Miyu gives herself one day to stay at home, processing the events of yesterday. Her apartment is empty aside from Sakura and Ensui dropping by for brunch, which gives her plenty of time to sit on the ground before her shogi board and think.
Will this mean – now that the Daimyo knows she’s alive, and can scarcely do something about it lest he get half of Konoha’s clans up in arms – that she can play, again?
Her hand reaches out, tracing the pieces and the board before her. Gods, she wants to play. She wants to face an opponent, and settle into her zone, and be in control in a way that she rarely is anymore.
She wants to see Makishima again, wants to face this boy that’s causing ripples.
Sighing, she pulls out a notebook and starts jotting down a list of tasks she must complete over the next few days and weeks.
She’ll start by getting a comprehensive breakdown of the Hatake clan’s assets – be they land, weapons, businesses, even art and clothing. Then, she’ll visit Nara-sama and ask for forgiveness in accepting a marriage contract that wasn’t his. Followed by a game of shogi, and then her politely questioning him on the current relationships between existing clan heads.
Miyu writes the names of a few notable clan heirs, too. Shikamaru, Ino, Shino, Chouji –
She stops herself there. Crosses the names out.
There’s already a prominent clan heir in her life, one that will give her all the information she could possibly think to ask for without asking for anything in return.
Maybe, finally, Itachi’s position will be more of a help than a hindrance.
There’s a lot to do. Sorting out the Hatake estate, introducing herself to the clan heads, meeting the matriarchs and the council, gods. Class will be resuming tomorrow, her meeting with the Hokage regarding Rice is coming up the day after that, and Miyu marvels at her suddenly full schedule.
Despite it all, the new workload and its stresses, she can’t help her thoughts wandering to Itachi’s dark, heated gaze, the memory of his tongue, toying with her. Despite being seated, her knees go weak at the memory of Kakashi’s words –
“Every time he looks at you, I want you to think of me.”
Had he truly been talking about the Daimyo, then?
It hadn’t felt like it.
She wonders about their relationship. Thinks about Itachi’s body, and wonders what Kakashi’s looks like. Is he pale under his jounin uniform?
Does he flush pink across the bridge of his nose when he comes, like Itachi?
She remembers how he felt between her legs as he pressed her against the wall, and shifts uncomfortably, the thought stirring her own arousal.
She should feel guilty with these thoughts running rampant, but she doesn’t. Kakashi is undoubtedly attractive. Especially when he’d been half-panting in her ear as he ground against her, making her come undone with the slightest twitch of his fingers.
Itachi had mentioned that he’d done the lightning trick on him, too. What expression would he make, with Miyu’s lips at his neck and Kakashi’s hand around his –
There’s a tap on the balcony door, and she jolts in place, knocking a few shogi tiles to the floor. She looks for the source, and finds a slight black crow watching her, head cocked curiously to the side.
Miyu almost trips in her haste to open the door.
“Chikako-san!” she can’t keep the relief from her tone, “How have you been? I’ve missed you!”
The bird puffs its chest out, observing her with dark, beady eyes.
“Mi-chan! I’ve been run ragged by Itachi and Shisui, as usual,” she blinks at Miyu, and then adds, “How are you? I’ve been hearing a lot, you see. Reports of you being… escorted through the streets.”
“Just give me a moment, I’ll be right back,” Miyu says, hurrying into her room. She plucks a small box from her dresser and heads back to the living room.
Miyu steps out onto the balcony and takes a seat on the bench. Chikako hops up to join her.
“I haven’t seen you properly in a while,” she says, opening the box. Within it sits an assortment of shiny, sparkly trinkets. “I’ve been collecting a few things for you. I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to give them to you until now.”
Chikako is silent for a worrying few seconds.
Then she hops closer, burrowing her head beneath Miyu’s hand that she’d been resting atop her thigh. Lifting her palm, she watches as the crow nuzzles against her. Gently lifts her thumb to give Chikako’s feathers a light stroke.
“They’ll do nicely for my nest.”
“I’m glad,” Miyu smiles. “Thank you for all the hard work you do, Chikako-san.”
Silky black feathers, fluffed up and – oh. Miyu thinks that if birds could blush, Chikako would be coloured a pretty pink.
“Anyway,” the crow chirps, “once again you’ve caused quite a stir. Though, I’d say you had a fair bit of help this time.”
Miyu only sighs, and only her training from Mother stops her from slouching.
“Kakashi and Itachi’s spar has only fuelled the fire, you see-”
“Spar?” Miyu is suddenly alert, “What spar?”
“Itachi interrupted a team seven training session and began sparring with Kakashi. Many are watching it now – attempting to remain hidden, of course - and there’s a rumour chain focused on those two now.”
“Oh?” Miyu leans in, raising a brow. As if on cue, a huge boom sounds in the distance, and a column of Fire becomes visible from the direction of the training grounds.
“There are those who speculate Kakashi and Itachi’s past connection, and are claiming this fight is because Kakashi stole you away to spite Itachi.”
“Interesting,” she hums, watching as Chikako hops in place a little.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Another is claiming that Kakashi hired you to seduce Itachi with the ultimate plan of making you his wife.”
Miyu sighs at that.
“Someone has come out and said that you’re actually a clone of Kakashi that he made because he wanted to be close to Itachi again, and that he’s marrying himself because that’s something Kakashi would do. Quite a few people believe that one, surprisingly.”
“Gods,” she runs a hand through her hair, and doesn’t need to wonder why a tension headache has suddenly bloomed to life behind her eyes.
“The clans are trying to wade through the majority of the intel, but no one is connecting the dots quite right. You’re a mystery,” Chikako almost seems proud, “some saw you marched to the Daimyo’s office, some heard your statement about your family. Everyone knows that Kakashi declared you under his protection, but now there’s a scramble for information on every interaction the two of you have had.”
Miyu lets her head tilt back, gazing up into the cloudless midday sky.
“Unsurprisingly, there’s a goldmine of previous rumours. You were spotted at his apartment on your first night in Konoha. Later, out in public, he often carried you. On one notable occasion you came knocking down his door at an unreasonable hour of the morning.”
Gods, it really does seem like –
“You fell asleep on him in the hospital. People have declared that they witnessed you together at the Winter Festival, and that’s not to mention his appearance at the clan gathering.”
She closes her eyes, and wonders how her life has spiralled so far into whatever this is that there seems to be no feasible way out.
“I’m surprised no one’s started a rumour that Itachi was hired to find Kakashi a suitable matriarch, and happened to grow fond of her in the meantime,” she muses.
“Three people have put money on that particular rumour,” Chikako dashes her hopes with her dry statement.
“What a mess,” she reaches a hand up and runs it through her hair. “I just want to play shogi again, Chikako-san.”
A moment of silence, in which the crow seems to be considering.
“Mi-chan, you are under Konoha’s protection now,” she says, and Miyu hears her pecking at the trinkets as she does, “while it may be a dangerous endeavour, I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“You mean,” Miyu opens her eyes, and looks sharply to the crow, “playing in a tournament?”
“Yes, yes,” Chikako waves a wing dismissively, “though there’s probably greater risk than reward to go in your case.”
If there’s anything she knows intimately, it’s risk and reward. Is this worth the gamble? Her life, for the thrill of a tournament?
She bids Chikako goodbye, and walks inside in a daze. Sits absentmindedly before her shogi board, and lets her gaze fall to it. The most politically powerful man in the country against, at the very least, two highly trained ninja.
She’s played with worse odds, and won.
What’s a little mortal peril to the eternal nature of shogi?
.
Her first day back at work is disturbingly normal.
She doesn’t see any of the other sensei as she sets up the outdoor class. The guards come and check in with her, a new protocol put in place following the kidnapping attempt. Miyu observes the guard as carefully as they must be observing her. They’re masked, donning the same black uniform and grey plated armour that has become so familiar to her recently.
The children arrive in groups – another measure taken by the clans to minimise risk. Those coming from similar parts of the village group together, meaning more retainers and guards are able to defend them if need be.
When her class is finally settled before her, Miyu feels something clam in her. This is familiar. Their little smiling faces, the board she knows so well. Shogi, teaching, the children. Her life has changed immeasurably over the past few days, but at least she has this.
She stops past the market on the way home, and is pleasantly surprised that she doesn’t garner many stares. Konoha is a big village, though, and people may be up to date with gossip, but not many probably know who Sugawara Miyu is.
Ah, the small blessings.
By the time she gets back to her apartment, it’s late afternoon. There’s a scroll on her benchtop. She eyes it with suspicion before unfurling it.
Sugawara Miyu,
Your meeting with the Hokage has been rescheduled to next Thursday afternoon, 4pm.
It’s not signed off by anyone, and there’s no explanation for the rescheduling, although that isn’t exactly surprising. If something urgent had come up, it’s unlikely for them to let that slip to a civilian. Does it have anything to do with the infiltrators? Perhaps something has happened with Sound in the meantime, and the Hokage is investigating?
She gets started on dinner, making more than she could possibly eat alone. Somehow, her apartment – her home – has become a place frequented by friends, rarely empty, rarely lonely.
Tonight will probably be no exception. She preps dinner, humming to herself, and isn’t startled when her balcony door opens.
Izumi steps in, brow cocked.
“You’ve really stuck your foot in it now, haven’t you?”
Miyu doesn’t repress the urge to laugh, and it feels good to let go. She turns and makes them tea, explaining the events of the day before as she does so. By the time they sit on the couch, a plate of mochi – homemade by Itachi – between them, Izumi is up to date.
“God, I hate men,” she huffs into her tea. “Especially entitled ones with too much power and no sense.”
Miyu sighs, and shrugs, “Don’t we all?”
The brunette opposite her narrows her eyes consideringly, “He seems… strangely compelled to kill you. Are you sure the match is the only reason he has to want you gone?”
Miyu thinks about it for a moment.
“I heard that rumours went rampant in the aftermath of our game, but nothing else.” She stares into her teacup, lost in thought. “I was a fool. I shouldn’t have provoked him.”
Izumi is silent for a moment.
“I heard about the game,” she says, and her voice is clear and matter-of-fact, “most of the jounin lounge did, especially with Itachi making his appearance. A lot of people were proud that an ordinary person showed some backbone.”
Miyu laughs, short and humourless, “And look where that got me. My family, burnt alive. The thing I love to do most in the world, unreachable.”
Her throat aches and she stops herself, aware that she’s teetering much too close to tears for comfort. The dream of Kikyo is yet to be followed by another. She wishes, so badly, for one. For another glimpse of Nanami, or to sit in comfortable silence with Mother. To stand alongside Masa and help with dinner preparations.
“I’m sorry about your family,” Izumi murmurs, and her voice is soft. “If my family was wiped out in one night by one man, I-”
She cuts herself off, frowning.
“You’d kill him,” Miyu answers. “Or, you’d be like me, and wish he’d taken you too.”
Silence between them.
“Did… Do you know what happened to their bodies?”
Miyu shakes her head, even as her eyes sting and her throat aches.
“You… didn’t get to give them a funeral?” Izumi sounds sad now, and one of her hands reaches out to rest atop Miyu’s.
She shakes her head again, and this time tears spill from her hot, blurry eyes, and her lips tremble too much to form words.
“Oh, Miyu. I’m so sorry.”
The sob surprises her, short and ragged, and – oh, she’d been doing so well –
“I miss them still,” she chokes out, “I thought, well – it’s been months – and – and-”
“That’s the thing about grief,” Izumi’s eyes are dark and understanding as she hands her some tissues. “it doesn’t ever truly end.”
She reaches out, swipes her thumb below Miyu’s eye, and rests a calloused hand on the side of her face.
“It lasts as long as love does. For some people that means months, years. For some people it’s not at all. And for some, it’s forever.”
Miyu’s breath hitches in another softer sob, and she leans into the warmth of Izumi’s palm.
“It lingers, a wound that scabs over and itches, and one day heals. Sometimes it’s just a memory, a faint scar, the pain an echo of its origin. Other days, it twinges and aches, bone deep and white-hot.”
Though Miyu’s vision is blurred, she makes out the sorrowful downturn of Izumi’s lips, the slight furrow between her brows.
“Grief is something we all must carry. I’m sorry yours is something you carry mostly alone.”
Miyu doesn’t know if that’s true. Nanami had been much adored in the capital, with patrons and admirers and acquaintances in abundance. Mother had been a fiend, well connected, shrewd, a fixture in the flower districts for upward of thirty years. Kikyo had too many friends to count, sweet natured and brimming with gentle curiosity, a heart in love with romantic notions.
Masa, loving, kind Masa – not a market in the flower district would forget her. Through their quietest months, she continued to do her rounds, always leaving extra change at vendors, and spoiling the many children of the district with treats on her weekly grocery trip.
Maybe, she thinks, that she’s not alone in her mourning after all. Rin and the girls, the teahouse staff. The bookstore that supplied Miyu and Kikyo their countless novels, the painter three blocks over who Nanami insisted paint her fans. The tobacco store that Mother frequented, cracking jokes over the counter with an old friend. The children, who would undoubtedly remember Masa-obaa-chan’s kindness.
Izumi pulls her into a hug, and Miyu tilts into her hold. There are so many other things she should be thinking about. But for now, she holds Izumi back as best she can, and lets herself have this moment.
