The sound of chairs being dragged. Creak, creak, it sounded exceptionally jarring in the empty conference room.
Footsteps rose in a jumble; some whispered about something, some walked out in a hurry, others kept their heads down, looking at no one.
People began to file out.
Then, Shinji stood up.
The movement was very light. He had been sitting in the corner, having barely spoken a word from start to finish.
At this moment, when he stood up, his chair didn't even make a sound. He simply stood up and stood in the patch of sunlight streaming in from the window.
"I will be the bait."
Everyone stopped in their tracks.
Those who had already reached the door turned around.
Those who were still packing up their things looked up. Those who had their heads down raised their eyes.
All eyes fell on him, on this silent, ordinary, inconspicuous man.
Ao frowned. That veteran sensory Jonin stood by the door, looking at Shinji, his brows furrowed so tightly they could crush a fly.
His gaze swept across Shinji's face.
"Your status..."
He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone understood.
He was not Mei Terumī.
What about his Kekkei Genkai? None.
What about his reputation?
Only those low whispers within the Anbu.
"That monster freshman"
"top of the grade"
"Disciple of Kisame Hoshigaki."
That was all.
Was he qualified to make the person behind the scenes take action?
"I am more suitable than her," Shinji said.
No explanation, no reason.
No "because I am stronger," "because I understand more," or "because I have a plan." Just this one sentence.
The conference room was quiet enough to hear the sound of breathing.
Sunlight streamed in from the window, landing on him, plating his entire figure in a faint golden rim.
He just stood there, waiting for that decision.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Only the wind blew in through the cracks in the window, rustling the yellowed pages on the table with a soft swishing sound.
Sunlight streamed in from the window, falling on the conference table, on those yellowed pages, and on everyone.
No one spoke.
Those standing at the door did not leave. Those sitting in their original places did not move.
All eyes fell on him, on this silent, ordinary man who never spoke loudly.
Ao's furrowed brows did not relax. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing came out.
Kisame leaned against the door frame, looking at Shinji, his gaze deep.
Zabuza stood by the wall, arms crossed, face devoid of expression.
Chōjūrō hid behind the crowd, looking in that direction through his lenses, a thin layer of fog clouding his glasses.
Mei Terumī stood where she was.
She looked at Shinji. Watching him stand in the sunlight, at the intersection of everyone's gaze.
She had looked at that face for fifteen years, from the first time she saw him in the crowd when she was nine, until now.
Ordinary features, ordinary build, only those eyes. Those eyes had always been like this, calm as a deep pool, without a single ripple.
"I need a reason."
Mei Terumī stood where she was, looking at Shinji.
She was clear about Shinji's strength: an elite Jonin.
Let alone the person behind the scenes, even the Fourth Mizukage was not someone he could handle alone.
If her being the bait was a risk, then Shinji being the bait was gambling with his life.
Shinji stared intently at Mei Terumī, saying indifferently:
"You trust me."
The conference room was quiet enough to hear the sound of breathing.
Sunlight fell between the two, illuminating the ground until it turned white.
Then.
"I don't agree."
Mei Terumī spoke.
Her voice was very soft, so soft it was as if she were afraid of disturbing something.
She realized that this was the first time she had refused Shinji.
In the past, whether in work or life, she had never refused Shinji even once.
This time, the voice fell into the conference room, into the ears of everyone who was paying attention, clearly.
Shinji looked at her.
Mei Terumī met his gaze for the first time: "You trust me."
No one spoke.
Kisame watched this scene, slowly exhaling a puff of smoke.
Zabuza leaned against the wall, the corners of his mouth twitching, not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or say something.
Ao lowered his head, looking at his own toes.
Chōjūrō clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.
Shinji looked at her.
"You forgot."
He said: "If you call, I will come."
Mei Terumī froze.
He stood there, looking at her, waiting for her answer.
Just like that night ten years ago.
Just like every time he returned from a mission and stood at her door.
Just like when he was covered in blood in the heavy rain and told her, "As long as you call, I will come."
She stood where she was, looking at him.
Her lips moved, but nothing came out.
Outside the window, the Hidden Mist sky was always grey.
But at this moment, sunlight leaked from behind the clouds, shining on him.
Shining between the two of them.
Kisame crushed his cigarette and turned to walk out: "Let's go."
He said.
Zabuza followed him out.
Ao sighed, shook his head, and also left.
Chōjūrō was the last to leave; he reached the door and looked back one last time.
Only two people remained in the conference room.
The sunlight fell on them.
The two stood opposite each other in silence.
Mei Terumī looked up, standing there.
The sunlight moved another inch, and several clouds drifted past outside the window.
Then she lowered her head.
Her eyes were very red, but there were no tears.
She looked at Shinji, and Shinji looked at her.
"Don't you dare die." Mei Terumī's voice was a bit hoarse, hoarse like sandpaper rubbing against stone.
Shinji looked at her. Those eyes were still the same, calm as a deep pool. But something was moving in that pool of water.
Very light, very faint, like a small ripple.
"Mn," Shinji said.
Outside the window, the Hidden Mist sky was always grey. Sunlight leaked from behind the clouds, shining on the two of them.
Outside the door.
Kisame Hoshigaki leaned against the corridor wall, finishing a cigarette.
The ash fell to the ground, crushed by his toe, mixing with the stains in the cracks of the floor tiles.
He squinted, looking at the door at the end of the corridor.
The conference room door was still left ajar, light leaking out from inside, a thin line falling by his feet.
He took the last puff, pressed the cigarette butt against the wall to extinguish it, and then flicked it into the trash can nearby.
He didn't say anything, just glanced in that direction, then turned and walked away.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, tap, tap, further and further away.
Zabuza stood on the other side. He wasn't leaning against the wall, just standing there, arms crossed, gazing at the sky at the end of the corridor.
That window was very small, embedded in the thick stone wall, the glass covered in dust, but through that layer of dust, one could still see the sky outside.
The Hidden Mist sky was always grey, so grey it made one forget that the sky could be other colors.
But as he watched, he suddenly felt.
Today didn't seem as grey.
Perhaps it was the light leaking from behind the clouds, or perhaps something else.
He couldn't say. He just leaned against the wall, looking in that direction for a long time.
Then he also left. He didn't say anything.
But they all knew.
That woman, she had someone she loved.
And she also had someone who loved her.