Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Pain clawed at Shikamaru’s ribs with every shallow breath. He sagged against the rough bark of a tree, one hand pressed against his side to stem the ache. Nearby, Kiba lay sprawled in the dirt, unconscious. Akamaru whined, nudging his master’s arm as if trying to rouse him. Chōji wasn’t much better, blood trickling from his temple as he slumped against a boulder. Sakura knelt, one arm cradling the other, her face pinched with pain. The remnants of their teamwork lay scattered like a failed strategy board.

They’d worked together, pooled everything they had to corner and take down the ninken. Victory had felt within reach when they pried four medals from the beast’s collar. Just one more, and they’d all walk out of this hellhole with pride intact.

But Hyūga Neji had changed everything.

Shikamaru’s eyes drifted to the center of the clearing where Neji stood, an immovable wall of confidence and disdain. His white gaze locked onto the last person standing, his voice sharp enough to cut. Hinata trembled before him, her head bowed, her hands wringing each other so tightly it looked like her fingers might snap.

“You shouldn’t have come here, Hinata,” Neji said, each word dripping with icy disdain. “You’re an embarrassment. Weak. A failure born into a station you can never uphold. No amount of effort will rewrite your destiny.”

The words hung in the air like a noose. Shikamaru grimaced. He wanted to move, to say something, but his body refused to obey. Pain pinned him where he sat, and a part of him knew that even at full strength, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Not against Neji.

Neji took a step forward, his expression unchanging, as if carved from stone. “You’re unworthy of the Hyūga name. Why do you even try?” His palm snapped forward, striking Hinata square in the chest with precision that left her crumpling to her knees. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t scream. 

She didn’t even speak. Silent tears streaked her face, her eyes fixed on the ground.

It was brutal, unnecessary. And yet, Shikamaru couldn’t see a way to stop it.

“Hey.”

The voice cut through the tense air like a knife. Shikamaru’s head snapped toward the sound. Standing at the edge of the clearing was Naruto Uzumaki. His bright jacket made him look absurdly out of place against the forest’s grim backdrop, but there was nothing ridiculous about the hard set of his jaw or the fierce light in his eyes.

He held up his hand. Dangling from his fingers were four medals.

“What the hell are you doing to Hinata?” Naruto’s voice was flat, but beneath it simmered something dangerous.

Neji’s head turned slightly, his pale eyes flicking to Naruto. “This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his voice calm but dismissive. “Leave, Uzumaki. This fight is beyond your ability.”

“Run,” Hinata croaked, her voice hoarse but insistent. She pushed herself up onto one knee, trembling but refusing to stay down. “Please, Naruto. Run.”

Naruto didn’t move. His expression didn’t change, but his hands curled into fists at his sides. “What kind of friend do you think I am? You think I’d run while someone’s getting hurt?”

Hinata staggered forward, her steps shaky but determined. She threw her arms forward in an open-palm strike aimed at Neji’s chest.

Neji’s eyebrow twitched in faint surprise, but his response was swift. He sidestepped her easily and jabbed two fingers into her shoulder. A burst of chakra rippled through her body, and she crumpled to the ground with a scream of pure agony.

“Don’t waste your strength,” Neji said, looking down at her as though she were little more than an insect. “You were never meant to stand.”

Naruto’s body tensed, his knuckles whitening. “You like talking about ‘meant to’ and ‘destiny’ like you’ve got the world figured out.” His voice was low now, sharp as a kunai. “But let me tell you something, Neji. You don’t get to decide someone’s worth.”

Neji tilted his head, the faintest trace of a sneer tugging at his lips. “Fate has already decided. People like Hinata—and you—are beneath those born to lead.”

Naruto took a step forward. “Is that so?” His grin was humorless, almost feral. “Then how about you and me test that theory?”

“You? Challenge me?” Neji’s smirk grew, though his tone remained even. “Very well. Come and meet your fate.”

Naruto’s hands moved in a blur, forming a familiar seal. His voice rang out across the clearing.

“Tajū Kage Bunshin no Jutsu!”

The forest erupted in a surge of chakra as hundreds of shadow clones sprang into existence, filling the clearing in a flood of orange. Neji’s expression faltered for the first time, his stance shifting ever so slightly as he scanned the sea of identical Narutos, each one staring at him with the same unflinching resolve.

Shikamaru let out a low whistle, barely audible. “Troublesome... but damn, that’s impressive.”

Above, perched silently on a sturdy branch, Maito Gai watched the scene with an expression colder than the breeze brushing through the leaves. His usual exuberance was gone, replaced by a hard-edged focus as his gaze lingered on Neji.

— — — 

“That,” Gai thought, hidden high in the trees of the training ground, “was very unyouthful, Neji.”

Then, a small, sharp smile crossed his face. It wasn’t the blazing grin he wore during training, but something quieter, more knowing.

“Fortunately,” he whispered to himself, “the Hokage has arranged... measures to correct him. A week with the Military Police should do wonders.”

Gai’s smile widened slightly, the steel in his eyes glinting. “Youthful correction indeed.”

—

Fire Capital 

“Watch out!” A cart rattled down the street, its overloaded crates swaying precariously. The driver barked something unintelligible, his face glistening with the sweat of panic.

Taro sidestepped just in time, the wheels grazing his boots. He adjusted his coat with a casual flick, his expression calm. “Close one,” he murmured, his tone devoid of judgment. “You might want to redistribute the weight next time.”

The driver barely spared him a glance, more focused on keeping the cart from toppling over. Taro simply shrugged, already scanning the bustling street ahead. Beside him, Asuma exhaled a lazy trail of smoke, the cigarette balanced between his fingers. “Barely an hour in the capital, and you’ve already got something to say.”

“Observation, not commentary,” Taro replied smoothly. “The kind you make when you’re not trying to be part of the chaos.”

The Fire Capital unfolded around them, its energy ceaseless and magnetic. The streets pulsed with activity—vendors hollering, children darting through the crowd, and performers commanding attention with daring feats. The air was thick with a heady mix of aromas: sizzling dumplings, sharp iron, and the faint sweetness of incense. Overhead, strings of colorful banners and laundry crisscrossed the skyline, vibrant against the muted tones of crooked rooftops.

Taro moved with ease, his gaze sharp yet relaxed, noting the subtleties of the city’s rhythm. He caught sight of a bar with a disengaged bartender, a missed opportunity in the heart of the district. The knife jugglers? Talented but poorly positioned; they’d triple their tips if they set up near the gambling den nearby. He filed these details away without a word, letting the city’s potential settle in his mind.

“You’re scheming again,” Asuma observed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Strategizing,” Taro corrected, his voice calm. “This place is a goldmine of untapped opportunities.”

Asuma chuckled, shaking his head. “Same old Taro. Always looking for an angle.”

“Call it a habit,” Taro replied, his tone light. “You’d think five million people could organize themselves into something a bit more functional.”

Asuma’s attention drifted to a fabric stall across the street, where a woman laughed, brushing her fingers against a bolt of deep red silk. His posture shifted, and he ran a hand through his hair with practiced nonchalance. “Speaking of opportunities…”

Taro raised an eyebrow. “Don’t.”

But Asuma was already crossing the street, cigarette tilted jauntily between his lips. “Excuse me, miss,” he said with a grin. “Need help picking the perfect fabric? I’ve got a good eye for these things.”

The woman glanced up, amusement flickering across her face. “And what exactly qualifies you as an expert?”

“Oh, not much,” Asuma replied smoothly. “Just enough to know silk this fine deserves the right company.”

Taro sighed, loud enough to turn a few heads. “What about Kurenai?” he called out, his tone mild but loaded.

Asuma froze mid-flirtation, his composure faltering. “What about her?” he spluttered. “This isn’t—she’s not—”

“Not someone you blush over every time her name’s mentioned?” Taro’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Good luck explaining that.”

Asuma groaned, rubbing his temples as he fell back in step with Taro. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Taro replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “Now let’s keep moving. I want to see if this city has at least one person who knows what they’re doing.”

“Can’t believe Dadkage paid me to keep an eye on you,” Asuma muttered as they wove through the crowded streets.

“Babysitting suits you,” Taro quipped. “Must make for a nice change of pace.”

Asuma smirked, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Better than watching you talk yourself into trouble. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t insult the wrong person.”

Taro chuckled softly but fell in step with his brother. “I suppose you’re useful for that.”

They reached the artisan quarter, where the chaotic energy softened into purposeful industry. Craftspeople lined the streets, their hands busy creating—wooden figurines, vibrant textiles, intricate ceramics. The scent of sawdust, paint, and heated metal filled the air, a symphony of creativity.

Taro paused at a stall selling wooden figurines. His fingers brushed over the polished surface of a fox. “Nice craftsmanship,” he said evenly, setting it back down. The vendor shot him a wary look. 

“You want to buy it, or not? ?”

“Nope,” Taro said lightly, walking away. 

At the edge of the artisan quarter, Taro’s gaze snagged on a peculiar brass contraption dominating a cluttered stall. Its oversized lens protruded awkwardly, surrounded by a chaotic tangle of wires and exposed gears. A wiry man hovered over it, muttering sharp curses as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, his grease-streaked hands betraying hours of frustration.

Taro strolled closer, his curiosity piqued but his expression unreadable. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice casual as he stopped a few feet away. He didn’t need the answer—he already knew. This machine was the reason he was here.

The man looked up sharply, his annoyance as clear as the smudge across his cheek. “It’s a projector,” he snapped. “State-of-the-art.”

Taro crouched, his sharp eyes tracing the machine’s jagged assembly. “State-of-the-art?” he echoed, his tone skeptical but not dismissive. “Looks more like it’s figuring itself out.”

The man bristled, his grip tightening on the wrench. “This thing will revolutionize how people see the world,” he shot back. “Changes the moving pictures, stories—everything.”

Taro rose to his full height, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “That’s a lot to promise."

The man’s retort died on his lips as his gaze shifted behind Taro. His expression changed in an instant—his sour demeanor dissolving into astonishment. “Wait a second… Sarutobi Asuma? The Guardian?”

Asuma, leaning casually nearby, let out a sheepish chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The man’s frustration evaporated, replaced by wide-eyed awe. “What’s someone like you doing here?” he blurted, his tone reverent.

Before Asuma could answer, Taro clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Keeping me from breaking too many hearts—or rules. Now,” he added, turning his attention back to the contraption, “let’s talk about your projector.”

— — 

Rain pattered against the window, a rhythmic tap that barely registered in Ao’s ears as he stared at the sealed scroll on his desk. His fingers hovered over it for a moment before he sighed and broke the seal. The parchment unraveled, crisp and faintly damp, the ink sharp against its surface.

His single eye scanned the short message. The words were sparse, almost cryptic, but the series of numbers at the end caught his attention immediately. The code. A request for contact.

Ao leaned back, the wood of his chair creaking faintly beneath him. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled, low and slow. “Gatō,” he muttered under his breath, the name carrying all the weight of a problem he didn’t want but couldn’t ignore. The man was indispensable for the resistance supply in food, weapons and explosive scrolls. He set the scroll down, his gaze shifting to the rain-drenched horizon outside. 

“This better be worth my time.”

— — — 

Tenten stepped out of the forest, rolling her shoulders with a satisfied stretch. The week had been a refreshing change of pace from Gai-sensei’s usual grueling regimen. Survival training had its own challenges, but the chaos of tracking and fighting multiple, unpredictable Academy students had been almost… fun. She had even crossed paths with Lee a few times. Of course, he wasn’t simply completing the mission—he was training. Walking on his hands, dodging imaginary attacks, and mumbling about “youth” as if the trees themselves might argue with him.

Her orders had been clear: don’t target the same students repeatedly and take their medals only once or twice. It wasn’t about crushing them—it was about testing their resilience. She’d played her part, pulling punches, but still learning in the process. That time she got ambushed by the Ino-Shika-Chō trio? And got defeated — and the medals she had taken stolen? A lesson. A humbling one, but still a lesson.

Ahead, fireworks burst into the sky. Tenten glanced up, the colorful sparks catching her attention. “So, it’s over,” she muttered, a small smile tugging at her lips. She twisted her arms over her head, her joints popping. “That was good.”

Stepping into the clearing, she expected to see tired students dragging themselves toward victory. Instead, her smile faltered, her steps slowing. Her eyes landed on Neji.

He was on a stretcher.

“What the—” she gasped, recoiling instinctively. Two med-nin carried him toward a nearby tent. His pale face was slack, his expression unreadable. He looked nothing like the Neji she knew—controlled, untouchable. The sight was so jarring that her voice barely found its way out. “Did… Did an Academy student do this to him?”

The idea was absurd, almost laughable. Neji was untouchable, the genius of their team, but there he was—own a freak'n  stretcher.

“Tenten!” Gai’s booming voice snapped her out of her shock. He strode toward her, his trademark grin firmly in place. “Ah, Neji has burned himself against the fire of youth!” he declared, his voice filled with something that wasn’t entirely mockery, but not entirely sympathy either.

“Sensei,” she began, glancing toward the stretcher again. “What… What happened?”

Before Gai could answer, a familiar shout erupted behind her. “YOOOOOOOSH!”

Tenten turned to see Lee bounding into the clearing, his usual energy cranked up to an impossible level. His fists were clenched in triumph, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Twice now, hard work has defeated genius!” he proclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

Tenten blinked, her mind catching on the word. “Twice?” she asked, her voice incredulous. She’d seen Lee’s fight against Uchiha Sasuke earlier in the week. That battle had been extraordinary. Sasuke was clearly already at a middle to high-genin level, but Lee had fought with everything he had, finally emerging victorious. It had been incredible. 

But twice?

She stared at Lee, then at Neji’s stretcher. “Wait… Who defeated Neji?”

Lee just grinned, his expression impossible to read. Whatever answer he might have given was drowned out as the clearing filled with movement. The remaining students emerged from the forest, battered but triumphant. They carried medals like trophies, their faces lighting up as they approached the Academy instructors.

Iruka’s voice rose above the noise, steady and encouraging. “Congratulation to all of you! For those who’ve returned with a medal,” he called, his tone warm, “take two days to rest. Then, report to the Academy on Monday at 9 a.m. sharp for team assignments!”

“YOOOOOOOSH!” Naruto’s voice broke through the air, unmistakable. He jumped into the air, thrusting his fists skyward. “I’M OFFICIALLY A NINJA!”

Tenten couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips at his enthusiasm. The boy happiness was contagious, whoever he was. 

But her thoughts lingered on the stretcher and the quiet pride in Lee’s voice. Twice. Hard work had defeated genius twice this week. As the celebration around her grew louder, she wondered. How had it happened? And more importantly… who?