Shinji knew what she was thinking.
She was thinking of those years of being isolated, of the gazes cast from behind, of the hushed whispers.
Of that half-step back people instinctively took every time she tried to get close.
She didn't trust people.
She hadn't since she was nine years old.
Except for... Shinji.
"I know what you're thinking."
Shinji said: "You think no one will stand with you. You think everyone is just waiting to see you die. You think that in this Village, aside from me, not a single person is worth trusting."
Mei Terumī didn't speak. But her shoulders tensed even more.
Shinji lowered his head.
The movement was brief, so brief it was almost imperceptible.
"But you've forgotten."
He said: "This Village isn't entirely like that. There are people like us, who also want change. People like us, who also can't stand this eternally gray sky. We just haven't looked for them."
Mei Terumī's mouth opened slightly.
She wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Because she suddenly remembered something.
She remembered that all these years, she had indeed never actively sought anyone out.
She had just waited. Waited for others to come to her, to extend a hand, to tell her 'you can'.
And that person had appeared.
Standing right in front of her, emerging from the mist, shielding her.
And then she had stopped there.
Had just stayed stopped there.
"I don't know..."
Leaning against Shinji's chest like a little girl, Mei Terumī's voice was soft, so soft it was almost a whisper to herself:
"I don't know who would be willing."
Shinji looked at her.
Moonlight leaked through gaps in the mist, falling on her face, illuminating the faint confusion in her eyes with stark clarity.
That face held weariness, scars, sweat, and a childlike expression she hadn't shown in a very long time.
He suddenly remembered the first time he saw her.
Nine years old, tiny, standing at the edge of a crowd, head bowed, like a discarded little animal.
Later, she was pinned to the ground, her knee scraped raw, blood trickling down her leg, but she didn't cry.
She just bit her lip, waiting for the next fist to fall.
Right then, he knew this girl trusted no one.
Ten years had passed, and she was still the same.
She had just learned to hide that distrust deeper.
Except with him.
"What if I suggested eloping together to become immortal lovers right now? Mei Terumī would definitely agree immediately."
But this impulse was snuffed out the moment it surfaced in his mind. This wasn't the main world.
"I'll tell you who would be willing," Shinji said, sticking to his original plan.
Mei Terumī looked up.
Shinji forced his gaze away from the beauty in his arms to the houses blurred by the dusk in the distance.
He looked at the dim yellow lights shining from windows, at the faint, mist-shrouded outline of this Village.
"Kisame Hoshigaki. You've seen him on a mission."
Mei Terumī frowned.
Of course she knew that name.
Kisame Hoshigaki. The most dreaded name in the Hidden Mist Anbu.
The master of Samehada.
They said he killed without blinking, said he even killed his teammates, said he was a pure, unadulterated maniac for slaughter.
She had seen him on a mission.
That time was at the border; her squad and his had passed each other.
The look he gave her, she remembered it to this day.
Those eyes held nothing. No killing intent, no curiosity, no emotion whatsoever. Like looking at a rock, a tree, a lifeless thing.
"...I have."
"He has no friends in the Hidden Mist."
Mei Terumī let out a cold laugh.
That laugh was light, so light it was almost a snort from her nose.
The curve of her lips held an instinctive disdain.
Not directed at Kisame, but at the word "friend" itself.
"He doesn't need friends."
Shinji looked at her.
His gaze was faint. Faint as if looking at a cloud, a gust of wind. Faint as if it were just a casual question.
"How do you know?"
She froze.
Her mouth opened, wanting to say something.
Wanting to say 'Anyone can see that,' wanting to say 'How could someone like that need friends?', wanting to say 'Why are you asking this?'.
But nothing came out.
Because that question fell into her ears and didn't disappear.
It just hung there, waiting for her answer.
How do you know?
Right.
How did she know?
How many words had she ever exchanged with Kisame?
Not a single one.
Had she ever seen him outside of a mission? No.
What right did she have to conclude he didn't need friends?
Just because everyone else said so?
Just like everyone said 'the bloodline limit clan's orphan is a curse'?
Wind blew between them.
Ruffling her loose hair, stirring the dust clinging to the hem of his clothes.
Mei Terumī stood there, staring blankly at Shinji.
Shinji released his embrace. The motion was casual.
"Go fight him."
"...What?"
Mei Terumī thought she misheard. She frowned, staring at him.
"Fight him. Then ask him: 'If I follow you, can we change the Hidden Mist?'"
Mei Terumī looked at him as if he were insane.
That name. That face. Those empty eyes.
Those rumors about him killing even his teammates.
Go fight him and then ask that kind of question?
"He'll just want to kill me," Mei Terumī heard her own voice, hoarser than before.
"You won't die," Shinji said.
"How do you know?" It had been a long time since she'd asked that sort of question.
A very, very long time.
After that night, she had stopped asking questions like:
"How do you know?"
"Why are you helping me?"
"What do you really want?"
But she asked now.
Shinji didn't answer.
He had already turned and walked away.
After a few steps, he stopped, tilting his head to look at her.
In the dusk, the last sliver of twilight outlined his profile with a fine silhouette. His eyes were still the same, calm as a deep pool.
"Because I will always protect you.
If you call, I will come."
Then Shinji turned his head and continued walking forward.
His back quickly disappeared into the dusk, swallowed by the rising night mist, merging into that eternally gray sky.
...
Three days later.
Shinji stood within a rocky crevice three miles from the shrine.
From there, he could see the shrine's outline. A few broken stone pillars still stood, supporting a non-existent roof.
The pillars' surfaces were covered in moss, etched with deep and shallow grooves by the rain.
He couldn't see Mei Terumī, nor could he see Kisame. But he could sense it.
He could sense the clash of Chakra, the explosive roar of Water Release. The unique, spine-chilling vibration when Samehada howled.
He just stood there, motionless, waiting.
If Mei Terumī called, he would go.
He had said so.
But Shinji also hoped she wouldn't need to call.
Elsewhere.
Mei Terumī stood between two stone pillars.
Leaning against one, she gazed toward the end of the mist.
From where she stood, she could see the path leading to the ruins.
If it could still be called a path; it had long been overrun by wild grass, leaving only faint, barely-there traces.
She didn't know why she had come.