The space was so vast that the Hokage’s office didn’t begin to compare. Shikamaru was seated somewhere near the middle of a scarlet carpet that led straight from the magnificent double doors of the entrance to the other side of the room. Handcuffs bound his hands behind him. A revolutionary stood guard on either side to keep him from standing up or doing anything they considered stupid. They too were former shinobi. If Shikamaru tried anything, they’d be on him pretty quickly.
Behind him were Ro and Soku, also in handcuffs and under guard. The one thing that was different was the bruises and cuts covering their faces. It was clear from their exhausted expressions that they had been subjected to horrible torture.
Judging from the number of meals they had brought him, ten or so days had passed. During that time, Shikamaru had not been tortured once. Gengo came to him several times, but each time he had merely rambled about nothing and soon left. He would talk about truly trivial matters like how the weather was good that day or speculate on what he would have for dinner, and then leave.
“Bow your head,” the revolutionary to his right said before grabbing Shikamaru and pushing his forehead to the carpet.
“They are our valued guests. We must not treat them with violence.”
He heard Gengo from far ahead of him. At the same time, the revolutionary crouching beside him to press his face into the floor stood up as if ashamed. His head got lighter.
“My subordinates were rude. Lift your head.”
Before the words were in his ears, Shikamaru had lifted his face and was looking at Gengo. At the end of the red carpet were marble stairs, with another large space at the top, perhaps a quarter the size of the larger hall, where a chair sat, its long backboard a sculpture of a magnificent dragon. Gengo sat in that chair, legs crossed, left elbow on the armrest, cheek resting on the palm of his hand. He looked down on Shikamaru calmly, body angled to the left; he was very much the ruler of this land.
“Come closer,” Gengo said, and the revolutionaries on either side of Shikamaru grabbed his arms and stood him up. They sat him down again a short distance from the stairs. The other revolutionaries did the same with Soku and Ro.
“Are you in the mood to hear what I have to say now?”
“I doubt I’ll be able to make sense of it.”
Gengo smiled slightly at Shikamaru’s declaration. A dozen or more revolutionaries filled the space around Gengo, looking down on Shikamaru with the arrogance of close aides.
Sai was among them. Dressed in a long black coat, he was the epitome of a revolutionary. As he stared down at his supposed comrade, Sai did not waver or flinch. It had always been rare for his eyes to be touched by emotion, but even so, the look in them had never been as cold as this.
“You, famous for your intelligence… You think you’ve discerned my intentions, hm?”
What does Gengo want?
He had had a gut feeling for a while now. But it was so preposterous and so completely impractical, he simply hadn’t said it out loud.
“Be one of my hands, Shikamaru. With you, I can give rise to a new world. I see in you a man capable of such a task.”
“No thanks,” he uttered promptly, glaring at Gengo with eyes shining with bloodlust.
But the master of the land met his fiery gaze coolly, with the air of a gentle breeze blowing somewhere. “I have no interest in a man who would jump to say ‘yes’ when asked to be one of my hands. That’s fine, Shikamaru.”
“Y’know, that tone of yours is really getting on my nerves. You act like you’ve seen through everything. What do you even know about me, anyway?” Shikamaru wasn’t really angry; he wasn’t foolish enough to lose his cool over something like this. He just wanted to see his opponent’s attitude when he tried to pick a fight.
“A person can never completely know another person. Which is exactly why we are talking like this, is it not? I haven’t seen through you or anything like it. It’s only that I’ve lived just a little longer than you, so I can get a glimpse of your emotions. If this manifests as arrogance, then I apologize.”
“And I’m telling you, it’s that attitude that’s getting on my nerves.”
“I see.” Gengo lowered his eyes and smiled self-deprecatingly. And then, for a brief moment, he was silent. He let his gaze wander through empty space, clearly considering things and weighing options, before bringing it back down to Shikamaru.
He deliberately created an interval to deflect my anger…
As he made a show of thinking, Gengo was already preparing the next topic of conversation. If he had pushed ahead with their conversation without pause, Shikamaru’s response would have been forceful and hateful, full of pseudo-angry posturing. To avoid a futile exchange, Gengo deliberately paused to change the topic. He took a breath and left a moment of silence to change the air flowing between the two of them. Shikamaru could have kept sputtering indignantly to stop him from changing the tone of their conversation, but it would have been nothing more than empty bluster.
All that was left was the silence Gengo invited.
This man’s used to tactics like this.
“There’s just one thing I’d like to ask you. Will you answer?”
“What?” Shikamaru regretted his straightforward response. But it was already too late.
“Why must shinobi be so persecuted?”
Shinobi are persecuted?
He didn’t really understand what that was supposed to mean.
Looking at the silent Shikamaru, Gengo began to speak, as if to give background for his question. “The adjective ‘hidden’ is always attached to the villages where the shinobi live. Why must shinobi hide? And what percentage of the realms of this continent are ninja land? It is insignificant, is it not? Others rule over this world. The daimyo.”