𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐢 | ɴᴀʀᴜᴛᴏ ꨄ︎ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘᴜᴅᴇɴ

[4/4] Kumo Sanjiro

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A silent clock ticked away against the wall above. There was only the sound of white noise and slow breathing. Wind from the ajar window blew into the stuffy room, brushing against gentle moving papers that were stacked and sorted.

One paperwork struck out the most to weary grey eyes. Sanjiro, who was in a daze, could not pull his eyes away from the written words.

Head of Kumo: Kumo Sanjiro.

Who would've thought a simple sentence with high regard would cause the old man to feel nausea without bile. And not once did he comprehend that his future and current present as the second child of his clan would put him as head position.

The type of position he never wanted. The type of position Kiyoko strived for as the first child in the shadows of the second. This twisted parallel between Kiyoko and Sanjiro could not reassure him.

He did not deserve it as much as Kiyoko did. Although none of that matters when they're all dead. 

No more pride for power. No more abuse of power. No more insanity.

In the tight room, Sanjiro gulped to himself. The paper was quickly crumbled in his tight-balled grip. It was this very moment where he internally declared that he'll never mindlessly bend to tradition again.

Especially now that he had a second chance. That second chance was Kazumi.

The old man hunched over against the desk, cupping his forehead into his palm. His shoulder's lightly trembled as tears streaked through his hand. 

"The Third Shinobi war has ended. Under my order, I will issue the cause of Kumo death to be involvement in the war. This massacre is in hidden records. Access is only granted to officials and Kumo blood." Hiruzen declared.

That only seemed to make Sanjiro break down some more at the recollection. This burden of his slow-burying grief will carry him to his grave. 

He can hide behind his desk all day, but reality won't go away.

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She does not look like him.

Sanjiro had his arms crossed beneath his grey robes. His beard was neglected, matching the lightless in his gaze. It had been three passing years since the near-extinction of Kumo. Some servants quit after exclaiming there to be a curse. The rest stayed loyal to Sanjiro, claiming he was the future of Leaf, and it would all be passed down to Kazumi.

Both reasons did not concern him. What concerned him more was this new life in the palms of his hand.

It was impulsive of him to name her after his mother. It was the only thing that came to mind. Perhaps he longed the embrace of that forgotten woman.