Rising Blade, Falling Leaves (Fate x Naruto, EMIYA Centric)

[Dragon Bob]

Kinda pissed at Hiruzen right now.
Here he is, moaning and whining about the state the village is in to a five year old child, where a six year old child can get assaulted with law enforcement being present on the scene, who then proceed to put in a grand total of zero fucking effort to catch the perpetrators, and like – my guy, you're the one in fucking charge you dipshit.

He's the leader of what is essentially a military dictatorship city-state (if one technically subservient to the nation they reside in, but how relevant is the daimyō in canon anyway) and he doesn't like how it's being run??? Then do it differently you geriatric fuck oh my god what an asshat. Fuck, man.

Beyond that, thanks for the chapter!

Just to make it clear, I don't have an issue with how Hiruzen is written or anything, I'm pissed at the character not the writing, yeah?

edit:typo

Click to shrink...

In his very slight defense, there's not much he can do about the general hatred of Naruko. You can't force the village to like her.
As for the assault and the police issue, that's actually much more complicated than it appears. The Uchiha police tried to intervene, but the village hates them enough that the village managed to provoke one of the cops into attacking a chunin who committed no crime. That's not a good look and the Hokage can't act to favor the party that was very technically in the wrong, even if the Chunin deserved it.

The problem was easy to solve 10 years ago, now it's almost impossible without massively weakening the village. In another 5 years enough new ninja would have developed that he might be able to try fixing things, but of course he doesn't have 5 years. His real issue is that he keeps falling into short term thinking, Fix the issue in front of him as quickly as possible regardless of the consequences years later. Which can be excused a bit since the village was nearly destroyed by the Nine Tails and he didn't have many options. Still biting everyone now.

 

[The Tangerine Cat]

Kinda pissed at Hiruzen right now.
Here he is, moaning and whining about the state the village is in to a five year old child, where a six year old child can get assaulted with law enforcement being present on the scene, who then proceed to put in a grand total of zero fucking effort to catch the perpetrators, and like – my guy, you're the one in fucking charge you dipshit.

He's the leader of what is essentially a military dictatorship city-state (if one technically subservient to the nation they reside in, but how relevant is the daimyō in canon anyway) and he doesn't like how it's being run??? Then do it differently you geriatric fuck oh my god what an asshat. Fuck, man.

Beyond that, thanks for the chapter!

Just to make it clear, I don't have an issue with how Hiruzen is written or anything, I'm pissed at the character not the writing, yeah?

edit:typo

Click to shrink...

lmao no worries, i get it

yeah hiruzen is portrayed as a character who procrastinates too much in his old age, or is too indecisive. A lot of things could have been diverted—to some degree, at least—if he had acted sooner, put his foot down in the beginning.

In his very slight defense, there's not much he can do about the general hatred of Naruko. You can't force the village to like her.
As for the assault and the police issue, that's actually much more complicated than it appears. The Uchiha police tried to intervene, but the village hates them enough that the village managed to provoke one of the cops into attacking a chunin who committed no crime. That's not a good look and the Hokage can't act to favor the party that was very technically in the wrong, even if the Chunin deserved it.

The problem was easy to solve 10 years ago, now it's almost impossible without massively weakening the village. In another 5 years enough new ninja would have developed that he might be able to try fixing things, but of course he doesn't have 5 years. His real issue is that he keeps falling into short term thinking, Fix the issue in front of him as quickly as possible regardless of the consequences years later. Which can be excused a bit since the village was nearly destroyed by the Nine Tails and he didn't have many options. Still biting everyone now.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, there's definitely a lot of things that are too late to salvage even if Hiruzen decided to by the point they had happened.

Like you said, they could've been addressable 10 years ago, but his indecisiveness has dragged many things out for so long that they've gained too much momentum to opt out of.

 

[The Tangerine Cat]

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Chapter 7—The First Crack

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The October air had turned overnight. The compound in the mornings was all damp stone and wet earth now, the persimmon tree outside the Nakano house dropping its fruit onto the path where nobody picked it up. The tiled roofs held dew until midmorning, and the crows had migrated to the south wall where the sun hit first.

Mikoto asked him to bring tea to the sitting room. The hallway was empty. The neighbors who usually stopped by the main house in the evenings had not come, and the two clan members he'd passed on the path outside had quickened their pace in the other direction.

He set two cups on the tray and carried it down the hall.

Yashiro Uchiha sat across from Fugaku at the low table. He was older than most of the officers Emiya had seen at the compound—ash-grey hair, squinted eyes that never quite opened all the way.

"—six months, Fugaku-sama. Six months in ANBU, and the clan has yet to see a single piece of actionable intelligence from the boy. The position was supposed to serve a purpose."

"The position serves the village. That was the arrangement."

"The arrangement." Yashiro regarded Fugaku for a beat. "With respect, arrangements that serve only the village have a tendency to forget who put the boy there in the first place."

"Itachi serves where he's placed. If you have concerns about his output, you're welcome to raise them at the next council session."

"Council sessions." Yashiro set his cup down. The porcelain touched the table without a sound. "We've had four this month, Fugaku-sama. The sessions are not the problem. The lack of movement afterward is."

Emiya set the tray between them. He poured Fugaku's cup first, then Yashiro's, and straightened.

Yashiro's squinted eyes tracked him. "Ah. The younger one. Sasuke-kun, is it?"

Fugaku's jaw tightened. "Sasuke."

"Top of his class at the Academy, I hear." Yashiro picked up his fresh cup. The steam curled past his chin. "Fine marks across the board. That chūnin instructor speaks well of him, apparently." He sipped. "Quite composed for his age. He has your bearing, Fugaku-sama. Though I suspect there's more of Mikoto-sama in there than either of you would admit."

The man had a particular talent for making compliments sound like inspections.

"He's six."

"Itachi was six once. Look how that turned out."

Comparing children to failed investments in front of Fugaku—the man's diplomatic skills were as impressive as his subtlety.

Neither of them spoke. Somewhere outside, a gate latch clicked shut. Fugaku's arms unfolded slowly, his hands settling flat on his knees.

"Will that be all, Sasuke?" His eyes hadn't left Yashiro.

"Unless your guest requires anything else." Emiya surveyed both men and left.

Behind him, as he walked back down the hallway, Yashiro's voice dropped half a register. "The clan cannot afford to wait for Itachi to decide where his loyalties are, Fugaku-sama. Others in the compound are beginning to ask questions that you and I will not be able to defer much longer."

The kitchen door was open, and Mikoto was at the counter, slicing daikon into rounds. A strand of hair had escaped behind her ear. She didn't blow it aside.

Emiya picked up the cutting board beside her and started on the carrots. They worked without speaking. The kitchen had its own rhythm—knife against wood, water running, the low hiss of the stove beneath its pot. Mikoto's knife landed a fraction harder than it needed to, and the pause between her cuts was a fraction longer. She hadn't asked what he'd heard in the sitting room, which meant she already knew enough to not want it confirmed.

"He visits every week now." Emiya didn't look up from the carrots.

"I know."

"It used to be every month. Talk about a first-hand demonstration of overstaying welcomes."

Mikoto's knife stopped. She set it down, pressed both palms flat against the counter, and stared at the daikon in front of her. "It's fine, Sasuke."

"Uh-huh." He peeled the next carrot. "I'm sure it is, Mikoto."

She sighed and picked up the knife again.

The pot hissed, and she turned to adjust the flame. Her hand lingered on the knob a beat too long before she let go.

Dinner was three place settings. Mikoto reached for a fourth bowl from the cabinet, held it for a beat, and put it back.

Itachi's chair was empty and no one mentioned it. Fugaku sat where he always sat, but the book was absent tonight and the tea beside his plate was hot. He intended to drink it. Fugaku paying attention to dinner was more peculiar than anything Yashiro had said in the sitting room.

Mikoto served the rice while Emiya brought the sides—pickled plum, grilled mackerel, miso soup.

"The Nakano boy made chūnin last week." Mikoto reached for the rice paddle. "His mother was at the market. She seemed proud."

Fugaku picked up his chopsticks. "Hm."

"She also mentioned they're expanding the east patrol rotation. Adding a third shift."

Fugaku's chopsticks paused over his bowl. A fraction of a second. He resumed eating.

"A third shift."

"Starting next week, apparently."

"The mackerel is good tonight."

"Thank you." Mikoto took a sip of soup.

Emiya ate. The mackerel was, in fact, good. Mikoto's knife work on the daikon had been sharper than usual—the rounds were thinner, the edges cleaner. In six years of sharing a table with Fugaku, the man had never once complimented a specific dish. He was either developing a palate or running out of things he was willing to talk about.

They finished in the time it took for the soup to cool. No one lingered.

Fugaku excused himself from the table and walked back toward the sitting room. The door slid shut behind him. Yashiro's voice, low and measured, resumed on the other side.

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The front door opened while they were still washing up.

Itachi's footsteps came down the hall—quiet, precise. He hadn't shaken off the silent walk from his shift. He appeared in the kitchen doorway still in his ANBU blacks, the chest armor unstrapped but not removed, his hair loose from its tie.

Mikoto turned from the cabinet. "Itachi. There's a plate for you."

"I ate at headquarters." He glanced at the counter, then at the covered plate sitting where it always sat when he came home late, and picked it up anyway. "Thank you."

The Uchiha talent for saying one thing and doing another was evidently hereditary.

He sat at the table, the three chairs across from him pushed back at the angles people left them in.

Emiya dried the last bowl and set it in the cabinet. Fugaku's tea was still on the table, half-finished and going cold. Mikoto took his place at the table across from Itachi, her hands folded in front of her. She didn't ask where he'd been. She didn't ask why he was late. She watched him eat the food he'd said he didn't need.

"Yashiro was here." Emiya settled onto the edge of the counter stool, arms folded across his chest.

Itachi's chopsticks didn't pause. "I know."

"He's getting louder. I could hear him through the sitting room wall, and I wasn't particularly trying to listen."

"He's always been loud. The volume just used to be more evenly distributed." Itachi's eyes stayed on his plate. "Now it's concentrated."

"Your name came up. He seems to think the clan overpaid."

"It usually does."

Mikoto's hands tightened in her lap as the kitchen clock ticked twice.

"His exact words were closer to 'poor investment.'" Emiya tilted his head. "Fugaku didn't appreciate it. I suspect Yashiro didn't particularly care."

"Father rarely appreciates being told what he already knows." Itachi set his chopsticks down. The plate was half-finished—he'd eaten the rice and the fish and left the pickled plum, which was the opposite of his usual preference.

He stood. "Good night, Mother."

"Good night, Itachi."

He turned to Emiya, the look holding for a beat—the same look Itachi had been giving him since the river, since the deliveries. But tonight the lines around his mouth had tightened, and he held it a half-second longer than usual before letting go.

"Good night, Sasuke."

"Good night, Itachi."

His footsteps receded down the hall, and his bedroom door closed. Mikoto exhaled through her nose and pressed her fingertips against her eyes.

Emiya washed Itachi's dishes while Mikoto dried.

The rhythm was the same as always—he passed bowls, she took them, the cabinet opened and closed. Water ran, and porcelain clicked on wood.

"Is your father all right?" Mikoto's eyes stayed on the bowl in her hands.

Emiya turned off the tap and dried his hands on the towel she'd hung from the oven handle—the same spot she always put it, within reach of whoever was shorter.

"Fugaku is doing what he always does. Managing things he can't discuss with the people he wants to protect." He folded the towel. "It's not a particularly efficient strategy, but it's consistent."

Mikoto's hands stilled on the cabinet door.

"He should talk to someone." Her voice had dropped.

"He should talk to you. But he won't, because telling you what's happening would mean admitting what's happening, and he hasn't decided what to do about it yet. When he does, you'll be the first to know. Or the last." He set the towel down. "With Fugaku, those tend to be the same thing."

She stared at him. "You know too much for a six-year-old."

"You say that every month, Mikoto. It hasn't gotten any more useful."

She reached out and tapped him on the head with two fingers. He let it happen. She closed the cabinet and untied her apron.

"Don't stay up too late."

Her footsteps receded down the hall.

The house went still. The murmur from the sitting room had gone quiet, and no sound came from Itachi's room.

Emiya stood at the counter in the dark kitchen and packed the bento—rice, grilled mackerel (he'd set aside a portion before dinner), pickled vegetables, the last of the tamagoyaki from the morning batch. Fugaku's reading glasses were still on the counter where he'd left them that morning, beside the spot where the book usually sat. He wrapped the bento in the same cloth, tied the same knot, and tucked it under his arm.

He slipped on his sandals at the door and stepped into the compound.

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The gate guards on the east side were new. Emiya recognized one of them from the festival—the young officer who had lunged at the crowd. Gate duty was a demotion. The man stared straight ahead as Emiya passed, jaw set, saying nothing.

The village was quiet, and he reached the eastern quarter without being seen.

The apartment light was on. Through the curtain gap, the girl was at the table with a pencil in her fist and what looked like homework spread in front of her, not looking at the window. He placed the bento on the ledge and left the way he'd come.

The compound gate was quiet when he returned. The guards had changed shifts—the pair on night duty inclined their heads as he passed, too accustomed to the clan head's youngest keeping odd hours to comment on it anymore.

He was three houses from the main residence when the front door opened.

Yashiro stepped out.

The man adjusted his collar against the October air and turned down the path. He spotted Emiya within a few strides and stopped.

"Out late, Sasuke-kun."

"I could say the same." Emiya didn't slow his pace. "Fugaku must value your company a great deal. Three hours is a long conversation."

Yashiro's chin lifted. A beat passed. "Your father and I have much to discuss."

"So it would seem. Although at this rate, you may as well save yourself the walk and move in."

The squinted eyes narrowed further. Emiya hadn't thought that was physically possible. Yashiro regarded him for a long moment, then clasped his hands behind his back.

"You speak very directly for a child your age."

Emiya shrugged. "I've been told."

"And that doesn't concern you?"

"Not particularly. Directness saves time, and nobody in this compound seems to have much of it to spare lately."

Yashiro was quiet for several seconds. Something akin to satisfaction filtered behind his posture. "How about the Academy? Does it keep you busy?"

"Busy enough for what the Academy offers. The curriculum isn't exactly designed for pace."

The man nodded once. "And your studies? The clan techniques—has your father begun instruction?"

"Fugaku has other priorities at the moment. I manage on my own."

"Itachi was a gifted child." Yashiro's voice had gone flat. "The most talented this clan had seen in a generation. But talent without loyalty is just a sharper blade in someone else's hand." He tilted his head. "I wonder what your generation will produce."

Emiya held his gaze. "Who knows? Something useful, I'd expect. The clan seems to be in need of it."

Yashiro didn't answer immediately. His chin dipped a fraction, and his squinted eyes creased at the corners.

"Hm." The sound was low, almost to himself. He inclined his head once, turned, and continued down the path. His footsteps faded between the houses.

Emiya watched him go, then walked the rest of the way to the main house, removed his sandals, and closed the door behind him.

The sitting room was empty now. Down the hall, the study door closed, and the lock turned once.

Outside, the persimmon tree tapped its lowest branch against the window, a faint rhythmic knock that nobody had trimmed it back far enough to stop.

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Next Chapter Preview

The study light was on when Itachi came through the front door.

Four in the morning.

"I landed more shuriken on the post today than you did!"

"She's got spirit."

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[Starman25]

Four in the morning.

"I landed more shuriken on the post today than you did!"

"She's got spirit."

Click to shrink...

Itachi's thoughts: Sasuke invited a girl to train with him at the compound!?
They grow up so fast... just a short time ago he was quiet and alone, and now he already has a girlfriend!