Wait… no, what if Kita doesn't come back today?!
Konan's heart jolted in terror. Her mind immediately pictured Kita and the Fifth Mizukage laughing together, curled up in bed. She shot upright from the sofa. No… she had to keep watch. Terumi Mei already had feelings for Kita. Their situation was delicate—if Terumi Mei made a move, Konan wouldn't even have a place to cry.
With that thought, she threw on her Akatsuki cloak—the one she had just taken off a few minutes ago—and strode toward the door. She opened it… then froze.
No. No, no, no. Kita's companion was supposed to be her. Now rushing in to grab Kita would be beneath her dignity. She was not only a leader of Akatsuki but also half of Amegakure's authority. Leaders have a certain grace—breaking that by acting impulsively was unthinkable. For the future of the village and for Akatsuki, she could not just storm out and take Kita back.
Besides, they were genuinely friends. Even if Terumi Mei made advances, Kita wouldn't fall for her—at most, Terumi Mei could only rival Konan. Absolutely no danger.
With that reasoning, her frantic steps slowed. Konan closed the door and sank back onto the sofa. She turned on the TV, but the broadcast was utterly uninteresting.
But… Kita had always stayed at Terumi Mei's home when visiting Kirigakure. Not a hotel—a real home. Their bond was close enough that if Terumi Mei came here, she couldn't bring her back, but staying in the same inn? Anything was possible.
Thinking this, Konan's composure faltered. She turned off the TV and walked back to the entrance, pacing a few steps before slowing again.
Grace, Konan! Grace! Even the Fifth Mizukage wasn't in a hurry—why were you panicking? Kita wouldn't do anything reckless. Jealousy was just insecurity. They had seven years together, fifteen years knowing each other—they had history. Terumi Mei? She was nothing in comparison.
Konan thought about turning back, but another voice whispered in her mind:
Even if you've known her a long time… she deceived you for seven years.
Reason said: go back to the administrative hall and act accordingly.
Emotion said: charge in and snatch Kita from Terumi Mei.
The battlefield—Konan's mind—erupted in a brutal war. She wandered down to the riverside pavilion, pacing back and forth, caught in the clash between reason and feeling.
As dusk fell, the war inside her finally softened. Konan hadn't noticed someone approaching until a voice called her name. She realized her posture was undignified—knees hugged to her chest, chin resting on her knees like a discarded child. There were stone benches in the pavilion, but she had chosen the floor, looking pitiful.
"What are you doing?"
Konan jumped up, legs numb. She stumbled, nearly falling, but a hand steadied her—saving this "angelic leader" from disaster.
"Uh… just sitting," she muttered, letting herself be guided to a stone seat inside the pavilion. Her legs tingled painfully, weak and prickly.
He sat across from her, eyes fixed on her the whole time. When Konan's legs recovered, the gaze still made her skin crawl.
"What are you staring at? Haven't seen numb legs before?"
A small complaint, though not out of irritation toward him.
He hesitated, then spoke on a different subject entirely.
"When I was six, my parents went to war and never returned. After I realized they wouldn't come back, I wanted to know… did they think of me in their final moments? Even now, I still wonder. Konan, I want to know—why didn't you take that 'last letter'?"
The topic leapt suddenly, but Konan felt no discomfort. Despite appearing indifferent, he was one of the most family-oriented among them. Had someone that strong been killed, it would have been by their own. So her refusal of Kita's letter back then was something completely unfathomable to him.
"I didn't say anything, so I didn't say anything."
"But isn't that why you leave a letter? Because you didn't have time to speak?"
Konan shook her head. Not like that.
"If someone's gone, words are meaningless. I'd rather not know."
They had spent too long without speaking. Leaving a letter? What purpose did it serve? She laughed softly, self-mockingly.
"Besides, I'm not as fragile as you think. Look—I survived all these years."
He nodded. Survived, yes, but like a living corpse. After a long silence, he sighed and looked at her.
"You remembered, after all."
Konan paused, then nodded. He noticed subtle changes—he would have seen it even if Nagato hadn't.
"Do you hate her for choosing that?"
"Should I?"
"I don't know. Women's emotions are different… I can't understand."
Konan laughed.
"Do you think my standards are high?"
Unsure how to answer, she sighed.
"Perhaps I hated her. Those days after losing my memories were like drifting in fog. All my emotions were stripped away. When Sharen let us stay up there to collect the lost memories… thanks to the Tenseigan, I recovered them. From that moment, I stopped hating. Over these years, we've endured so much—joy and sorrow alike. At the time, I thought… as long as she lived, that was enough. That was my only requirement."
A simple wish, yet impossible. Konan did not know the truth: Kita's body had deteriorated beyond repair. Even Orochimaru couldn't analyze the toxin stealing her life. The so-called "greatest poisoner of the Sand" had been humbled by this.
"Konan… treat her a little better."
Time was running out.
"Ha… you really favor her," Konan said, smiling. Then, serious, she asked, "She deceived me for seven years… I slapped her seven times. Was that too much?"
Not at all. She sighed silently and rose.
Night deepened. The daytime rain had ceased. The sky was ink-black, stars twinkling faintly. Lights downstream faded one by one, leaving the pavilion's old lamp casting a soft glow.
She thought… she wouldn't come back.
But then… footsteps approached. Konan pressed her knees together, peering at the figure emerging into the lamp light. Tall, slender, hair white as snow, wearing a plain yukata that fluttered slightly—like a person stepping out of a painting, or light emerging from darkness. Konan closed her eyes, stifling the tears. My Kita is back.
"I… I'm not your personal guard."
Not a triumphant "I'm back," but a quiet, insignificant protest.
Konan looked up at Kita's comforting face and laughed. She stood, taking Kita's arm as they walked.
"Not your guard? Fine. I'm hungry."
"Did… did you eat dinner?"
"No! Didn't eat! You don't hesitate about what you say, do you?"
"Your stomach… be careful not to skip meals. Ramen is fine?"
"Sure~ You eat too~"
"I… ate already."
"Then as a late-night snack~"
Their voices faded into the night. The pavilion was empty, save for the old lamp and a moth dancing around it, casting flickering shadows.
The night held them in quiet companionship, as if the world paused just for their reunion.