The Tactician: Naruto Fanfiction

[4696 Words]

Even after Yasu had wrestled the chakra into something manageable, the discomfort lingered. 

The pain wasn't constant anymore—it only flared up when he tried using chakra, a dull, aching reminder that the increase hadn't settled yet. It had been days since Hisao altered the seal, and while the worst of the pain had passed, his control had suffered. Everything required more effort. Techniques that had once been simple now wavered, unsteady, like walking on uneven ground. 

He hated it. 

Hated how something that had once felt instinctive now needed conscious correction. 

Yasu exhaled sharply through his nose, stretching out his fingers before clenching them again. He could still feel the unsteadiness beneath his skin, the way the chakra resisted just enough to remind him he wasn't there yet. 

Hisao had been watching. He had been watching the entire time, ever since the seal adjustment, his eyes sharp, his expression unreadable—except for the concern Yasu had caught earlier. 

But now, Hisao shifted slightly, arms still crossed over his chest as he finally spoke. 

"I won't be around for the next week," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Maybe longer. The Tsuchikage needs me." 

Yasu stilled. 

His eyes flickered up to Hisao, something clicking into place before the words had fully settled. 

Hisao was needed. 

Not just for a single day. Not for a small task. 

For a week or longer. 

Yasu sat up straighter, his mind already working through the implications. He knew what Hisao did. What he was to this village. His presence wasn't requested for simple tasks. He handled things that mattered—things that weren't meant for most people to know. 

And if the Tsuchikage needed him for this long… 

That meant something was wrong. 

Yasu narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why?" 

Hisao gave him a look. "Because the Tsuchikage said so." 

Yasu rolled his eyes. "That's not an answer." 

Hisao exhaled slowly, his expression not changing. But Yasu saw the shift—the slight way his stance adjusted, like he had already anticipated this line of questioning. 

"It's nothing too concerning," Hisao said evenly. "Another village has been getting too close to our territory. Someone made a mess, and now we have to clean it up." 

Yasu didn't react immediately, turning the words over in his head. Another village. Too close. A mess that needed cleaning. 

Something small. 

But small things escalated. 

"Which village?" Yasu asked. 

Hisao's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not important." 

Which meant he didn't want to say. 

Yasu didn't push, but his thoughts kept turning. Negotiations weren't immediate. They took time. Time meant disagreements. 

"Negotiations," Yasu muttered, mostly to himself. 

Hisao glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. 

"With each village being as stubborn as the other," Hisao confirmed. "It's a process." 

That was all he was going to say on the matter. 

Yasu could tell. 

A tension sat between them for a moment—one unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface. 

But then Hisao straightened slightly, tone shifting. "While I'm gone, I expect you to keep going to the academy. If you miss any days, I'll know." 

Yasu gave him a flat look. "You're not even going to be here." 

Hisao smirked faintly. "Doesn't matter. I'll still know." 

Yasu didn't doubt that. 

"And," Hisao continued, voice turning firm again, "don't slack off. Your schedule stays the same. Training, academy, everything. Just because I'm not around doesn't mean you get to start slacking." 

Yasu exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the discomfort in his chakra still buzzed beneath his skin. 

"Of course." 

Hisao nodded once, satisfied. But there was something else in his expression—something distant, like his mind was already on the mission ahead. 

Yasu didn't ask if he'd be back sooner than a week. 

Because they both knew that wasn't certain. 

. 

. 

. 

The academy day had ended, and the cool afternoon air carried the distant murmur of village life beyond the academy walls. Yasu walked at an even pace, hands in his pockets, his mind already shifting toward the rest of his day. 

It had been months since the academy had started. Months of the same routine—lessons, training, spars, drills. He had gotten used to it, to the structure of it all. And after class, his schedule never changed. If he wasn't studying, he was training. It was the only way to make up for what his body still lacked. 

He had just reached the stone path leading away from the academy when— 

"Yasu!" 

The voice was familiar, hurried, and slightly out of breath. 

Yasu barely had time to turn before Ren appeared beside him, skidding slightly as he caught up, his usual messy hair looking even messier—a few stray strands sticking out like he had been caught in a wind tunnel. 

Yasu gave him a flat look. "You ran?" 

Ren hunched slightly, hands on his knees for a brief second before standing up straight. "Not that hard." A pause. "…Okay, maybe a little." 

Yasu shook his head but kept walking. Ren fell into step beside him, rocking on his heels slightly, as if trying to figure out how to start a conversation. 

It had been a few months, and to his credit, Ren was getting better. 

Just… not as much as he probably wanted. 

He wasn't the worst in the class, but if someone said he was second to last, they wouldn't be wrong either. 

The material? It was more effort than breathing—words twisting in a way that made his head ache, concepts stretching longer than his patience. The practical? He preferred it. He liked moving, liked doing rather than reading, even if he was terrible at it. But he had been trying. 

Trying to at least get one thing right. 

And right now? That thing was throwing a shuriken. 

"So, uh." Ren scratched the back of his head, his blue eyes flicking sideways toward Yasu. "Are you free?" 

Yasu raised a brow. "I'm on my way home." 

Ren waved a hand vaguely. "Yeah, yeah, but like—do you have time before that?" 

Yasu gave him a look. "I go home to train." 

Ren hesitated, then grinned slightly. "Great. Let's do that, then." 

Yasu narrowed his eyes. "Let's?" 

Ren coughed into his fist, looking away. "You're good at throwing stuff. I'm not. I figured, you know… help me out?" 

Yasu sighed, rolling his shoulders slightly. The soreness in his body from adjusting to his increased chakra still hadn't fully settled, but it wasn't enough to stop him from training. 

"Shuriken?" he guessed. 

Ren nodded firmly. "Yeah. Just… I keep missing. Or over-rotating. Or under-rotating. Or hitting things I wasn't even trying to hit." He huffed. "You get the idea." 

Yasu did. He had seen the idea. 

He let out a slow breath. "Fine." 

Ren perked up. "Really?" 

Yasu shrugged. "Better than watching you throw like an idiot for another few months." 

Ren groaned, throwing his hands up. "See, this is why I asked you!" 

Yasu walked at his usual pace, hands in his pockets, while Ren matched his stride beside him—except Ren didn't walk like Yasu. He didn't move with quiet thoughtfulness or reserved awareness. No, Ren had a certain energy when he got comfortable, something restless in his steps, something in the way he shifted his weight like he was resisting the urge to jump onto the nearest ledge or climb something just because he could. 

And he talked. 

A lot. 

"—and I swear I was aiming at the target! But then I threw, and it curved right, and suddenly I hear this thunk—and turns out I somehow managed to hit the water bucket behind me." Ren sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Like, how does that even happen? I wasn't even facing that direction!" 

Yasu snorted, shaking his head. "That's not possible." 

"I know—which means obviously, the shuriken must have bounced off something first, right?" Ren turned his head, eyes lighting up. "So now I'm thinking—maybe it wasn't just a bad throw. Maybe I, I dunno, subconsciously did something cool? Like a ricochet technique?" 

Yasu gave him a flat look. "So now your terrible aim is actually a secret skill?" 

Ren grinned. "Exactly." 

Yasu exhaled through his nose, glancing ahead. "Well, if you can do it again on purpose, maybe you'll be onto something." 

Ren groaned, slouching slightly. "Yeah, that's the problem, huh?" He rubbed the back of his head. "I just don't get it. Like, logically, I know what I'm supposed to do. Grip, release, rotation, all that. But somehow, when I actually throw, my brain just… forgets. It's like my hands have never met my brain before. Total strangers." 

Yasu hummed, glancing at him. "You're better at moving than thinking." 

Ren blinked at him, then grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly it." He spread his arms wide. "See, you—you're a thinking type. You see a problem, and your brain immediately breaks it down like a puzzle. Me?" He jabbed a thumb at himself. "I just wanna do things until it works. But it turns out that doesn't work when I have the shuriken skills of a dying squirrel." 

Yasu raised a brow. "Squirrels are good at throwing things?" 

Ren waved a hand. "It's an expression—anyway, you get what I mean." 

Yasu did. 

Ren wasn't dumb—he just wasn't structured. He learned by doing, by throwing himself into things without overthinking, by making mistakes until something stuck. 

Yasu learned by understanding first. 

They weren't opposites exactly, but their approaches were different enough that it made sense why Ren was struggling. 

"…You're getting better," Yasu said after a beat. 

Ren blinked at him, caught off guard by the statement. "Huh?" 

Yasu didn't repeat himself, just kept walking, but Ren tilted his head, processing. 

Then he smirked. "Heh. So you have been paying attention." 

Yasu side-eyed him. "Not hard, considering how loud you are." 

Ren burst out laughing, bumping his shoulder into Yasu's as they walked. 

It was easy, this. 

Simple. 

A conversation between two people who didn't need to try too hard to keep it going. 

And before long, they reached Yasu's home. 

Yasu stood at the kitchen counter, pouring two cups of apple juice as Ren wandered around, looking at everything. 

"This place is huge," Ren said, his voice filled with the kind of awe that made Yasu pause for a brief second before continuing to pour. 

It wasn't that big. It was just a house. 

But Ren was still going, shifting from one thing to another, eyes scanning like he was trying to memorize every detail. 

"I mean, I knew you lived in a nice place, but damn. You've got actual space—like, more than one room. And a fountain?" He turned toward Yasu, gesturing wildly. "You have a fountain in your yard like it's just a normal thing people have. Who has a fountain?" 

Yasu handed him a cup of juice, raising a brow. "People with fountains." 

Ren made a face at him before taking a sip. "Yeah, okay, rich guy." He turned back toward the open doorway leading to the garden, his gaze drifting over the carefully kept space outside. "And a garden. Like, not just a tiny one, a big one." He let out a low whistle. "Man, I've never been in a place this nice before." 

Yasu leaned against the counter, sipping his own drink as he listened. 

He hadn't really thought about it. Hisao's home wasn't extravagant—at least, not by Iwagakure's higher standards. But it was well-kept, built with space in mind, and the garden had clearly been tended to for years before Yasu had ever lived here. 

Ren turned back to him, still holding his cup. "So… are you rich or something?" 

Yasu blinked. "What?" 

Ren shrugged. "I mean, this house is big. And the whole fountain thing? Feels like a rich person thing." He tilted his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "Are you part of a clan?" 

Yasu snorted. "No." 

Ren frowned. "You sure? 'Cause this really seems like a clan house." 

Yasu just shook his head. "It's Hisao-san's house." 

Ren's brows lifted slightly, as if that answer somehow made more sense than the clan theory. "Huh." He took another sip of juice, considering. "Still. Must be nice, living in a place like this." 

Yasu didn't respond immediately, just letting the words settle as he stared down at his drink. 

He hadn't really thought about that either. 

It wasn't bad. It was just what it was. 

Ren, seemingly unaware of Yasu's brief lapse into thought, continued, "Anyway, enough about how rich you aren't. We've got shuriken to throw." 

Yasu huffed. "Let's see if you actually hit something this time." 

Ren grinned. "I'll aim for your fountain. Let's see if it's shinobi-proof." 

Yasu stared at him. 

"…If you break it, you're paying for it." 

The training yard behind the house was spacious, quiet, and empty except for the two of them. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the grass. 

Yasu stood with his arms crossed, watching as Ren lined up his stance, shuriken in hand. 

"I'll just throw a few," Ren said, shifting his weight as he adjusted his grip. "You can tell me what's wrong after." 

Yasu didn't respond, just gave a small nod. He wasn't going to correct anything yet. First, he needed to see why Ren struggled with this in the first place. 

Ren raised his arm, focused on the target in front of them—a simple wooden post Hisao had set up long before Yasu had moved in. 

He threw. 

The shuriken left his fingers, spinning in the air… before landing somewhere nowhere near the target. 

Ren clicked his tongue. "Alright, alright, bad start. Let me—" 

He threw another. And another. 

Each one was inconsistent. Some veered too far to the right, others dipped too low before reaching the target. None of them actually hit the centre. 

Yasu sighed through his nose. "I see the problem." 

Ren turned toward him, expectant. "Yeah?" 

Yasu didn't hold back. 

"You're gripping it too tightly, your stance is uneven, you're flicking your wrist too much, you're overcompensating for bad aim, and you're tilting your hand at the wrong angle on release." 

Ren blinked. 

Yasu could see the way his brain had stalled, the way he stood there in absolute, crushing silence, processing the list of mistakes like someone trying to do math with numbers they had never seen before. 

"…Right," Ren said finally, nodding way too slowly. "Got it." 

Yasu stared at him. "You don't get it." 

Ren scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I get it, I just—" He paused. "…Okay, no, I don't get it." 

Yasu rolled his shoulders before stepping forward. "You don't understand because I explained it the same way the sensei does." 

Ren blinked again. "I mean. Yeah. Probably." 

Yasu sighed, shaking his head. Then, instead of lecturing, he showed him. 

"Here," he said, crouching slightly. "Grip first. You're holding it like it's a kunai, but a shuriken is different." He took one from Ren's pouch, holding it between his fingers. "You don't need to choke your grip. If you grip too tight, the release won't be smooth. Hold it steady, but loose enough that you can let go naturally." 

Ren mimicked him, adjusting his hold. 

"Like this?" 

Yasu nodded. "Better." Then, he tapped Ren's foot lightly with his own. "Stance next. You lean forward too much." 

Ren frowned. "But I thought putting weight on your front foot helps with force?" 

"It helps if you're throwing something heavy. A shuriken isn't." 

"…Oh." 

"Even weight distribution," Yasu continued. "If you shift too far forward, your wrist overcompensates to balance it out, which is why you keep flicking too much." 

Ren slowly adjusted his footing, his brows furrowed in thought. 

Yasu studied him for a second. He's getting it. Just slower. 

"Now the release," Yasu said, stepping back. "Throw normally, but don't flick your wrist at the end. Just let go cleanly." 

Ren exhaled, lifting his arm again. He took a second to set his grip, adjusted his stance deliberately this time—then threw. 

The shuriken spun properly. 

It didn't hit the dead centre, but it actually hit the target this time. 

Ren blinked. Then grinned. "Oh, hell yeah." 

Yasu just huffed. "Now do it again." 

Ren groaned, but his grip was already shifting, his stance adjusting—actually thinking about it this time. 

And Yasu? 

For once, he didn't feel like he was explaining something to a brick wall. 

They had been at it for a while, long enough that even Ren—restless, always-moving Ren—had finally flopped onto his back in the grass, arms sprawled out as he caught his breath. 

Yasu sat nearby, cross-legged, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over the ridges of a shuriken as he stared off at nothing in particular. 

For a while, neither of them spoke. 

Then, out of nowhere, Ren turned his head toward Yasu, eyes curious. 

"You know," he started, his voice thoughtful, "on the first day of the academy, when we introduced ourselves…" 

Yasu glanced at him, waiting. 

Ren shifted, resting his hands behind his head. "I remember what you said. 'I'm here because this world doesn't wait for us to be ready.'" 

Yasu didn't react, but he also didn't look away. 

Ren let out a breath, tilting his head slightly. "That was weird." 

Yasu raised a brow. "Weird?" 

Ren grimaced, lifting a hand quickly, like he was trying to backpedal before he offended him. "Not bad weird! Just… weird-weird. Like, I didn't get it." 

Yasu exhaled quietly, shaking his head. "You're bad at wording things." 

"I know," Ren muttered. "But seriously. What did you mean?" 

Yasu was quiet for a moment, eyes flickering down to the shuriken in his hands. 

He could've dismissed the question. Could've dodged it, changed the subject. But Ren wasn't asking to be annoying—he was asking because he was genuinely curious. 

And for some reason, that made it harder to ignore. 

Yasu let out a slow breath. "It means exactly what I said." 

Ren frowned. "That doesn't explain anything." 

Yasu tapped the shuriken lightly against his knee, thinking. 

"This world doesn't wait for people to be ready for things," he said finally. "It doesn't care if you're strong enough, or fast enough, or good enough. It just happens. And if you're not prepared, then… that's it." 

Ren blinked, processing. 

"…That's kind of a dark way to look at things." 

Yasu huffed a quiet, humourless laugh. "It's realistic." 

Ren turned that over in his head for a moment. He wasn't the type to get philosophical. His brain didn't work in abstract ideas or deep reflections, but even he could tell Yasu wasn't just talking about training or the academy. 

After a beat, he finally muttered, "Yeah… but even if the world doesn't wait, doesn't mean we can't try to catch up." 

Yasu glanced at him, mildly surprised. 

Ren just grinned up at the sky. "I mean, look at me. A few months ago, I couldn't even hit a damn target. Now? I can sometimes hit a target." He threw his arms up for emphasis. "Progress!" 

Yasu rolled his eyes but didn't argue. 

Because progress was still progress. 

. . . 

. . . 

Ren let out a slow breath, still lying flat on his back, eyes fixed on the sky. For once, he wasn't talking—just thinking, lost in whatever thoughts bounced around in his head. 

Then, after a long moment, he spoke. 

"…So, uh," Ren started, voice almost hesitant. "We're friends, right?" 

Yasu turned his head slightly, caught off guard by the question. 

Ren didn't look at him, just kept staring upward, but there was something in his posture—uncertainty, the kind he rarely showed. 

"I mean," Ren continued, filling the silence before Yasu could respond, "it's just—this feels like a friend thing, y'know? Hanging out, talking, throwing weapons in your backyard—" he huffed, rubbing his face. "Not that I know what a friend thing is supposed to be like, but if I did, I think this would be it?" 

Yasu blinked. 

He hadn't really thought about it before. 

But now that it was brought up, he considered it properly. 

Ren was… Ren. Loud. Restless. Not particularly good at anything but determined to keep trying anyway. He talked too much, acted without thinking, got frustrated when things didn't come easy—but he kept showing up. 

And Yasu let him. 

Because he didn't mind it. 

"…Yeah," Yasu said simply. 

Ren turned his head, blinking at him like he hadn't expected a real answer. "Yeah?" 

Yasu exhaled through his nose, giving a slight nod. "Yeah." 

For a moment, Ren just stared at him. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a small grin—nothing exaggerated, nothing loud, just a quiet relief, like something had settled inside him. 

He turned back to the sky. "Good." 

A pause. Then he mumbled, almost to himself, "One day, we'll be shinobi together." 

Yasu glanced at him again, but Ren kept going, voice softer now. 

"We'll have each other's backs," he said, nodding slightly like he was making a silent promise. "That's what comrades do, right? What friends do?" 

Yasu didn't answer right away. 

Ren shifted, resting his arms behind his head. "I'll get better. I know I'm not great at this yet, but I'll work hard. I'll catch up." He grinned, eyes still focused on the sky. "And when we're shinobi, I'll have your back. No matter what." 

Yasu watched him for a moment. 

And then, suddenly, a thought struck him—one that hadn't before. 

The future. 

The future was uncertain. Everyone knew that, but not everyone truly understood it. 

All those children in their class—the ones they trained beside, laughed with, argued with. Not all of them would make it. 

Not all of them would survive long enough to become shinobi. 

And even those who did—how many would stay shinobi? How many would make it to adulthood? 

Yasu had never really thought about that before. 

But now, the weight of it sat in his chest, heavy and cold. 

How many of those faces he saw every day—those voices, those smiles—would last? 

And how many would be gone before they even had the chance? 

Ren, lying beside him, talking about a future where they stood side by side as shinobi, where they had each other's backs—he believed it. 

He trusted that future to come. 

Yasu closed his eyes for a brief moment. 

He wasn't sure he did. 

"…You'd better work hard, then," Yasu muttered finally, keeping his voice steady. 

Ren let out a small laugh, shifting onto his side. "Of course. Can't have you thinking I'll just slow you down." 

Yasu huffed. 

The future was uncertain. 

. 

. 

. 

The forest lay heavy with shadow, the thick canopy above swallowing most of the moonlight. Only a few pale streaks pierced through, casting faint, shifting patterns against the damp earth. The scent of moss and wet bark clung to the air, rich and unshaken. The night was still—too still. No wind, no rustling leaves. Yet, beneath the silence, something moved. Something unseen, slipping between the trees. 

Then, without a sound, a figure emerged. 

The shinobi stepped lightly between the roots, moving with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to the wild. His uniform bore signs of travel—dirt clinging to the edges of his sleeves, a small tear near the hem of his vest—but the most notable detail was the hitai-ate tied securely around his forehead. 

A stylized leaf, curved and deliberate, with a single spiral resting at its centre. 

The emblem gleamed under the dim light as the shinobi finally stopped, his posture shifting as another presence made itself known. 

A man stood ahead, waiting. 

He was older, his stance relaxed yet commanding, his dark cloak blending with the shadows of the trees. Though his hands were loosely at his sides, there was a deliberate stillness to him—controlled, patient, expectant. 

The returning shinobi lowered himself onto one knee, pressing a fist against the damp earth in silent acknowledgment before speaking. 

"Reporting in." His voice was steady, but there was weight behind his words, something measured beneath the formality. "I have gathered intelligence from Iwagakure regarding the ongoing situation with Kumogakure." 

The man before him exhaled slowly, gaze unreadable. "Proceed." 

The kneeling shinobi straightened slightly, though he remained in his position of deference. 

"There was an altercation near the border," he stated. "A squad of Kumo-nin crossed too close to Iwa's territory. The circumstances remain unclear—whether it was deliberate provocation or simple miscalculation—but the result was the same." 

He paused. 

"The Iwa patrol stationed there responded with force. Too much force. What should have been a standoff turned into a confrontation. And by the time it ended… five Kumo-nin were dead." 

Silence followed, heavy and cold. 

The standing man's expression remained unreadable, but the shift in his posture was subtle—an adjustment, a quiet acknowledgment that this was worse than expected. 

"Kumo is demanding compensation," the kneeling shinobi continued. "The Tsuchikage refuses. He claims the Kumo-nin provoked the conflict and that Iwa's shinobi were acting in defence of their land. Neither side is willing to concede fault." 

Another pause. 

"The Tsuchikage has sent Hisao Hayashi as Iwagakure's lead negotiator." 

Strategic Commander of Iwagakure's Shinobi Forces. 

A man who, even in times of peace, held one of the most significant positions in Iwa's military hierarchy. 

Hisao was not merely a high-ranking shinobi—he was one of Iwagakure's primary tactical minds, a strategist whose influence stretched beyond simple combat. In times of war, he was the one drawing the battlefield before it had even been fought. In times of peace, he was the one ensuring that war never came at Iwagakure's expense. 

If Hisao had been sent, it meant Iwa was taking this seriously. 

The kneeling shinobi continued. 

"The Raikage has sent representatives as well," the shinobi continued. "But as expected, the discussions have been… difficult." 

The standing man exhaled through his nose. "Iwagakure and Kumogakure are too stubborn to negotiate cleanly. Hayashi's presence is a clear message—one of control rather than apology. They are not sending a diplomat. They are sending the man who prepares for war." 

The kneeling shinobi nodded. "Neither village wants to be seen as weak. If Iwa concedes, it sets a precedent that its borders can be violated without consequence. If Kumo backs down, they lose face among their own shinobi—especially after suffering casualties." 

The older man rubbed his chin slightly. "Will it escalate?" 

A beat. Then the shinobi shook his head. 

"No. It's unlikely either side will push this into a full conflict." 

A pause, then a more certain statement. 

"Neither Iwa nor Kumo can afford a war right now." 

It was the truth. 

Despite their posturing, both villages were still recovering from the past war, still stabilizing their forces, still dealing with the aftermath of years spent locked in conflict. Another war—especially over something as small as five dead shinobi on a border patrol—would be disastrous for both sides. 

"But," the shinobi continued, "they will still drag this out for as long as they can. Neither side wants to be the first to compromise. It could be weeks before anything is settled." 

The standing man's fingers twitched slightly, as if considering something. 

Then, hesitation. 

The scout shifted slightly, but their voice remained steady. "There have been whispers." 

The superior's expression darkened. "I do not act on whispers." 

The scout nodded once. "Understood. But the information is circulating regardless. They say Hisao Hayashi has a son." 

The superior's jaw tightened. "Does he?" 

The scout hesitated. 

"A boy, seen living in his home. Attending the academy. Close proximity to him." They did not say his name. Because they did not have a name. "But I have no confirmation of relation. It could be nothing." 

The superior's gaze grew sharp. "Then that is what you will find out." 

"I will require time," the scout said. "If we move too soon, Iwa will know we are watching." 

The superior considered this for a long moment, then gave a single nod. 

"Then take the time you need," they said. "I want facts, not speculation. If he has a son, I want to know everything. If he doesn't, then I want to know why the rumor exists at all." 

A pause. 

"And if it is true…" 

Their fingers curled slightly against their palm. 

"We may have use for him."