The Harsh Truth

Chapter 20

The sun timidly decided to rise in the sky, being pushed forcefully upwards by the laws that governed the universe. The clouds that surrounded the village of Konoha seemed to be intent on staying, their appearance turning grimmer and darker by the second, rather than be swept away by the high gales in the upper level of the stratosphere. The sun, thus feeling betrayed, decided that all that the village hidden in the leaves needed, for that day, was but a pale flicker of light. No use trying to go all-out, when nobody was there to see him shine.

Watching from his bedroom the darkening clouds, Minato Namikaze's head turned gently behind him, taking one last look at the sleeping form of his wife, before gulping down a sip of water, and then disappearing in a flicker of light, to the office of the Hokage.

He wasted no time in getting things in order: everything had to go smoothly. It had to be so smooth there wasn't going to be even the tiniest bit of doubt, when things came down to it.

Today was important: extremely important…there was no other way around it…today had to go flawlessly. Once it was over, then he could rest at ease…because he'd have paid all his crimes, all his errors, all his mistakes. After this day, his soul would be free: not clean or less dirty, but at least, it would be free.

Kilometers away, a veritable army of white clay birds was being prepared by a blond haired man, with an Iwagakure forehead protector that had a single horizontal line on it, symbol of being a missing-nin, while near him, Itachi Uchiha was stoically standing, looking in silence at Kisame, Mangetsu and Chojuro, the three swordsmen of the mist speaking of strategies to adopt, in the narrow streets of Konoha.

Today was extremely important and everything, everything had to be perfect. As the wind blew, and a drop of rain fell on a paling hand, the Iwagakure kunoichi, owner of said hand and also barely made chuunin, looked at the darkening sky from her spot as a scout, and took a deep breath. The village of Konoha was just then waking up…but would it fall asleep, that night?

The Yellow Flash would pay, that much was the thought in the shinobi's minds, that much was the will of their Tsuchikage. She never fought the previous war: she was too young for that. She had heard tales of those who had however, she had heard the rants of fear and the frightened faces of those who had actually faced the now Yondaime Hokage, and she couldn't help but be glad she was a scout…she wouldn't be entering the battle: she was just there to act as a messenger.

In another spot, in the middle of the vast forest, Suna shinobis looked at each other tensely, while murmurs running through their crowds, promised that today, a great village would fall. For their leader, they would face and destroy their foes. In a corner, smirking, Orochimaru wearing the Kazekage's skin gave the final orders. For today, he would play the part, and tomorrow, when chaos would be at the order of the day, he'd be on his way.

The wind blew, as always, and as the morning birds chirped, and the drops of water fell, a light drizzle turned into a downpour moments later…and with that, the day that would be the Chuunin's Exams came to the its full glory.

As everyone prepared, everyone went through their plans, their decisions, their thoughts, a single man, with grey hair and two clear blue eyes, looked at the falling rain from the window of the hospital, where mere moments ago, Anko had groaned, signaling that she was waking up.

"So…you woke up," Naruto whispered, looking back at the woman, who merely brought both her hands to her face, before pushing them for a while against her forehead, a blinding headache probably the cause, and then letting them fall, limp, against her sides.

"Was I run over by a truck?" Anko whispered back, her eyes looking with a mixture of worry and perplexity to Naruto, who simply shook his head, slowly.

"No…I admit most of your injuries were my doing," the Senju whispered, "But you brought the worse ones upon yourself, Anko," the tone was cold, chilling, even, as the boy's right hand lightly rose, to then gently drop down limp at his side, once more.