The Torre Empirea did not sleep. Even in the quiet hours between shifts, when offices dimmed and administrative traffic slowed to a crawl, the tower remained alert in a way that felt almost predatory. Chakra sensors layered over electric grids. Patrol routes staggered and randomized. Response times measured in heartbeats rather than seconds. Shiro felt it the moment he crossed the outer threshold, the subtle pressure in the air that came from a place designed with the assumption that anyone entering uninvited was already dangerous. Shiro entered anyway.
His first misstep came three floors in. A patrol rounded the corner earlier than anticipated, boots striking metal, too close to avoid back to cover, his active camouflage not enough to fully hide his presence against some of the most aware shinobi that Kumogakure had to offer. The world lurched, not forward, but back. A breath reversed. Footsteps unwound themselves. Shiro adjusted half a step to the left and went again, slipping past the same corridor a second time while the guards remained blissfully unaware that they had already almost caught him. "Still sharp," he thought, not with pride, but with assessment.
Lightning coursed through his limbs in tight, controlled arcs, not the roaring storm he could unleash if he chose to, but something focused and inward. Santaru blood and his well-honed lightning style lent his body impossible acceleration and fueled him to speeds that only the fastest shinobi alive could manage. Time itself smoothed the path ahead, small fractures rewound before they could become reality, moving through the moments that would have ended him and selecting different ones. A sensor flared red. Another mistake, forcing him into another rewind, this time longer. The faint taste of ozone lingered as he altered his angle of approach, vaulting over the field of detection that he had not cleared cleanly the first time. He landed without a sound, palms brushing cool marble, breath steady. Two guards reached the intersection seconds later, weapons half-raised, confusion written into their posture as if something had almost happened and then decided against it. Shiro was already gone.
By the time he reached the upper administrative levels, his pulse had settled into something familiar, focused and introspective. This was not the reckless intrusion of a younger man chasing answers. This was intention. Shiro knew exactly where he was going and, more importantly, he knew exactly why.
The final corridor was the worst of it. With as well-guarded as the Raikage's floor was, there were almost no holes in the surveillance. Nevertheless, Shiro pushed forward, was caught, rewound three seconds, adjusted, and repeated until he was able to sprint through a narrow gap that existed for less than a blink between two overlapping patrol routes. The door to the Raikage’s office loomed ahead. In a blast from the past, Shiro burst through it in a flash of white hair and crackling static, slamming it shut behind him and locking it in the same motion. A half-second later, muffled shouting and pounding echoed from the other side, fists striking reinforced metal.
As he turned, Shiro saw that Raikage Kitsune stood where she always did. Poised and at work, her ruby hair stark against the clean lines of the office, expression likely halfway between annoyance and recognition. Shiro exhaled, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry to barge in yet again, Raikage Kitsune," the snowy-haired man said, his voice laced with a mixture of even-toned sincerity and a hint of levity. "But it felt right to do this one last time." He let those words sit in the air. Those final three carried weight he didn't bother to explain. He suspected that one of the most intelligent and intuitive women in all of Cloud would understand.
Shiro didn't look back at the door, his attention staying on the Raikage. In his mind, the argument with Rei surfaced. Not the shouting or sharp edges, though those were short-lived. The quieter part at the end, when neither of them had anything left to say that would change the outcome. She had left to prepare for the mission. He had stayed behind, bound by his status as an outsider. "She’s right," he thought, not bitterly. "And so am I. That’s the problem."
His smile faded. What replaced it was respect, and resolve. "I won't waste your time, Raikage-sama." Shiro said, straightening slightly. "You already know all this, but there’s a Lycan crisis unfolding, a mission in motion, and Rei is already committed to it. And... I'm not." His jaw tightened just a fraction. "Not because I won’t act. Because I’m not permitted to." He met Kitsune’s fiery golden-eyed gaze directly. "I’ve spent a long time operating on the edges of this village," he continued. "Helping where I could, appearing when I needed to, and disappearing again before anyone could decide what to do with me." He paused, despite the role that destiny had deigned for him, the pain of losing time again and again stung for the briefest moment as he recalled it.
"I'm thankful for how the village has treated me, even as an outsider, and that was fine once. But it isn’t anymore." The memory of standing in Rei’s kitchen, of asking her to slow down while knowing he could not stand beside her when it mattered, settled heavy in his chest. "I don't want to be an exception," Shiro said with quiet stoicism, a sense of solid determination in his voice. "And I can't keep pretending that old obligation and the life of the wanderer I'd become accustomed to being make up for commitment." He took a step forward, stopping at a respectful distance just across her desk.
"Raikage Kitsune," he said, voice steady. "I formally petition to be accepted as an official shinobi of Kumogakure. I’ll submit to whatever terms you deem necessary,” he added. “Training, oversight, rank, obligation. I don’t expect special treatment for what I've done or even what I can do, and I don’t want it." His eyes flicked briefly to the sealed door behind him, then back. "I want a place in this village. Kitsune... I already have one," He said, referring to the fact that he'd been living with Rei in the Ryuu clan compound for a while now. "I just haven't recognized it on paper."
The tower stood firm around them. Steel and glass and lightning, unmoved by the decision hanging in the air.
His first misstep came three floors in. A patrol rounded the corner earlier than anticipated, boots striking metal, too close to avoid back to cover, his active camouflage not enough to fully hide his presence against some of the most aware shinobi that Kumogakure had to offer. The world lurched, not forward, but back. A breath reversed. Footsteps unwound themselves. Shiro adjusted half a step to the left and went again, slipping past the same corridor a second time while the guards remained blissfully unaware that they had already almost caught him. "Still sharp," he thought, not with pride, but with assessment.
Lightning coursed through his limbs in tight, controlled arcs, not the roaring storm he could unleash if he chose to, but something focused and inward. Santaru blood and his well-honed lightning style lent his body impossible acceleration and fueled him to speeds that only the fastest shinobi alive could manage. Time itself smoothed the path ahead, small fractures rewound before they could become reality, moving through the moments that would have ended him and selecting different ones. A sensor flared red. Another mistake, forcing him into another rewind, this time longer. The faint taste of ozone lingered as he altered his angle of approach, vaulting over the field of detection that he had not cleared cleanly the first time. He landed without a sound, palms brushing cool marble, breath steady. Two guards reached the intersection seconds later, weapons half-raised, confusion written into their posture as if something had almost happened and then decided against it. Shiro was already gone.
By the time he reached the upper administrative levels, his pulse had settled into something familiar, focused and introspective. This was not the reckless intrusion of a younger man chasing answers. This was intention. Shiro knew exactly where he was going and, more importantly, he knew exactly why.
The final corridor was the worst of it. With as well-guarded as the Raikage's floor was, there were almost no holes in the surveillance. Nevertheless, Shiro pushed forward, was caught, rewound three seconds, adjusted, and repeated until he was able to sprint through a narrow gap that existed for less than a blink between two overlapping patrol routes. The door to the Raikage’s office loomed ahead. In a blast from the past, Shiro burst through it in a flash of white hair and crackling static, slamming it shut behind him and locking it in the same motion. A half-second later, muffled shouting and pounding echoed from the other side, fists striking reinforced metal.
As he turned, Shiro saw that Raikage Kitsune stood where she always did. Poised and at work, her ruby hair stark against the clean lines of the office, expression likely halfway between annoyance and recognition. Shiro exhaled, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Sorry to barge in yet again, Raikage Kitsune," the snowy-haired man said, his voice laced with a mixture of even-toned sincerity and a hint of levity. "But it felt right to do this one last time." He let those words sit in the air. Those final three carried weight he didn't bother to explain. He suspected that one of the most intelligent and intuitive women in all of Cloud would understand.
Shiro didn't look back at the door, his attention staying on the Raikage. In his mind, the argument with Rei surfaced. Not the shouting or sharp edges, though those were short-lived. The quieter part at the end, when neither of them had anything left to say that would change the outcome. She had left to prepare for the mission. He had stayed behind, bound by his status as an outsider. "She’s right," he thought, not bitterly. "And so am I. That’s the problem."
His smile faded. What replaced it was respect, and resolve. "I won't waste your time, Raikage-sama." Shiro said, straightening slightly. "You already know all this, but there’s a Lycan crisis unfolding, a mission in motion, and Rei is already committed to it. And... I'm not." His jaw tightened just a fraction. "Not because I won’t act. Because I’m not permitted to." He met Kitsune’s fiery golden-eyed gaze directly. "I’ve spent a long time operating on the edges of this village," he continued. "Helping where I could, appearing when I needed to, and disappearing again before anyone could decide what to do with me." He paused, despite the role that destiny had deigned for him, the pain of losing time again and again stung for the briefest moment as he recalled it.
"I'm thankful for how the village has treated me, even as an outsider, and that was fine once. But it isn’t anymore." The memory of standing in Rei’s kitchen, of asking her to slow down while knowing he could not stand beside her when it mattered, settled heavy in his chest. "I don't want to be an exception," Shiro said with quiet stoicism, a sense of solid determination in his voice. "And I can't keep pretending that old obligation and the life of the wanderer I'd become accustomed to being make up for commitment." He took a step forward, stopping at a respectful distance just across her desk.
"Raikage Kitsune," he said, voice steady. "I formally petition to be accepted as an official shinobi of Kumogakure. I’ll submit to whatever terms you deem necessary,” he added. “Training, oversight, rank, obligation. I don’t expect special treatment for what I've done or even what I can do, and I don’t want it." His eyes flicked briefly to the sealed door behind him, then back. "I want a place in this village. Kitsune... I already have one," He said, referring to the fact that he'd been living with Rei in the Ryuu clan compound for a while now. "I just haven't recognized it on paper."
The tower stood firm around them. Steel and glass and lightning, unmoved by the decision hanging in the air.
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