| [Nov. 19th, 2011|06:22 am] |
When Kakashi walked out of the Hokage’s office, Shiroya glanced up with a look that suggested he severely regretted not listening at the door. Though presumably the guards would have prevented him. They were older and service-hardened, dressed in anonymous black, every one of them an ex-ANBU.
Perhaps that would be a job for Kakashi, when the village realized that giving him children was pointless exercise.
you think that I am not fit to be the Hokage
Perhaps not.
He drew a subtle breath, fighting to keep his face blank, and walked towards the hallway. Shiroya interrupted him.
“I have to know,” the chuunin said. “Who’s Akio?”
Kakashi paused and gave him a sidelong look.
“Because the only Akio I can think of with any political swing in Iwa is Councillor Akio, and I don’t know when he would have had the chance to vote—”
One of the guards gave a rumbling cough, but Shiroya’s curiosity was made of sterner stuff.
“What did you do to him?”
The memory was clean and clear, easy to pull up. A palmful of screaming chakra in a half-grown hand, and a falling teenager with most of his face burned away. “Killed his son,” Kakashi said quietly.
Shiroya’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Oh,” he managed, after a moment. “That’s a good reason to want you dead.”
Kakashi’s smile was mirthless. “One of many.” He threw a short salute at the chuunin, changing the gesture halfway through from a shoulder tap to two fingers flicking from his temple, then shoved his hands in his pockets and left before Shiroya found more questions. |
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