The Case-Book of Kakashi Hatake

The Beginning {Part 7}

I unlocked my apartment, holding the door open for Shikamaru and gesturing for him to go in ahead of me before closing the door quietly behind the two of us.

"So, uh, feel free to the search away, I guess. It shouldn't take too long; I don't own many things to look at."

The Inspector nodded, "Let's just get this over with. I don't know what Inspector Morino was thinking; it's just taking away from time that could be used to find the real killer, what a drag."

I rubbed the back of my neck, "About Morino, I hope that I didn't get you in trouble with him back there. I mean, with the way that you were talking back to him..."

"Don't worry about it. He's a confrontational person so it would have gone worse if I'd just rolled over and taken it. There's nothing he hates more than 'men who wilt like pansies,' to use his own verbiage."

"Ah, good to know." Clearing my throat, I asked, "Why the sudden change of heart? Twenty-four hours ago you were also fairly convinced of my guilt."

He gripped the bridge of his nose between a forefinger and thumb. "I guess that listening to Morino made me realize how I must have sounded to Kurenai yesterday and understand that she was the one in the right. You've proven useful, and Asuma trusted you. A man's past is his own business," he shrugged.

"Ah, I see."

Shikamaru nodded and then began a systematic search of my tiny room, stating there was no need for me to leave as he'd be done quickly and that this whole thing was pointless anyways. I sat on the corner of my bed as he looked through the trunk that held my sparse food and few personal items before moving on to the small suitcase containing my clothes. It wasn't until he made it to my desk that things got interesting.

"Is this a katana?"

I nodded, "One of the two remaining relics of the Hatake."

"I might have to take this in; it could fit the weapon requirements that the coroner detailed."

"Unsheathe it."

"Huh?" He glanced back at me in confusion, the black lacquered wood of the scabbard is his hands.

"Unsheathe it," I repeated quietly. "I don't think that sword will ever be killing people again."

Slowly, Shikamaru began to pull the blade from the saya, stopping when the first bit of the spider webbing crack became visible.

"I see. How long has this sword been broken?"

"Two months." I rubbed the scar going down my face, "I can get you the cleaning bill to prove it. Charged me through the nose to get the blood out of the cracks."

"Why did you bother getting it repolished if it's broken?"

I stood and held my left hand out, and he placed the saya in my grasp. I ran my thumb across the smooth wood before using it to flick up the tsuba, the hilt, pushing the handle slightly farther from the scabbard and allowing a little bit of the metal blade to glint in the low light floating through my window. "This katana was in my family for five generations. It was made by a renowned smith and has fought in so many wars. I couldn't let the iron from the blood in the cracks rust out the sword and ruin it further." I brought my right palm up and let it drop onto the tsukakashira, the end of the handle, clicking the blade back into the scabbard. "But it's useless now. I guess I'm just too sentimental to get rid of it." I handed back the katana, and he placed it on the desk.

Next, Shikamaru opened up the violin case beside the sword, eyes growing wide at the fine maple instrument with mother of pearl inlays and spruce fastenings.