This might be the last chapter for a while. I am going back to school in two days, and have this enormous writing project to do throughout the year. I think I might finish it by winter if I work well, however cannot promise anything. I am going to try to update each month yet cannot promise anything.

::Chapter 3 ::

She looked at her blood stained dress. She couldn't believe she had had to drag that blond girl that had fallen down the stairs to the infirmary without any ANBU budging from their post to help a dying woman. It had been to her to swing the numb arms around her neck and haul the body from one floor to another, no teacher passing by even turning around to help her. Thank Kami, Shizune-san had appeared out of thin air to help her with Yamanaka Ino, as Shizune-san called the unconscious girl. It seemed as well she was aware of who had done the bluish bruise on Ino's throat. Another girl known simply as Tayuya.

An ambulance had been called according to the rumours Hinata had heard when coming back to her room, her stomach empty, at eight o'clock and thirty minutes of the evening. She had been transported most probably to Konoha byōin, the academy's private hospital where only teachers, workers and students were held. She had heard coming from her social worker's mouth that most medical students of Kodai (abr. for Konoha daigaku) preferred to get themselves a job in that hospital than to affront the world and readapt themselves to other systems. They had quite an interesting Psychiatry wing that used the old ways of electroshocks and spanks on their patients. In other words, Hinata would have to be more discreet than she had been on her first day.

She still remembered that Tayuya's blazing orbs when she had pushed her away from her victim. She had felt the odium emanating from the redhead, penetrating her skin, winding around her soul and wringing it until Hinata almost regretted she had interposed herself. That girl was freaky. In a very bad way.

Launching her slender form on her bed, she bounced slightly on the hard mattress, her dress flowing in the air like a ghost. She was quite grateful she hadn't eaten. She wouldn't be obliged to make herself vomit this time. Her father always said, and her ballet teacher never had hindered himself to agree, that fat women were ugly and that she was twice her mother's size, when uncle Hizashi had never stopped saying that she and her mother would be twins once she grew up. Too bad he had to die in that stupid car accident. He must have been the only person ever having loved her even if her father had more than one time reminded her that her dear uncle had tried to asphyxiate her when she only was five.

She couldn't believe how much her father had influenced all her life choices and the image she had of the extern world. It was unimaginable. She had the impression she had lived her whole life in a body of another that was born to serve. A slave. A bird imprisoned in a golden cage. A puppet.

It was so weird to fight and finally flee that golden cage to find yourself wishing you were back again in its cosy security. She almost regretted her acts. Scratch the 'almost', she regretted her acts. Hiashi and Hanabi were human beings after all, never minding what they had done to her. Hanabi was so young. Only eleven years old. It was not her fault she had been raised like a princess and spoiled to no extend. Hinata had tried to take over her mother's duty and bring her little sister up decently, yet their father encouraged greatly Hanabi's bad-temper and impolite behaviour. He called it temperament, something he had reproached Hinata not to be gifted with till his last breath. But in the end, she was sure he deeply appreciated her lack of personality. She had done for him things even Minagawa's cheapest prostitute wouldn't have agreed to accomplish.

She was so disgusted by herself. Something her poor psychiatrist had desperately tried to understand. He said she knew she was the victim yet acted as if she was responsible of everything that had happened between her and her father from her eleventh year until his death. He had a good opinion about her meagre intelligence. He had told her something about the Stockholm's syndrome, having difficulty understanding she couldn't have been touched by it as she had not been literally jailed. He was just as stupid as she was. And young. Too young and too sweet. She hated men, especially men like him that preferred other men. She knew how to manage heterosexuals, but homosexuals were a mystery to her. Anyway, men never comprehended when not to get implicated in dangerous situations. If Neji would have learnt she was being taken care of by a male, gay or not, he would have found a way to inform him that his help was not required. He was so jealous. They had gotten involved in a relationship when she had turned thirteen, she had never known why as he had hated her until then. He had not welcomed at all her disturbing link with her father and had made her aware of it in very painful ways.

But why the hell was she thinking about that at the moment?

Jumping from her bed she glimpsed at the hideous clock on her wall. She exactly had two minutes to get prepared for shower. First experience. She already blushed at the idea of being surrounded by nude bodies. Those were women's bodies, just like hers, yet she did not feel like exposing that soiled form of hers. However, she knew better. She had to obey. This school was just like her father … in more dangerous. If she wanted to survive she had to oblige herself to become nothing. Void.

That is why she painfully slipped her panties down her thighs, leaving goose bumps on the path her fingers had taken. Unclasping her bra, she threw it away from her, her full chest liberated from its binding, grabbing the bathrobe she had disposed before diner on her desk.

She already hated this place.

°°

It was with a deep blush that she entered finally, with twenty other girls, the bathroom. She had seen other girls exiting and entering the steamy room, throwing her dirty glances. In the beginning, she had thought it only was the fruit of the unhealthy atmosphere engulfing the school, but she had to admit that most of the glares were directed towards her. She was not stupid enough to disregard the reason why she was so silently shunned. She would never again help someone, even if that certain someone could have died. And then again, in the disgust they displayed, fear lingered. She didn't know why but she could smell the fright emanating from their bodies when they looked at her. It was dreadful.

Finally penetrating what must have resembled public baths, vapour encircling her like an enemy, she flushed even more realizing the lack of privacy.

On her left side, hangers were installed for them to suspend their bathrobes. On each one a number was written, corresponding to the number written on the plaque they had received before going in.

It was … organized. That was good … she thought so at least.

Her first day at that asylum was an absolute hell. She hoped that the next day would be less mind-breaking. School had been her only get-out when everything in her life was being shit. She expected for it to preserve its utility.

Under the eyes of masked men and women, standing like wax statues their backs leaning on the wall, she slid down her bathrobe, revealing a stainless white skin. She could sense the eyes of the masked people on her. She only hoped they had no bad thoughts. She favoured to think that they were planning some wild movements and observed her only to foresee her potential attempts to escape.

With an ample movement she hanged her clothing under the number eighteen, extracting shampoo considered as cheap by her family, a tooth brush, tooth paste and soap that would most probably leave her skin dry and fragile out of the little pink bag where she had stuffed her hygienic articles.

Her head low, for her strands of night-coloured hair to fall over her full breasts, she placed herself underneath the shower number eighteen, framed by girl number seventeen and nineteen. It was with shock that she felt hot water pouring right on her back, burning her delicate flesh.

She had better to fasten herself with her cleaning. She had exactly five minutes to get herself ready for bed, like any other female. If she had glimpsed at the girls around her, she would have noticed how easily each one of them was able to do two, sometimes even three things at a time. Shaving legs while brushing teeth, soaping one's body with one hand whilst washing hair. In her case, it was with rush that she tortured her poor scalp, brushing her teeth with soap and bathing her body with tooth paste. Thank Kami laser existed and she had no need in shaving anywhere.

When the water stopped flowing and an ANBU barked for them to get dressed and exit the bathroom, she still had her toothbrush stuck between her teeth and her soap against the skin, eventually she had realized she had been using the wrong elements to cleanse certain body parts. She was so stressed and on the border of tears because treated in such an ignoble way that she didn't notice the glares the girls were shooting at her. She didn't even perceive their words that most probably would have sent her to an even deeper hell than what she could imagine.

She only hurried to dress up and swallow back the tears that were threatening to course down her cheeks. When finally getting out of that steamy place of torture, she could have sworn she had heard the disguised monsters snicker.

°°

He had finally touched the four billions his father had left behind only for him. Uncle Hiashi and his encumbering clan out of the way, it was easy for him to control all the contacts he had established with the Italian and Russian mafias that only begged for an entrance on the Japanese territory. Yet, he had a few problems to keep the Russians still. That bitch Inuzuka Tsume was had married that Ivanovitch asshole seventeen years ago, setting up a link between the Ivanovitch family, the strongest mafia in Russia, and the Inuzuka clan, known for their unscrupulous bounty-chasers, opening the doors wide for Japan to be infested by fucking Slavs.

He remembered the story saying his poor uncle had begged that old friend of his to marry him. He had humiliated him in quite a way according to the Bunke elder members. She had coldly refused. The rumour was that he did love her and that it should not have been a wedding of profit and convenience. That was quite silly to imagine Hyūga Hiashi caring for anybody than him and his youngest daughter. She already had had a female child then. That kid was to inherit the Inuzuka business while the boy she had had with that Ivanovitch would without any doubt succeed to his now dead father.

People said that Inuzuka woman was not beautiful, her daughter resembling her, yet she had that something that made you want to follow her blindly. In battle, she was merciless and vicious, as she was in real life. She was not an especially intelligent woman, in fact, if she was not stupid either; she was very impulsive which pushed her into some gruesome problems. She had raised her first husband and a part of her clan against her with her showy behaviour. Ivanovitch Sergei had been necessitated to calm her crew down. In exchange of her hand, he promised he would soothe the rage she had provoked with her liking for blood more than money. Indeed, he had killed her daughter's father and enchained his followers, marrying her and an adorable little fortune of six billions. That very year, she had given birth to a boy, an heir, named Ivanovitch Inuzuka Kiba if he recalled well, known as Inuzuka Kiba, and that was detained actually in Kogaku (abr. for Konoha gakuen). Her daughter named Inuzuka Hana was as well situated on the same territory, subscribed to Kodai's fall/winter session. She was studying veterinarian medicine if he was right. How unintelligent of her. What would she be doing with a veterinarian formation when she was to take over her family's business?

He snapped his fingers for a waitress to come over and serve him another whisky on rocks. He did realize he was underaged, but nobody else did so he took advantage of their ignorance to do whatever he wanted, would it be drinking, smoking or driving his black Ferrari.

"Don't snap your fingers at me, young man." a biting voice answered his gesture.

He had no need to turn around on his seat to know who was standing behind him, most probably smirking.

Removing his Black Russian from the crystal ashtray he had left it on, he motioned it towards his thin lips, drawing in a long breath of the perfumed fumes escaping its tip. He would need all his patience to discuss with Inuzuka Tsume.

Before he could even say a word, a tall blond-haired man glided into the seat facing his, followed by a much smaller woman wearing an expensive looking white fur coat most probably maid of arctic fox. A man just as tall, large and blond as the previous one closed their little parade. The two men were wearing black mantles that must have concealed a few weapons.

"Pardon my attire, Hyūga-san. I am directly coming from Siberia and haven't had time to change." she said in an amused voice, her shoulders shrugging the fur of, revealing a tight, dark turtleneck.

What he had heard about her appeared to be true. She was not a beautiful woman. She had a strong, masculine jaw, framed by thick locks of wild brown hair. Her little and full lips were chapped and tinted in a bluish color. They did not match quite well her solid chin. Her straight nose was imperious in her face. When the lower part of her visage was severe and strong the upper was feminine and elegant. She had very beautiful deep almond-shaped eyes adorned with thick, long, black eyelashes. They were shaded nicely by the graceful curve of her delicate eyebrows. She was a strange one.

What gave even more impact to her peculiar appearance were those traditional Inuzuka tattoos dying her cheeks in blood red fang-like paintings.

Her neck was long and white, beautiful in her shirt. His eyes couldn't disregard her mature breasts that however could not compete with his cousin's. She gave the impression of having very long legs and attractive hips complimented by a slender waist. She was athletic in other words.

He now understood why his uncle had desired her so much. She was eye-catching. The aura surrounding her was full of things nobody could understand. It was something engulfing, something devouring and enviable.

He himself, only seventeen, could feel it in the air. She was ready. Ready for anything to happen. And that was what drew people to her, this sensation of dangerousness that followed each on of her steps.

Without realizing he already was in the Black Widow's net, he kept on detailing her while she was giving orders in a harsh language he knew to be Russian to her two henchmen. There were quite a few reasons she was called Tsume Mantis religiosa Ivanovitch in Europe, and he started realizing one by the way she was bossing around those two Slav killing-machines. It was as if they had been trained from the beginning to obey only to her. He supposed that the whole clan was that way. To be clear, Ivanovitch Sergei most probably did not die of a heart attack as the legists have announced. Maybe had he been poisoned or perhaps strangled during a love-making session? What was sure was that she had gotten rid of him when he had become superfluous.

If his informers had been accurate in their information hunt, she would have been younger than expected, maybe thirty-six. He was aware of the fact that she had given birth to her first child when only a child herself, not older than fifteen years old. If what he knew was true, she had been pregnant when entering Kogaku and had given birth to the child the very day they had transferred her from jail to the academy. The toddler had been entrusted to its grandparents after six months, and Tsume had married its father when she had gotten twenty-two.

With a carnivorous grin, revealing big canines that reminded those of a wolf, she snapped her fingers as he has done previously to attract a little waitress's attention. When the lass came scattering towards her, the poor girl stayed completely petrified when she noticed the red marks on her customer's high cheekbones.

"Three one litre Stolichnaya Elit (one of the most expensive vodkas in the world)! What will it be for you, Hyūga-san?"

"Whisky on rocks, like usual, Minako."

His biggest pride was that he knew everything about the places he frequented, from the owner to the maids.

The young woman still did not budge mesmerized by Tsume's looks. The older woman more and more amused by the situation tilted towards the waitress, brushing a hand over one of her gorillas' chest.

"That's the moment when you turn you heels and bring us our drinks, sweetheart."

The young girl blushed with humiliation, running away to the bartender at the other corner of the lounge.

With interest, Neji studied the barman swiftly pouring some golden whisky and disposing three enormous crystal bottles on Minako's plate, before disappearing through the bar's entrance.

Vacillating under the weight of her order, she made a few uncertain steps towards them. Neji felt some pity for the poor thing, he almost wanted to hurry himself and help her, yet couldn't while in important company.

When she finally managed to accomplish her duty, she almost slammed the plate on the table.

To Neji's astonishment, his three companions reached for the drinks in the same barbaric movement. They uncapped them with ease and poured half of the heavy, transparent vodka in their gullets. That in less than ten seconds.

He had to restrain his jaw not to drop at the way the Inuzuka treated her henchmen. It was as if they were family. Another reason why she was so popular with her men. Tired of the five hundred millilitres she had swallowed in one shot, she leaned her head on the man she called Igor, sitting by her left side, while a long, leather covered leg, flattered by strong high-heeled boots, raised itself to rest on Boris's lap.

He noticed the two men did not seem to be bothered by her behaviour. Igor even affectionately removed the strands of brown tickling his strong neck.

"So, Hyūga-san, alone in the world, aren't you?"

He had no idea what to respond to that, yet had no chance even to open his mouth.

"You know, you remind me of your uncle. You look like him so much. I suppose you resemble your father, but who cares, they were twins."

To his surprise she stopped her soliloquize, griping the fur coat still sticking to her back. Her hands frenetically criss-crossed her attire, searching something that seemed to be vital at the moment.

When finally she dragged out a white cigarette package, he heard her groan in satisfaction. With interest he read the gilt inscription on the stylish box. Sobranie White Russian. His uncle's favourites, when he couldn't stand their flavour. Her good mood drastically changed when realizing that her silver, ruby-incrusted, lighter a dear old friend had given her had been forgotten in her second residence. She almost bit one of her employees with rage.

Neji inclined himself towards her to signify he had light. Comprehending the message she extorted a long, white stick out of the pack, tossing it afterwards to Igor who, once a cigarette in the hand, launched it at Boris over his boss's head.

She approached her face from the young man's, her spicy breath caressing his right cheek. The tips of their respective cigarette's touched, linking them for an instant.

She didn't linger, tearing away to offer her acolytes some fire as well.

After the first puff wolfed, she spoke again, now more than serious, her deep glance shining aggressively.

"I know what you want me to do, and it's no! I am not going to delay the entry of my men in the country for you to secure your territory. The Akimichi and Aburame are starting to gnaw at it, and I don't give damn. Now that your dear uncle is not there anymore to hinder all my attempts I am going to conquer Japan, like I did with Russia!"

She was a very frank woman and he appreciated it, just as much as the flames igniting her pupils. He would have to convince her in any manner that an alliance between the two of them would profit her more than him.

"Tell me, Inuzuka-sama, do you have an entry in the government, or are you only an insignificant little Russian mafia?"

"I am a diplomat, Hyūga-san. Of course I have entries, however you have none."

He chuckled a little bit.

"If what you said was true, you wouldn't hurry that much to invade the country. You first of all would secure your children, than your clan, finally your money, and then, maybe, if the time is conducive to attack, you would do so. You see, Inuzuka-sama, now that the Hyūga has been shattered, it is getting more and more dangerous to enter in the country. You are known for the chaos you set, yet you have proved yourself not to be able to work in a chaos you haven't provoked. You wouldn't want to happen what occurred seventeen years ago, would you?"

A howl escaped Tsume's throat, catching the attention of other customers. She did not answer, being right away overwhelmed by a man, the barman that had come back, pushing some keys in her hands and bowing profusely under the Russians' sarcastic cerulean eyes.

Boris stood up under orders, letting Tsume slid of the seat and Igor follow her. She pushed bills into the bartender's hands in exchange of the keys that Igor now held forcefully.

Neji in his case was glaring at her, deeply crushed. No woman ever had made fun of him, especially not refused him what he wanted.

Standing up as well, he seized Tsume's arm, making her face him again. He read some shock on her odd features, as she did not seem to have been accustomed to such stubbornness.

"I withdraw what I have said. You do not resemble your uncle. He was meek compared to you. Nonetheless, I am not changing my mind, Hyūga Neji. I am not going to help you. You have to learn to depend only on yourself, young man."

His grip became painful, yet she didn't even budge, habituated to pain way worse than that clutch.

Desire, rage and indignation swirling in his pearl-tinted eyes, he hissed with animosity those words that made her reconsider her position, establishing finally Hiashi's death.

"I'll make you change opinion."

She had thought that maybe there was something of her old friend obscured by that seventeen-year-old's image, yet she had been wrong. For the first time, her instinct had betrayed her.

Slanting towards his ear, her smoky voice perfumed with the aroma of expensive vodka, whispered a number that for anybody would have been a presage of infortune, however to him appeared like an omen that would bring wealth and luck.

"Room six hundred sixty-six."