Keibatsu Akihiko

Apep watched the scene with impassive black eyes. His attention was not on the guard; it was on his nephew’s eyes. Their movements were an interesting study, and a worthwhile one. Exactly how worthwhile was demonstrated by the seriousness that all present attribute to their ruler’s threat to make the guard a throw rug. The emperor’s advisor, second most powerful personage in the kingdom, steward, Lord Marshal of the Third, Eye of the Realm, watched the ruler berate his guard and saw a hundred such incidents in his mind’s eye. It was a rare ruler who would concern himself with how the floors were cleaned, even the floors of the throne room, but Edlantis had always been like that. In the earlier years of the realm’s expansion, certain elements in the army had called him ‘King Sergeant’ because of his efforts to make his direct personal control felt at every level in every area. It had worked—witness the results—but it could be quite frustrating at times. After all, those same efforts which had not spared the low had also not left the high untouched.

The emperor leaned towards him, his tone confidential. The emperor’s advisor turned to listen. He did not make eye contact—his eyes were out searching the room, ever vigilant. His ear was inclined to the ruler, however, openly listening to each nuance of the inflection. The roving eyes noted the glances that those around the room still gave.

The eyes had little to see—the emperor’s advisor was a sparse personage, without the daily variation that some exhibited. The hair was a dark burgundy, short and loose. Many visitors had commented on the image his face presented—without marks of warrior or ruler, it managed to inspire the trembling due to both. His garb was in a similar vein—simple fabrics, common browns and blacks, but the tunic and robe fit him perfectly, outlining a thin frame and touching the ground just lightly enough to hide his feet without impeding movement. Apep had ended one career by observing that the individual in question changed garb more frequently than a troupe of entertainers. It was a charge never levied against the advisor himself.

The ruler’s words to his subject were brief, and emphasized the relationship between them. Not even the newest majordomo required a warning to ensure new slaves were in good condition, and both knew that. The comment simply served to remind the second most powerful personage in the kingdom that he was, in fact, second. While the advisor had, in the past, purchased a few sickly slaves, these were now serving as scribes in the library—and they came at less than the cost of the figure now sponging the tile below them. This was a fact Apep had never mentioned—so slight a thing would have been beneath the emperor’s notice.

As the two parted, the advisor nodded his assent, reflecting as he did so that the slight insult offered by the mark was more than compensated for by the power bestowed. There were few who could select people to be admitted into the Emperor’s presence, even slaves. It was a precaution that lingered from earlier days. The advisor privately thought that the young emperor kept it as a reminder to the visiting nobles of their station, at times. It was not an unpleasant thought. Not nearly so pleasant as other thoughts had been, lately, but not unpleasant.

One of those other thoughts intruded now. A messenger came forward, bearing a thrice-sealed scroll. Apep opened it, studied it, and gestured to a slave in a nearby alcove. Moments later, a small desk and brazier were arranged before him. He dropped the scroll into the fire before tracing a series of lines and shapes across the new sheet. When he began to dust the paper, the slave melted wax. When he rolled the paper, a blob of blue wax landed directly in the center. The Lord Marshal of the Third pressed his seal deep into it, then handed the scroll to the messenger, who had stood in front of him the entire time.

As the envoy moved away, and the desk was borne off, the second most powerful person in the kingdom reflected on what had just passed. The orders he had just dispatched were under the seal of the Eagle, just as they would be if the Emperor himself had sent them. Of course, the Emperor would have used red wax, the color of the house. One more reminder… Still, to break the seal of the Eagle without right was death, no matter whose finger had pressed it. Viewed from some angles, the Advisor was indistinguishable from the Emperor.

One of those was at war. The orders just dispatched and the cipher they were held in were a point of special pride to the Lord Marshal. Some marveled at the seal with which the advisor's thin white fingers handled military correspondence, but the marveled still more at the results. Apep was a devoted student of human nature, and often claimed that it was nowhere so clear as in open warfare. In addition, the larger the Empire grew, the larger grew the advisor's power-- not even the King Sergeant could oversee every detail of the lands. None wondered when he began to delegate some of those details to the Advisor.

The devil is in the details... Apep watched the scene with impassive black eyes.

Pre-Academy Arc:
Keibatsu Akihiko is, and was, an excellent example of the danger that the Keibatsu clan Kekkei Genkai poses to the untrained. Even before he was born, his mother had to go into seclusion to avoid lulling everyone nearby into a dreamy languor. At least they knew he was happy.

After birth, he grew up in an extremely close-knit family (as per the Clan History). While his elders were all more than competent at restraining their projections, during normal communication young Keibatsu was overwhelmed by their feelings of pride and hope, their dreams for his future. He tried very hard to live up to those expectations. In fact, he was able to rejoin normal village life at the age of four, which technically meant he’d mastered a D-ranked jutsu. His family was so proud, and relieved.

Academy Arc:
Aki certainly lived up to his name in the Academy, no matter how well-hidden the fact might have been. An early failure taught him a valuable lesson: there’s nothing quite so powerful to motivate an instructor as the opportunity to “make a difference” in a student’s life. He did not use his Kekkei Genkai on any teachers—not only was it forbidden, it couldn’t have been much help anyways.

He passed his examinations, learned his basic jutsus, and, where possible, did his sparring with his immediate family. Students were more inclined to mock a subpar student than help him, so he developed far fewer connections with them than with instructors. The only things they couldv’e taught that the teachers didn’t know a thousand times more thoroughly were clan techniques, anyways, and the most stellar performance would not have coaxed them to divulge those. Aki made the sensible decision to target his performance on the ones who knew the most. In many instances, he knew the material as well or better than perfect students, since he had to precisely walk the line between failure and a too-great success. He had to maintain hope, but not fulfill it. The lesson became most useful when he came into a more full control of his Keibatsu abilities.

There were, in fact, many things young Aki did during these years besides attend school. Among them, the one with the most long-term impact was actually eating ramen. Between switching through different shops that sold (or specialized in) ramen, developing new techniques for preparing ramen at home (ever tried white tea instead of boiling water?), and earning money to pay for his own ramen… On that last—you wouldn’t think that associating a day spent dealing with flying leeches with a particular food would develop a lifelong love for that food, but it did. In fact, it developed his lifelong love for almost all forms of pasta. It was also responsible for several of the scars on his face, but those events are perhaps best forgotten.

Genin Arc:
When he graduated, the Hokage assigned Akihiko to a Jounin who’d never gone particularly out of his way to help the “struggling student.” If it was intentional, the old man was brilliant. Placed into a situation with an unfamiliar instructor where he couldn’t look up the answers in advance and pick his score, the young Genin had to openly do his best for perhaps the first time in his life outside the clan compound. It was an interesting experience.

The next years worked as some kind of “glimpse of the road not traveled.” The Jounin was more interested in ‘making his mark’ than ‘making a difference,’ so he dedicated most of his time to the student who showed the most promise. Akihiko did his best to demonstrate plenty of promise. He came in third out of the squad of four, mostly because his strategy at the academy left him with much theoretical knowledge and little practical skill beyond control and the basic jutsus. It was perhaps inevitable that he would shift to studying Ijutsu. His instructor encouraged his ambitions, turning an eye that was more calculating than blind on the times where Aki chose to spend time studying instead of with his squad.

Chuunin Exams Arc:
In his first foray into the Chuunin exams, Akihiko’s group made it to the finals, thanks in no small part to the fact that he exhausted himself putting them in combat condition as they moved through the challenges. Once the squad split up, though, his combat skills proved to be extremely low. After his lost battle, he received a severe reprimand for his clumsy use of deadly poison.

The next exams he skipped. He’d always had an interest in genjutsu, and much of his medical training seemed to correlate closely with the lessons he’d had on manipulating minds. It was a slow process, and he fell a little behind in his medical training. The end result was spectacular, though—a Genjutsu that paralyzed! When he activated it, his words were simple. “He’s going to die soon.” Fortunately, there was a medi-nin nearby who recognized what was going on and supported Aki’s assertion. There was no brain damage.

In deliberations afterward, the most common theme was one of approval for his actions despite his performance in front of the judges. Those who were observant could see what he’d been doing for his squad. There were words about self-sacrifice, dedication, the preservation of life, etc. Approving him was still a heavily contested decision.

Chuunin Arc:
Someone told Keibatsu Akihiko about that when he became a Chuunin. It was meant to be a warning—“We’re watching you.” Instead, he took it as a directive. Those in power approved of him because he saved lives, yes? He threw himself into Ijutsu training, continuing to hone his genjutsu and clan abilities while neglecting more “violent” pursuits. It wasn’t exactly the shinobi way, but it helped those who’d approved him sleep at night.

On one of his missions, he calculated the precise value of a human life. It was a B-ranked mission, with corresponding payout. He was the leader among three Chuunin sent on an infiltration mission. It was critical not only to obtain certain information, but also to conceal the fact that said information was obtained. Thus, when one of his squad was captured, it was a fact that if the shinobi in question was rescued the mission would be an automatic failure. Akihiko sat down and carefully compared the relative values and costs between the two options. Being successful in his mission had value, as did the money that would result. On the other hand, sacrificing the life of a squad member was a significant cost—he’d become a Chuunin for saving lives in his squad, and deviation from that course would have consequences in his future interactions with other shinobi.

He eventually saved the Chuunin, failing a B-ranked mission for the first time (it was his third such mission). There were consequences—for several years, he never held the leadership role on an assignment. Many whispered that medi-nins were supposed to hold supporting roles anyways. Akihiko privately agreed, and put much effort into preparing himself for combat using something other than Ijutsu. Others among the Keibatsu were more than willing to instruct him as well. It is unknown when he found a way to become attached to the Kanmon contract, but many theorize it happened during this time.

Jounin Arc:
He became a Jounin due to the Hokage’s death. No, seriously. When the Hokage died of old age, the new Hokage wanted to cement his position by gaining the loyalty of some effective shinobi. He did this by selecting several of the more advanced Chuunin, those who’d been passed over previously for personality reasons, and appointing them as Jounin. One of the reasons Akihiko was chosen was the fact that he had little interest in training a squad—no doubt the new leader salved his conscience by thinking that even if there were something wrong with the newest Jounin, it wouldn’t be allowed to affect anyone else. Heh.

For some reason, he drew a wide variety of solo missions. This was not particularly dissatisfying, but it meant that when he was caught off-guard there was no backup. There were measures he could take, of course. It was on one such occasion that he performed his first S-rank technique, a summoning. The rift this summoning opened allowed passage to one Ikusa Mari.

Mari recognized the summoner from reports of previous creatures called. The battlefield that the Kirema opened onto was certainly an intense one—an infiltration mission had turned out to be an ambush, and a good one. War’s Lover moved swiftly, dispatching a large portion of the shocked attackers before many of them even managed to blink their eyes against the heat. Then the others reacted. It was a true challenge to defeat the group without using any techniques ranked C or higher. Then the monster turned to face the shinobi who’d called him.

Keibatsu Akihiko was not idle during the fight. His Ijutsu expertise was sufficient to neutralize the poisons in his system and even stabilize the more severe wounds. Still, when the flaming eyes of his summon turned from the last attacker, Akihiko knew true fear. It was exhilarating. With a sword crying out to cut, War’s Lover seemed to materialize inches from Aki’s face. The third-degree burns this caused seemed incidental. “Killing you would not even be a battle. You have six words to prolong your existence.”
Aki’s voice was dry, for some reason, but he smiled as he spoke. “I will become stronger.” Given that he’s still alive, they must’ve been the right words. Or maybe Mari’s still waiting for the last two; who knows?

Missing-nin Arc:
He did not return from that mission. The scene was discovered by a squad sent as backup after several days. They easily determined what went wrong. Their one mistake was in timing—since some fires were still burning, they assumed that the battle had occurred only recently, and narrowed their search accordingly. It’s probably the reason he escaped so easily—half of the village thought his body was stolen in an attempt to learn the Keibatsu Kekkei Genkai.

In isolation, his medical skills stagnated somewhat (medicine creation excepted, for obvious reasons). Instead, Aki began to develop more interesting Genjutsu techniques. Temple of Nirvana proved extremely useful in this regard—he could knock out a village, extract a test subject or two, and leave. Granted, rumors about bodysnatching demons might proliferate, but he moved around a great deal. It was during this time that the Divert series was perfected. The price was measureable in human lives, but their exchange rate for time was too good to pass up. With such minimal costs for killing someone, his course of action was most understandable.

Still, there’s a high cost to developing new jutsus alone, especially new Ijutsu techniques. Akihiko had always felt most comfortable inside a structure of expectations and instruction. He began moving about in search of a new group to join. The villages were the obvious choice, but just as obviously impossible (even if they’d welcome a missing-nin, they’d demand much more than they gave). He began to seek a different kind of organization.