Event Dragon Festival Sparring on the Ryuu Clan Farm [Open]

[Ryuu Nozomi]

The barn doors stood open like a great yawning mouth, light spilling forth into the cool evening air. Particles of dirt drift in the golden beams of light which have been stirred up by the gaggle of excited children already piling inside. Their voices rose in a shrill chorus of taunts, laughter, and whispers sharp enough to cut. Somewhere within, the smell of hay and the musk of animals mixed with the faint tang of oil lamps enveloping the whole place in a strange warmth. After all, it was a season of joy as The Dragon Festival was upon Kumogakure, and there was a great sense of pride spreading throughout the village.

Nozomi Ryuu stood at the edge of the dirt path, watching the glow of the barn as though it were some forbidden shrine. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her stomach twisting with that familiar mix of longing and dread. She had heard whispers all day about the tournament taking place tonight. It was apparently common that the children of the Ryuu clan gathered here to spar in mock battles, their skills tested before an audience of their cousins. It was part tradition and part rite of passage. To be noticed here was to carve a place within the hierarchal structure of the Ryuu family.

Though Nozomi hadn’t been invited, and the weight of that alone stung the young girl.

Her pale hair gleamed faintly in the twilight, catching the last strands of the setting sun. She tugged at the loose ribbon tying it back and quietly wished the strands were darker, a hope that it were anything but this unnatural, silvery blonde that marked her as different. The other children had created plenty of names for her, but the one that stuck most was 'White Noise.' A play on her hair and the fact they believed she was so crazy it was just constant static within her brain. Among the Ryuu, white hair wasn’t beauty. It was a sign of madness, of a broken mind and violent temper. There were whispers of ancestors who had turned against their own people, and every story began the same way: with hair as pale as the moon.

Her mother had tried to soothe her once, brushing her hair with gentle hands, saying it was the mark of light itself, something of purity. While the words would calm her in the moment, each day brought the same challenge. The rest of the clan didn’t see purity. They saw danger, and its name was Nozomi. So, she pulled in a breath and stepped forward, crunching along the gravel. Inside the barn, the noise swelled. She slipped through the open door, and the shift in climate was felt immediately.

The laughter faltered, the whispers sharpened, and every eye turned her way.

“We should have heard the White Noise coming.” someone hissed, and a ripple of laughter followed.

Nozomi’s jaw tightened but she kept moving forward along on the hay covered floor. The barn had been cleared of animals for the night, the stalls pushed back, the center ringed with makeshift Dragon lanterns. The dueling ground was a wide circle marked by rope. Even before she arrived, pairs of children had been fighting and remains of splintered wooden kunai and practice staffs were scattered amongst the floor. There was a tension continuing to rise now that she was present. It felt less like a celebration and more like a cask ready to be lit for grand display.

At the far end, leaning in the shadows of the loft, stood a man most of the children hadn’t noticed. His cloak was plain, but the faint gleam of steel at his hip spoke volumes. His eyes were sharp as razors and they followed every motion within the room. Every tournament had a supervisor but rarely were they so obvious. He was here to watch, to judge, and to decide which of the Ryuu children were worthy.

“Hey, ghost hair!” A boy stepped into the circle, tall for his age, and with broad shoulders. Ryuu Taro, the favored son of the south fields. He twirled a staff in one hand easily, the wood whistling through the air.

“What are you doing here? Did you get lost?”

Snickers erupted and Nozomi’s lips pressed into a thin line. She refused to answer. Another girl stepped forward, Ryuu Kaede. She was Nozomi's age with cruel eyes and a twisted mouth.

“She thinks she can fight,” Kaede said loudly, so the whole barn could hear. “These matches are for real Ryuu. You're not allowed to stay and curse us with your White Hair!”

The circle of children tightened and began to pack around Nozomi, voices jeering.

“Kick her out! She's Cursed!”

“White Noise doesn’t belong here.”

Nozomi didn’t retreat. Instead, she stepped forward and allowed the lanterns to paint her silhouette against the ground in shadow. Her pale hair gleamed an almost silver color, and her eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking.

“If you’re not afraid,” Nozomi said softly, “then fight me.”

The barn fell quiet, the silence sharp as a blade. Taro grinned with confidence, his staff spinning.

“Fine. If you want to embarrass yourself, I’ll be glad to help.”

Cheers rang out. A duel was always good entertainment, and humiliating Nozomi was a sport everyone enjoyed. The ropes were adjusted, the children pressing in closer, the lanterns swaying as bodies jostled. Meanwhile, the Jounin in the shadows tilted his head, interest flickering in his eyes. The duel began with a countdown from the children surrounding the pair, but Taro jumped to action before the final count.

He lunged first, staff swinging down in a brutal arc. Nozomi darted aside, the blow slamming into the dirt where she had stood, and hay burst upward in a cloud. She moved lightly as barefooted grace carried her just beyond reach. Taro swung again, horizontal this time, the staff a blur. Nozomi ducked, rolled, and came up behind him. Her hand shot out, striking the small of his back with the flat of her palm.

The crowd gasped.

Taro stumbled forward, whirling in fury. “You little!!!”

His staff became a storm, a flurry of strikes meant to overwhelm. Nozomi bent and twisted, her body flowing like water around each blow. She didn’t meet force with force as the boy was much stronger than she. Instead, she redirected, letting the momentum slip past her and turning near strikes into misses. It was an older style, not common amongst the Ryuu. Nozomi flowed over stone until it was worn and broken. She would dance like the wind cutting down a tree, not with strength, but with the patience of time.

A gap appeared within the whirling onslaught of attacks. Nozomi stepped inside, her elbow snapping upward. The staff jolted from Taro’s grip and clattered to the dirt below. Before he could recover, she planted her palm against his chest and shoved him, hard. He hit the ground with a thud as air blasted from his lungs. Nozomi did not let up and swiftly kicked the staff into her own palms before holding the blunt end like a sword point to Taro's throat.

The barn erupted in noise.

“No way... Sh..She Cheated! That doesn't count, she's cursed!” Taro began to complain as he pushed the staff away and rose to his feet.

Kaede chimed in as well, “Yeah! It doesn’t count! She's a freak anyway!”

The circle tightened again, anger rising like a storm. Children shouted, voices cracking with outrage and fear. Insults were hurled and accusations spat. Several picked up staffs, others kunai, and some just brandished their fists. The crowd became a mob and their fury was centered on Nozomi. She stood tall in the center, chest heaving, sweat streaking her temple. Her pale hair glowed in the lamplight, marking her as something hated. For a moment, fear coiled in her gut. Then a voice cut through the noise.

“Enough.”

It wasn’t loud, but it carried across the room with great weight. The barn fell silent and every head turned. The Jounin stepped from the shadows, his cloak falling open, the glint of his forehead protector clear now in the lamplight. His gaze swept across the children like a blade, freezing them where they stood.

“Ryuu Nozomi won this match. Fairly. Taro, you have been eliminated, and must now sit and watch your fellow clanmates. If you cannot stomach that truth, then perhaps you are not worthy of calling yourself a Ryuu.”

The words struck like a hammer and a murmur rippled across the room. Though there was silent protest, none dared speak against him.

The silence held, and Nozomi could feel her chest tightening. She thought she might cry or scream, instead, she was brushed out of the way by another Ryuu. The girl was around her own age, with dark brown hair and a wicked smile.

Taking center stage she would announce, "Guess we better get on to the next round then! Who wants to challenge me?"


[Event for the Dragon Festival!]
[Open for others to join!]
[Marked for Training - Word Count: 1504]

 

[Chigokai Yuna]

Yuna found herself in the Ryuu Compound. A rather interesting place since she herself is not part of the clan. One of her own Anbu operatives had been assigned to work here to give the Ryuu residents both time and security. On paper though, they are merely just an assigned Jounin Main brancher. The operative was in charge of watching the children so that they don't go overboard and accidentally hurt one another.

Yuna was here, not in her Anbu garb, as that would surely draw attention, but rather in a white and purple traditional Kimono. In citizen attire, she usually has her hair parted in the front. Left side, tucked behind her ear and resting on her shoulder. Right side, covering her right eye. Her hair in the back goes down just a little bit past her shoulder blades. Her operative had informed her of one of the kids showing potential on a fight. Normally, just having fighting potential isn't enough. But it was enough to pique her own curiosity. Her own anbu has a reason to be here, as for her... Well if any were to ask, she would merely say that Rei invited her. To many, that would be enough. To others, more seasoned shinobi, they would probably scan her chakra and see that she is on par with their clan leader, which is to say that it might be best to not ask questions.

Outside of the Anbu uniform, Yuna carried herself differently. Which she has done plenty of other times before. In a sense, when she wears the mask, or when she acts like the Sennin, that is her true self. When she puts on a facade, such as acting just a little bit more carefree, talk in a slightly lighter tone, and a small change in dialect in words used, she can essentially be a different person. Using these small techniques is easy enough to fool even family and friends that they are talking to a different person. This is all in case she meets anyone that she has met when she was in her anbu attire.

Walking around, she would eventually come across a barn where there was sparring going on. And lo and behold, she seen Ryuu Nozomi. This girl had caught the Sennin's attention some days ago when she breached the Anbu compound and when she personally talked to her, found out that the girl wants to join the branch. Yuna's eyes flitted from the girl, to the 'Jounin', and then to the crowd as another girl would proclaim that they are ready to fight. Though, by the timing of it, maybe she saved Nozomi from having all the eyes on her. Yuna listened to the young girl's blood flow, mainly seeing if there was adrenaline pumping through, which could give her a clue on what Nozomi might be feeling.

 

[Ryuu Nozomi]

The dark haired girl who had brushed past Nozomi stood tall in the center of the dueling circle, lantern light gleaming off her confident smirk. Her voice rang sharp and commanding through the barn. Immediately, the tension broke into a rush of eager volunteers. Several hands shot into the air, children clamoring and shouting their names, desperate to test themselves and win favor in front of their kin.

Nozomi exhaled slowly, her pulse still a drumbeat against her ribs, her limbs humming with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Her palms were damp, the faint sting from gripping Taro’s staff too tightly lingered, but her face betrayed none of it. She stepped aside, retreating to the outer ring of hay and dirt where the other children clustered. Their eyes lingered on her, cutting glances, whispers sharpening into audible jeers.

“She cheated."
"Must have.”
“She’ll fall apart next round.”

Nozomi ignored them, just like she always did. Each insult still slid against her like a knife, but these knives could not cut through the calluses already built. She raised her chin, though her body trembled in the wake of her fight, and turned her gaze back toward the circle. The first challenger chosen was Ryuu Genji, a lanky boy with quick feet and quicker hands. He faced Kaede with a pair of wooden kunai tucked between his fingers. Kaede’s grin widened, and the crowd roared its approval.

The duel began.

Genji lunged forward, sharp and relentless, his wooden blades flickering like sparks. Kaede danced away and allowed him to chase her across the circle. She laughed as she dodged, each taunt wedging the metaphorical dagger deeper than the last. Then, with a sudden twist of her body, she lashed out with an unexpected high kick. Genji stumbled back, off balance, and Kaede closed in like a serpent. She hooked her leg behind his, tripped him to the ground, and pressed her foot against his chest with a smug grunt.

The circle erupted in cheers. Genji spat in frustration, shoving her foot away, but the Jounin watching from the shadows gave a curt nod of judgment.

Kaede was the victor of this round, but why, was far more important. She was fast, faster than even Taro, who she had fought. It was a thing Nozomi might have to anticipate, a quiet observation tucked away in her mind to be studied later. For now, there was another duel getting ready to take place. Ryuu Daichi, short but broad, was pitted against Ryuu Hina, a wiry girl with braided hair and eyes like needles. Daichi hefted two wooden practice swords, his stance wide and grounded, while Hina carried a staff which was longer than she was tall.

At the call to begin, Daichi charged like a bull, each swing heavy enough to stir the hay with its force. Hina met him with deft sweeps of her staff, deflecting, redirecting, always moving just enough to keep out of reach. Daichi would not accept defeat and his persistence wore her down. Blow after blow landed closer, until one finally clipped her side. The staff wavered, allowing Daichi to surge forward with a roar. He knocked the weapon from her hands and drove her back until she toppled into the dirt.

Applause and laughter followed, Daichi lifting his practice sword in triumph, yet Nozomi’s eyes narrowed. He was not fast, nor particularly clever, but his strength and endurance were impressive. His strikes were like a seasoned blacksmith, just as one was blocked another would be crashing down. Her stomach tightened at the thought of meeting either Kaede or Daichi. She would need more than grace to survive them.

As the crowd shifted and new whispers rose, Nozomi finally noticed someone she hadn’t seen before.

Amidst the barn filled with raucous children, there stood an older woman. One who carried herself with poise and yet still felt out of place in almost every possible way. She wore a white and purple kimono, her hair parted elegantly, one side tucked behind her ear, the other veiling her eye. The lanterns painted her in soft gold, her presence quiet yet commanding. She did not cheer, nor jeer, nor move as the other clan members did. Her gaze was steady, watchful, lingering on Nozomi with a weight that pressed against her skin.

Nozomi’s brows furrowed slightly. She had never seen this woman at the compound before and it gave her pause. Who is she and why is she here?

Curiosity prickled her nerves, distracting from the daggers whispered at her back. She drew a slow breath, gathering her courage, and edged her way through the cluster of children until she stood a few paces away from the stranger. For a moment, she hesitated, her tongue heavy, but then she forced the words out.

“Hey there,” she said softly, tilting her chin upward. “Who are you rooting for? Do you have a child in the matches tonight?”

The question hung in the air, simple yet probing. Nozomi’s voice held no accusation, only the cautious curiosity of someone who was used to being an outsider and seeing another who did not quite belong. Her eyes, sharp and pale, searched the woman’s face, trying to piece together her story. She allowed time for the woman to answer, and she would only fill space with more words if necessary.

The next fight was being prepared as children jostled, names shouted, and eventually a new pair selected. Nozomi’s pulse began to quicken again, each thud echoing through her bones. Her own turn was coming and she could feel it pressing closer, it was inevitable. For now, she would watch the upcoming match, learn something about a stranger, and mentally prepare for her own upcoming spar.

[Marked for Training, Word Count: 957]

 

[Orochi Sakura]

Under ordinary circumstances, as the saying goes, “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.” Though truthfully, I find the thought rather tempting. There’s a certain poetry in dying among livestock—an unglamorous burial, accompanied not by mourning hymns but by the incessant buzzing of flies. The aroma of manure lacing its way into one’s final breath feels more fitting than roses on a coffin. Life is, after all, a brutal and unceremonious affair. Death deserves no less.

Still, I had a reason for stepping foot into this rustic mausoleum. I was told there would be violence. I do not ignore invitations to blood sport. They are rare, delicate things, like orchids in winter or relatives who stop calling. And with the Ryu clan’s youth pitted against one another in combat—stripped of pageantry, reduced to primal flailing—I couldn’t resist. The prospect had all the charm of a cockfight in some forsaken alleyway. I half expected a vendor offering roasted chestnuts and popcorn. A shame there wasn’t. Bloodshed is always improved with concessions.

The event was already underway when I arrived. I could say I was fashionably late, though I wasn’t aiming for fashionable. My style is more akin to creeping decay—something you notice too late, usually when it’s already rotting the floorboards beneath you.

Stepping into the barn was… electrifying. The way a man might feel walking to the gallows, hearing the creak of the rope above him and knowing it’s his neck that will soon be tested for tensile strength. The anticipation is the true pleasure; the drop is always a disappointment. So was this. My mood soured almost instantly when I realized the contestants were using wooden weapons. Splintered ribs and bruised egos, perhaps, but no glorious fatalities. Anticlimax is the real murderer of the evening.

I like to think of myself as a tornado. Not because of the chaos I create, though that’s a charming side effect. No, because I arrive suddenly, dismantle everything of value, and then vanish, leaving only questions and regret behind. Tonight, however, I noticed the destruction wasn’t mine to deal. The tension in the barn belonged to the clan itself, focused like a swarm of hornets around one particular girl. She had white hair, an offense so glaring against her kin that she stood out like a corpse at a wedding. I admired her instantly. A sore, rotting thumb is my favorite appendage.

I lingered, entertained by the collective venom seeping from the crowd. If the Jounin hadn’t intervened, I suspect the barn would’ve descended into a witch hunt. The thought thrilled me. Nothing ties a community together quite like burning someone alive. A pity I was denied the spectacle.

The next match began, though I found little interest in wooden sticks clashing like clumsy broom handles. My attention was on the pale-haired anomaly. The whispers around her followed like persistent parasites: White Noise. The nickname was spat like a curse, though I found it oddly affectionate. Why did they hate her? And why did that make her seem… relatable? Normally, the title of “most despised” in any room belongs to me. To find it already claimed felt like a personal insult.

Crossing my arms, I watched her gravitate toward a woman with violet hair. Intriguing. I chose not to approach. Observation is more gratifying when your subject remains blissfully unaware they’re prey. A crowded, dimly lit barn makes for the perfect hunting blind.

By the time the next match was underway, the audience’s eyes were elsewhere, and I had slipped into the shadows above. Child’s play. Soon, I found myself inverted—my boots hooked against the rafters, body draped upside down like some morbid chandelier. From that vantage point, I could peer down at the white-haired girl and her purple-haired confidante. They thought themselves unseen. But I was there, a silent, watchful parasite. And I wanted to know everything they whispered.

[mft]

[ooc: wasn’t sure if Sakura would know Yuna’s identity seeing as they have history. It’s been a long time since I rp’d and can’t recall all the interactions. Let me know.]

 

[Chigokai Yuna]

And just like that, Nozomi had caught sight of her and approached her. Yuna assumed that it is because of her unique hair color, but as the young girl would approach her, something else caught Yuna's eyes. Of course, being the Anbu Sennin, she is able to feign ignorance, but in her core, she had seen someone move. Someone whom doesn't have a blood flow. It was brief, but it was probably... She let the thought slide.

If it is who she thinks it is, then she wonders what they are up to now. Whilst they had pulled the disappearing act, they hadn't left a branch in shambles as Miro had once done. Without skipping a beat, as she listened to Nozomi speak, Yuna would do a slight bow and speak, "Hello!" She looked out at the tournament taking place, "I do not have any kids here. Rei had invited me here but had left due to a patient needing her expertise over at the Aescuapium. She had told me to enjoy the festivities here until she returns." Name dropping the head of the clan in an informal way. It is true that Yuna and Rei and now closer to being friends, especially after that one time during the winter, and her recounting of fighting Tama, but it was also a lie that she was invited here.

"So is all of this just sparring matches? Is there a prize for the winner?" She would speak with such intrigue, much differently than how she spoke to Nozomi back at the compound. She also wondered if the other guest would catch on to her voice. Though her subordinate, she worked with Sakura for a time so that maybe the human puppet will know Yuna by her voice. Or could she also be tricked by the slight change in dialect and voice behavior?

(OOC: Yuna has seen Sakura's face in this thread, when Sakura shattered her old mask to make a new one. I'll leave it to you Sakura if you recognize Yuna's voice or not, given change in dialect and voice behavior)

 

[Ryuu Nozomi]

“No, not trophies. Just sparring. The prize is pride… maybe a second look from the elders. Sometimes a lesson, if they think you’re worth the effort.”

She let her gaze linger on the woman in the white and purple kimono. Against the dust and dragon lantern smoke, she seemed to stand out as unique. A woman still, poised, and unshaken. Nozomi felt both wary and steadied by her.

The rope thudded behind them and names were called. A cousin’s hawk cried before swooping through the barn. A boy shoved past Nozomi with a shoulder that wasn’t an accident. In the circle beyond, Kaede stretched, grin flashing, guard low and taunting. Nozomi noted her balance, her arrogance, her laughter. She knew Kaede would be a likely challenger at some point. Then, the call of her name rang through the crowd.

“Ryuu Nozomi! Ryuu Daichi! To the rope!”

Her spine snapped straight and she bowed once to the kimonoed woman, then stepped forward. The crowd parted with sneers. Lanterns dripped gold, her shadow slicing across the scene. Daichi arrived opposite, boots sinking into the hay covered earth. He was built like a smith’s hammer, broad and heavy, two wooden swords clenched like clubs. He grinned, and stared at her like a piece of meat to be tenderized. Somewhere in the corner, the hidden Jounin shifted. Nozomi grounded her stance, hands empty, fingers tingling.

“Begin!”

Daichi exploded forward, blade crashing down. She slipped right and could feel the air pulse where her collarbone had been. The second sword hacked for her knee and she quickly folded the leg, her trousers nicked. She could even feel the heat of his breath brushing her cheek. He didn’t stop, he never stopped, and the barn adored it. She wouldn’t meet him head on, that would spell defeat. Instead, she’d give him something to chase. She pivoted inside his arc, brushing the flat of his blade aside, her shoulder sliding beneath his elbow. His second sword swept across but she was already gone. Hay scattered as his strikes carved earth instead of flesh.

He pressed harder, but she continued to yield ground and drift to the sides. His fire roared loudly and she began to consume its oxygen.

“The cursed girl won't even fight!!” a boy shouted. “Stop running!”

Nozomi ignored them. This was calculation, and every strike had a cost. Daichi had energy to spare but it was not infinite. Already his breath came rougher and his face grew redder. She slapped aside one blow, the shock rattling his forearm. He roared and still charged harder. She yielded another step, and her cousins began to boo. Someone she could not see began to hush the jeers. Daichi heard, and his pride flared bright. His next swing was wide, and the most reckless yet.

She ghosted under it, touched her palm lightly to his belly. He spun, boot slipping, and one of his knees hit ground as the crowd erupted in gasps.

“Get up, Daichi!” Kaede barked. “You're letting her run circles around you!”

His head jerked toward her once again and he powered forward. One sword came straight, but she knocked it down at the wrist. The second swung high. She leaned in, letting it graze her hair, and pressed close. Her ribs brushed against Daichi's as her knee made contact with his hip, his balance displaced. Then, with a pivot and a push between his shoulders, she knocked him to the ground with greater intention.

The barn split in that moment, some saw the beautiful cadence while others wanted to see real action. Daichi rose again, his teeth bared. He feinted left, but she didn’t bite. The follow up was easy to spot and she'd hop back. Easily, she slapped the next strike away, and slipped into his space. Close enough to feel his heartbeat when Daichi attempted a final attack with swords raised.

She stepped in close with crossed forearms, catching the strike. Their faces nearly touched and she simply murmured a single word, "Stop."

Then, opening the crossed blades and allowing his own strength to fling his arms wide. The force of the push disarmed him as the swords spin uselessly into hay and the barn erupts into chaos. Nozomi pressed her palm flat to his chest with force and shoved him two steps back. The rope caught him and a two of her fingers casually press to his throat. He stopped fighting finally, his breath ragged.

The jounin’s voice cut like steel: “Match.”

Silence.

She lowered her hand and for a moment... nothing. Then claps, hisses, and mutters.

Even Kaede had a positive comment, “Now that's fighting.” Kaede laughed sharp.

Nozomi bowed to Daichi and then to the crowd. The children parted as she left, not like water, but grass bending around a fox. The jeers had dulled as curiosity had begun to take the place of animosity. Her heartbeat slowed, her arms hummed with a pleasant ache and sweat finally cooled around her neck. Without quite deciding, her path curved back toward the kimonoed woman. She stopped at a respectful distance as a lantern sputtered overhead. She bowed deeper when returning to the guest.

“You asked about prizes. That was mine.” A small gesture at the ring while her gaze lingers on the woman.

The stranger carried professionalism without a soldier’s harshness. Suspicion lingered, but perhaps it was okay to lower her guard.

“You said Rei invited you. I’ve met her once. She asked questions no one else did.” Her mouth twitched, fear and gratitude tangled. “If you’re here for her… may I ask, what business is it?”

She didn’t step closer and didn’t press. This woman deserved her respect at minimum.

Behind her, the barn reset after the fight. Other were being called and the little tournament must continue on.

[Marked for Training WC: 969]

 

[Orochi Sakura]

Changing hearts is a slow, violent architecture — more demolition than renovation. You don’t persuade people so much as excavate their certainties until whatever remains resembles a face they can live with. She treated it like performance art: loud, precise, and impossibly bright. The crowd awed at the spectacle. For a time, she flourished with no consequence.

Her opponent stood like a mountain, all immovable angles and smug endurance. She danced at its base as if dancing could topple granite. There is something elegant about that kind of foolishness. There is something boring about success. She succeeded anyway. Cheers and murmurs spilled over the arena like a polite flood. People who were once loud in their hate became startled and quiet, which is different from being repentant. Quiet is a temporary thing — a pause in the dialogue of cruelty.

I, on the other hand, was disappointed by the absence of carnage. I digressed. The girl is not me. She wants to be seen. She wants to be defined by her actions, handshakes and the bright, awful warmth of acceptance. Her feats advertise her. People gape, then they decide if they will be entertained or threatened.

I profit from mystery. I prefer to be a shadow people point at with veneration or contempt — both are deliciously direct. She craves approval from a collection of minds that already adore their prejudices. Imagine asking a mob to change its taste in monsters; it is like asking thieves to embrace honesty because honesty is now fashionable. People do not renounce their hates; they rebrand them.

Her triumph is rented applause. It will be repossessed at the first sign of inconvenience. When fear returns, they will prefer their comfortable villains. Acceptance is a liability with a short lease. She would be wise — though she will not be — to recognize that applause is not conversion.

Someday, perhaps sooner than she thinks, the clarity of that realization will fractur e her. The broken mirror will make her into the very thing they anticipated: dangerous, untethered, real. When she becomes that threat to Kumogakure, when the village learns the cost of loving its prejudices more than its people, I will be waiting in the quiet after the storm. Not out of mercy. Out of professional courtesy. I will conclude her little tale of woe with the same calm I bring to all tidy endings.

[mft]
[topic left unless stopped]