Reborn in the Mist

The gentle sea breeze from my balcony helped blow the green tea cold. I took a sip and fought back the cringe as I swallowed. Harusame’s Jinchuriki herbal remedy was the most bitter thing I have tasted in a month, but only for a second. It settled in my stomach and a nigh orgasmic wave of relief spread through my gut and soothes down my thigh to my punished knees.

It’s the only thing that can give me a break handling Isobu’s chakra clashing with mine. A long month now since that day and it should have subsided to my will by now, according to Harusame anyway.

I see the concerned looks he passes at me each time we have a training session and against my better self— Me. I. Myself. Jason— I demanded he spit out his thoughts or else…well, better not say.

Regardless, he’s worried about the seal and rightfully so. A freshly formed Isobu in a new seal, weaker than the one Konoha’s Habenero has holding the Nine-Tails and its Jinchuriki— Me, Myself, I. Jason— has only been manipulating chakra for all of thirty days.

Good thing he doesn’t know that. From what I can feel, the maelstrom of Isobu’s chakra in me isn’t even from a direct attempt at breaking free of its host. The Three-Tails chakra is simply that abundant and powerful that it strains my feeble attempts at replicating Yagura’s perfect chakra control.

As it turns out, manipulating a source of natural, spiritual energy isn’t intuitive. I barely manage to get a night’s rest with Harusame’s remedy and every non-resting second is spent reacquainting myself with Yagura’s Karatachi’s vast knowledge of Ninjustu, Taijutsu, Bojutsu and to an extent, Fuuinjutsu.

My suffering makes me sympathize very much with Gaara. I took another sip of tea and set my thoughts to the future Kazekage. Actually, would he be the future Kazekage? With what I plan for this timeline now that I’ve been dragged in it, I’d like to keep Rasa alive and foil Orochimaru’s plans.

Cupping my mug, I sighed and sunk further into my cushioned chair. The Hidden Mist village was draining the life out of me already with Isobu, not only that it was a pretty cold and unfriendly place to live in without being a Jinchuriki but I thought I could do something to help the screw the bad guys without dying myself.

Although, since that cheesy god put me in Yagura doing anything without Madara or Obito involved is going to be tough. It might just be a month in but I’m weak enough to know that I couldn’t fight either of them if it comes down to it.

I should have some time though. I’ll prepare and get even stronger.

It took me all of a day to confirm that Copy Ninja Kakashi had indeed foiled the Mist’s plans to destroy Konoha with Isobu. With this I know I have a good sixteen years before things really get screwed and the Fourth Great War starts.

A war Yagura doesn’t live to see…

A squawking messenger raven distracts me from ominous thoughts, it flutters down to me, losing onyx black feathers as it lands on my extended arm. I retrieved the scroll from the bottle on its feet and unfurl it to read letters scribbled only moments ago judging by its smear, glisten and smell.

I never knew it was possible to know that much about a message in a bottle but for Yagura it is. His personality and experience regularly slip and fuse with my own and sometimes his memories as well. It’s another reason Isobu hasn’t broken free to rampage— Yagura prepared to become a Jinchuriki, I didn’t.

“Gear up and submit to Mizukage tower’s rooftops.” I read aloud and flipped the paper around to confirm the wax seal is indeed that belonging to the Mizukage.

Except if it were the Mizukage then why is he referring to his tower so formally? It can’t be how things are done in Kiri, having lived here a month in a precarious condition that more than often had the Mizukage summoning me, I would know.

Or would I? At this point I’m not sure how much of me is me and how much is Yagura, though both find it evident enough that the scribbles were written in haste but then delivered by raven…why? If the message contents are truly urgent then a shinobi would have been sent with it, far faster even for communication within the village.

I shook my head free of complicating thoughts and simply got on my feet. The part of me that is Yagura finds just about everything about the Mizukage suspicious and I couldn’t find it in my heart to say its unwarranted. The Sandaime was being controlled by Madara after all and soon Yagura will meet the same fate.

A part of me wanted to skip this entire battle of wits and vacation in the Land of Hot Springs where I won’t be found for years. But Madara’s Akatsuki will never stop hunting Jinchuriki and Kiri is known for their Hunter-nin squads, I doubt I would last long on the run.

Besides, I needed to become Mizukage as well if any of my ‘beat up the bad guys’ plans are to work. I could try some out as a rogue nin but being the Kage of one of the great five nations added a legitimacy little else could provide. It also added an army.

I found my closet and quickly went from shirtless to sleeveless. Yagura’s favourite colours; grey and green filled the compartment though only three of his grey shirts had a headband sewn into them. The remnants of Yagura within me identifies them, alongside his poncho, sleeveless armour mesh and the near six-foot club with a green flower neatly decorating the larger of uneven hooks as his main gear even though through his memories and wardrobe I know he’s been fitted in ANBU and classic Kiri nin gear before.

It’s a short process dressing up in Yagura’s green-grey attire and the material is light, with only the short mesh armour and excessively long club weighing me down and even then I find his body, now mine, is more than strong enough to bear it and more.

I spared a glance at myself—Yagura now no longer Jason— in the mirror. A stern, baby face stares back at me wordlessly and I idly move my mouth open, testing once again if this is truly reality.

It is.

“Yagura Karatachi, reporting for duty.” I said, my voice slightly deeper than I’d expect of such a young face but of course, Yagura only looked young in my memories of him. Standing before me was him at the ripe age of eighteen and the Third Great Ninja war had just ended.

My façade of confidence drops at the thought of the long fifteen to sixteen years to come but I manage a smile as I reassure myself and start heading out the balcony, “Goodluck Jason, you’re going to need it.”