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“Ameyuri?”
Ringo Ameyuri turned at the sound of Sute’s curiously quiet voice, finding the young girl hovering in the doorway looking almost shy for once. Her tiny form was half-hidden behind the wall, and she was obviously holding something just out of sight.
Probably not a weapon, Ameyuri decided as she turned to face the kid. She didn't strike the kunoichi as the type to be timid about a weapon—or anything, really. The kid was bold and brash, which made her current hesitant expression and body language all the more curious. “Yeah, kid?” she asked.
Sute seemed to hesitate a moment longer before rushing forward, revealing a box wrapped in white rice paper and tied with a red ribbon. “Here,” she mumbled, holding it forward. Ameyuri’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. This was not the first time Sute had offered her something, but it was the first time she wrapped and concealed it. The box wasn’t small, either, though it felt a bit light.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked.
“Just felt like it.”
Ameyuri hummed and wasted no time ripping the paper off, opening the box to reveal... a pillow. Not a special decorative one or anything, just a regular pillow used for beds.
Yep, definitely not what Ameyuri expected.
The redhead tapped the pillow a couple times to confirm it was indeed a normal one and not filled with boobytraps or anything. Felt like it was full of feathers just like every other pillow. “Okay, I'll bite. Why’d you get me a pillow?”
Sute shuffled her feet almost shyly. “Well, you haven't been sleeping well,” she said slowly, “so I checked your bed and your pillows felt old and bad. So I got you a new one.”
“Oh? Observant little thing, aren’tcha?” Ameyuri flashed her a sharp smirk, concealing the minor twist of discomfort in her gut. It was true she hadn’t been sleeping well recently, but her pillows were hardly the main reason for that. Getting sick fucking sucked, and being terminally ill was even worse because she knew that feeling would only get worse. Even with the growing exhaustion it was hard to sleep, pangs and aches and coughing fits keeping her awake.
She knew Sute had to have figured out that part, the kid was smart. But she probably also knew there was nothing she could do. If Ameyuri had any realistic chance of recovery, Kiri would have invested all its resources into treating her, or at least enough to keep her alive longer. As it stood, the medics said there was nothing to be done even if they hadn’t been stretched thin by the war. Life was just unfair like that.
Pillows, however, were one of the few things within their control.
So Ameyuri smiled down at the girl she’d brought into her home and given her clan name, reaching out to ruffle the mess of greenish-brown hair. A risky maneuver given a brush had snapped in half inside that tangly mess just two days ago, but one that felt fitting for the situation. “Thanks, kid. I’ll sleep way better tonight with this, I’m sure of it.”
Sute beamed up at her, her smile far sweeter and more wholesome than any child’s in the Bloody Mist had a right to be.
Ameyuri’s biggest regret about dying young was that she wouldn’t get to laugh at all the fools inevitably fooled by her ward’s innocent exterior.
“Good morning, Shishou!”
Harusame turned to greet his newest student, and immediately found his attention drawn to the box in her arms. Unusual enough given she had learned to make storage scrolls, but it was also wrapped in rice paper and tied with a string. At first glance he assumed she’d wrapped it in seals for some reason, but as she drew closer he realized that was not the case. Artistic swirls had been drawn with black ink to create a mesmerizing pattern, the pattern bringing to mind a certain fallen village.
He shook off the thought as she held out the box, grinning brilliantly at him. “I got you a present!” she proclaimed cheerfully.
“Did you now?” he asked, taking it gingerly. Harusame was not too shameless to admit that he felt a brief prickle of apprehension. He knew that his student had a warped perception of what was socially acceptable, even by the standards of Kiri. It was hard to predict what would happen. His mind flickered back to that first visit to her house, and the many, many, many objects and body parts which had littered the space.
Still, he pushed away any wariness and pulled at the string, followed by carefully tugging the delicate rice paper so he could remove it intact. The box lacked any notable markings, and he opened it to find a scarf. Not too different from the one he currently wore, though a shade of grayish-white rather than the current dull navy.
“I noticed your scarf was getting frayed on the edges,” she explained without prompting. “And the cold can set in pretty fast around here. So I found an old woman who agreed to knit a new one in exchange for doing some D-rank-level chores for her.”
“Ah, that is very generous of you.” Harusame offered her a genuinely grateful smile. He had been meaning to replace it, but it had been a fairly low priority. Still, he felt a need to comment, “I hope you don’t intend this as a bribe, though.”
Sute snorted at the remark. “Nah, I don’t want you to go extra easy on me or anything. I just felt like giving you one. It’s that time of year, after all.”
He hummed in acceptance, setting the box aside. “Very well. Now then, let’s get onto today’s lesson...”
“Why is that paper red?”
“Because I dyed it, duh!”
Momochi Zabuza eyed the garishly wrapped box with a wary and distasteful gaze, ignoring the beaming smile on Sute's face. Why she had gone to the trouble of dying rice paper, he had no idea, and the rusty red resonated with his internal caution and wariness. He had long learned to be wary of the younger girl, starting when she had somehow managed to rig up a trap that caught him by surprise when she was only six.
“Is this some sort of trick?” he asked gruffly.
“No, silly, it's a present!” she responded cheerfully. “Take it already, c'mon!”
Ugh. He could tell she wouldn't drop it. “This better not be some trap,” he grumbled as he took the box, tearing off the fragile paper and tossing it aside. The box was plain enough, the flaps folded to keep it shut even without string. Within the blink of an eye he had a kunai in hand to slice through along where one flap met the box rather than deal with the hassle of unfolding them, ripping it off to reveal...
“What are these, leg warmers?” he questioned with a small huff as he saw the mounds of fabric inside. They were pale blue bordering on gray, adorned with the striped pattern commonly found in most clothing in Kiri. Hardly anything special or unique, he had three other pairs like it.
“And wrist warmers,” Sute interjected with a grin.
“Right. Thanks.” He lifted the top one to inspect it, confirming it was indeed a fairly standard leg warmer. Slightly nicer fabric than usual, but nothing worth the effort she put into the presentation with the dyed paper.
Sute seemed to sense his thoughts, her bright smile sharpening into a sly smirk. “I made a lining for them with silencing seals,” she said in a stage whisper. “They’ll muffle the noise of your movements even more.”
Okay, now that was more like it. He could feel a matching smirk spread across his own face, sharpened by his jagged teeth. “Oh? Now that’s interesting...”
Hoshigaki Kisame rarely felt dread of the sort he felt looking at the box on the table. Light blue paper had been wrapped on it, decorated with doodles of poorly-drawn sharks and swords. The sort of artwork he’d expect from a small child, which he supposed it technically was.
It was the child in question causing the pit in his stomach.
Sute stood across from him expectantly, the young girl beaming proudly. She had shown up at his door with no warning, all but forcing her way in and presenting him with the box. “Come on, open it already, Shark-nii-san!” she cheered.
Visions of severed toes and tongues danced in his mind, phantom traces of stale blood tickling his nose. Five years after meeting Sute, he still never knew what to expect from her.
Still, he found the idea of declining the gift unconscionable. In part because Sute was, for some reason, one of the few people who actually, genuinely liked him. And also because he did not want to see what would happen if he snuffed out that childlike sparkle in her eye. For all her weirdness, and her recent promotion to Chuunin, Sute was still a kid. And she had mastered that weird, innocent look and weaponized it in a way that the Bloody Mist would never consider.
Point was, he had to open it.
So he used one sharp nail to tear through the paper, carefully ripping it off and setting it aside. The box was plain enough, and seemed too large to contain any severed toes. At the very least, it hadn’t rattled when she put it down, so he was probably safe from that. Probably. Hopefully. That left plenty of other possibilities though. Bracing himself, he lifted the top to reveal... burgundy fabric?
He raised his eyebrows as he pulled it out, noting it felt surprisingly soft and nice. Not silk, but some other fairly nice fabric. It had a pattern of tiny white dots forming overlapping arcs that reminded him of ripples or waves. Upon lifting it, it naturally unfurled to reveal a yukata, clearly large enough to fit him. Perhaps even large enough to accommodate some more growth.
For a moment, Kisame was speechless. Somehow, this was even more shocking than finding a necklace of finger bones or something equally macabre.
“Do you like it?” Sute asked. “I thought about getting it in blue, but then I thought that you have way too much blue and gray and black. Then I saw that yukata next to one that looked close to your skin color and thought it looked really good! So, do you like it? Do you? Do you?”
Her rambling betrayed her mild anxiety, something so rare from the weirdly audacious girl. Somehow, that made some part of Kisame relax a bit, and he found himself nodding. “Yeah, kid, I like it,” he confirmed, and Sute gave a happy cheer while he held it up to his frame.
...He decided not to ask how, exactly, she knew his size.
“Hello, Suigetsu and not-Suigetsu.”
Mangetsu had long stopped reacting to the nickname beyond an eye roll, while the little menace he called his brother turned with a sharp grin. “Sute!” the toddler greeted eagerly.
“Hey, Sute,” Mangetsu greeted with a more subdued nod, lazily eying the bags and boxes in her arms. They didn’t particularly stand out as special, all fairly small and plain, but looked rather cumbersome all at once. Were this a kinder village, he might have offered to help carry some of them.
Kiri was not a kind village though, so he just asked, “What’s all that stuff?”
“Cookies!” she chirped, and Suigetsu perked up with a bright grin.
“Cookies? I want cookies! Gimme!”
In a kinder village, Mangetsu would scold him for demanding the cookies and tell him to ask. Once again though, this was Kiri. And they were descendants of the Second Mizukage. Demanding things was just natural instinct for any toddler in his position. If Sute had any problems with it, Suigetsu would just learn the consequences the hard way.
Fortunately for the little boy, Sute just nodded along. “That’s the plan. Mangetsu, grab a box or bag, will you? I’d hand one over myself, but, you know.” She shrugged, the shift of her arms vaguely gesturing to the fact they were full.
“Lemme do it!” Suigetsu whined, jumping up and reaching for the stack.
“Nope. You’re too short, brat.”
“They’re not poisoned, right?” Mangetsu dutifully plucked the topmost box from the stack even as he asked, not really concerned about it. Sute wasn’t much of a cook or baker, so the cookies were a pretty random thing, but she wouldn’t just poison people for no reason. And as far as he knew, he and Suigetsu hadn’t done anything to earn her ire (well, besides Suigetsu being a toddler, but if that was enough, there’d be a lot of dead toddlers around here).
“Poison in food is too cliche,” the poison mistress scoffed. “I’d find something more creative than that.” He lifted the lid to reveal about a dozen cookies or so, nothing particularly special. Just plain, hard sugar cookies, hand-cut into lopsided shuriken shapes.
“Look dry,” he remarked, ignoring a whining Suigetsu’s hops and attempts to peek into the box.
“Thank you, Sute,” Sute snarked in a poor mimicry of his voice. “I am so grateful for your hard work, Sute. They look wonderful, Sute.” Ignoring her with the same skill he used to ignore Suigetsu’s whining and grabby hands, he plucked one from the box and bit off the point. Definitely overcooked a bit. Flavor wasn’t anything special, but it also wasn’t awful either. Overall, pretty average.
“Why didn’t you use a cookie cutter?” he asked as he handed the remaining cookie to the now-yelling toddler, cutting off his tantrum.
Sute opened her mouth to respond before pausing. “Wait, cookie cutters exist?”
...Yep, Sute definitely wasn’t much of a chef.
Yakushi Kabuto frowned as he entered the hospital after two days off. Hospitals were hardly ever welcoming places in his experience, and the Bloody Mist was particularly cold. Bare cement and stone walls, cement and tile floors still stained in some spots despite regular cleaning, a perpetual damp hanging in the air. Of the hospitals he’d visited for his work, it ranked as the least welcoming of all.
Yet today, it was different.
The typically sterile halls had a burst of color, red ribbons strewn along the walls tied into flower-like bows at neat, even intervals. Several halls had wreaths with red berry-like ornaments at the end. Vases glittering with streaks of gold used to fill old cracks sat on the tables, holding bouquets of vivid red blossoms.
Silk flowers, Kabuto realized as he passed one bouquet, but fairly nice ones nearly indistinguishable from real ones. Logically meant to keep the hospital sterile, but still odd because... This was Kiri. Even outside the sterile confines of the hospital, silk flowers were a frivolous decoration few would bother with. He had no clue where one could even acquire them.
The silver-haired youth walked through the halls almost hesitantly. An encounter with his fellow trainee Amuro confirmed the other boy was equally confused about the decorations, confirming they hadn’t been present in his shift the previous day. The few patients he passed seemed indifferent to it, save for one man who had taken to methodically ripping up a bouquet of silk flowers one petal at a time.
It was only when Kabuto ran into Sagawa, one of the senior medics, that he got an explanation.
“Oh, Sute puts that stuff out for a while every winter,” she explained offhandedly. “Says it helps patients boost morale or something during winter since it’s so dull.”
Kabuto took a few moments to process that. There was a certain logic to that. Winter tended to be a dreary time of year, and even more so in Kiri. The perpetual mist and dampness made the seasonal chill feel even colder, to the point they had to use ninjutsu to drain moisture from the air. Those conditions didn’t bode well for people’s mental states, which could affect recovery.
Ringo Sute did not strike him as the sort of person to care about that sort of thing though, either from the profile Root compiled on her or his own observations. Her bedside manner was... “Brusque” was putting it lightly. She was a good medic, but she prioritized results over other factors.
Still, he kept those thoughts to himself and just nodded. “Ah. I... see.”
“No, you don’t,” Sagawa snorted. “None of us get it either. It’s just some weird thing she does every year. We just ignore it because it’s not worth the hassle to take it down.”
“And also she might stop bringing cookies and cake,” Mio interjected as she passed by, and Kabuto blinked.
“What?”
“Oh yeah, she also brings sweets to the break room,” Sagawa said. “Makes some of it herself, but buys the rest at some bakery. Not sure if it’s a bribe to ignore the decorations, but none of it’s been poisoned yet. And gives us something to look forward to during long shifts.” Humming, he murmured under his breath, “Maybe she does have a point about the whole lifting spirits in winter thing...”
He walked off and left a mildly confused Kabuto behind.
One of the annoying parts about being a top-ranking sensor was that Ao was occasionally tasked to meet up with people on infiltration missions to collect intel. By the command’s reasoning, Ao was the best bet to detect any potential eavesdroppers, thus ensuring the agent’s cover remained intact. It was annoying since those checkins interrupted his own work.
This time he was due to meet with Terumii Mei, who was investigating some noble by posing as a traveling courtesan or something of the sort. The finer details didn’t matter much beyond the broad strokes needed for his cover. They arranged to meet at a local tea shop, Ao using a transformation to hide his eyepatch and twist his features and colors to resemble hers. A chance meeting with a relative would raise little suspicion.
As he approached the table where Terumii waited for him, he couldn’t help but notice her hairstyle. Her auburn locks still hung largely loose, a subtle nod to her confidence in her ability to avoid having it used against her, as well as leaning into her civilian guise. Some had been twisted into a small bun near the base of her skull though, speared and held in place with a simple yet elegant-looking kanzashi pin. It had a green crystalline orb hanging from the end, a shimmery green tassel dangling below it.
The two exchanged greetings and expressed surprise at the “unexpected” reunion, Terumii inviting him to sit. As expected, absolutely no one noticed her slip a note to him when she reached to touch his hand while inquiring about a new scar on his finger. Still, they had to draw out the meeting to avoid suspicion, so they settled down to make some inane small talk for the remainder of the meal.
As they gossiped about a fictitious grandmother, Ao noted the kanzashi was long enough to keep the crystal ornament just visible around the side of her head. At this angle it became clear the color had been chosen to match her eyes, the green not an exact match, but close enough to accentuate and draw attention to them.
Given the need to preserve cover, it seemed an easy topic as Terumii finished reporting about their grandmother’s newest boyfriend. “I see you got a fancy new hairpin,” he remarked, tone faux-light. The woman smiled coyly, her eyes sparkling with pleasure.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she asked, almost purring the words. There was a genuine note of pride that hinted the pin wasn’t just a decoration for her cover, and that was enough to raise his interest. Like all shinobi, not even he was immune to the appeal of gossip.
“I suppose,” Ao grunted. “Gift from a suitor?” Terumii’s love life (or lack thereof) had been growing in notoriety, her ire about her single status reaching even his ears.
“No, it’s from that little foundling girl.”
Now that surprised Ao. Of all the people to give her such an ornate kanzashi, Sute got it? She didn’t seem the type to know much about fashion and accessories like that, but then, her face wasn’t suited for it. Nor was her hair.
Were he a lesser man, the mental image of Sute trying to twist her hair into a bun with such a hairpin would have him howling. The girl’s struggles with wrangling her wild hair were well-known among those who served with her in the war, some people reporting to have learned new words from the child’s angry curses. It was obvious long ago that Sute would never have to worry about being chosen for honeypot missions.
As it stood, Ao merely crossed his arms with a thoughtful noise. “Huh, I don’t remember that. Was it for your birthday?”
“No, she just felt like it, apparently,” Terumii replied with a lofty shrug. “I guess she likes to give people gifts in winter in particular, I heard she gets gifts for other people too. Don’t you ever get something from her?” Her voice took on a teasing lilt, only half-faked as she smirked at him with a glint of mischief.
He hummed, his mind flicking the large amount of senbon and kunai he’d received over the years. Ostensibly meant to replace the large mass sacrificed in his attempts to train her with projectiles, it had started after the war and continued every year since. In retrospect, it always did happen in winter, occasionally accompanied by cookies.
“I guess I do, yeah,” he mused. “Nothing as fancy as that hairpin, though.”
“She does seem to prefer practical gifts, I suppose. Though I hear there are exceptions...”
“Oh? Like what?”
In the not-too-distant future, Biwa Juzo would practically slam open the door to a hotel room. The boy sitting on one of the beds glanced up from his book as the elder man stalked inside, black eyes trailing his path towards the other bed. His black cloak was singed, some of the red clouds hidden beneath a layer of soot, and he dragged the Kubikiribocho behind him. The strap he used to carry it had been broken, and he was too done with everything for once to bother carrying it properly.
Tossing the giant sword atop the mattress, he pulled a scroll out of his pack and swiped an already bloody finger across it. A puff of smoke arose and cleared to reveal a wooden plaque.
“Itachi,” he grunted. “Got a spare kunai?”
The Uchiha clan killer silently produced one from practically thin air and tossed it to him. Juzo caught it by the handle without looking, and wasted no time using it to scrape a mark onto the plaque. He could see the teenager discreetly angle himself to get a better look at the plaque, but Juzo didn’t give a damn. He just tossed it onto the end table separating their beds and stalked off to the bathroom to clean up, leaving the boy to look at the engraving.
The plaque looked to have been made with great care, with a fairly nice border stained a dark brown acting like a frame with stylized mist carved along the edges. Three completed sei characters had been etched into the wood over the years, each composed of five harsh strokes. The latest mark served as the third stroke for an unfinished fourth sei, marking a total of eighteen tallies.
Above those tally marks was a single phrase carved in elegant kanji:
‘YOU’RE STILL ALIVE JUZO’
“So, why do you do this every winter?” Utakata asked conversationally as he carefully peeled the blue paper from the box.
“Do what?” Sute asked.
“Give people presents, make cookies, decorate your house.” He gestured with one shoulder towards the candles lining her windowsill. Snow fell beyond the glass, visible largely thanks to the flame’s glow, yet beyond that faint blobs of colorful light could be seen. Lanterns had been hung from the branches of a tree in her yard, their light visible even through the foggiest of nights like this one.
Sute hummed absently at the query, glancing out the window. “I guess this time of year just makes me nostalgic,” she mused, her voice oddly soft. “Tis the season, and all that.”
Utakata just hummed absently at the now-familiar sound of unfamiliar words, having long grown used to those strange slips into what sounded like another language. “Ah,” he breathed as he opened the box to reveal a blue yunomi teacup. He lifted it with both hands, taking a chance to admire the bubbles painted along the side. Fancier than the ones typically found in Kiri, probably picked up on one of her missions. “Nice, I’ve been needing a new one.”
“Funnily enough, you didn’t when I got it. I still can’t believe you broke all your teacups.”
“I’d like to see you not jump and drop everything when a giant slug suddenly yells your name in your head.” That would be the last time he drank tea while communicating with the Rokubi. He’d thought the link had shut, but the stupid slug had lulled him into a false sense of security before yelling right as he picked up the platter. The link had closed while it was midlaugh as he glared at the shards of his teapot and cups.
Most people would be alarmed by a jinchuuriki insinuating that the beast sealed inside them could be heard randomly at all times, but Sute just shrugged it off. “Yeah, sounds like it sucks,” she said blithely.
...He didn’t know whether to be happy or insulted at how dismissive she was of the whole thing. On the one hand, it was nice she didn’t freak out. On the other, rude. “I shouldn’t even bother giving you the present for that,” he scoffed, and she paused.
“Wait, you got me something?”
Rather than respond he pulled a small pouch from his pocket and tossed it to her, Sute catching it easily. It was nowhere near as fancy as the way she’d wrap her gifts, just a nice little satchel with a fancy ribbon.
Sute stared in shock for a moment before tugging the ribbon loose and reaching inside, pulling out her gift: a small, wooden carving of a sitting dog with pointy ears. It wasn’t particularly fancy in his opinion, not even painted beyond black dots for its eyes and nose. He’d picked it up during one of his own rare missions out of the village, having only noticed the stand because the roadside vendor was arguing with a potential customer while Utakata and his teammate walked past. Slipping it into his pocket had been a whim more than anything, but he figured he’d hold onto it.
“It’s not much, but you’ve gotten me something every year,” he said off-handedly as she inspected the small statuette. “Mostly I just remembered how you complained about not getting to pet any dogs ever, so I figured I’d grab it and give it to you.” When Sute didn’t respond he glanced over at her, and then paused. Her eyes were still wide with shock, her expression something close to...
Oh shit were those tears in her eyes?
Utakata went statue-still as his best friend’s eyes began to water, every alarm bell ringing in his head. This was completely new territory for him, and he could only watch and wait for her to do—something. Hopefully not cry, because he didn’t know how to handle a normal crying person, let alone a crying Sute.
“Ten years, and no one’s gotten me a gift in return,” she whispered, her voice wavering the slightest bit. She took a breath, and then mercifully wiped her eyes with her sleeves. When she looked at him her mouth curved into a bright smile, her expression softer than he typically saw. “Thank you, Uta.”
“...Sure,” he replied, unsure how to respond to such a strong showing of emotion. “You’re welcome.” Sute smiled a little wider before she carried the small statue to the window and set it beside the candle, turning it to face the snow.
Outside snow continued to fall and pile up the cold streets, but inside Sute’s house, everything felt just a little bit warmer.