Chapter 14: Storming the Tower
The walk to the Hokage Tower was a cold, straight line through the evening crowds. Kankuro felt every laugh, every cheerful shout from the market stalls like a physical prod. His own anger was a buzzing, corrosive thing in his veins, scouring away the residual warmth from the mission, from the safehouse, leaving only a clean, sterile fury. It was easier. Fury didn’t hurt. It just burned.
“Hey! Little brother! How was married life?”
Temari’s voice, laced with familiar, grating amusement, cut through the street noise. She fell into step beside him, her massive fan strapped to her back as casually as another woman might wear a purse. She was grinning, expecting a sarcastic retort, a crude joke, the usual performance.
He didn’t look at her. “Fuck off, Temari.”
The grin vanished. She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Whoa. What’s your damage?”
He shook her off, his movement sharp enough that a few passing civilians glanced over. “I said, fuck off. I’m not in the mood.”
“Clearly.” She studied his face, her sharp eyes missing nothing—the tightness around his mouth, the way his gaze refused to settle. “Mission go sideways? Did the Weapons Princess finally snap and try to seal you in a scroll?”
“Don’t call her that.” The words were out, low and venomous, before he could stop them.
Temari’s eyebrows shot up. A long, silent moment passed. “Oh,” she said, the single syllable packed with a world of understanding. “It’s like that.”
“It’s not like anything.” He started walking again, faster. “It’s done. The mission’s done. I’m done. I’m never coming back to this damp, green, nosy hellhole again. You can all have each other.”
She kept pace easily, her expression shifting from teasing to something closer to concern. “Kankuro, what happened? Did you two—”
“I don’t want to talk about it!” he barked, spinning to face her. The raw volume of his voice echoed off the surrounding buildings. A mother nearby pulled her child closer. “Just drop it! Go back to your genius husband and your perfectly calculated life and leave me the hell alone!”
He turned and stalked away, his sandals slapping the cobblestones with finality.
Temari stood frozen on the street, stunned. She’d seen him angry before—frustrated, immature, pissed off—but this was a white-hot, directed rage she rarely encountered outside of a battlefield. This was personal. This was pain.
Shikamaru materialized from the shadow of a nearby awning, Lee and Shino a few steps behind. He’d witnessed the whole exchange.
“What in the five nations was that?” Temari demanded, her voice tight.
Shikamaru sighed, the sound weary. “Troublesome. I don’t know the specifics. But their return was… volatile.” He glanced toward the towering silhouette of the Hokage Tower. “We need to go. Now.”
The doors to the Hokage’s office were heavy oak, reinforced, meant to convey permanence and authority. Kankuro didn’t knock. He slammed his palm against the wood and shoved, letting them bang against the inner walls with a crack that made the two guards in the hallway flinch.
Inside, the room was a pool of lamplight. Naruto sat behind the massive desk, the Hokage hat tilted back on his blond head. Gaara stood by the window, a silhouette of calm against the darkening sky, the gourd on his back a silent promise of violence. Both men turned as the doors exploded open.
“Charming entrance,” Gaara stated, his voice devoid of inflection.
Naruto just leaned back, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Kankuro. Good timing. We were just—”
Kankuro strode across the room and threw the mission scroll onto the desk. It slid, scattering a stack of parchments. “Debrief. The artifacts were being auctioned to fund a cell resurgence. We acquired the three target items under the cover identities.” The words were a rapid, toneless report, fired like senbon. “They’re in the scroll Shikamaru has. No further hostiles encountered. Mission complete.”
He took a breath, his chest tight. “Now. I am formally requesting a permanent reassignment of all diplomatic and joint-operational duties relating to the Hidden Leaf. Effective immediately.”
The room went very quiet.
Shikamaru, Temari, Lee, and Shino filed in behind him, forming an uneasy semicircle.
Gaara turned fully from the window. His calm was a physical pressure in the room. “Explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain. I’m done. Konoha can handle its own ancient weapon problems. Send the bill to Suna.” Kankuro’s gaze was fixed on a point just above Naruto’s head.
“Brother,” Gaara said, and the single word was a command.
Something in Kankuro snapped. He met Gaara’s eyes, the years of being the less-serious sibling, the comic relief, the one who played with dolls, coalescing into a single, combustible point. “Don’t ‘brother’ me. You want a report? Fine. The mission was a success. The partnership was a disaster. She’s impossible. She’s a locked box with a hair-trigger temper and the emotional range of a fucking kunai. And I’m tired. I’m tired of this village, I’m tired of the noise, I’m tired of the whole… game.” He spat the last word. “So you can take your delicate political balancing act and you can shove the whole Sand right up your ass.”
The silence this time was absolute. Lee’s mouth hung open. Shino’s glasses gleamed impassively. Temari looked from her livid brother to the Kazekage, whose expression had frosted over completely.
Gaara took a single step forward. The sand in the gourd behind him whispered. “You will remember your place.”
“Or what?” Kankuro challenged, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “You’ll have me assassinated? Go ahead. It’d be more straightforward than whatever this is.”
Naruto stood up. “Alright, that’s enough.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the weight of the office, cutting through the hostility. He looked at Kankuro, really looked at him, and the Hokage’s usual bright warmth was absent, replaced by a leader’s assessing coolness. “You’re upset. I get it. Joint missions are stressful. But this isn’t a bar fight. You don’t get to resign from an alliance because you had a spat with your teammate.”
“A spat?” Kankuro laughed, the sound hollow. “You have no idea. You sent us out there pretending to be a couple, Naruto. You thought it was funny. Well, guess what? The joke’s over. It’s not funny anymore. It’s just… miserable.” The anger was leaching away, leaving behind a bleak exhaustion that was worse. He ran a hand over his face, smearing the already faded red markings. “I just want to go home.”
Before anyone could respond, the doors burst open again.
Before anyone could respond, the doors burst open again.
Hinata stumbled into the office, her chest heaving. Her usually immaculate hair was disheveled from the sprint, and her pale eyes were wide with a fear she seldom showed. Every head snapped toward her.
“Hinata?” Naruto was around his desk in an instant, his own anger forgotten, hands on her shoulders. “What is it? Are the kids—are Boruto and Himawari safe?”
“They’re safe, they’re at home,” she breathed, nodding quickly. She gripped his wrists, her touch urgent. “It’s Tenten. Something is terribly wrong.”
The name landed in the tense room like a physical object. Kankuro went perfectly still, his back to the room, but every line of his body tightened into a coil.
“We went to check on her at her shop,” Hinata continued, her voice low but clear in the silent office. “She was… not herself. She yelled at us to leave. She was crying, Naruto. Really crying.” She glanced at the others, her gaze lingering on Shikamaru’s attentive frown. “I used my Byakugan, just to be sure she wasn’t physically injured.”
She paused, swallowing hard, searching for the words. “Her chakra… there’s something else there. Flowing from her heart, down her left arm. It’s dense. Metallic. It pulsed with a light I’ve never seen in any living chakra system. It wasn’t hostile. It was just… awake. And wrong.”
Naruto and Shikamaru exchanged a single, potent look. The Hokage’s face drained of color, the playful bettor gone, replaced by the man who carried the village’s oldest, heaviest secrets. Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed, the pieces—Sasuke’s message, the weakening seal, the auction for ancient weapons—clicking into a terrifying, final configuration.
“The wrist,” Shikamaru murmured, almost to himself.
Gaara took a step forward, the sand in his gourd shifting with a dry hiss. “Explain.”
Before Shikamaru could, a thunderous crash shook the office doors on their hinges.
For the third time, the doors flew open.