There were a lot of ways people would choose to describe Killer B and it would likely be different depending on the person. To some, he was the great and powerful protector of a mighty village, a God holding the form of a man. To others, he was a dangerous beast, tamed for now, but too unpredictable to be held so close to society. Some would claim he was wise beyond his years and others would say he was a man that never grew up. To A, he was a precious problem and a constant source of comfort and exasperation. To his students, he was Dad.
Very few people would call him sentimental or a romantic. Even fewer would say it out loud and those that said it to his face were- for the most part- all dead. Yet, Killer B did hold a few things close to his heart and even his ‘go with it’ attitude and his desire to live in the moment could not inspire him to let them go.
B was raised on the tough values of his village, taught to fend for himself and to function as an individual rather than part of a team. Even when he was partnered with A, he was expected to be able to hold his own against opponents twice his caliber. Yet this only applied inside the village boundaries. Outside, Kumo shinobi looked after their own with a tenacity that was unrivaled by any other nation and B held this value higher than all others. There were countless men that owed their lives to him and even more that died testing it. The very few scars on B’s body that were not from training or accidents often came with a few more years on another man’s life. To B, it did not matter who he was protecting, so long as their allegiance lie with Kumogakure.
This loyalty to his village translated directly into how B viewed his family. To him, nothing was more important. His mother and father had been unable to cope with the stress and shame that came with raising a jinchurriki. They had given him to A and left the village as disgraced traitors. A had taught him the value of pride and strength that came from a healthy family. He had taught him what it meant to love unconditionally, given him the tools that would allow B to raise his own kids and B loved his kids more than anything. He was always there, being what they needed when they needed it, be that a friend or father. He did not always do it right, but he did his best and he loved Karui and Omoi more than he loved himself (which was saying something).
And when B loved, he loved with his entire being. There was nowhere this was more obvious than in his love life.
To the village and to the world, B was just not interested in finding that special someone. He did not entertain women, he did not peruse men. The prettiest face could not turn his eye and the sweetest words could not perk his fancy. Some people assumed he did not want to be tied down. Some people assumed he kept his sexual exploits under wraps. Most people just blamed his inflated ego and assumed no one was good enough for him. To the few people that knew B as a person, they knew it was because there was only one woman for him and he lost her many, many years ago.
To see B and Yugito together was to see perfection. Two very different people, they shared a common goal and a common feature that connected them better than anything else. Even A could not sync with B like Yugito and no woman could read Yugito like B. Anyone with eyes could see that they were meant for each other and everyone assumed that they would be married one day. Everyone except B and Yugito. The two were obviously deeply infatuated with each other, but neither proud individual was willing to admit it. If it was brought up, they would deny it. Even in private, they would not indulge in what other people searched their entire lives for and they seemed content to be friends for the rest of their lives.
Her death had been a national tragedy, a misfortune that shook the very foundations of the village and plunged the entire city into mourning. But, very few people had seen the look on B’s face when Darui told him that they had lost her, seen him collapse under the weight of the news and bore witness to the weeks of inconsolable misery that had followed. Even years afterwards, B never came to terms with it. Hearing her name was still painful. Speaking of her would send him into a rage. Seeing her picture was enough to lay him out for hours.
To the village, B was what he was, regardless of how people interpreted it. He did not lie about it and he made no apologies for it. He held no secrets and no mysteries, though many surrounded him. If asked, he would tell, but no one asked. No one dared to ask. After all, he was the Eight-Tailed Beast and beasts were entitled to their privacy, one way or another.