The Cycle of Hatred: A Naruto Insert

He tugged at his collar and adjusted his tie so it wasn’t choking him anymore. He looked around the Sarutobi compound gate and breathed a sigh of relief. After that disaster of a welcome party a few days ago, hopefully, the family dinner would be a step up. He walked the lamp-lit streets of the Sarutobi compound, thankful it was late enough for his arrival to go unnoticed.

Perched atop a roof, he squinted into the darkness and flitted to his family home. He’d only just landed on the south wall’s tiling when his heart sank.

“Why, hello there, young master. I knew you would enter through here. You always had a habit of sneaking around.”

“...Grannie. It’s been too long.” He hopped down in embarrassment and she gave him a toothy grin; the wrinkles on her face had deepened since he last saw her. “You’ve grown… old.”

“Haven’t we all?” She raised an eyebrow, “I was old when you were born, young master—and get rid of that, will you? You know your brother hates the smell; he’s brought Konohamaru with him.”

“Konohamaru?” Asuma crushed the half-disintegrated cigarette in his hand. “How is he?”

Grannie beckoned him to follow her as she circled back to the front entrance. “As much a terror as you were at that age. He drives your brother up the wall, that one.”

“Good.” He ignored the realisation that he wasn’t sure if Konohamaru was three or four. “He needs someone to loosen the stick he’s got jammed up his ass.”

She shook her head wryly. “Your foul mouth is still in action after all these years, I see.”

“You’d better believe it, Grannie,” he smiled.

They trudged across the well-cut lawn and rounded the building’s eastern side, bumping into the other servants finishing their day's work. He recognised some of them—they were people he’d seen around the clan compound growing up—but found himself consistently not recognising a good few. 

“Wait a sec, is that you, Asuma?”

Grannie stopped and wagged a finger in front of her face. “Sadao if I find that you’ve managed to foist off your work on one of the new hires, I will bring out the paddle.”

“Sadao?” Asuma was beyond shocked to find his childhood friend working as a servant in his own home. “What happened to you becoming a playwright?”

Sadao turned the corner dressed head to toe in the Sarutobi clan’s servant wear: black kung-fu slippers and a set of burgundy samue. He didn’t know who started the trend, but the servants had worn it for as long as he could remember.

“Ah-ah-ah—you’re jumping to conclusions, my chain-smoking friend.”

Asuma snorted when Grannie poked him in the ribs.

“It doesn’t matter what your relationship with the young master is, when you are at work, you will refer to him as such”

“Yeesh, Grannie.” Sadao rubbed his side. “I’m here part-time,” He stared pointedly at Grannie, “young master.”

“This a recent thing?” Asuma asked after he’d suppressed his laugh at being called ‘young master’ by Sadao of all people.

“No, he asked me for work shortly after you left,” said Grannie.

“...Right.” Because there was little else he could say in the face of something he wouldn’t have known about.

Sadao interjected quickly, “I’ve been working here for a few years to save up the funds for props and special effects—and so have a few of the actors and actresses; you might’ve seen them on your way here. In fact, my play’s going to be performed soon—I’d like you to come see it. You'll be in the VIP box and everything; I’ll mail you the tickets for the first screening next month.”

Asuma blinked. “I was wondering why some of them looked so unfamiliar. And sure, I’ll come. What’s it called?”

“The Life and Times of the Fourth Hokage and there isn’t a better way to find out about the Fourth Hokage than asking the Third Hokage. Plus the actors and actresses can get a feel for the lives of the people they'll be portraying.”

Sadao and his crew working as servants in his family home didn't feel any less weird with that information, but it made much more sense to him. Asuma looked to the dining hall, trying to keep the edge out of voice. “Does he even have time for you?”

His friend made a so-so gesture. “I’ve been working here for three years and only just finished the play so you tell me.”

“Go and make yourself useful, Sadao.” Grannie waved her cane threateningly at Sadao, who danced out of its range and hid around the corner.

Asuma spotted him sprinting down the engawa and into a side room.

“That boy… so, shall we continue, young master?”

“Sure,” he smiled and allowed her to lead him to the dining room.

A whole roasted chicken lay spread in the centre of the table, flanked by sides of vegetables and a massive bowl of steaming pilaf rice. Around it sat his family members. Seeing them, it felt like he’d been gone for ten years instead of four.

His father’s hairline had receded even further and his face was sagging with the weight of age. At thirty-five years old, his brother looked hale and healthy, though he could see the beginnings of his father’s renowned widow’s peak coming in—and his sister-in-law sported the odd grey streak in her dark hair.

“Asuma,” his father smiled.

“Hello, dad.” He shuffled on his feet, eyes flickering from his father’s to the table, and then back to his father’s eyes.

He raised an open palm. “Do take a seat.”

Asuma sat beside his brother and opposite Konohamaru, who’d been fastened to a highchair and returned his brother’s smile.

“How’re you settling in?” Seiji asked.

“Not too bad. Things have changed, but that’s life. How have things been going for you?”

“Not too bad; I became clan head last year. Father's getting up there in age, and he's been talking about stepping down for years, so here I am.”

 “...Congratulations.”

His brother smiled and began plating the assorted food, pushing the burden of conversation onto Asuma. He gave a small, tight-lipped smile towards Konohamaru, which soon proved to be a mistake.

“Hey… who’re you?” he asked, split between trying to lick his elbow and blinking curiously at him. Seiji dropped the plastic serving spoon in shock, scattering rice grains across the table.

“Dad, you need to be more careful; wasting food is bad.”

“Konohamaru,” Seiji sighed. “I told you before we came here: he’s your uncle, my little brother.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember having an uncle.” Konohamaru flapped a hand, crossed his arms, and nodded to himself sagely. “And you forgot you had a little brother until today.”

“Sorry about this, Asuma,” said Yasuko, his sister-in-law, as she shushed Konohamaru. It didn’t seem to work though, because the kid was growing more belligerent with each attempt.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he said eventually—because, really, what else could he say? “He was barely one when I left, so I can’t expect him to remember me. Sucks for you guys, though.”

His father coughed. “Excuse me… but how?”

“Well,” Asuma grinned, “I’ve come dressed for the occasion and get to carefully give him the best impression of Uncle Asuma. In a few years reckon he’ll be coming to me for his every need.”

Seiji snorted. “Is that so? Remind me who you came to for everything important in your life.”

“Sure, but that was before I had the life experience I do now. I got to see the sights beyond the Leaf Village that you didn’t.”

“Yeah? Look where that got you.” There was a strange undercurrent to Seiji’s voice that Asuma didn’t like. He furrowed his brow and opened his mouth but his father beat him to the punch.

“Enough, Seiji,” his father said. “Your brother has been gone for years.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Asuma asked.

“Peace, son, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just been so long since we’ve had dinner together—is it truly wrong of me to ask for a happy time between us?”

There was a strange staredown between the three of them. Not quite angry but it was clear that a decade of arguments and animosity couldn’t be solved by a single dinner. He dislodged bits of food between his teeth while he glared at his brother.

“Woah!” Konohamaru gave an airy laugh. “I like you, strange uncle.”

“Strange Uncle?” his father repeated and Asuma could hear the laugh in his voice. “I like it—but why is he strange?”

“Really, grampa?” He gawked and vaguely waved his stubby little arms. “Look at his clothes. They’re strange clothes, right mama?”

“Slow down there or you’ll fall over,” said Asuma as he leaned over the table, “I’ll have you know that these are the latest fashion in the Land of Fire. Know what they call them?

“What?” he asked, and staring at those curious blue eyes, he knew he’d won him over.

“They’re called suits.” Asuma leaned in and hissed at the end, causing his nephew to wriggle back with a shrill, excited laugh.

From there, things could not have gone better. Asuma baited him into asking about the suit before dialling back to the more hilarious aspects of his time in the Fire Capital—like the insanely opulent festivals the Daimyo would throw for the most inane reasons. This, of course, quickly extended to all the other mind-numbing things the Daimyo had done and Asuma didn’t quite realise how hair-brained it all was until he was away from the Fire Capital.

“No way,” Yasuko gasped, wiping streaming tears off her flushed cheeks as she turned to his father, a desperate amusement layered in her voice. “Please tell me it’s not true.”

“Unfortunately,” he chuckled before finishing the last bite on his plate, “our Daimyo’s wife, and thus our Daimyo, did indeed create a national holiday because Tora—that’s their pet cat, Konohamaru—did not disappear for three consecutive months. Since last year, every village in the Land of Fire has had a national holiday on the last Friday of April.”

Asuma looked around at the various emotions at the table: amusement from Yasuko, bemusement from Seiji, sheer confusion from Konohamaru, and his father’s helplessness at having to corroborate it all. Seizing the moment, he clapped his hands and continued while the emotions were still fresh. He told them of his exploits as one of the Twelve Guardian Shinobi—toned down for Konohamaru’s sake, successfully captured the entire table’s attention.

For all his father’s knowledge about the Daimyo, he rarely concerned himself with matters outside of national security—meaning even he sat rapt as Asuma spoke. He stopped only when his throat was dry (and slightly hoarse) from all the talking.

Pouring out a glass of water, he felt a swell of pride at the empty plates. He’d entertained the table and then some. “So, what now? Is dinner over?”

“Over?” Seiji smiled. “No, no, no. What about dessert?”

“Dessert? Last I checked, our family didn’t do dessert, did it?” Asuma frowned at his father.

“Things change, my son. I’m quite fond of those frosted cakes, myself. It’s a fairly recent import from the Land of Tea but it’s taken the village by storm.”

“Dessert, huh?” he muttered, before shaking his head. “Okay then, I’ll go help Grannie—why are you looking at me like that Seiji? You know she won’t stop unless we force her to.”

His elder brother stuck his hands up and started to say something before Asuma—to Konohamaru’s obvious amusement—waved him off. He walked the familiar narrow halls to the kitchen, where Grannie was loading various cakes, pastries, and puddings onto a rattling cart.

“Let me help you there,” said Asuma as he swooped over her—because she was just that small—and wheeled the cart out of the kitchen. “Don’t even try to talk me out of it, you know it won’t work.”

“Young master… alright. But be careful. The ramp from the kitchen to the main house—”

“I’ll be fine.” Asuma smiled at her, clearing the small ramp without any problem. “See?”

She wrung her hands together before clasping them in front of her. They walked side by side across the house, carefully turning corners to avoid incoming passersby, and simply enjoying each other’s company without a need for words. Still, it was Grannie who broke the silence first, making a strange noise.

“What is it?” Asuma asked. “Did we leave something behind?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. It’s… I’ve missed you, young master. Truly.”

“Oh…” Smiling, he looked ahead and continued pushing the small cart forward. “...I’ve missed you too, you know. I—how do I say it? I guess I needed to leave. These past few years have been good for me and even though I was away from you all… I don’t regret it, but I missed you.”

Silence blanketed the small corner of the hallway they stood in. Asuma looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“When we last met, I feared for your future. You and your father always had your differences but you were… you were so hateful and bitter that it scared me.”

He winced, not at being called bitter and hateful—but at the implication that he was no longer like that. His time outside of the village had healed many things, but his relationship with his father was not one of them. He struggled to formulate a reply before they returned to the dining hall.

“No, that’s not what I meant!”

Asuma and Grannie shared a glance as the yelling grew louder. He parked the tray to the left of the door, making sure it was out of the way.

“Why, mama?” Konohamaru, still bound to his chair (though it was rocking back and forth), ignored his mother’s pleas to stop. His forehead was scrunched in focus as he asked, “Why was he gone for so long?”

Asuma carefully circled the table and returned to his seat. His father watched the affair sadly, his wrinkled hands intertwined and placed in front of him on the table. Seiji sipped his water and raised an eyebrow towards Asuma. Yasuko, growing sick of her son’s constant questions, lifted him out of the rocking chair and left the dining room.

“What was that about?” Asuma asked—to which his father gestured towards the empty high chair.

“You happened, Asuma,” said Seiji, the edge in his voice returning. “You returned to our lives so suddenly, expecting everything to be the same—that’s what happened.”

“What… that’s—no, I—”

His father interrupted, “Enough, Seiji.”

“No, father. I’m in the right here and you know it.” Seiji glared at Asuma. “Do you think you’re the only one who couldn’t stand it? That you were the only one with problems? I saddled down and faced them but you? You ran, and then you came back one day completely out of the blue.”

“Seiji… I couldn’t stay,” said Asuma, smiling pleadingly. “If I did… I don’t know what would’ve happened. I hated this place and…” He glanced at his father and shook his head. “Listen, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

His brother scoffed and folded his arms. “Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to my son who doesn’t remember my brother—his uncle. Tell me, did you ever plan on coming back, or did it take ten of the twelve esteemed guardian shinobi dying to remind you of your family?”

With that one question alone, the confidence he’d erected over the last few days came crashing down. He could see it in their faces: his father's and his brother’s. He could see that this wasn’t the first time they’d asked themselves that. That they too didn’t know if Asuma would return. Truth be told, even he didn’t know if he would return until it happened—and for him to just waltz in and pretend otherwise?

He snorted as if he’d heard a bad joke.

“Seiji,” his father barked before his voice softened. “Asuma…”

“What are you doing?” Asuma frowned at him. “You’re… you’re treating me like… like I’m going to go and run away.”

“Aren’t you?” Seiji asked.

Asuma whirled on him, furious, but then the wind left his sails and he sighed. “Father,” he said, feeling more tired than ever before. “May I be excused? I just… I can’t do this right now.”

His father nodded sadly, dragging a heavy hand over his face.

“What did I just say, Asuma? Running away won’t solve your problems, it just throws them to someone else!”

“What do you want, Seiji?” Asuma snapped, turning around a few paces before the door. “Do you want me to throw myself to the floor and cry? Will that make you feel better—tell me!”

Seiji flushed and, for a moment, looked like he wanted to hit him very, very hard. Instead, he shook his head, looking almost as exhausted as he did. “No. I just want you to realise that I suffered too.”

He gave him a long, searching look and muttered, “You don’t think I knew that?” 

Shaking his head, he walked out of the door just as the beginnings of an argument erupted between his father and his brother. Grannie stood outside the dining hall, wiping tears from her face. He passed Yasuko further down the corridor; she smiled apologetically.

The fact that none of them had said anything against his leaving only proved him right: things had changed, and he couldn't tell if it was for the better or the worse.