---
The secret war council dispersed with the silence of ghosts. One by one, the ANBU captains and elite Jonin flickered away into the night, leaving only the faint rustle of leaves in their wake.
Hiruzen Sarutobi stood by the railing a moment longer, staring out at his village, before turning back into the tower to prepare for the bloodshed that would surely come with the sunrise.
Alaric remained on the roof for a moment, stretching his arms above his head until his spine cracked satisfyingly. The cool night air felt good against his skin, a contrast to the heated tension of the meeting.
"Well," Alaric muttered to himself, fishing a fresh cigar from his coat but deciding against lighting it just yet. "I suppose I should find a place to crash. Sleeping in the forest is fine for training, but a man of my stature deserves a mattress."
He had been so focused on training Haku and messing with the plot that he hadn't actually bothered to secure permanent lodgings. He had the money to buy the entire district, but the paperwork seemed tedious. Maybe he'd just rent a suite at the nicest inn for the night.
He walked toward the edge of the roof, prepared to drop down, when a voice called out from the shadows of the stairwell access.
"Yo. You heading out?"
Alaric paused and turned. Asuma Sarutobi was leaning against the wall, his unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind him, Kakashi Hatake was reading his orange book with practiced nonchalance, and Might Guy was flashing a blindingly white grin in the moonlight.
"Just going to find a roof over my head," Alaric replied with a relaxed smile. "Why? Need something?"
"Not exactly," Asuma pushed himself off the wall, scratching the back of his head. "It's just... we're all Jonin here. We're about to head into a mess tomorrow, and it occurred to me that we've never actually sat down with you."
"A crime against youth!" Guy interjected, striking a pose. "To fight alongside a comrade without knowing the fire that burns within his soul is a tragedy!"
"Maa, maa," Kakashi lowered his book, his visible eye crinkling into a smile. "What they mean is, we're going to get a drink. Asuma's buying."
"My treat," Asuma confirmed, jerking his thumb toward the bustling streets below. "You in?"
Alaric raised an eyebrow. He knew what this was. It was a vetting process disguised as hospitality. They accepted his strength, but they didn't know him. And before a war, soldiers liked to know who was watching their backs.
"Free booze and food?" Alaric grinned, stepping away from the ledge. "Lead the way."
Yakiniku Q - Private Booth
The restaurant was loud, filled with the smoke of grilling meat and the chatter of civilians oblivious to the looming threat. The four men were seated in a semi-private booth in the back. A privacy seal... courtesy of Alaric... were silently applied on the wall, muffling their conversation from prying ears.
"So," Asuma started, pouring sake into small ceramic cups. "To surviving tomorrow."
"To the power of Youth!" Guy shouted, clinking his cup so hard some of the liquid spilled.
"...To not dying," Kakashi murmured.
"Cheers," Alaric said, downing the sake in one smooth motion. He placed the cup down. "Not bad. But I've had better."
"Oho?" Asuma smirked, refilling the cup immediately. "A man of taste. I guess that fits. You don't exactly dress like a standard shinobi."
He gestured to Alaric's fine crimson coat and the high-quality fabric of his shirt. It was a stark contrast to the flak jackets and mesh armor the other three wore.
"I like comfort," Alaric shrugged, picking up a pair of tongs to flip the beef sizzling on the grill. "And I have the money to pay for it. Why wear scratchy mesh when you can wear silk?"
"That is a unique philosophy!" Guy laughed, giving a thumbs up. "But does silk allow for the full range of motion required for a Dynamic Entry?"
"It does if you pay enough for the tailor," Alaric countered smoothly.
Kakashi leaned back, swirling his sake. "You know, Alaric-san... you're a bit of a mystery. You showed up a month ago as a client. A wealthy merchant, apparently. Then, a week later, the Hokage promotes you directly to Jonin."
Kakashi's eye fixed on Alaric, sharp and analyzing. "That's not the usual career path. Most of us spent years in the mud as Genin and Chunin."
"I'm a consultant," Alaric lied effortlessly, grabbing a piece of perfectly grilled beef. "I have skills. The Hokage saw those skills. He decided it was cheaper to put me on the payroll than to keep hiring me as a freelancer."
"Skills..." Asuma muttered, taking a heavy drag from his cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "You mean like fixing the Uchiha kid's curse mark? Or training that ice-user student of yours to be a monster?"
"Among other things," Alaric agreed.
"It bothers me, you know," Asuma admitted, his voice dropping a little. He stared into his cup. "Not you personally. But the situation. This village is built on structure. Rules. Hierarchy. We bleed for those ranks."
Asuma looked up, meeting Alaric's gaze. "Seeing someone skip the line... it makes you wonder if the line matters at all."
The table went quiet. Even Guy dimmed his smile a fraction. It was a heavy thing to say, especially coming from the Hokage's son. It spoke of a deep-seated frustration with the politics of the village, the compromises his father made.
Alaric chewed his meat slowly, swallowing before wiping his mouth with a napkin. He didn't take offense. He understood.
"Do you disagree with your father's decision?" Alaric asked softly. "Do you think I'm not strong enough to hold the rank?"
"Strength isn't the issue," Asuma shook his head, pouring himself another drink. "I saw you staring down Orochimaru's presence in the forest. You're strong. Maybe stronger than me. But trust... trust is built on shared history. And you don't have any history here."
"That's true," Alaric conceded. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't have a history here. I didn't grow up in your Academy. I didn't take your exams. I'm an outsider."
He picked up the sake bottle and poured for Asuma this time.
"But history has to start somewhere, doesn't it?" Alaric said, a faint, charismatic smile playing on his lips. "Consider this day one. I'm here now. I'm wearing the headband, well... figuratively speaking, because I refuse to ruin my hair with that thing. And tomorrow, when the sand and sound come crashing through those gates, I'll be standing next to you."
Asuma stared at him for a long moment. He looked for deception, for arrogance, for the duplicity of a spy.
He found only a calm, unshakeable confidence.
Asuma sighed, a long exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the coming war. The tension in his shoulders dropped.
"Fair enough," Asuma grunted. He turned to the side and yelled toward the kitchen. "Hey! Another round of sake! And bring more beef! The expensive stuff!"
He looked back at Alaric, a wry grin finally breaking through his stoicism. "I can't argue with the Old Man once he's made up his mind anyway. He's stubborn as a mule. And if tomorrow really is the last day for some of us... I'd rather spend tonight getting drunk with a new friend than worrying about protocol."
"That's the spirit!" Guy roared, tears of manly emotion streaming down his face. "Let us forge a bond that even death cannot sever! Waiter! Bring me... milk! The strongest milk you have!"
"...Milk?" Alaric raised an eyebrow.
"Guy gets... enthusiastic when he drinks alcohol," Kakashi explained deadpan. "He starts opening Gates. It's bad for the furniture."
Alaric laughed, a genuine, hearty sound. "Alright then. Milk for the Green Beast. Sake for the rest of us."
He raised his cup.
"To confusing career paths," Alaric toasted.
Asuma clinked his cup against Alaric's. "To surviving the mess."
"To youth!" Guy shouted with his milk.
"To free food," Kakashi added.
As they drank and the night wore on, the questions became less about interrogation and more about curiosity.
---
The morning sun filtered through the high-quality silk curtains of the suite, illuminating the empty bottles of premium sake on the table. Alaric sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, rubbing the back of his neck.
He wasn't hungover... his physiology made that impossible... but the weight of the previous night's conversation lingered.
He thought back to Might Guy. The man had laughed the loudest, shouted about Youth the most, and drank enough milk to drown a calf. But Alaric had seen the micro-expressions. The tightness around the eyes when Lee was mentioned. The way his smile faltered for a fraction of a second when he looked at his own legs.
'Guy... he's good at hiding his worries,' Alaric mused, standing up and walking to the window to look at the bustling village below. 'Lee's injuries are catastrophic. Bone splinters in the spinal column. Muscle detachment. In canon, only Tsunade could fix it, and even then it was a gamble.'
Alaric lit a morning cigar, the smoke curling around his fingers.
'I'll pay his student a visit sometime after this mess is over,' Alaric decided, watching a bird fly toward the stadium. 'I'll heal him. A simple regeneration seal should do the trick, if not, then my blood is the best treatment. Consider it a good will for being a new friend.'
He dressed in his signature crimson coat, adjusted his collar, and vanished.
.
Consider buying me a coffee!
patreon.com/kulark
I'm uploading dozens of chapters ahead there!