Chapter 18 : Copy Ninja & The Blue Beast
I slept until noon.
Call me lazy, but when you work in a morgue, nobody's exactly lining up to be your alarm clock. Qifeng's life had settled into a comfortable rhythm of professional avoidance and strategic napping. Even Asuma was safely contained in a classroom somewhere, probably learning about the Will of Fire or whatever they taught future chain-smokers these days.
Truth be told, I'd been dodging Asuma lately. Not out of guilt—please, I'm not that emotionally evolved—but because the poor guy needed time to navigate the delicate dance of father-in-law politics with Kurenai's dad.
The irony wasn't lost on me. In the original timeline, Asuma and Kurenai never made it to the altar. She got pregnant, he got dead. Classic ninja romance: all the drama, none of the happy endings.
Tsk tsk.
I'd perfected what I liked to call the " Perfect Couch Potato posture"—sprawled horizontally in my rocking chair like a human pancake, soaking up the afternoon sun while a cigarette dangled from my lips. This was living. This was the salted fish lifestyle I'd always dreamed of achieving.
The universe, however, has a twisted sense of humor.
Instead of Asuma showing up to ruin my zen, I got someone both expected and utterly surprising: Hatake Kakashi.
The kid looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a blender and lost. His arm was wrapped in enough bandages to mummify a small elephant, but he still wore that trademark dead-fish expression that made me wonder if he practiced it in mirrors.
Without a word, he dragged over a chair and plopped down beside me.
Sun-bathing buddies, apparently.
I shot him a sideways glance. Had the sun risen in the west? Was this the same mission-obsessed workaholic who treated rest like a four-letter word? Kakashi, voluntarily participating in recreational lounging?
If he wanted to play the silent treatment game, I was more than happy to oblige. Talking was exhausting, especially to emotionally constipated child prodigies with the social skills of a particularly antisocial hedgehog.
But Kakashi cracked first.
"Don't you know that smoking is extremely unfriendly to the injured?" He waved his bandaged arm like a white flag of medical concern.
Apparently, our last mission had thawed his icy opinion of me. Word on the street was that I'd played human shield for an unconscious teammate, taking a beating from a Kirigakure jonin in the process. Who knew that basic human decency could be such a conversation starter?
"Really? I feel like I'm in pretty good condition right now, but thanks for your concern." I took a long drag and blew smoke rings directly at his face, because I'm nothing if not considerate.
"..."
I could practically see Kakashi's internal monologue: What kind of monster did I develop feelings for?
"Want one?" I offered, pulling out a cigarette with the enthusiasm of a drug dealer targeting elementary schools.
Kakashi's eyes went wide as dinner plates. He turned away like I'd offered him a live grenade.
How could there be such a person? I'm not even an adult yet!
The kid's moral outrage was adorable. This was the ninja world, where ten-year-olds collected kill counts like trading cards and romantic drama started before puberty. Age was just a number when you were professionally trained to commit murder.
I shrugged at his prudishness. Asuma had much better taste in recreational activities.
Despite my charming hospitality, Kakashi didn't leave. He just scooted his chair a few inches away, like proximity to my cigarette might corrupt his pure ninja soul.
Something was definitely up. My finely tuned paranoia was pinging like a smoke detector.
Before I could interrogate him properly, the sound of approaching doom reached our ears. An agile figure in blindingly green spandex came tearing across the landscape, dragging a dust cloud behind him like the world's most enthusiastic tornado.
Both Kakashi and I developed matching facial tics.
Oh no.
The green blur skidded to a stop in front of us, momentum carrying him into what could generously be called a "superhero landing" and more accurately described as "controlled falling." He popped up with a thumbs-up that could blind low-flying aircraft and a smile so white it probably violated several international treaties.
"Hey! Kakashi, you're here! Let's have a youth duel between men!"
Mystery solved. Kakashi had been using me as human camouflage to avoid Konoha's answer to caffeinated enthusiasm: Might Guy.
The kid shot me a look that screamed 'help me'.I responded by turning away and presenting him with my best side—which happened to be my butt.
"..." Kakashi's expression could have powered a small generator.
"Next time, Guy. I'm injured." He raised his bandaged arm like evidence in a court case.
Guy's perpetually cheerful expression shifted to concern. "Eh? Kakashi, how did you get hurt?"
In Guy's world, Kakashi was basically ninja Superman. The idea of someone actually landing a hit on him was like discovering that gravity worked backwards on Tuesdays.
Kakashi glanced at me with the desperation of a drowning man. "Senior Qifeng!"
Excellent deflection technique.
"It's really Senior Qifeng! You're my idol!"
I blinked. Idol?
How exactly had a nobody who barely scraped through ninja school and spent his days cataloging corpses become the inspiration for future legend Might Guy? The universe's sense of irony was truly unparalleled.
"Senior Qifeng, we're both considered the bottom of the barrel by everyone else—useless failures who'll never make it as real ninjas. But you succeeded! You're a successful ninja now! I'll definitely follow in your footsteps and become excellent too! Definitely!"
"..."
If Guy's face hadn't been radiating pure sincerity, I would have punched him. Twice. Compliments that doubled as insults were a special kind of psychological torture.
Just you wait, Might Guy.
"He killed two chunin from the Hidden Mist Village on the last mission," Kakashi added helpfully.
Guy's eyes lit up like I'd just announced free ramen for life. Combined with his tooth-gleam, he resembled a human lighthouse.
The hero worship was getting uncomfortable.
"Senior Qifeng, how did you do it?"
*Nice work, Kakashi. Revenge served cold.*
I waved dismissively. "It's not that dramatic. One went to eat barbecue, the other became barbecue. Kakashi's exaggerating."
Then inspiration struck—beautiful, terrible inspiration.
I sat up slowly, like a sage about to dispense wisdom. "Guy, let me tell you the fastest way to become a real ninja."
"What?" Guy leaned in, practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Challenge him." I pointed at Kakashi, whose face had gone pale. "Once a day. Multiple times a day. Even if you fail, don't get discouraged. You're a hard-working genius who can defeat natural talent!"
Take that, you sneaky little transfer-artist.
"Hard-working genius," Guy whispered, testing the phrase like it was sacred scripture.
He shot upright. "Kakashi!!"
"..." Kakashi looked like he was contemplating the sweet release of death.
But the kid was quicker than I'd given him credit for. "Guy, don't you have class today?"
"Oh, there's outdoor class this afternoon."
Guy's version of "outdoor class" involved training routines that would hospitalize normal humans. The teachers had given up trying to contain him within normal educational parameters.
Since Kakashi had managed to redirect the conversation, Guy didn't immediately tackle him into a "youth duel." Small victories.
"Guy," I said, feeling oddly responsible for the walking enthusiasm bomb, "cultivation isn't something you can rush. Persistence is good, but you need to balance work and rest, or your body will give out."
Coming from someone whose idea of exercise was reaching for a cigarette, this advice felt hypocritical. But Guy's relentless energy made me tired just watching him.
If you work this hard, how are the rest of us supposed to feel good about our life choices?
"Yeah," Guy nodded seriously. His father had probably given him similar lectures, complete with recovery medicines and rest schedules. Nobody could maintain Guy's training intensity without proper support systems.
"Besides the big training programs, you need to focus on details. Details determine success or failure."
"Yeah." Guy had transformed into the world's most attentive student.
"Cleaning is excellent detail training. It teaches you to notice every tiny corner, just like catching an enemy's fleeting weakness."
"Uh-huh."
"I can give you this training opportunity."
"May I?"
"Guy, you need more confidence. Remove the 'may.' You definitely deserve this kind of training."
"Yes!"
"Help me clean the morgue. The place where bodies rest is the temporary home of the deceased. The dead deserve respect. I hope you can respect them the way I do."
"Respect the dead! Train myself!"
I watched Guy grab a broom with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just won the lottery, marching into the morgue to scrub every surface with religious devotion.
"..." Kakashi stared at me like I'd just performed actual magic.
Is this even legal?
His expression clearly read: You just made that up on the spot, didn't you?
The beautiful thing was, one of us was shameless enough to say it, and the other was earnest enough to believe it. We deserved each other, really.
I settled back into my chair, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the afternoon air. Sometimes the universe's twisted sense of humor worked in my favor. Kakashi was stuck here until Guy finished his "training," I had free janitorial services, and Guy got to feel productive.
Everyone wins.
Well, everyone except Kakashi, who was learning the hard way that in the game of social manipulation, I played to win.
***************
Upto 35 Advanced chapters & 5 Bonus chapters on my patre*n
patre*n*com/IchigoTL