Just being clan heirs didn't give us the right.

I hummed in thought, "He's old right? Like super old. Probably serious all the time, throws shuriken at people on his lawn and stuff," I rested my hands behind my neck as my mind pictured an old man wearing an oversized hat yelling at us with a grip of shuriken held between his fingers.

Shikamaru clicked his tongue, "Sounds troublesome."

The undercurrent of frustration and guilt still tinged his form, and I did my very best to ignore it, "Everything sounds troublesome to you, Shikamaru," he merely groaned without a word.

Chouji laughed before saying, "Maybe he's a nice old man?"

"No way. He's been through two wars right? The Sandaime is a legend," I glanced at Chouza Sensei, he remained silent but I felt his amusement dance circles around me. So we weren't being treasonous then, good to know, "There's no way they give nice people a title like 'God of Shinobi'."

"It's like Lord Yondaime. For us, he held the title 'Yellow Flash'. We know him as a hero, but for Iwa… they knew him as the 'Yellow Haired Butcher'," Shikamaru said with a careless wave of his hand, "I heard he was pretty kind though."

Huh. Weird.

He ignored our vague sounds of interest and continued, "The sanitized records aren't that clear, but I'm sure Lord Sandaime has his own similarly fearsome reputation that goes with his title."

"And you looked all that up? When?" I asked, bewildered.

"Two nights ago," he shrugged, "It was interesting."

"I wish you'd get interested in actual training," I said, and he merely groaned in response.

It didn't take us long to get to our destination. In normal circumstances we'd have stopped at the mission assignment building, but we continued past it.

One only received their first mission once, after all.

As we stepped up to the Academy, Chouza Sensei turned to face us and we halted in our tracks.

"Right, before I forget. Ino, give me all your shuriken," he demanded, to my shock.

I was affronted. Offended. Livid, even, "What? Why me?" Why me specifically? This was unfair treatment, I'm sure.

"Because nobody wants to deal with the fallout of you brandishing weapons in front of the Hokage," he stated, palm up, as he waited for my compliance, "Even if your habits are likely well documented."

I'm sure I looked as sheepish as I felt when I handed over all my stress relievers.

"Either way, you two need to loosen up," he alternated between looking at myself and Chouji, and then finally at Shikamaru, "Shikamaru has the right of it," who, by all rights looked like he stepped out for a casual stroll, not to meet the actual Hokage.

 

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We stepped into the Hokage's office, and my eyes widened when I felt my connection to the outside world grow weaker as the door closed.

It wasn't quite cut off, just… hampered. By something. By distance, somehow. Everything outside felt as if it was at the edge of my range.

Weird.

We stood in single file in front of Lord Sandaime himself. He placed a small stack of papers aside and graced us with a kind, almost grandfatherly smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was disarming, but to me, it was nothing but alarming.

Oh, he was genuine, of course. I felt his interest, curiosity, and gentleness surround him like a carefully crafted eddy. It embodied him, as it whirled around a staunch core of determination and will.

But… there was an intensity to him that I'd never experienced before.

That intensity was spread out, but as his eyes narrowed, his attention zoned in on me. And with it, brought that intensity to bear.

A brought caught in my throat.

It seemed to slip right by my teammates, but I felt like I couldn't move. It felt like there was a weight on my chest, and each breath felt more difficult than the last.

Everything and everyone else peeled away, leaving only two of us in the room. I felt my heart thump with beat after resounding beat, as it worked to carry the life giving blood throughout my body.

I felt his surprise.

Time seemed to crawl as he raised an eyebrow.

I felt his curiosity.

The corner of his lip tilted upwards.

I felt his intentions shift.

I was ready to bolt. This was no man.

Luckily for my constantly elevating heart rate, Chouza Sensei cut through the tension in the air, "Lord Hokage, sir," and bowed with a heavy hand on my back, dragging myself down with him. Chouji and Shikamaru followed quickly.

The pressure halted in an instant as Sensei spoke, and the Hokage raised a disarming hand.

"Ah, relax, relax," the slight smirk that had been forming shifted to a more gentle smile, "There's no need for formalities," his smile grew a fraction wider as we rose in unison. Chouji fidgeted nervously, but somehow Shikamaru was unfazed.

My hands scratched at my thighs as I worked my nerves back in order.

What was that?

The Hokage moved on like nothing happened, "So these are this generation's Ino-Shika-Cho then?" He chuckled lightly, amused, "I look forward to hearing about their future exploits," he gazed upon us in obvious interest that lacked any of the previous intensity he held.

Chouza Sensei replied tersely but respectfully, "Yes Lord Hokage, I too am eager to see what they're capable of."

Lord Sandaime nodded, pleased, before looking at us again, "Go on then, introduce yourselves," and said with a casual wave.

Shikamaru was both calm and deferential as he bowed, "Nara Shikamaru, sir."

"Akimichi Chouji, L-Lord Hokage sir," Chouji was a bundle of nerves, and I could feel Chouza Sensei's exasperation, and determination. I gulped, Chouji was going to get reprimanded, then.

The ensuing silence reminded me that it was indeed my turn. I bowed quickly, "Yamanaka Ino, sir," and I felt his curiosity spike as I spoke.

Luckily, he didn't let the silence linger, "So. By all accounts, you three performed splendidly during your time at the Academy," I felt Shikamaru's suspicion spike briefly as he narrowed his eyes, but he tamped it down, "Especially you, young Ino."

My eyes widened in shock, "T-thank you, Lord Hokage."

"There's nothing to thank me for, you were the one that put in so much effort, and your scores reflected that."

My hands fidgeted in embarrassment, and I felt myself relax slightly. His feelings were genuine, and while there was an undercurrent of curiosity, it wasn't quite suspicion.

I don't know what he did when I'd just walked in, but… I guess it was water under the bridge. I don't know how I felt about that.

Something else caught my interest though. I noticed immediately that we were surrounded by shinobi. Hard not to, really. They hid in the walls, in the roof, under the floorboards. There was even one who was a plant, strange as it were.

They'd watched us impassively, but that wasn't what caught my interest.

One in particular paid rapt attention to us. To me, in particular.

His—her gaze never left me once after I'd entered, and her imprint, her wavelength was familiar. I'd felt it before, recently too, even. In fact, I could pinpoint the last time I'd seen her; It was merely a week ago, at a family gathering.

I felt the nostalgic feeling of her curiosity and concern flow from her in familiar waves.

So.

Apparently, my aunt, Yamanaka Yushiki, was ANBU. I didn't know how to feel about that information. I was certain it was her, too. The presence of her mask made no difference to me. My senses were such that I could feel the contours of her face beneath it, the slight familiar dip where skin became scar tissue around her lip. The almost perfectly covered hole in her left ear where her usual earrings would sit. The calm smile on her face as she looked at me.

It was hard to reconcile the fact that such a friendly and kind woman would don the ANBU mask. The same auntie Yushi that snuck me sweets when I was younger. The same one that taught me how to tie my hair in my usual ponytail as I sat in her lap.

That same auntie apparently did unspeakable—no, really, they were sworn to secrecy— things at the beck and call of our glorious leader. With one hand she brushed my hair lovingly, and with the other she… what, shivved a politician?

I shuddered. Did she use both hands for both tasks?

I'm not sure why I hyper focused on that irrelevant question, honestly, but it still struck a chord with me.

Just like both the Yondaime and Sandaime were heroes with one face, and potential monsters with the other, my auntie could be both sweet and dangerous. It gave me perspective, somewhat.

One didn't have to wear a mask to wear a mask.

Something like that.

In a way I was relieved. So Lord Hokage did have a pocket Yamanaka, just not in the way I'd envisioned, which was better for all parties involved, honestly. I'm not sure what I would've done if I saw a cousin strapped to a machine in the back, or covered in sealwork, or something.

Probably nothing good.

I couldn't help but glance my auntie's way, but looked away the instant I felt a spike of shock from both her and… the Hokage.

Oops?

Chouza Sensei looked my way and sighed, while Lord Sandaime internally lit up in curiosity.

The Hokage's smile grew a few fractions wider, "Well, I won't keep you for too long. Team 10's first official D-Rank mission," he profferred a small stack of papers, which Sensei received, "A construction mission, specifically. An arena is being constructed on the eastern end of the village. You'll likely have to lift and carry large tiles, and other construction materials. Do you accept?"

We bowed as one, "Of course, Lord Hokage."

Shikamaru felt particularly affronted—offended, even— at the mere notion of physical labour.

The Hokage sent us off with another grandfatherly smile that sent a shiver up my spine.

As soon as we'd shuffled out of the Hokage's office, I felt my senses bloom to their previous width. It was a bit disorienting, all things considered.

Shikamaru turned on a dime to question our Sensei, "Construction work? Why?"

Sensei replied with a huff, "Because I'm tired of looking at your scrawny arms, brat."

And we set off to… lift large tiles. Up walls.

Joy.

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May their Will of Fire burn brightly.

Hiruzen Sarutobi watched as his wards left his office, and waited a short while before signalling to his ANBU, Tako, who appeared instantly before him in a kneel.

"Sir."

"Hmm," she shuddered under his attention, "Did you know your… niece? Was it?" she nodded, "Did you know she was a Sensor Type?"

"No sir."

He believed her. His ANBU had enough discipline to not bother wasting his time.

He could tell there was more to it than that, though. When the group had entered, he found that he'd harboured an eager desire to figure out what made them so special. So special their families would break tradition.

It was a puzzle, one he'd certainly figure out.

Unfortunately for him, it didn't take long for the first clue to rear its head.

As they walked in, he immediately sniffed something out. There was something different, with Inoichi's daughter, specifically.

She had a pressure that seemed to radiate from her. It bore a passing similarity to killing intent—something that he hadn't felt directed at him in quite some time— but not quite.

It had neither the will nor the direction. It was similar, but empty. Probing.

He could feel it, but he couldn't see it. The only reason he even took notice was due to his vast experiences, and the fact that he was already looking for something in the first place.

The pressure had a slight physical aspect to it, it pressed slightly up against the walls, up against everyone it touched. Up against even himself.

But it was as the door closed that his senses flared, whatever she radiated became significantly more dense in the enclosed space. It was still nowhere near enough for the ordinary shinobi to notice, but he did.

One look at her made him realize that it was obviously subconscious.

Uncontrolled.

If she was doing it intentionally however, then she was playing a dangerous game.

Now, looking back, he realized that what he'd sensed was likely how her Sensor Type abilities manifested. Some form of… sonar? He wasn't sure. Sensor Type manifestations didn't follow a rigid science, after all.

Embarrassingly, his immediate response to that pressure was to meet her with a formless intent of his own. A pressure that mixed mental and physical intent. To hopefully teach her a lesson of some sort. Before she did this with someone much less friendly.

Before it was too late for the girl.

Her reaction was immediate, but it wasn't what he expected. He knew very well the weight of the pressure he exuded. He was meticulous in his application. It was a light probe—for a shinobi of his calibur— but to someone inexperienced?

It should've been like the weight of the world sat upon their mind.

Perhaps it was Yamanaka Hiden Jutsu? Some form of mutation of their mind? It had been a long time, many decades in fact since he'd perused the stores of Yamanaka Jutsu—the ones they'd shared with the leadership, at least. He'd appropriated some of the Jutsu for himself and improved upon them in his free time.

If he could improve upon them, then obviously they could too.

Now, he may be the God of Shinobi, but he was a scholar at heart. Give him a good riddle and he'd figure it out. One didn't get to where he did without being inquisitive, after all.

So he decided to press.

Perhaps, killing intent?

Unfortunately, her Jounin Sensei cut off his fun at the roots. Even he knew not to press upon a clan's bottom line, and he seemed to find himself toeing it.

He thumbed his reports on the team as Tako remained still. He'd only paid a small amount of attention to team 10 before, but perhaps that'd have to change.

Shikaku's son had average results. There was nothing special about him. Perfectly middle of the pack. Perfectly passable. But he'd remembered young Shikamaru's gaze, it was much like his own. Inquisitive. Sharp.

Perhaps, too perfect.

He grinned inwardly, a hidden tiger then. One that flew under the radar of numerous Chuunin Sensei.

Chouza's son was a bundle of nerves, but he could see the strength brimming just skin deep. He wasn't sure what to make of that one, as strength alone did not make a dragon. Only time would tell if young Chouji would burn brightly or peter out in embers. In the end, he dismissed the young Akimichi as presently unremarkable, but noted the well of untapped potential that lay within him.

Inoichi's daughter though. She'd turned a lot of heads with her explosive growth during her final year in the academy. She had a sharp increase in all aspects; From being ranked below-average overall, she shot up to second in both dynamic movement, and overall Taijutsu acumen.

Not to mention her apparent exemplary reaction time, and her prodigious talent in ShurikenJutsu ; Both of which remained unmatched among her peers.

Overall, a remarkable improvement. One which made a lot more sense given her apparent sensory abilities. Even the sharp dip before the meteoric rise made sense, if that was the point where she'd first discovered her abilities.

Something felt off, though. Incomplete.

Typically, Sensor Types had a tell. Normally, they'd have to perform a set of hand seals, or had to stand on ground barefoot, or spread leaves around the battlefield. Something.

There was always something.

And the second big distinction, Sensor Types always used Chakra to do what they did.

He would know, he was one, after all.

Now, he was no Hyuuga, he couldn't see the direct paths that the Chakra moved in, but he could definitely see when Chakra moved at all. And from what he could tell, young Ino's Chakra moved like a tepid, calm river.

So, her method was both formless, and apparently had no cost. Which was unprecedented.

Perhaps it's merely a byproduct of something more?

"Hmm," he grinned, and Tako bristled to his amusement. He waved her off—having briefly forgotten that she was there— and she immediately returned to her post.

So the mystery remains incomplete.

He placed the report back into its place among the new teams, and briefly considered grabbing a novel, but dismissed it in favour of retrieving another report.

He held the constant attention of all his ANBU after all, and he had to set an example.

Later, he promised himself.

In a quick effortless application of Fire Release, he lit his pipe.

He took a slow leisurely drag from his pipe in between his tasks. The smoke filled his lungs, bringing a moment of reprieve to his tired aching body. He'd worked long past his tenure, but there was no alternative. No suitable replacements. None of his former students—those that weren't traitors, that is— had the necessary temperament, or the drive.

So he toiled.

Sarutobi picked up the next report. The unrest in Kiri was a growing concern. As time passed it grew increasingly difficult to get information out of that region. Their spies had been increasingly careful, but the amount of incidental violence that happened in Kiri made events quite hard to predict.

What was incredibly concerning, however, was the fact that Iwa had apparently been hiring a mysterious—but apparently incredibly effective— group of shinobi. A group that was apparently unaffiliated to any village. Nukenin, then?

Regardless, nothing good could come from Iwa being active again—even if it was mostly hired talent. Iwa's hatred for Konoha ran deep, so it was only a matter of time before they'd be knocking at his door again. He hoped that was after his time. He'd had enough of war for one lifetime, after all.

With a flick of his pen, he marked down this mysterious group as a target of interest.

The old man's elbows ached, and he willed himself to stop thinking about Iwa. With a slow exhale, he blinked rapidly as the soothing smoke made his vision blur in momentary bliss, and the ache receded.

He gave his pipe a forlorn glance, at least something good came from his ex-student.

He pushed the report aside, and moved on to the next. Suna—their allies— grew increasingly disgruntled. He knew why, as well. It was an open secret that the Wind Daimyo would often outsource work to Konoha. Konoha was cheaper, Konoha was more effective. The last war wasn't kind to Suna—wasn't kind to anyone, really.

He took a deep inhale to dispel any rising thoughts of war. He'd have to do something about Suna before long, they'd become desperate before long—and nobody wanted a desperate ally. They'd managed to stay afloat by trading in both gold and newly developed Jutsu. But that wasn't sustainable.

He knew it. Their leadership knew it. Their shinobi knew it.

Every time he met the Kazekage—which fortunately was not that often— he'd see the growing agitation behind the man's eyes. He wasn't sure what could be done, though. His advisors constantly asserted that Konoha should do nothing.

We were in a position of strength, they'd say. If anything, Suna should beg us to help.

It was a bomb, just waiting to go off.

Hiruzen sighed, and with it came an exhale. Too early, it seemed, as his exhale turned into a very brief coughing fit that spawned from the feeling that tickled his throat. He eyed the ANBU in his office seriously.

They saw nothing, of course.

Luckily, he still had time. He couldn't make concessions—as there'd be too much pushback from both his village and his Daimyo— but in time he'd find something. He'd find a way. He had to.

Hopefully before it was too late.

The next report, however, gave him pause.

New Kekkei Genkai users, across the continent. According to Jiraiya's report, both the abilities in question, and the ones receiving them, followed no discernable pattern.

Unexpectedly, there was no bias towards shinobi.

Shinobi and civilians alike received strange abilities; From particularly caustic beams of light spawning out of a shinobi's eyes—luckily, that shinobi had been immediately dealt with, given the risks involved— to one that grew wings.

He chuckled, one particularly unlucky civilian gained frog-like qualities of all things. From the elasticity of his tongue to the flexibile power in his legs.

He didn't know what to think about all that, though. Maybe the times were changing. Maybe he was already becoming a relic of the past.

Strange abilities, like the Kekkei Genkai he knew. Except these… apparently didn't seem… to require Chakra.

Sarutobi blinked, and laughed.

One more clue to the mystery, then.

He paused as he began to rub his sore shoulders, but something else rang in his mind. He quickly reached for an internal report he'd read just that morning.

A civilian celebration turned violent. Which, all things considered, wasn't too surprising. Alcohol did things to people, and even though there were many children there, the adults often took celebration into their own hands.

What was surprising, however, was the fact that even the shinobi seemed to be affected. They'd reported a bout of uncontrollable blinding anger that took all their willpower to resist.

No signs of chemicals. No lingering Chakra. By all metrics, there was no sign of foul play.

Perhaps… there are multiple, then? In his village?

He exhaled as he ran fingers through his beard in thought.

Still, there wasn't enough information. They'd have to wait and see.

He groaned and removed his hat, and in a skillful application of Wind and Water Release, he cooled his stuffy head as the lingering smoke from his pipe made its way out of the open window and upwards.

Hiruzen Sarutobi sighed as he moved on to his next report.

He needed more time. Even in his old age, his Will of Fire burned bright, but there was only so much he could do.

Still, he remained steadfast.

Even as his mistakes threw themselves in his face, as they often did.