Curse These Old Bones - Chapter 49

Chapter 49

Star Village, Land of Bears 

Yotaka adjusted the cuffs of his flak jacket, fingers brushing the metal plate of his Hoshigakure forehead protector. His hands, as always, felt uncomfortably clean. He didn’t know why; it had been years since the blood of the Third Hoshikage dried on them. Maybe because no amount of scrubbing could erase that moment—the gurgled cry, the flash of betrayal in the old man’s eyes before they dulled forever. And now here he was, shepherding outsiders at Akahoshi’s request. It was almost funny.

“Over there,” Yotaka said, his voice steady as he gestured toward the yawning crater. “That’s where the meteorite landed. About two hundred years ago, before the village was founded. It shaped everything here—literally. The star is at the heart of it all.”

The two chunins from Konoha said nothing, but their presence was like an itch Yotaka couldn’t scratch. They seemed…a bit stronger than the usual chunin. Probably because they were form a major village. The man, Sura, towered over him, a slab of muscle and quiet menace. His face betrayed nothing, but the way he carried himself—calm, unhurried—put Yotaka on edge. He hated people like that. Too sure of themselves, too damn composed, as if the world revolved around their presence.

Pakura, though, was another matter entirely. The green silk of her kimono caught the light and attracted Yotaka’s gaze where it shouldn’t linger. The fabric framed her chest, emphasizing the shape of her breasts in a way that set his thoughts ablaze. The neckline dipped just enough to tease, a whisper of shadow hinting at the outline of a nipple beneath the silk. He swallowed hard, the image embedding itself in his mind despite his attempts to focus elsewhere. Her pale skin seemed to glow against the dusty backdrop, each subtle shift in her movement revealing more than his resolve could handle. When the kimono shifted with her stride, it briefly unveiled the toned line of her abs, but Yotaka’s attention faltered as his eyes drifted lower. The way the silk defined the curve of her ass was nothing short of maddening, leaving little to imagination and stoking an ache he couldn’t suppress. His mind betrayed him further, conjuring thoughts of how her breasts might feel under his hands, how her waist might yield beneath his grasp. He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening as he forced himself to look away, though the heat pooling in his gut refused to dissipate. His eyes dipped lower, to where the fabric hugged the curve of her ass, before he forced himself to look away. Not here. Not now. Not with Konohans. 

Pakura’s emerald eyes caught his briefly, the faintest flicker of disdain in her gaze before she turned back to the crater. Yotaka swallowed hard, focusing on the task at hand. “In the center,” he continued, his voice firmer now, “is the training pavilion. That’s where the star is housed, and where we hone the techniques that make Hoshigakure unique.”

Sura glanced at the crater, his face unreadable. “And how many finished this ‘training’? ”

The question hit like a blade, but Yotaka didn’t flinch. He’d been expecting it. “Not many did,” he said smoothly, his tone casual. “It’s true that the training is...demanding, but our shinobi gain unparalleled abilities. We’ve built our strength on perseverance.”

“And the one who did not finish it?” Pakura’s voice was soft, almost disinterested, but her gaze was piercing.

Yotaka forced a smile. “A few. But what great village hasn’t made sacrifices to reach greatness? Even Konoha must know that better than anyone.”

Sura raised an eyebrow, but Pakura said nothing, her gaze flickering back to the crater. Yotaka seized the moment, gesturing to another building perched at the crater’s edge. “That’s the observatory,” he said quickly. “It’s where our researchers study the star’s properties. Akahoshi-sama believes the meteorite holds secrets we’ve only begun to uncover.”

“Interesting,” Sura murmured. 

Yotaka felt his stomach twist. He hated this. Every word felt like another stone added to the weight pressing on his chest. He believed in Akahoshi’s vision—he had to—but moments like this made him question whether they’d gone too far. Killing the Third Hoshikage had been necessary, hadn’t it? The old man was weak, too afraid to seize the star’s full potential. Akahoshi was different. He had a plan, a vision for Hoshigakure’s future. Yotaka had to trust that.

Still, the way Akahoshi had spoken about the Konoha shinobi before sending Yotaka to greet them lingered in his mind. “They’re a means to an end,” he’d said, his voice cold. “Play nice. Tell them what they need to hear. I have a plan for them.”

Yotaka didn’t know what that plan entailed, but he knew better than to question it. His loyalty to Akahoshi wasn’t blind—it couldn’t be, not after what they’d done together—but it was absolute. Akahoshi was the only one who could lead this village to greatness. Whatever it took, Yotaka would see it through.

Even if it meant being complicit of the sexy woman's death. 

— — — — 

Land of Fire

Captain Cat knelt in the dirt, her deft fingers checking the last provision bag. The leather straps were secure, the weight evenly distributed—no risk of failure in the field. She tugged once, hard, testing the durability of the seam. Satisfied, she pushed it toward the jonin it belonged to and stood, brushing a stray leaf from her Anbu uniform. Her golden-brown eyes scanned the clearing with the clinical detachment she always wore like armor.

Tiger was a few meters away, his broad shoulders hunched as he ran his own inspection. His squad mirrored her own efficiency, checking gear and murmuring softly among themselves. Together, the two teams formed the Hokage’s escort to Kusa: two units of four jonin, the bare minimum for such an operation. Cat’s lips tightened into a thin line. She had recommended more. The Hokage had refused. Of course, he had. The man carried an aura of invincibility, and while Cat admired him for it, it made her job that much harder.

The air in the clearing felt strange. Not tense, exactly, but not relaxed either. The quiet wasn’t oppressive, but it was weighted with something unspoken. Cat didn’t believe in instinct—instinct was simply a term for rapid analysis—but this was the sort of feeling that made her reach for her blade, just to be sure.

Hiruzen Sarutobi rarely left the village. There was wisdom in that; the Hokage wasn’t just the symbolic protector of Konoha—they were its very real last line of defense. Without the Fourth in the village at this precise moment, the Kyuubi’s attack would have destroyed them all. Without the Third, Orochilaru or Danzo’s betrayal could have toppled the fragile balance of the council. The Hokage wasn’t just a leader; he was a keystone. Remove him, and the entire structure would crumble.

Still, if the enemies of Konoha thought the Hokage’s absence left the village vulnerable, they were in for a rude awakening. Cat’s lips curved into a cold smirk at the thought. First, they’d face Jiraiya, the Toad Sage himself. Not roaming the land, for once. Then Zombie Tobirama Senju. And if they somehow survived all that? Well, then they’d meet Itachi Fucking Uchiha. The smirk lingered as she turned her attention to the second peculiarity of the day: the mode of travel. On the rare occasions the Hokage left the village—Cat had accompanied him twice to the Daimyo’s court—he traveled in a gilded monstrosity of a carriage. Secure, beautiful, reinforced, and painfully slow. This time, however, Hiruzen had decided on something… different.

Running. 

“Old-school,” he had called it, with a grin that still lingered in Cat’s memory. “Like in the good old days.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, enthusiastic voice. “Yosh!”

Cat’s spine stiffened, and for one horrible moment, she thought it might be Maito Gai. But no—this voice was too young, too high-pitched. She turned, her narrowed eyes landing on an unexpected sight: the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki himself, flanked by his two genin teammates. Behind them, Kushina Uzumaki followed, her mask partially obscuring her features, though the resemblance to the boy was unmistakable. 

Cat’s brow furrowed. The Jinchuriki? Outside the village? She resisted the urge to curse aloud, instead letting her thoughts churn as she watched the group approach. The Hokage’s reasoning was inscrutable at times, but this? Bringing the boy into foreign territory was dangerous. Bringing a living weapon in a country could create some…diplomatic misunderstandings. And yet, it made a twisted sort of sense. But then again…The Akatsuki. Kushina, even at her level, wouldn’t last  more than a few minutes while protecting three genins against Kakuzu or Hidan if they attacked in tandem. Her Lord's words from the last briefing echoed in her memory: They are coming for the Jinchuriki. Not yet. But soon. But they could not shelter the jinchuriki. If he came with them…Yes, the boy would gain field experience under the strictest of supervision, without the risk of being kidnapped. Even Sasori and Deidara wouldn’t take on two squads of jonin, the Red-Hot Habanero, and the God of Shinobi himself. 

No, if a team from the Akatsuki came, they’d face annihilation.

But…a small part of her rebelled at the notion of needing to consider three genins' safety on top of the Hokage’s, but she pushed it down. This was about controlled risk. 

A puff of smoke heralded Hiruzen’s arrival. He appeared in the clearing, his outfit an odd blend of formal and practical—diplomatic robes designed for movement. Cat straightened instantly, and the others followed, saluting with precision. Tiger mirrored her stance, his hand snapping to his forehead with practiced ease. The three visible Anbus stood at attention. The others—two scouts, already gone to check the way, and one permanently hidden by genjutsu—remained unseen.

“Well, everyone’s here. Ready?”

Naruto’s response was immediate and loud enough to startle a bird from the nearby treetops. “Of course, Old Man! For our first C-rank mission outside the village! Escort you, got it! We’ll protect you well! Don’t worry, you’re safe with us!”

Cat raised an eyebrow behind her mask. Was he stupid? 

Hiruzen’s gaze swept over them, his calm expression unchanging. “Alright. Let’s go.”

With that, they moved.

— — —

Land of Waves. 

The discussion flowed like a steady river of numbers and strategies, voices rising and falling with the rhythm of well-practiced negotiations.

“Compound interest isn’t just a tool—it’s leverage,” Gato was saying, his gravelly voice tinged with the satisfaction of a man who knew the power of money better than most. “It creates wealth out of time, multiplying investments without lifting a finger.”

Shikamaru leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed on the ceiling as though he wasn’t paying attention. But he was. As usual. He let the words wash over him, piecing together the broader picture in the lulls between sentences.

It had been a week since they arrived in this burgeoning town, a place that was rapidly shaking off its image as a backwater and shaping up to be the future capital of the Land of Waves. The houses were in ruins, the streets in shambles…Only the port and its warehouses were pristine, their infrastructure practically gleaming—not because of any local effort, but thanks to the ruthless efficiency of Gato during his reign of terror. The irony wasn’t lost on Shikamaru.

Homura’s calm, measured tone cut through the air. “And the Hokage’s push for double-entry bookkeeping… it’s revolutionary. It simplifies the process, creates accountability, and reduces fraud. Every ledger balances itself—nothing goes untracked.”

Shikamaru didn’t bother hiding his smirk. Of all things to be called revolutionary in a world where fireballs and mind control were everyday occurrences, accounting seemed a bit mundane. Still, the logic of it appealed to him. Credits and debits. One side balancing the other. Order, even in chaos. A neat system, much like shogi, and far less troublesome than people.

He thought back to the mission so far. The first leg had been simple: escort the convoy, Taro, and Homura to this location. The second? Much more layered. Chōji had been roped into construction work, his immense strength put to use on the bridge that would soon connect this town to the mainland. Ino had thrown herself into running a medical station, a task that left her exhausted but undeniably better at medical ninjutsu — and it was this, not the food, that made all the citizens like them. Asuma—Shikamaru still found this hilarious—was out in the fields, using Earth-style jutsu to plow and dig irrigation channels for the farmers. Practical, sure, but far from the image of a stoic jonin.

And then there was Shikamaru. Officially, he was tasked with close protection for Taro. Unofficially, it was clear the Hokage had placed him there to soak up every bit of knowledge these discussions offered. A political favor for the Nara, dressed up as duty. And, admittedly, an effective way to turn the gears in Shikamaru’s mind.

Gato. The man was a…study in contrasts. Shikamaru did not like him. And it was an understatement. His cruelty had been unmatched, the state of the town before their arrival a testament to that. Yet, even now, his organizational genius was undeniable. The port thrived because of him. His Company — now the East India Company, the Hokage had chuckled when renaming it, though Shikamaru did not understand the name — was very well managed. But the disfigured man himself? Well, that was another story. One of the ANBU chunin stationed here before their team had “remodeled” Gato’s face using medical ninjutsu, leaving him grotesque and unrecognizable. Still, it was preferable to being lynched by the villagers when going out— or Shikamaru guessed Gato thought so.

Homura spoke again, his voice weaving through Shikamaru’s musings. “The balance between public trust and economic control is delicate, Taro. We can’t afford to overreach.”

Taro nodded, his youthful energy a sharp contrast to the two older men. “I understand. But if we succeed, we won’t just stabilize the Land of Waves—we’ll create a hub for trade, banking, and maritime routes. This banking outpost is key.”

Shikamaru allowed himself a mental nod of approval. The trio of Gato, Homura, and Taro worked surprisingly well together—two veterans of politics and business guiding Taro’s innovative ideas. They weren’t just rebuilding a town; they were laying the foundation for something entirely new. Borrowing money legally? Based on business plans? Backed by the Hokage’s seal? It was… intriguing. A Bank, they called it. 

“Alright,” Taro said, snapping Shikamaru out of his thoughts. “It’s time. He should be arriving.”

He? Shikamaru’s brow furrowed slightly. He hadn’t forgotten about Kurenai’s team—her, Shino, and Kiba—idle — well, training but not doing a mission — but clearly poised for something. And then there were the Ships. Three of them, loaded with goods from the eighteen cartwheels that were not distributed for Waves, and pointedly absent from the endless discussions. Maybe now, he’d find out their destination.

A knock at the door drew all eyes. A nervous servant entered, bowing deeply before gesturing to someone behind her. Shikamaru immediately caught the shift in the room’s atmosphere. The servant’s fear was palpable, and it wasn’t hard to see why when the newcomer stepped inside.

Tall and broad-shouldered, the man’s very presence exuded authority. His lone visible eye, sharp and piercing, scanned the room like a predator sizing up prey. The other was hidden beneath a band, a mark of countless battles survived. The Kiri headband tied around his forehead gleamed, its symbol bold and unmarred.

Ao of Kiri. Shikamaru recognized him instantly. He knew his Bingo Book. A-rank. Former ANBU commander. Now a 'regular' jonin, though Shikamaru did not believe it for one second. What was he doing here? Weren't they in bad terms with Kiri ? 

“You must be Ao,” Taro said, standing to greet him. To Shikamaru’s surprise, the seasoned Kiri ninja hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking Taro’s hand.

“And you must be Taro,” Ao replied, his voice gravelly and measured. “Your… brother spoke of you.”

Shikamaru’s mind churned. Brother? Asuma? Hiroto? The way Ao said it—uneasy, almost reluctant, almost afraid—suggested something more. Had one of them crossed paths with this man before? Or bested him? Mmm…Probably Hiroto. 

Taro gestured for Ao to sit, pouring tea himself and offering it to the ninja. Shikamaru’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Sharing tea was no small gesture among ninjas. It signified trust—or at least a performance of it. Ao accepted, drinking without hesitation.

“The supplies are ready to leave,” Taro began, his tone shifting to one of practiced diplomacy. “However, there are still many details to discuss.”

Taro turned to Shikamaru. “Could you go fetch Team Kurenai, Shika?”

Shikamaru stretched lazily as he stood, already piecing together the implications of Ao’s presence. A diplomatic envoy from Kiri? Supplies loaded onto boats? Whatever was happening here, it went far beyond a bridge and a banking outpost. But, as always, Shikamaru filed the thoughts away for later. For now, he had his orders — even if he knew they were only so he would not listen to what was clearly an important discussion — or even a secret negotiation. 

So, Kiri, huh? 

— — — 

Land of Wind 

Sasori's wooden shell creaked faintly as he maneuvered through the narrow passage of his hideout, Hiruko’s tail swaying with each step. The message from Kabuto had been short. Very short—but with the promise of critical intelligence. Sasori didn’t trust the man, of course. Trust was for fools and the naive. Yet the faint possibility that the information held value was enough to earn Kabuto this brief moment of attention. If it didn’t, Sasori would simply lose a mediocre spy and add another puppet to his collection.