I'm changing the third chapter up a little by removing the time lapse that was the third part of this chapter. I need to develop a few things as this series also trails into the new sequel that I have out for Forgotten called Memories. I suggest reading Forgotten, but it isn't necessary.

The Right Way or The Wrong Way

There was darkness there. Deep inside him. Heavy and cold and toxic. Slowly seeping into every nook and cranny. He had tried to ignore it, tried to push it to the back of his mind. But there was no denying any longer.

He had lost his way.

Was it after the first kill? Or before the tenth?

He remembered in school how they taught him killing was right. How it was the only way to get some jobs done. He had learned the arts, like his parents, and been praised by his teachers and fellow nins for taking out targets quickly and efficiently.

But what didn't make sense was the fear everyone else gave him. His old civilian friends would quickly cross to the other side of the street and tried not to look at him. His neighbors would duck their heads, and some would even go so far as to hide their younger children. He could hear their quiet fear filled whispers following him thanks to his ninja hearing,

"I heard he killed someone last week."

"He's done it again. Four people all on his own."

"He's dangerous to be around."

How could that be right, he often thought, how could it be wrong when mission after mission he protected these people. Instead of whispering behind his back, they should be thanking him. Like Kenta and Tomoko thanked him on this last mission. Like his master and other teammates thanked him for being quick to set traps. But his neighbors and old friends never gave a word or gesture of thank yous.

"Did you hear about the little boy he murdered? Had to be no more than eight."

His eighteenth kill. The young boy had been strapped head to toe in explosive tags. His short legs a blur as he raced full tilt at Iruka's team of twelve. Iruka had spotted the child first. He had called a warning to both the boy and his team.

The kid didn't stop. His eyes set in a determined scowl. "Death to ninjas!" The tag covered child had yelled. Iruka could tell with the amount of explosives tapped across the child that the team wouldn't get far. Iruka had launched a kunai, had watched as it found a new home right in the boy's throat just beneath the chin, had watched as the child's eyes grew wide before dimming and dropping to the road. His body slid across the dirt, the smoke from the many tags bellowing all at once, and Iruka had fled. All of Iruka's teammates jumped into the trees desperate to escape. The force of the explosion sent him crashing out of his tree along with several others of his team. Debris kicked up and became mini projectiles. The explosive fires set the trees and surrounding area on fire. The child's death had given them time enough to run, to escape the worst of the blast.

"I can't believe it. How could you kill an innocent child like that?"

The boy had been part of a plot against Konoha. A ragtag bunch of rouges had taken over a village and brainwashed the populace into believing that all ninja were evil. Sure, it wasn't exactly the child's fault for thinking such wrongs. But he had been the one to cover himself in exploding tags, he had been the one to charge after Iruka and his team. And if the child should have succeeded, then more children would strap themselves up, more ninja would have died, and Konoha and her many people would have found these exploding children on their door steps.

How was it wrong to kill that child? How was it wrong to kill anyone daring to hurt his home? He was confused and worst yet, he was continuously reliving each kill over and over again.

The boy

The four men

The angry family seeking vengeance

And all the others before that.

Iruka was nearly fourteen, barely a full year out of the academy which now seemed like ages ago. Lost and confused with abstract pictures of red, gray, and green flashing behind his eyes every time he blinked. Every detail of every mission etched firmly in his mind.

Iruka sat on the railing of the bridge staring at his hands, his feet dangling above the water, and his distant reflection waving at him from the rippling water below. He blinked.

Blood on his kunai.

He blinked.

Dead eyes staring up at him.

He blinked.

A little boy falling, spray of blood arching with his fall

He blinked.

A woman with angry blue eyes. Round face pulled back in a snarl of yellowing teeth.

Iruka felt his hands shake, the kunai wobbled dangerously in his grasp threatening to fall into the river below. He took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his rattled nerves and dispel the images. He blinked.

A bloody reflection of him standing in a river watching as the woman's body drifted downstream.

"Why won't they stop?" he whispered griping the kunai tighter. He brought his hand to his headband, the cool metal seeping into his warm hands. His shoulders hunched and his eyes screwed tight. Several different battles rewind and fast forward behind his eye lids. "Stop," he choked back a sob.

"Stop what, Kiddo," a low voice called from below and to the left.

Iurka's eyes flew open, his head jerked up, body jumping two feet off the railing before settling back into crouch. His kunai held at the ready and senses stretch searching for any danger. "Easy there, Kiddo, or you'll fall off. And ninja aren't supposed to fall so easily." Iruka looked down over the railing to see the crazy man from Market Street staring up at him. The man's large green eyes twinkling with amusement and gave a shaggy bread smile. Iruka was in no mood to deal with the man today. Sure the crazy beggar had helped him on a number of occasions, but the man had always done it in extreme ways. Not today, Iruka decided as he began to climb down off the railing, he could bother some other kid.

"Wait there," called the man as Iruka made his way off the bridge. "Hey, Kid!"

He ignored the beggar as he made his way to the training fields. A large hand grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around. Iruka reacted violently. His kunai, still out, whistled through the air slicing at whoever dared to touch him. A poof of smoke filled his vision as he kept spinning, a full 360 later and Iruka found his kunai impaled on a long plank of wood. "Are you done?" came the unimpressed baritone.

"Leave me alone. I'm not in the mood to be entertaining you today," Iruka snapped.

The man snorted, "No one is ever in the mood to entertain me," the man huffed crossing his massive arms over his broad chest, "doesn't stop me now does it."

Iruka glared and made to turn, "Do you want to talk about it?" Iruka paused and looked back, surprise written all over his face. "I'm not crazy enough not to notices when someone is troubled."

"I'm not troubled," Iruka replied, "I'm going to go train."

"You've been sitting on my bridge for three hours," the man gave him a bland look.

Iruka started at that. He hadn't been aware of the time. Now that he noticed, the sun was much higher in the sky. "I was planning out my day," he replied unconvincingly. The man snorted again clearly not buying the excuse either. "What does it matter to you what I do?" Iruka snapped pointing his kunai the broad chest. "And that bridge doesn't belong to you. So I can sit on it for however long I want."

"I live under the bridge, therefore the bridge is mine," the man replied easily.

"Oh, so if I live under that tree over there," Iruka pointed to a tree just beside the dirt road, "that makes the tree mine."

"Of course not," the man laughed, "That tree already belongs to the squirrel family."

Iruka stared at the guy in disbelief. "That is not your bridge. It was built by the people of Konoha, therefore it belongs to the people."

"Your apartment was built by the people of Konoha. Does your apartment belong to them too?"

"No! I'm paying for that. You're not paying to live under the bridge!"

"I am too paying to live under the bridge."

"What?!"

"I pay the squirrel family to live there. They use to live there you see, but I managed to negotiate…"

"You're nuts!" Iruka shouted throwing his hands up in defeat.

"No, that's what I pay to live here. Sixteen nuts every two weeks." The vagrant corrected with a happy smile, "we chose every two weeks because ninjas die so often."

"You're not a ninja!"

"I am too."

"I don't see any identification," Iruka tapped his headband to make his point. The man pulled up his torn sleeve to revile a worn and tattered headband tied tightly over his massive right bicep. Iruka openly gawked, his brain completely short circuiting. "But," Iruka tried to reason. "But you like. You know."

"I've been forcefully retired," the bum gave the flustered boy a wan smile, "even a retired ninja is still a ninja"

"But you're crazy!"

"I'm not crazy. The job gets to be a little too much sometimes," the hobo frowned, "there is trouble in the world. All I'm trying to do is enlighten the populace. Not my fault they don't understand. Not like you boy." He beamed. "You get what I'm saying. I've heard the stories. Using your environment as a weapon. That's what ninja, SHINOBI, are supposed to do."

"And killing," Iruka whispered, ducking his head to find his pained expression, "shinobi are supposed to kill."

"Protect, you mean."

"No." His voice wobbled on the single syllable.

The man stared at him for several long moments. He watched the boy's shoulders droop, his arms hang limply, and right hand barely held onto the kunai. "Com'ere, Boy. Let's talk somewhere more comfortable." The man moved away and toward the slopping bank and under the bridge. Iruka hesitated for a moment before following. He wasn't sure what was about to happen, or what wisdom he was about to have thrown at him, but right now anything was better than being alone.

The shade under the bridge was much cooler then the shade of the trees beyond the bank. Iruka stood at one opening taking in the camp sight around him. It was modest, if there was such a word as modest for a homeless camp. There were several tin sheets and blankets propped up to make a small hut which was set back against the supporting wall of the bridge. A knee high fire barrel sat just a little ways off with several chairs and small tables positioned around it. A small brass tea kettle hung over the fire, light mist making its way out of the curved spout.

The man busily made his way back and forth between several boxes, mumbling loudly to himself. Iruka approached cautiously eyeing the many pots, vases, pans, boxes, and other assorted jun… stuff … littered around the place. "Have a seat, Boy." The man waved in the general direction of the fire and chairs, "tea will be ready in a moment."

"My name is Iruka," Iruka corrected.

"Hmm, let's see my name is," The burly male stood up from the box he had been looking in and tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully. "Well, you know, I've had so many names I've forgotten my own."

For the second time Iruka found himself flabbergasted, "you don't remember your name."

"Job hazard, part of the reason why I was retired," the man carried on as if it wasn't a big deal to forget one's own name.

"But, your name was especially chosen by your family. It's who you are," Iruka reasoned. When he was younger he had hated his name. Kids continuously made fun of him. It was after his parents' death that he truly came to love his name. It was the only thing that he had left, the one thing that couldn't be taken from him, and the only thing that reminded him of his parents.

"I willingly sacrificed it," the man replied completely unperturbed. "If it meant protecting my home and loved ones, then losing my name is not a big deal."

"Then what am I going to call you?" Iruka frowned, "I can't just call you crazy man or Nut-so all day, especially if you plan to keep on bothering me."

"I'm not bothering you," the man corrected as he pulled out two plates from a box, "I'm teaching you."

Iruka gave him a skeptical look. "You've attacked me every single time."

"Have I?"

"Three vendors, two alleyways, once at the gate when I was getting back from a mission, twice during my training sessions," Iruka ticked off each occurrence on his fingertips.

"You'd think your sensei would have stopped me," the man laughed, finding a bag of biscuits.

"Three D-rank missions," Iruka continued.

"You weren't enjoying looking for that cat anyways."

"No, I didn't enjoy chasing you down. What made you think running off with the cat was a good idea?"

"Do you continue to leap in predicable patterns like everyone else? Branch to Branch, branch to ground."

Iruka thought about it. "No I don't," he admitted.

"I learned how to do that while I was chasing monkeys. If you want to catch a monkey you got to swing like a monkey. And if you swing like a monkey then you're harder to hit during a fight. Ninja life lessons 101." The man found two chipped cups, by now the kettle was beginning to lightly whistle. "Be harder to predict because the predicable die young."

The man made his way over to Iruka and handed him the two plates full of biscuits. He set the cups down on a small table and tended to the kettle. "I wasn't attacking, I was teaching you. And the best way to teach sometimes is by action. You caught on quickly." The man gave him a proud smile. "You're turning out to be a great shinobi, if the stories I hear are correct."

Iruka looked away, the dark whispers of the villagers buzzing in his ears. "Hmm, how about you call me Satoshi. I always liked that name." Iruka gave him a bland look. "Or you can call me Toshi. Oh! Or Toe, that would be funny."

"You want me to call you Toe?" Iruka asked incredulously.

"Why not? It's either Satoshi or Toe."

"Satoshi," Iruka relented. The man, now named Satoshi, beamed as he poured some tea. "So, why me?" Iruka asked after some time had passed and the two had settled into their seats. Iruka stared intently at the steam curling its way past the cup's rim and drifting off on the gentle wind.

"I could tell you are going to be a great shinobi," Satoshi smiled at him proudly.

"My teammates are better. Heck, there are better ninja then me you could," Iruka paused rolling the cup in his hands, "teach."

"There are," Satoshi agreed, "like the one with white hair and a mask. And believe me. I've tried with a few of them. But no one listened. Not like you. That's important you know. For a shinobi. To listen no matter what, who, or where the words are coming from." He took a sip and a bit of his biscuit before continuing, "to listen is the mark of a good shinobi."

"And the great?" Iruka prompted, sipping at his own tea.

"Retain and understand the information." Satoshi set his cup down on the small table set between them. He gazed thoughtfully into the licking flames that teased themselves over the barrel's edge. "A great shinobi takes in everything, no matter how insignificant be it jutsus or taijutsus, or simply knowing a person's favorite brand of tea. They can catalog the information, and stores it away into their mind. They can recall that information at any time be it in the heat of battle or giving a report, or even just to entertain a guest."

"That's not what I've been taught," Iruka broke through the man's beginning rambles.

Satoshi hummed lightly, "what have you been taught?"

"To kill," the statement was said on a whisper so soft it was nearly stolen by the crackling fire. "That a great shinobi is measured by the amount of people he kills, not by the amount of information he carries."

"That's wrong!" Satoshi quickly snapped. His face pulled tight into a mighty frown and eyes narrowed at Iruka.

"What's wrong?" Iruka snapped back, jumping to his feet and dropping the cup. It shattered on the ground, amber liquid splashing everywhere. "What's wrong? Killing? Is it killing?" He's voice raised in pitch, "because they say it is. You know. The villagers say it's wrong," he flung an arm out pointing wildly at the buildings and people beyond the bridge's cover. "But my teachers and my teammates, they all say it's right." He pointed at his chest, "They thank me." He licked his lips, he could feel is eyes wide as he stared confused and pledging for answers from Satoshi. "So who's wrong? Them, the villagers, or us, the shinobi?"

Satoshi didn't answer. Instead he continued to stare, almost blankly at Iruka. His eyes distant and body relaxed back into his chair. Iruka pressed on regardless. Everything pent up inside him spilled out of him, splashing to the ground and joining the spilt tea at his feet. "It doesn't make sense. I mean, killing is the only way to protect them. It's the only way to keep this village safe."

"I don' like killing," he closed his eyes, images of the boy and woman appeared. I don't like ending lives of children or grieving mothers. I don't like it and I wish I could change it. I wish," there was burning behind his eyes, his vision grew blurry as his voice begun to wobble, "I wish I didn't have to keep seeing them. Over and over." He choked back a sob and rubbed his arms across his eyes.

"I asked Kenta once, how he felt after killing someone. He said it didn't matter what he felt. That he was protecting the village. I even asked Tomoko and she said the same thing. Sensei praised them. Said 'That was the mark of a great shinobi'," Iruka sniffed, "I asked if they remembered their kills, like I do. And you know what. They don't. Just the first one. Sensei says you never forget your first one. But I remember all of them. Every last one of them!"

Tears broke free then. "Every time I blink, or close my eyes just for a moment, I see them. As clear as I see you." Iruka swallowed trying to clear his voice. He sunk to his knees, uncaring of the spilt tea seeping into his pants legs. He wrapped his arms around himself as if that would hold him together. "They told me killing is right. Killing is the only way to do our jobs."

Flashing pictures of his frightened friends' face popped up one by one, "but the villagers don't agree. They fear me, my neighbors and old friends. And," a broken sob interrupted his next few words, "and I'm afraid. Afraid of what I can do. And confused."

His body begun to shake, he felt ready to fall apart. His voice dropped until he was whispering, "I can't understand what's right any more. Killing is right, killing is wrong. It doesn't make sense and no one I asked has had the right answer."

"What is the right answer?" Satoshi asked, his voice completely void of any emotion.

"I don't know," Iruka whispered.

"You must know, other words you wouldn't keep asking. You wouldn't be unsatisfied with everyone's answer."

"I don't know," Iruka said stronger.

"Is killing wrong?"

"I don't know."

"Is killing right?"

"I don't know," Iruka's voice grew in volume.

"Do you enjoy killing?" Satoshi asked standing up from his chair. His hulking form towered over Iruka's smaller bent frame.

"No."

"Do you hate killing?"

"Yes."

"Then that's right."

"I don't know."

"You don't know if it's right for you to hate killing?" Satoshi asked the barest hint of disbelief in his otherwise emotionless voice.

"I don't know," Iruka replied.

"Then what do you want to know?" Satoshi growled.

"I DON'T KNOW!" Iruka cried. "God damn it, I don't know."

Suddenly Iruka found himself wrenched from his knelt position to dangling in the air and toes barely touching the ground. Satoshi's large hands wrapped firmly around Iruka's biceps as he brought him to face level, they had ended many of their 'lessons' in this manner. Satoshi's deep forest green eyes bore into his startled tear stain browns. Slowly beggar sat him back onto his feet and knelt down until he was eye level with Iruka.

"There is no real right and wrong out there beyond our walls. It's kill or be killed, you or them. Not, you, them, and the village." He placed a gentle and steady had on Iruka's shoulders. His large thumb rubbed Iruka's collarbone in soothing circles.

"You're a cog in the wheel of the great power house that is our nation. An easy gear that can be replaced again and again so long as there are people to train," Satoshi grip tightened. "The real wrong, the only wrong they taught you, that everyone believes, is that killing is the only way. It's not. You can't kill without knowledge. You can't lead mission, or create missions without information. Nothing can be done without information, without knowledge," he pulled Iruka forward until their eyes meet. It was almost as if he was trying to will Iruka to believe. "It really is power, Iruka," The man breathed, "frightening power, more so than the ability to kill."

"Just think, you can cripple a nation by knowing what brand of tea a lord drinks, where his servants get it from, what time he takes the tea, and who serves the tea." Satoshi stood up and turned his back on Iruka. He ran shaking hands through his matted hair uncaring when they snagged in terrible knots.

He walked a ways from the fire, then veered to the river and stared down into the rippling currents. "Information comes from everywhere. Food vendors, house wives, even little children. A wise man will take it all in. Will sort through the unneeded bits. And find the hidden gems." He turned back to look at Iruka, "there are few that have that kind of mind, Iruka. Those minds are the ones that never forget. That remember every detail no matter how small, or painful. A mind like yours." He looked at Iruka meaningfully. "Good shinobi envy minds like yours. They crave them. And what's more, fear them."

Satoshi drew his shoulders back and stuck out his chest. His head tipped back as he looked down his slightly crooked nose. "What's right, what's wrong. Is it killing, or running. Forget all of that. It isn't important. Those are just pawns that anyone can move. You want the queen, Iruka. You want the pieces that can move anywhere, that can take anything. You want the information and the knowledge of how to use that info, because that will tell you all that you need. That will tell you who's worth killing, which isn't. What's important, and what isn't. And I can teach you that." Satoshi walked toward Iruka with carefully measured strides, "I can teach you so that you," he poked Iruka in the chest causing him to stumble backwards, "can decide what is right and what is wrong. But you have to let me teach you. And it won't be the way I've been doing it. No sneak attacks. That was all fun and games. This will be the real stuff." Satoshi stepped back waiting expectantly for Iruka's answer.

Iruka's mind became a whirled wind in an instant. "Will I have to leave my team?"

"Not if you don't want to. But it will be hard to train with them and with me."

"Will I have to kill often?"

"Killing is part of our job, but you'll be able to determine who to and not to kill. And you won't always be right. Let me make that clear. You are not god, you will not become omnipotent. But you will be better at it than others."

Iruka looked down at his wet pant legs. He bit his lower lip in thought. "Will I end up like you?" he whispered looking up through his eye lashes at the tall muscular man.

Satoshi's eyes widen for a moment, before softening into a sad look. "I made some choices that landed me here. You might not make the same. I can't promise anything."

Iruka nodded slowly. He closed his eyes willing the images behind them to stop as he took a deep breath. He reached out taking hold of the torn frayed shirt of Satoshi. He looked up with determined eyes. "I want to decide for myself, what's right and what's wrong."

For the first time since he had meet Satoshi, the man gave him a genuinely happy smile. "Well, we should begin."

I also edit it up a bit since I had to replace the chapter anyways. I really like Satoshi and I am really excited for what's going to happen in this story. It gonna be tough trying to tie all this together but I am soooooo looking forward to it.

Petague Killaboo