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"I'm not as good as you say."
Mei Terumī's eyes suddenly began to sting.
That stinging sensation came without warning, like a fine needle piercing her softest spot.
She lowered her head and quickly cast down her gaze, not wanting him to see, not wanting anyone to see.
But her shoulders were trembling slightly. Not from cold, not from pain.
It was something that had been bottled up for a very, very long time.
Something had lightly touched it.
And it nearly cracked open.
"What if I don't want to save this Village?"
She bit her lip hard, desperately suppressing that stinging sensation. Her breathing became shallow and rapid, her chest tight with pain.
"Whether you want to save this Village or not, I will always protect you from now on."
Shinji's tone carried an unquestionable firmness.
He turned around, took two steps forward, then stopped and looked back at her.
The mist flowed around him, blurring his silhouette. Only his eyes remained clear as he spoke earnestly:
"Because I think you're really beautiful, and your figure is quite good too."
Upon hearing this, Mei Terumī's face instantly flushed red.
Then, she bit her lip.
Her lips turned pale from the bite, leaving faint teeth marks.
Then she started walking and followed him.
One step, two steps.
Her knees still hurt, and every step pulled at her wounds, but she didn't slow down.
She walked two steps behind Shinji, not too far and not too close, just enough to see his back clearly.
One in front, one behind.
The two figures vanished into the Hidden Mist's eternally gray night.
Behind them were three corpses.
Ichima Shirataka lay prone on the ground, Morimoto Makoto was buried in the rubble, and Miki Ayano lay on her back.
Their eyes were still open, staring at the gray sky.
The mist flowed slowly over them, wrapping them in a hazy shroud.
There was also a blood-stained handkerchief on the ground. A white handkerchief with a small flower embroidered in the corner.
The blood was not yet dry, shimmering with a dark red light under the moonlight.
...
That night, Shinji took Mei Terumī back to his residence.
His house was on the edge of the slums, not much better than Mei Terumī's.
The wooden walls had several cracks, and the night wind seeped through, carrying the dampness and chill of the mist.
The roof had been patched with several pieces of oil paper, none too neatly. Moonlight leaked through the edges of those patches, falling onto the floor in thin strands.
But being together was always safer than being alone.
Mei Terumī did not refuse.
She simply followed Shinji, walking through the mist-shrouded path and into the creaking wooden door.
The room was very dark, with only moonlight leaking through the window cracks, falling onto the simple bedding and a wooden table with a broken leg.
Shinji lit a candle. The candle flame flickered, casting their shadows onto the wall, lengthening and shortening, shifting left and right.
"You sleep on the bed," he said.
"What about you?"
"The floor."
Mei Terumī opened her mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.
She lay on the bed, wrapped in the somewhat worn-out quilt.
The quilt had a faint smell of sweat mixed with the scent of sun-dried fabric; it was hard to describe.
But it was much warmer than her empty room.
Shinji sat leaning against the door on the floor, his back against the panel.
The candle had been blown out, and moonlight leaked through the window cracks, illuminating the slight curl of his lips.
Step one, success!
The wind outside howled in gusts, with the occasional distant sound of a barking dog.
The sound was distant, as if coming from another world.
Mei Terumī turned on her side, facing the wall, and closed her eyes.
But she knew it was the most peaceful night's sleep she had ever had since she could remember.
...
Before dawn the next day, they appeared at Kisame Hoshigaki's door.
The morning mist had not yet dispersed; grayish-white vapor flowed along the ground, covering their ankles and knees, wrapping everything in a haze.
The distant houses were mere blurry outlines, like a single stroke of ink on rice paper that had blurred before it could dry.
When Kisame Hoshigaki pushed open the door and came out, he saw Mei Terumī behind Shinji.
He froze for a moment.
Then he looked away, his gaze falling back onto Shinji's face.
In the end, he said nothing.
No agreement, no objection, not even a single "why."
He just turned around, said "follow me," and walked toward the training ground.
The kubikiribōchō swayed gently on his back with his steps, soon disappearing into the mist.
Shinji knew that Kisame Hoshigaki's tacit consent was already the limit of what he could do in the current Village Hidden in the Bloody Mist.
In this precarious Village, no one dared to easily accept an "orphan of the Lava Release Clan."
This silence itself was a form of protection.
From then on, Mei Terumī followed along.
The three of them began doing missions together.
At first, they were D-rank. Helping fishermen mend nets, delivering goods for merchants, and clearing stray dogs from around the Village.
Those missions were simple, so simple they were forgotten as soon as they were finished.
After finishing a mission, Shinji would suggest taking Mei Terumī to that little shop on the edge of the Village to buy three portions of grilled fish, one for each, and eat them sitting on the bench outside.
The fish was a bit charred but very fragrant. Oil seeped from the skin and dripped onto their hands, making Mei Terumī shake her hands from the heat.
Seeing this, Shinji wouldn't say anything, but he would tear off the tail from his portion and hand it to her.
Later, they were C-rank. Escorting merchant caravans, repelling mountain bandits, and occasionally dealing with a few blind wandering Ninjas.
Those missions started to become dangerous. Once, Mei Terumī's arm was slashed by a wandering Ninja, and blood flowed down her elbow.
Shinji glanced at her, said nothing, but pulled a bandage from his breast pocket and handed it to her.
She took it and wrapped it herself. It wasn't done very well—it was crooked—but the bleeding stopped.
Then came B-rank and A-rank. Infiltrating enemy territory, assassinating key officials, and destroying strongholds.
After finishing those missions, sometimes they wouldn't want to speak for an entire day.
Returning to the Village and walking on the empty streets, their footsteps sounded one by one, as if counting something.
But every time they returned, Shinji would bring an extra portion of food.
Sometimes it was a steaming rice ball, sometimes grilled fish, and sometimes just a piece of hard dry rations.
He said nothing, just placed it in front of her.
Mei Terumī never asked why.
She just took it and ate it slowly.
The young girl's hardened heart was slowly melting.
Shinji saw all of this; he could tell that this future Mizukage was the type whose words didn't match her heart.
What she said was one thing, but her heart held another; what she never spoke of was actually a firm conviction.
This was a personality destined for greatness.
The days passed like this, one by one.
Shinji and Mei Terumī developed a rapport through mission after mission.
He taught her the basics of Taijutsu, and she helped him correct subtle deviations in his Chakra control.
In missions, their coordination became more like a single person. He knew where she would dodge, and she knew where he would attack.
Sometimes they didn't even need to speak; a single glance or a gesture was enough to know what the other was thinking.
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