The Celestial Copy - Chapter 21

“…so I channeled lightning-natured chakra throughout my entire body, perfectly replicating the Raikage’s signature technique. That’s how I earned the moniker of the ‘Copy Ninja.’”

“Incredible!” the Daimyo exclaimed, acting more like a child hearing a bedtime story rather than a man of his position. “And then what happened, Master Hatake? What of the Tailed Beast?”

“I went back down to fight the Two-Tailed monster cat by myself,” I continued, keeping my tone dramatic. “To end the conflict without killing its host and sparking a greater war, I used the signature jutsu of my sensei, the Fourth Hokage. A direct hit with the Rasengan was enough to vanquish it.”

The Daimyo clapped his hands together in delight. “A tale worthy of the grandest stage! To think a hero of the Leaf is guarding me personally! The Third Hokage has sent me his finest.”

I concluded the performance with a respectful nod.

This had been what I’d spent a good portion of the journey back doing. The Daimyo was a powerful man, but also a fickle one. So long as he didn’t have his advisors whispering in his ears, it was easy to sway his opinion with tales of heroism. That was the main reason I decided to operate with my real identity instead of being an anonymous ANBU Captain. Building a personal rapport with the most influential man in the Land of Fire would come in handy in the future.

I stepped away the moment his attendants brought him a cup of tea. Playing the storyteller was starting to get exhausting. 

Seeing Asuma lighting a cigarette near the back, I decided to catch up with him.

“You’re surprisingly good at that, you know,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke the exact same way his father did. “Who would’ve guessed Kakashi Hatake’s hidden talent was performance art.”

“I really wasn’t exaggerating anything,” I replied. “That’s actually what happened at the summit.”

“Damn, that makes it scarier. I can’t imagine ever being able to fight a Tailed Beast all on my own,” Asuma chuckled, taking another drag. “How’ve you been, anyway? Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“Nothing special outside of the story I just told the Daimyo. How about you? What's life like as one of the Guardian Shinobi Twelve?”

“Business as usual. Lots of political games at the palace, nobles jockeying for influence. It’s good to hear your name making the rounds, though. Even in the capital, the ‘Copy Ninja’ has quite the reputation already. I bet once the Daimyo gets back, it’ll only grow bigger.”

“It has its uses.”

“Right.” He paused, taking a breath. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask… Kurenai, how’s she been?”

“We’ve gone on a few missions together. She’s doing well.” I let my eye curve into a smile. “Though, she seems more interested in wondering about a certain chain-smoker who left to become a bodyguard than anything else. You might want to secure your place when you get back, before it’s too late.”

Asuma coughed, a faint blush creeping up as he looked away. “Is that so?”

“By the way,” I said, changing the subject, “your colleague with the red headband has been trying to burn a hole through the back of my head for a while now. What’s his deal?”

He sighed. “That’s Kazuma. Don’t mind him. He’s an honorable man, very dedicated to his beliefs. Just thinks the Twelve Guardian Shinobi should be the only ones protecting the Daimyo.”

Kazuma… I recognize that name.

I nodded my head and walked a few steps forward as I thought about it.

He was Sora’s father, the boy who contained fragments of the Nine-Tails’ chakra. He was also the one who would lead half the Guardian Shinobi in a coup, something about him not wanting there to be any power in the Land of Fire other than the Daimyo. A conflict that would lead to a massive fight among themselves, leaving only him, Asuma, and the monk guy as survivors.

So, what to do about him?

The simplest solution was also the most final. But would that truly be the best choice? 

It wasn’t like I had a problem with eliminating someone based on actions they’d commit in the future. After all, I’d done the same to Deidara, Hidan, and Kakuzu. What made this different was that I saw the possibility of twisting the rebellion into something beneficial. Half the Guardian Shinobi Twelve turning traitor would shatter their image of absolute reliability. And Asuma, the Hokage’s son, standing as a stalwart defender would only strengthen the village’s image. Afterward, the Daimyo would naturally become more reliant on the Hidden Leaf for his personal security, increasing our influence over him. 

Besides, by the time Kazuma attempted his revenge a decade from now, I would be far beyond anything he could hope to challenge.

So no. Kazuma would be allowed to continue living. He just wouldn’t win.

With that decision made, I turned my attention from the future to the present.

Something that had been annoying me for a while now was the way Yuki Minazuki had been acting. He stood apart from his two surviving students, offering them no comfort or guidance in a traumatic moment. You don’t just do that when you’re with Genin, especially not your own students.

One could make the argument that it wasn’t a problem in Itachi’s case. He was showing no sign of being disturbed as he walked ahead. The other Genin wasn’t the same. She hadn’t complained, but it was easy to see in the way she kept wiping the same kunai.

I walked over to her. “Shinko, right?”

She flinched, the kunai nearly slipping from her grasp. “Y-yes, sir.”

“What you went through isn’t something you just get over,” I said gently. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured. “A ninja has to be prepared for anything.”

That was something I had been taught when I was in the academy. I guess that hadn’t been changed. The village had no real mental health programs for what came after missions like these. Most shinobi just learned to bury it, or break under it.

“In theory, yes,” I said. “However, when facing reality, it’s not quite the same. There’s no training that makes this easy. What you’re feeling is normal.”

“I thought I was ready,” she whispered, her knuckles white around the kunai. “For all of it. But it all happened while I wasn’t even aware! When I woke up and saw Tenma… I… I realized don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to die like that.” A look of self-loathing took over her face. “It’s not fair. I try so hard, but being on the same team as Itachi... I can see my own limits now. I don’t have what it takes to survive this.” She rubbed her eyes and tried to smile. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “There’s no shame in that. When we get back to the village, you can file for a discharge from the active roster. It’s a simple process. If you need help with the paperwork, I’ll walk you through it.”

She nodded, a single tear tracing a path down her dusty cheek.

I left her to it and walked over to Itachi.

“I overheard,” he said before I could speak. “I do not require the same encouragement. This incident has not affected me.”

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. “Regret isn’t what I feel,” he said finally. “Gratification, maybe. If the number of shinobi in this world is decreased by one, then the amount of conflict has also been reduced by one. That means the path I’m on isn’t wrong.”

He deflected my question. He was speaking about his teammate quitting rather than the teammate who died. A clear sign of defensiveness. Trying to convince himself more than me.

“Are you alright, Itachi?”

“Yes, I am.”

Seeing the chakra in his head move differently, I moved a few steps back. He started whispering to himself once he thought he was alone.

“I didn’t understand back then what real pain was. The pain of losing a life. I felt it for the first time after losing it... No,” he corrected himself. “I was made to realize it. The feeling of not wanting to lose something precious.”

He turned his head down, and I saw the dark spots where tears struck the dry earth.

“This pain... Is proof we were friends.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is,” I confirmed. “Don’t let it be in vain. Don’t let that power become a curse. Use those eyes to protect the people precious to you, the ones you still have.”

He continued whispering to himself. “I won’t feel this pain again by losing you, Sasuke.”

Wait, so what unlocked his Sharingan? His teammate’s death or him thinking about his little brother?

------------------------------

We had arrived at the village thirty minutes ago, right around the end of sunset. The Hokage greeted the Daimyo with the expected ceremony before the entourage was escorted to their official residence. Then Hiruzen and I made our way to his office for the debriefing.

“This is deeply concerning,” Hiruzen said after I finished my report. The only thing I left out was Obito being the masked man. “For an individual to brazenly attack the Daimyo’s convoy and so easily neutralize the Guardian Shinobi and one of our Jōnin… It would have been a political disaster of the highest order had your team arrived any later.”

I nodded, but my mind wasn’t fully there.

Itachi said Obito retreated once he sensed my chakra. What would I do if he hadn’t? If we were face-to-face, would I be able to kill him? Not in the literal sense. I could counter his Kamui with my own. I was able to use my Mangekyou Sharingan, I was just never pushed into a situation where I needed it. The question was if I had the will to do so. I’d resolved myself to taking him down, but you can never know for certain until that moment arrives. Still, I’d like to believe I’d make the right decision. Obito was too far gone. Saving him wasn’t worth the cost.

“It was too close for comfort,” I agreed.

He gave me a second look. “On a more positive note, you handled the aftermath well. Your decision to take command as a Jōnin rather than an ANBU was the correct one. I have no doubt the Daimyo would have canceled the trip if you had not acted with such authority. You have my thanks, Kakashi. You are dismissed.”

Leaving the office, I found Shinko waiting on a bench in the tower’s main lobby, just as I’d asked her to. She looked small there, lost in the constant shuffle of the tower’s staff as they were ready to go home after a long day of work. 

She looked at me and I nodded, making her stand up and follow me as I led the way toward the Office of Shinobi Rosters.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” I asked as we walked down the hall.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I am.”

We entered the office. A bored-looking clerk in his forties looked up from his paperwork. 

“This Genin wishes to file for a discharge from active duty,” I stated.

The clerk glanced at my Jōnin vest before turning to the young girl standing right next to me. “Ninja Registration Number?”

“Zero-one-two-one-one-one,” she answered.

He went to a large cabinet behind him. After a minute of rummaging through the densely packed folders, he pulled one out and set it down on the desk. He slid an ink pad and form across to Shinko.

“Right thumb here for identity verification,” he instructed, pointing to a box near the bottom of the form.

As she pressed her thumb to the paper, I found myself remembering the last time I had been in this office. It was actually similar to this situation. Just as Shinko was trying to quit after her teammate’s death, Rin had tried to do the same after Obito’s. But she was a Chūnin, and a valuable medical-nin. They’d convinced her to simply take some time off, to see if she would feel better and be able to return to active duty. As for me, I did the opposite. I buried myself in even more work, taking mission after mission until there was no room left to think.

Nothing like that was happening now. I figured that was because no one cared when it was just a random Genin who wanted out.

The clerk stamped the form. “This will be forwarded to Lord Hokage for a final review. You’ll be notified of his decision within a week.”

Shinko nodded and we left the building.

“It’s more or less a formality,” I told her. “You don’t have to worry.”

“Thank you for your help, sir,” she said, giving me a small bow before turning and heading off on her own.

I started the walk home. Today was another interesting day, but I’d say I made some progress.

“Kakashi!”

I turned to see Asuma jogging to catch up to me. 

“Managed to get the other Guardians to cover my duties for the night,” he said with a grin. “Since I’m back in the village, I’m gathering the old gang for a reunion at Shushu-ya. You in?”

Shushu-ya. A Chinese-style pub known for its house-brand of choice sake and massive platters of food meant for sharing. I’d never actually been there, but it was popular.

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

------------------------------

[Anko Mitarashi]

They had been at Shushuya for around an hour and a half, the scent of sake and grilled meat surrounding them.

Raido and Genma were in the corner, laughing at each other’s jokes about Asuma and Kurenai, who were stuck in that awkward dance of theirs. Guy was… well, Guy, only louder and somehow even more intense with every drink. And Kakashi sat right next to her, composed as always, joining in on the jokes with that calm eye-smile of his.

Now let’s see if I can break that composure.

She’d done enough of that subtle shit. The man was immune to her accidental touches and innocent comments. He wasn’t some wet-behind-the-ears Genin she could fluster with a bat of her eyelashes. This required a stronger approach.

Anko leaned forward, practically lying down on her tits as she reached for the sake bottle at the center of the table, making sure to give Kakashi a prime view. She knew the metal mesh of her bodysuit hid absolutely nothing of her shapely bottom. She’d already caught several men’s eyes glued to her ass tonight. Unfortunately, the one whose attention she actually wanted was too damn skilled to be caught looking. But surely he wouldn’t look away when it was right in front of his face. Or maybe it was the front he liked? Her overcoat was unbuttoned, as always. If she moved to sit across from him, he’d get an eyeful of that, too.

With the bottle in hand, she turned back and caught the momentary glance before his eye snapped back up to meet hers. She would’ve missed it if she wasn’t specifically looking for it. Still, it was a small victory.

As she poured sake into their cups, she wondered if he’d lift that forehead protector to memorize the view with his Sharingan. She heard rumors of the Uchiha Clan using it that way. In fact, the Hyuga probably did something similar with their Byakugan.

They both drank.

Suddenly, Guy slammed both hands on the table, making the plates rattle.

“ASUMA!” he roared, his face flushed. “YOUR FLAMES OF YOUTH HAVE DIMMED IN THE TIME YOU LEFT THE VILLAGE! LET US SPAR RIGHT THIS MOMENT! I WILL REIGNITE THEM WITH MY FISTS MEETING YOUR FACE!”

Anko blinked. Guy was usually intense, but this was a whole other level. “You think the legendary drunken-fist is actually real?” she muttered to Kakashi.

“I’m not sure, I’ve never actually seen it. I know he’s not the type to drink, but I suppose missing out on a comrade’s return wouldn’t be very youthful,” he replied, his eye curving in amusement. 

She hummed. “Still, this is definitely gonna be an interesting sight.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, Green Beast,” Asuma said, raising both hands. “How about we settle this like civilized men? A test of pure strength, like an arm-wrestling contest!” he declared, giving Guy a conspicuous wink that was clearly meant to be a signal to go easy and help him look good in front of Kurenai.

“I SEE! I WAS MISTAKEN, YOUR YOUTH BURNS AS BRIGHTLY AS EVER! I WILL GIVE IT MY ALL!”

She had a feeling this wouldn’t turn out the way Asuma was hoping.

They clasped hands, and Asuma strained, putting on a good show of a struggle, but the contest was over before it began. With a grunt, Guy slammed Asuma’s hand onto the table with a conclusive thud. 

“KNOW THIS… MY YOUTH IS STILL FAR GREATER THAN YOURS!”

“What’re you doing, Guy?!” Asuma sputtered.

Kurenai sighed, burying her face in her hands.

Anko burst out laughing. “What a dumbass,” she said to Kakashi. “Even if Guy wasn’t completely wasted, he’d never throw a match.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, he’s just too honest for that. Besides, he probably thought this was the most supportive thing to do.”

The rest of the night blurred together. They ordered another round for everyone. Asuma recounted tales of his duties as a Guardian Shinobi, Kakashi mentioned a fight he had not too long ago against an S-rank bounty hunter that even tried to assassinate the First Hokage, and the rest of them shared mission reports that were still classified, but no one at the table was bothered.

The hours passed, and the group began to thin out. She watched as Asuma and Kurenai finally left together. 

About damn time they did. Now all they have to do is seal the deal.

And then she became aware that it was just her and Kakashi left in their booth. 

Screw it. If Kurenai can do it, then so can I!

She wasn’t the type to sugarcoat things, anyway.

Downing another drink, Anko stood up, stretching her arms high enough to pull her top tight across her chest. “My place is just around the corner,” she purred, leaning forward slightly as she gave Kakashi the look, making sure that it was impossible to misunderstand. “You wanna come over for the night?”

He stared up at her. For a fraction of a second, his eye was moving erratically, darting around to a point just past her shoulder. Once it refocused, his eye was back to normal, indicating no emotion whatsoever. “Have you had too much to drink, Anko?”

The question stunned her into a momentary silence. Of course she wasn’t drunk. She literally couldn’t get drunk unless she drank a barrel of the hardest shit there was available. She didn’t know what the question even meant. Was he rejecting her? No, it felt more like an escape route. But was it for her, or for him?

He took a breath to speak, but the inhale was just a tiny gasp of air that seemed to last no time at all before he spoke. “Let’s just get you home.”

She just nodded, too embarrassed to say anything else.

The walk to her apartment was the most frustrating ten minutes of her life. He walked beside her at a professional distance, not cold enough to be a dismissal but nowhere near as close as she wanted. The entire way, her mind raced, debating whether she should double down. Would it be too desperate?

At her door, he waited patiently as she fumbled with the key. Actually fumbled. What kind of a fucking kunoichi does that?!

“Goodnight, Anko,” he said gently. “Make sure to get some water before you sleep. I’ll see you at training tomorrow.”

And then he was gone in a swirl of leaves.

She stepped inside, slammed the door shut, then collapsed face-first onto her bed.

“FUCK!” she screamed into her pillow.

God, I should’ve just told him I wanted him to bend me over and claim my body! And then turn me around… and look me in the eye… and tell me how much he values me. That I’m good enough for him. Good enough for anyone.

With a sigh of pure frustration, she rolled over and reached for the copy of Icha Icha on her nightstand. Another night of this since guys didn’t want Orochimaru’s student. At least with Kakashi, she knew he wouldn’t judge her for that.

------------------------------

[Danzo Shimura]

The cloying scent of tobacco smoke was an old, familiar poison in the Hokage’s office. Many years ago, he had warned Hiruzen that a shinobi who indulged in such habits would have his body betray him, forever marked by the stench. Hiruzen had merely smiled, replying that a Hokage did not go on infiltration missions so it was no big deal. 

He found that short-sighted response disgusting then, and he still found it disgusting now.

Whether one was the Hokage or the lowest of Genin, a shinobi must never forget that any moment could become a battlefield. Should the circumstances demand evasion, the scent of tobacco clinging to Hiruzen’s robes would be a beacon, broadcasting his presence to any competent adversary. A fundamental failure of discipline.

As if oblivious to these thoughts, Hiruzen picked some tobacco from its case, tapped the burnt ashes into a tray on his desk, and lit the head of his pipe. The unpleasant smell stung Danzo’s nose, but he did not allow it to show on his face. Emotion was a disease to be purged, even within himself.

“I have reviewed the list of candidates for the upcoming Chūnin Exams,” he began abruptly. “Itachi Uchiha’s team is, once again, not a part of it.”

Hiruzen exhaled a cloud of smoke. “So soon after one of his teammates was killed and the other retired from active duty?”

“That is precisely why this is the optimal time. He has shed the dead weight that was used as justification to hold him back in the first place.”

“It seems that whenever we meet, the conversation always turns to that boy.”

Danzo ignored the observation and continued his assessment. “His two and a half years as a Genin represent a significant loss. A loss of potential for the individual, and a net loss of operational strength for the village.”

“You should try to think of it as an essential experience for him,” Hiruzen said, his tone as placid as ever. “Though now that I think of it, did you not offer the boy your advice immediately after his graduation?”

Danzo recalled the conversation. His purpose had been to assess the boy’s mindset, and the Uchiha prodigy had not been a disappointment. He had presented a hypothetical scenario: He was the captain of a ship with a ten-man crew, one of whom had contracted an infectious disease. To continue the voyage without doing anything would mean condemning the other nine to death. Itachi had provided the only logical answer without a moment’s hesitation. The man with the disease would die regardless. The priority was to save the lives of the other nine by sacrificing the one. A necessary sacrifice, and a fitting mindset for a true shinobi.

“I merely wished to see the face of the most talented student since Kakashi Hatake,” he responded.

“To think that you would give this much attention to a member of the Uchiha clan.”

“To allow such a promising individual to stagnate for years is an unforgivable waste. We, the leaders of this village, must always look toward the future.”

A dry chuckle escaped Hiruzen’s lips, a mocking sound that grated on Danzo’s nerves. “I never thought I would hear such words from you. Still, he cannot take the exam without a recommendation from his Jōnin-sensei.”

“Minazuki Yuki is below average among the Jōnin. He is likely envious of Itachi’s superior potential.”

“Yuki is not that sort of—”

“He is exactly that sort of man,” Danzo asserted, leaving no room for Hiruzen to let one of his shinobi get away with treachery. “Perhaps you are unaware, but that man has already sent several Genin more talented than himself back to the Academy. He cannot employ that tactic with Itachi, as the boy’s abilities are too overtly excellent to deny.”

He had tasked a member of his personal ANBU unit with investigating the man to confirm this very fact. The Foundation possessed a vast information network within the village, cataloging the thoughts, philosophies, and tendencies of every shinobi. The Foundation looked into everything with diligent precision. All for the security of the village.

Hiruzen sighed. “If Yuki does not wish to recommend him, then I will simply order him to do so. That should fix the problem.”

“A moment,” Danzo interjected, seeing his opening. “It would be best to grant him a private promotion. He would make an ideal member of the Foundation.”

“No, I do not think so. Since you’ve mentioned the boy so many times, he must undoubtedly be talented. Allowing him to take the Chūnin Exams and improve the village’s perception in the eyes of the nobles is a far greater opportunity.”

This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. However, Hiruzen was nothing if not easy to sway.

“The exams are to be held in the Hidden Cloud this year,” he countered. “The Raikage showed his treachery just months ago when he attempted to steal the Byakugan from the Hyuga clan right before our eyes. Now he may try again with the Sharingan. We would be practically handing it over by sending Itachi to their village!”

Hiruzen waved a dismissive hand. “I do not believe it will be a problem. The Hidden Leaf proved its strength decisively at our last meeting. Even for a man who thinks with his muscles, a second attempt on a bloodline from our village would be an act of profound foolishness.”

That was the unpredictable variable on Hiruzen’s side. The White Fang’s son had always been a potent weapon. His promotion to ANBU Captain was a logical progression, but his subsequent actions were alarming. The theft of Kinoe was an unforgivable intrusion into Foundation affairs. Gaining the favor of the Hyuga was a dangerous accumulation of influence. His victory over the Cloud’s jinchuriki had transformed him into a public hero. Kakashi Hatake was becoming the living representative of Hiruzen’s flawed, sentimental ideology, but with the willpower and decisiveness Hiruzen himself lacked. A dangerous combination. Securing an equally talented piece to counter him was now a strategic necessity.

Making Itachi take the Chūnin Exams wasn’t original plan, but it did provide another opportunity. He could continue to influence the boy, this time in a more personal capacity.

“Then someone else must act as Itachi Uchiha’s Jōnin-sensei for this exam,” Danzo proposed. “Minazuki Yuki is far too incompetent for this responsibility. In fact, it should be someone higher up in the village’s chain of command, to show we have faith in the boy.”

And who better than the one who has had an interest in him since the very beginning? This was his best chance to get the boy under his direct control, severing the volatile link between the Uchiha and the village. Hiruzen would be handing him the perfect tool.

“An excellent idea, Danzō,” Hiruzen said, a twinkle in his eye. “It should be someone who understands the burden of command.”

Like the commander of the Foundation.

“Someone with an analytical mind, who can see the bigger picture beyond simple missions.”

Like the one who guided the village from the shadows, the very definition of seeing the bigger picture.

“Someone who has already shown a talent for nurturing other promising shinobi.”

Like the training program for the Foundation, which purged emotion and created the ideal weapons.

Hiruzen let out a small chuckle. “Someone who has the ability to operate effectively outside the standard chain of command when necessary.”

Like the many times a certain individual had operated in the shadows, making the decisions Hiruzen was too weak to make.

“And, most importantly, someone who is decisive and is not afraid to make difficult decisions for the good of the village.”

Hiruzen is finally admitting, in his own circuitous way, that The Will of Fire is simply a comforting story for children, but the true engine for the village’s survival is my philosophy.

“Yes,” Hiruzen said, his smile widening as he looked Danzo directly in the eye. “I have the perfect person in mind.”