"Konome, our Hyuga Gentle Fist is the strongest taijutsu in the world. It blends offense and defense and counters taijutsu, ninjutsu, and genjutsu when paired with the Byakugan.
The Eight Trigrams forms are Main House secrets. At most, I can teach you how to open your eyes and the basics of Gentle Fist."
Even with nothing but two bleeding holes where her eyes had been, Hyuga Amafuki had spoken with quiet pride.
On a Konoha street, Konome crouched alone. Her cane and pack sat at her feet, the white cloak pooling around her. Amafuki's face, gentle as water even after losing her eyes, kept rising out of memory.
Optimistic, steadfast, kind, tender, pure, selfless. All the qualities Konome never saw in herself seemed to live in that woman.
You kept Hyuga secrets even from your own daughter. They erased your name anyway. How absurd, Hyuga Amafuki.
Konome shook her head, half mockery, half pity.
She could not return to the Hyuga. It was no great loss. With her strength, anywhere outside the Mist could be home. She had not expected them to skip even the pretense and strip Amafuki of the Main House title outright.
Thank goodness she had not marched into Konoha and flashed her Byakugan on day one.
The two branch guards were already pulp in a river. No one would link her to the Hyuga compound, much less to Amafuki.
There was still room to maneuver.
Konome stroked the cloth over her eyes. The broad black band was smooth and cool. She would be living under it for a while.
Once the Byakugan flared, the veins at her eyes and across her cheeks rose in stark relief. Too conspicuous. If the Byakugan was exposed, a clan that revered bloodlines would never allow her to float outside its grip.
Until her power could meet the Hyuga on even terms, she needed a mask or a blindfold to hide the telltale signs. Masks did not suit her. The cloth did.
Her plan to return to the Main House was dead. The blind act would have to continue.
If she wanted legitimate access to Konoha's techniques and restricted teachings, she would need a village registration. Illicit routes existed, but caution mattered. Her body was a long way from fully grown. Peace and time were worth more than secrets.
Enroll in the Academy. Take the civilian track. Stand out in class and draw the Third Hokage's support, while slipping past Danzo and Root. Best to find a patron.
One item at a time, she sat at the curb and rebuilt what had collapsed.
In the shadow high in a zelkova on the south side of the street, pages turned with a soft flutter.
A silver-haired ANBU with one visible eye leaned against the trunk, half through a thick volume of Icha Icha Paradise. After noon the order had come from the Third himself. Quietly tail a bloodline user who had slipped into Konoha for unknown reasons. She did not look like a spy from another village, but an unidentified shinobi in the village was still a risk. If she made a move against Konoha, take her down.
Hatake Kakashi yawned until his eye watered and flipped another page. Then he glanced down at the blind girl who had not budged from the curb.
She had been sitting there since he found her. Half the afternoon already.
Maybe people pitied her because she was disabled. Or maybe it was the looks. More than a few passersby mistook her for a blind beggar. Coins and crumpled notes piled up. Snacks and dried fruit too. Soon a little hill rose at her knees. Plenty of twenty-something beauties with soft hearts tried to adopt her on the spot. Rejected, they drifted away, looking back three times for every step.
Bored, Kakashi counted the loose change. Enough to buy several limited editions of the very book in his hand and have some left over. His C-rank surveillance pay was about the same.
Seriously, why.
He scratched his silvery broom of hair, sulking. Silver-gray hair, bloodline user, one bad eye. He checked all the boxes. Where was his shower of cash.
Face always masked, never showing himself, Kakashi could not figure it out. Fair or not, he stayed put and read. If she could earn money by squatting, he could slack off by lying on a branch.
Time slid by. The sun spilled gold and vanished, leaving a smear of ocher at the rim of the sky. The grand avenue emptied until only the blind girl remained on the curb, lonelier by the minute.
Why is she still here.
Kakashi rubbed his eye and tucked the book away. Too dark to read. Nearly seven. Did she not eat. Or use a restroom. Bloodline users were ruthless.
Per orders he watched in silence. Three days minimum, or until he was sure she meant Konoha no harm. With her unknown sensory tricks and that seal-less Water Style, he needed to observe with a Sharingan, map the chakra flow, find a seam. If he could, he would copy the technique.
If she kept sitting, he would keep feeding mosquitoes.
Footsteps broke the dusk. Kakashi looked up. A monster shuffled into view. Green from head to toe, legs short, arms long and bowed, wheezing with fierce huffs. Worst of all, it had no head.
Kakashi's heart tightened. He pushed up his forehead protector. Three tomoe spun to life. The shape sharpened. Even the glossy melon of a bowl cut in the crotch glare shone bright.
Might Guy.
Kakashi dropped the Sharingan and rubbed his eye. Too much reading.
Wait. Guy.
He looked down toward the girl. Without his noticing she had raised her head. Behind the black cloth her gaze reached out to Guy, like a hunter who had finally seen the prey step into the snare.
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