Chapter 84: Parting Words
The stalemate in the Land of Hot Springs had settled into a grim, predictable rhythm. The air in the Konoha encampment was thick with the scent of damp earth and simmering tension, a far cry from the frantic energy of the war's early days. Three years had etched their passage onto the landscape and the people within it.
Kagenori, now sixteen, had shed the last of his boyhood frame. He stood just over 1.7 meters tall, his shoulders broader, his presence more solid. The softness of youth had been honed from his features, leaving behind the sharp, calculating lines of a seasoned shinobi. He moved with an unnerving quietness, a predator's grace that commanded a wide berth from all but a select few.
He found Orochimaru in the command tent, a space that had become as much a laboratory as a strategic headquarters. Scrolls of tactical maps were pushed to the edges of the table, making room for others of a more… biological nature. The air hummed with a faint, antiseptic chill. Orochimaru himself was unchanged, a serpent preserved in amber, his golden eyes holding the same ageless, penetrating curiosity.
"Kagenori," Orochimaru rasped, not looking up from a complex seal diagram he was sketching. "You require something?"
"Orochimaru-sensei," Kagenori began, his voice level. "I am requesting a transfer. I wish to provide support to the front in the Land of Grass. With you, Lord Jiraiya, and Namikaze present here, my absence will have negligible impact on our defensive line. It is time I attended to my own… long-term projects."
Orochimaru's stylus stilled for a fraction of a second. He lifted his gaze, a slow, knowing smile curling his thin lips. "The Land of Grass? You seek the Uzumaki castaways, do you not? A prudent move. Lady Mito's light fades with each passing season. If we do not secure an alternative vessel soon, it will be too late." He emphasized the word 'we,' acknowledging their partnership. "So, is your secondary preparation complete? Remember, I still find my current position… useful. I cannot offer overt aid if your endeavors bring you into conflict with the village."
The question was a test of his disciple's foresight. Orochimaru was invested, but not to the point of self-sacrifice. His own research, fueled by the 'materials' provided by the war—and Kagenori's ruthless efficiency in collecting them—was paramount.
Kagenori gave a single, sharp nod. "The secondary preparation will be viable by next year. Do not concern yourself with me, Sensei. I will handle the consequences alone."
"Excellent," Orochimaru hissed, his satisfaction evident. "Remain here for a few more days. As a Jonin, you require official transfer orders. I will dispatch a request to Konoha. Given the current stability here, the council should have no grounds to refuse." His attention returned to the seal, the conversation clearly concluded. "Do try to send interesting samples from Grass, if the opportunity arises."
Dismissed, Kagenori left the tent, the humid air outside feeling almost warm compared to the chill within. He didn't need to search for his team; a flicker of chakra and intent was all it took. Within minutes, his four subordinates stood at attention before him.
Uchiha Kyosuke, Keiichi, Ryuhei, and Jinno. Three years under his command had forged them into something harder, sharper. The relentless pressure and the sheer number of life-or-death missions had pushed them all to the level of Special Jonin. More importantly, it had beaten the prideful hesitation out of them. When Kagenori spoke, they moved with a terrifying, unthinking synchronicity. The team was infamous across the Hot Springs front—a quartet of Uchiha led by their clan's pariah, known for their brutal efficiency and a policy of leaving no enemy alive.
"Team Leader," they chorused, their postures rigid.
Kagenori looked them over, a faint, cold smile touching his lips. "Congratulations. Your sentence in the personal hell I crafted for you is nearly over."
Confusion flickered across their faces. Uchiha Kyosuke was the first to speak. "Sir?"
"I've requested a transfer to the Land of Grass," Kagenori clarified, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. "Once the orders arrive, I depart. You will be reassigned. Consider yourselves… free."
Uchiha Keiichi couldn't contain a soft, sharp intake of breath. "So suddenly?"
Kagenori's mocking gaze settled on him. "You sound disappointed, Keiichi. Shouldn't you be relieved? Ecstatic, even?"
Keiichi's eyes dropped to the ground. The initial shock was indeed giving way to a wave of profound relief. The constant strain, the fear, the numbing violence—it was ending. But the feeling was complicated, tarnished by a history they couldn't erase.
For three years, Kagenori had been a merciless commander. He was demanding, critical, and showed no camaraderie. Yet, he was also brutally, impeccably reliable. After that first, disastrous mission, he had always taken the point, facing the greatest dangers himself. Each of them owed their life to his terrifying, last-second interventions on multiple occasions. With him leading, no objective seemed impossible.
But he was a wall of ice. There were no shared meals, no personal conversations, only the mission. Their attempts to bridge the gap, to perhaps soothe the old wounds between him and the Uchiha, had been met with scornful ridicule and physical punishment. The relationship was, and always would be, one of commander and soldier.
"Though my initial purpose was little more than to vent my frustrations on Uchiha puppets," Kagenori said, stretching his shoulders, "you have served adequately for three years. A word of advice, for what it's worth. Once I'm gone, do not tie your fortunes to that fool, Uchiha Kazuo. His strength is mediocre, and his tactics consist of relying on the Uchiha name. He is despised here. Of course, you are Uchiha; my words could simply be a ploy to divide you. You are free to ignore them."
He paused, his eyes glinting. "But if you have any sense left, seek a transfer to Namikaze Minato's command. Serve under him, and you might actually have a future. A dim one, but a future nonetheless."
He turned to leave.
"Team Leader!" Kyosuke's voice was strained, urgent.
Kagenori stopped, glancing back over his shoulder. "I will be here for a few more days. You may still use the title. Do not use it when next we meet. What is it?"
Kyosuke clenched his fists, gathering his courage. "Team Leader… my practice of the Thunder Breathing. No matter how I push myself, I cannot approach your level. Why?"
A slow, enigmatic smile spread across Kagenori's face. He knew Kyosuke had driven himself relentlessly, trying to master the art Kagenori wielded with such devastating effect. But the core of the technique, the true, life-force-igniting breath, was a secret he had never shared. The scroll he'd 'donated' to Konoha was a pale, incomplete imitation.
"People's constitutions are different," Kagenori said, his tone final and utterly dismissive.
He walked away, leaving Uchiha Kyosuke standing alone, the words echoing in his mind like a death knell. Different constitutions. Was it simply that? Was his own talent so lacking that he could never hope to bridge the chasm?
The hope he'd clung to for three years shattered, leaving only the bitter dust of his own perceived inadequacy.