Diving in.
Days become a blur. Since Neji and Hiromi’s last conversation, a tense, awkward atmosphere fills the air between them. Neji has taken to strolling the quiet streets at night, releasing his pent-up frustration on any petty criminal unfortunate enough to cross paths with him. Some nights, he even actively seeks them out, and there’s nothing easier to do than to locate people with his arsenal of skills.
In the daytime, Neji furiously scrubs every corner of the house, takes care of Hiromi’s small, weed-infested garden, does the dishes, and meditates in the late afternoon.
One night, this routine changes. Instead of being the hunter, Neji finds himself being tailed by someone. It’s such an unexpected change that Neji allows it to happen for a couple of hours, circling the city, waiting to see what his stalker will do. When he gets tired of this little game, he puffs out of view with quick, practiced hand signs, and lands just behind the culprit.
The person freezes, and slowly raises their hands. Neji has to give it to them, at least they’re quick to grasp the situation. He addresses them from behind, with the tips of his fingers ready to deliver an incapacitating blow. “Who are you and what do you want?”
They slightly turn their head to see him, breath stuttering out of their mouth. “Codename: Nomad.” says a voice, clearly feminine. “I’ve been ordered to follow you and reach out to you with an offer. I do not mean any harm.”
Neji raises an eyebrow. “Who do you work for?”
Now that he’s paying attention to it, Neji notices the two horns peeking out of her forehead, curving at the tips to form a vague heart-shape. The woman clears her voice. “A broker named Giran. He would like to set a meeting with you.”
“What does he want?”
“To give you a job offer, apparently.”
His forehead creases. “What job?”
Nomad shifts uncomfortably. She still hasn’t turned around. “I don’t know. I’m just a messenger.”
Neji blows air out of his nose, slightly annoyed. The perimeter of his byakugan stretches until it envelops a little more than the whole city. “What does this Giran look like?”
Nomad doesn’t answer, and for a moment only her shallow, rapid breathing fills the silence between them.
Neji presses his fingers against her nape, just enough so that she can feel the low thrum of his chakra on her skin. “Answer.”
“...Grey hair.” She starts quietly. “Glasses, he…usually wears a suit. Moderate height. Uh, there’s a gap between his teeth.”
Neji waves his hand dismissively for her to stop. There’s no one fitting the description in their immediate surroundings. “Alright.”
“I’ve got a message from him for you. It’s, uh, in my jacket pocket.” Neji hums and lets her rummage through her jacket under his watchful gaze. She slowly, carefully, turns around to face him and offers it to him. It’s a small, square and unassuming folded piece of paper.
Neji eyes it with his mouth set in a hard line, like it’s a personal offense to him. He doesn’t know if it’s a trap, and there’s no trace of chakra on the paper, but he can’t be sure. It could be under the effect of any quirk out there. “Open it.”
Nomad’s arm retracts back, and she fumbles with the paper for a moment before unfolding it and presenting it to him. A few simple words in black ink: ‘Monday, 2 AM, rendez-vous at the tiger warehouse in Hosu city.”
“Tiger warehouse?” Neji asks, and Nomad puts the paper back in her pocket when it becomes evident he won’t take it.
“A warehouse with a huge tiger street art, sir. It’s not far away from the hospital.” Under the pale moonlight, Neji’s eyes seem to glimmer an eerily silver, and Nomad stares for a second longer than appropriate, clearly off-put. He studies her in return; She’s actually slightly taller than him, with light brown hair cropped to her chin, and black, narrow eyes. Neji eyes her horns and wonders what mutation she has exactly. It’s far from the strangest thing he has seen (people like Orochimaru and Kisame Hoshigaki do exist), but he’s not quite used to the fact people can really have any mutation in this world yet.
Neji lets the silence linger, just because it’s kind of funny watching her practically liquify in front of him. Then, he crosses his arms, and she almost jumps at the motion. “The next time you decide to rudely stalk me…” Sweat appears on her forehead. “Make sure not to get caught, because I won’t be so clement.”
“It won’t happen again.” She says tersely. When he only raises a condescending eyebrow, there’s actually a spark of irritation on her face before it smooths out again.
“Alright then. Leave me alone.” Nomad doesn’t disappoint. She turns on her heel and sprints out of the alleyway, at a speed kind of impressive considering Neji knows she can’t use chakra.
The next day, Neji goes out as soon as Hiromi’s snoring can be heard from her bedroom. His hair is pulled up in a tight ponytail, and sunglasses are perched on his nose. He figures he looks sort of funny, with his bright knitted sweater, rundown pants, and the cap on top of his head, but he surprisingly doesn’t feel self-conscious, even when people turn to look at him a little longer than appropriate.
He figures that at some point he should go out of his way to actually buy himself clothes, instead of constantly looting Hiromi’s wardrobe. It is what it is.
Neji blends in with the crowd in the subway. It’s still a little astonishing to sit next to people with mutations, but what surprises him more is how fast he’s getting accustomed to– this whole situation. He likes to think he’s handling being violently thrust into another dimension relatively well, barring one or two panic attacks. He also reckons his byakugan would be considered a mutation, in this world, even if it feels crude to minimize his heritage in such a simplistic way.
Neji exits the subway at his stop in Hosu. It’s kind of– scratch that, it’s honestly impressive. There are skyscrapers, so high it makes him dizzy when he cranes his neck to peer at them. The closest thing he has seen that resembles it is the Hokage tower, and even then it pales in comparison to the dazzling heights the edifices can reach. The streets are buzzing with activity, not unlike his homeland, but the mixing of colors, clothes, and builds makes each and every individual look unique.
The culture here is so mind-numbingly different from what he knows, because in Konoha, unspoken rules had been a core element of society, whether it be in fashion, etiquette, or appearance. Even his clan had been strict about unity: no one was expected to stand out (long hair, similar black and white robes, reminiscent of the yin yang.) Fitting in was primordial. It was another thing Hinata had been struggling with at the time, what with her innate open-mindedness, and another thing Neji will never stop admiring about her. She’s always had a strong mind, and had been stubborn to a fault.
In a more general way, people had been unforgiving to anyone that didn’t fit the criteria, especially so in the civilian districts. Now that he thinks about it, the irony is striking. The civilians could be crueler than the shinobi population in more than one way.
(He thinks of Naruto, and his chest aches briefly for him.)
Neji stops on the roof of a building overseeing the city, and wonders for a fleeting moment when did he start thinking of his homeland in the past tense. It’s not a pleasant thought, so he chases it away.
The night is still young, and stars shine in the night sky like little beacons of light. Distantly, he wonders if, somehow, his comrades and him share the same sky. Neji couldn’t recognize constellations to save his life, so he is left pondering. Maybe it’s better that way.
He has plenty of time to spare before his meeting with the mysterious ‘Giran’. Time he intends to spend exploring the city, and most importantly scout the surroundings of the meeting place ahead of time. In situations like this, it is best to expect the worst. That and he didn’t expect anything good from a man who had reached out to him in such a shady way.
He locates the hospital Nomad spoke about easily enough. It is fairly large, with large windows and two signs at the front that read: ‘Hosu General Hospital’ Apart from this, it is not remarkable in any way. Neji doesn’t dare to go inside, but he does peek at the state of the building with his byakugan. The staff seems busy, but their uniforms remain mostly devoid of stain and the patients are well cared for from what he can see. Most of them are elderly. It’s a lot less crowded and a lot less bloody than what he remembers of Konoha’s hospital.
Next, he stops at a shopping center. He’s mostly interested in clothes, but what they offer is not even remotely close to what Neji usually wears. He’s disheartened as he sees the colorful, wildly impractical clothes and nearly screams in outrage when he realizes some pants have fake pockets. Just who created this abomination? For what purpose? Neji sure doesn’t want to get involved with whatever atrocity this is.
Not like he could anyway. He doesn’t have any money, and he certainly won’t ask Hiromi for any.
It’s just dark enough for the city to light up when he exits the center. In the streets, large signs and advertising screens beam in the darkness. The crowd moves on, looking largely uninterested in them, probably used to it. To him, it’s impressive, and almost as obnoxious as the eccentricity he’s managed to witness from the military of this place.
Their armors– well, he can’t really call it armor, but their… their attires are very bright, offering absolutely no stealth. Sometimes skin tight, sometimes cumbersome. Always inefficient. No protections to any vital part of the body, rarely any pockets, pouches, or weapons. No uniformity, no headbands, no flags. And– last but not least, capes.
Odd people, for sure. Or maybe Neji is the odd one here. Either way, he stands by the statement that all of this, whatever this is, is just really unnecessary and extravagant.
Soldiers are servants of the state. They don’t need recognition, they don’t need silly costumes, and they sure as hell don’t need fame! (He would be extremely dense not to notice the dumbstruck looks civilians give them, the ads, the autographs, the way they stand straight and proud, basking in the attention.)
He tails some of them, and they don’t even notice (again, Neji refrains from making a mean comment in his head.) From what he’s gathered, there are two major divisions in this district– or agencies, as they call it. Team Idaten and Endeavor Agency. They seem to stay out of each other’s way, Neji has rarely seen any of their patrol’s overlapping each other, though it is true Idaten seems to rely greatly on numbers and teamwork among themselves. Endeavor’s soldiers use less teamwork, but they’re flashier and perhaps more efficient in a way, swiftly taking down threats without holding back.
Neji doesn’t feel the need to get close to any of the agencies, as he is still wildly unsure if he can take any of them on safely if push comes to shove. Sure, he remains unimpressed by everything he has seen today, but from the way the people practically worship them, they must have some sort of merit (he’s also uncomfortable going against people he has no information about.)
The time of the meeting nears. Neji easily finds the warehouse with the tiger street art, it is located not very far away from the hospital, as Nomad informed, and in a noticeably less crowded, shadier part of the district as well.
The warehouse itself looks unassuming. Unoccupied, by the looks of it, and void of any furniture inside. The main door is condemned with tape, apparently because of the instability of the place. Series of windows line its gray, rundown walls. The tiger street art, only remarkable landmark, is a huge piece of work that stretches over the whole height of one wall. Its dull orange and dark fur clash well with the toxic pink outlines, and its eyes seem to stare right at your soul, waiting for a moment of vulnerability. Neji finds that he quite likes it, despite his lack of knowledge in the art.
Neji eyes one of the windows and places the palm of his hand on its cold, smooth surface. He needs gloves, he thinks absentmindedly. He pushes against it and lets himself in through the gap created, sucking in his stomach and twisting his body to fit. He sticks to one of the inner walls with chakra and walks quietly to the ground.
In front of him stands a man, back facing him, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. The description provided by Nomad fits. The man has slicked back pepper gray hair, a stubble, and narrow eyes like those of a fox. He is slightly slouching, and a pair of round glasses sit haphazardly on his nose, threatening to fall, reinforcing that image of devil-may-care he has going on. He’s also wearing a beige scarf and an obnoxious purple suit. Neji wonders what it is with people here and constantly being obnoxious.
Neji observes for a moment longer, distantly amused that Giran still hasn’t noticed him, before loudly clearing his voice. Giran jumps and abruptly turns around, catching his cigarette before it can hit the ground.
“White-Eyes.” The man greets after a moment, putting out his cigarette. Neji’s eyebrows draw together at the nickname.
Seeing his reaction, Giran chuckles, though it sounds anything but genuine. “That’s what folks call you in the streets, by the way, seeing as you don’t have a villain name yet.” Neji blinks. ‘Villain name’? What is this, one of his little cousin’s cartoons? Does Giran expect him to announce himself ‘Great Big Bad Destroyer of Worlds’ or something?
Neji doesn’t know what to say to this, so he settles for glaring at him, displaying the power of the Great Big Bad Destroyer of Worlds and his white eyes.
“I’m Giran.” the man introduces himself with a carefree dip of his head, unperturbed by the silence. “Nomad is still pretty new to the scene, I hope she didn’t give you any trouble?”
“She hasn’t.” he answers coldly.
“Ah, so you do talk.”
“I do.” his tone freezing cold, again.
“I’d say, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen an up-and-coming vigilante make a name for themself so fast.” Giran says, looking him up and down with a ‘I know something you don’t’ smile. Whatever he wants, Neji decides that he doesn’t like him. What even is a vigilante anyway?
Neji stares blankly. “Excuse me?”
Giran hums. “You’ve gotten quite famous in the underground, you know.” No, he did not know, but something about the way it was said clues him that it is not the ‘Can I have your autograph’ famous and more of an ‘I want your head on a spike’. He did beat up a lot of people, now that he thinks about it.
“You know, you’re a hard man to keep track of, with all the disappearing and jumping on roofs. But I’m something of a professional. Let’s see, what was her name again…” Giran rubs his chin, “Hah!… Hiromi Tanaka, is it?”
The palm of Neji’s hand comes crashing into the space next to Giran’s head, the wall crumbling under his touch. A cloud of dust rises from the destruction, coating the top of Giran’s hair and Neji’s forearm.
“You’ll find that threatening me is a particularly bad idea.” Neji grips, the bulging veins around his eyes no doubt slightly creeping the man out from this close.
Giran chuckles, a hint of sweat on his forehead. “So that’s how you do it.”
“I don’t have time for your little games, Giran. What do you want?”
The man chuckles again, then holds his hands up. “Okay, I think we both got off on the wrong foot, friend.”
“Friend?” Neji’s dark expression must be telling, because Giran instantly backtracks.
“We could be friends. I can give you anything you want: fame, allies, money…” At the mention of money, Neji’s interest is piqued. A wide grin splits Giran’s face in two, and he feels annoyance spark in his chest at being read so easily. Rookie mistake.
“Don’t look so smug.” Neji snaps, and Giran holds his hands up in surrounder again, good-natured.
The young man huffs, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll bite. What would you want in return?”
“How about you back off a little so we can talk?” Neji lingers, his eyes boring into Giran’s as a last, silent warning: don’t try anything. Then, he steps away.
The man lets out a discreet sigh of relief. All things considered, Neji thinks Giran is pretty composed for someone who very nearly got his face caved in. But then again, as a broker, he might be used to dealing with violent people and their volatility.
“You see, I believe in the equivalent exchange policy…” He trails off.
“Well, don’t make me ask.” Neji beckons for him to continue, rolling his eyes at the dramatic pause.
Giran grins, his smile crooked and lazy in a way that must be the man’s trade signature. “You run a couple of errands for me, and in exchange I pay you money. Or information, allies… Anything that’s in my reach.”
“And I assume you have quite the ‘reach’, then?”
“You could say that.” Giran nods, and Neji can see it’s not a careless show of overconfidence, but rather the undeniable truth. Or at least it seems so, and Neji would like to put some trust in his ability to judge someone’s character.
“What do you mean by ‘errand?’”
“A delivery here, a good beat up there… It really depends on what missions you’re willing to take. But you don’t seem to have any qualms against beating people up, so that should open some doors for you.” Was that a stab at him just now?
Neji flexes his fingers at his side, reminding Giran that, 1. yes, he very much doesn’t mind smacking people, and 2. It is very likely that Giran himself will be his next victim.
Giran clears his voice. “Well, what I’m trying to say is people like us have to stick together.”
Neji stiffens. “Like us?”
Giran shrugs in his usual casual way, then spreads out his arms. “Heroes bask in the limelight while some people have to hide, pick up the scraps and try to survive somehow.” he says, the easy smile he’d been carrying this whole meeting slipping away. “While you are strong, few people really go far in the underground without connections.” Neji can agree with that, bitterly. As much as beating up lowly thieves helped let out some steam, he is still as lost as the first time he awoke in this world. It’s frustrating, in a way, for a man who doesn’t know anything about Neji's circumstances to be right about him.
He won’t admit it, though. Of course not.
Giran fishs out something from his pocket, and extends it to Neji. It’s a black device folded onto itself, shiny in the light. The man introduces it as an ‘untraceable phone’ with his number already in it. Neji scrutinizes it for a moment before cautiously taking it, not wanting the broker to suspect he actually has no idea how to use that thing or what he’s supposed to do with a ‘number.’
“Contact me if you’re interested. But keep this in mind, you’re bound to attract the kind of attention you don’t want if you keep this up. Some people are angry at you for messing with their friend, brother, cousin, whoever the fuck…” Neji doesn’t reply.
“You also seem to think you’re above the rest of us, but there’s only a fine line between a villain and a vigilante.” With those last parting words, Giran turns and exits.
-
The next morning comes. The sun has barely risen and Hiromi is already swinging her feet from the side of her bed, and shuffling around in her kitchen in her fluffy slippers preparing tea.
Neji is a tight bundle of nerves and guilt on the couch, desperately trying not to smash his own cup of tea atop his head and give himself a concussion, maybe knock himself out for a day or two if he’s lucky, so he doesn’t have to deal with the bullshit he caused. He feels like a kid again, waiting for punishment after he did or said something he wasn’t supposed to.
Hiromi is nursing her cup close to her chest where she sits in her armchair, relishing in its warmth. Her record player is playing an old jazz song, just one of those relics of the past that had since long been replaced by more modern gadgets. Hiromi shifts once, smooths out the wrinkles in her robes, and says without looking at him: “If you’ve got something to say, just say it now. I can hear you thinking from over there.”
Again, Neji truly wants to berate himself for being such an open book for anyone who cares enough to look, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He’s too busy trying to ignore the gut-wrenching guilt he’s experiencing for that.
He busies his lip between his teeth, and decides to just bite the bullet. “Are you attached to this house?”
Hiromi looks up, blinks, and says slowly. “... As attached as I am to my microwave, I’d say. I’m not really emotionally attached to my house, no.”
Neji hums and nods. He can’t look her in the eyes, but he can hear her clothes rustling as she sits up straight and stares.
“Neji.” He tenses. “What is it?”
Neji inhales. “I have gotten you in trouble, and those people may or may not know your address. There’s a ninety five percent chance, I suppose. I deeply apologize, even if this means nothing, it wasn’t my intention to drag you into my mess. I swear that I will stop contacting you as soon as I pay you back for everything, including finding you a new house with a new address. I will personally make sure–”
Hiromi stands up. “What are you–”
“-- that no one is foolish enough to even think about glancing at you the wrong way, so please–”
Hiromi takes him by the shoulders and shakes him lightly. “Neji, please. Breathe.”
Neji exhales. His hands are shaking.
“What are you saying?” And Hiromi sounds mildly horrified, which is fair, but it’s such a deep stab at Neji’s already swelling culpability that he just blinks up at her for a moment, speechless.
“I am so sorry.” Neji apologizes, voice not quite as level as normal. “You should’ve never brought me here.”
“Child, please slow down.” Hiromi shakes him. “What did you do? Are you in danger?”
“No, no. It’s you– they can use you as leverage against me.”
“Who?” Neji gapes at her for a few seconds. Should he admit to his nightly escapades? To his brutalizing people in her name? Absolutely not!
“I apologize, I can’t tell you.” She stares at him hard, lips pressed into a thin line.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Neji repeats. Hiromi stops touching him and goes to stand next to the window, staring out with an unreadable expression.
Then, she shakes her head. “It is way too early for this, kid.”
“I know. I should’ve waited until noon.” he says in a quiet voice. “Sorry.”
Hiromi shakes her head again.
Days pass, and Hiromi begins to either donate or sell stuff she doesn’t need anymore and doesn’t imagine herself packing and transporting to her future house. In the meantime, she teaches Neji how to use his phone after seeing him gaze at it for a good ten minutes with a thousand yard stare. Of course, they had phones in his world, but ninjas rarely ever used them and they were also very different from the models here.
Hiromi also quickly starts teaching him how to use her old, dust-collecting computer. It’s slow and laggy, but Neji can be patient when he wants to, so he begins looking for a suitable house for Hiromi with it. He notes down several locations in a stray piece of paper and scouts every last one of them, in the day and night alike.
The ones with bad neighborhoods are immediately left out. Slowly, painstakingly, he rules out locations until only one is left. From then, it’s not hard to find the landlord’s address and… ‘convince’ them to let Hiromi settle in without paying. Of course, he’s no thief, and he will pay the gentleman his due eventually, but it is just not possible as of now. He is still very much broke.
On the side, he finds a cheap studio for rent in Setagaya, a ward of Tokyo. It is crossed by many rails which makes it ideal to swiftly travel to Shibuya, Shinjuku or any other location by train, although he’ll have to be careful to avoid the rush hour or any security cameras. It’s also reputed for its large population, which will help him blend in if anything. Of course, more people means more military scrutiny, but Neji is fairly sure he can deal with those embarrassing spandex wearing donkeys if they decide he’s suspicious enough to warrant a visit to the police station (and he is, but he doesn’t wish to repeat the experience.)
Before this, his primary worry is to find a way to forge papers for himself (because he is essentially nonexistent in this world, and renting anything in his situation will be hard, less alone an apartment.) and possibly do so for Hiromi as well, considering Giran already knows her name and it would be easy to track her down anywhere following this trail. It’s still something he needs to address with the woman herself, and he is anything but impatient.
It’s been a week since their meeting when Neji finally texts Giran. He sends a simple ‘I’m in.’ and promptly smashes his phone against the cement. Hiromi told him that phone numbers can be tracked, and while Giran did tell him it is untraceable, Neji isn’t about to trust him. He’s a ninja, being distrustful is kind of in the application form.
Then, because he is bitter and upset (and also a petty little thing when people dare threaten what’s his), Neji goes to find the man himself. He’s pretty sure he knows Hosu like the back of his hand by the time he’s done scouting the place like a maniac and memorizing every alley, every apartment complex, every notable landmark, every shop there is.
Giran is sitting on a stool in a dimly lit bar when Neji appears behind him and abruptly clears his voice.
The bartender gives an odd, half-aborted flinch at his appearance, the glass in his hands almost crashing into the counter if not for his swift reflexes. Giran doesn’t fare so well. The man jumps so hard he’s knocked out of his seat and falls to the ground with a crash, his glasses flying off somewhere.
Neji smiles, slow and intentional. Because it’s all about the unspoken statement: ‘I can find you wherever, whenever you are, no matter with whom you are. You can never hide from me.’
The bar falls silent, eyes falling onto him.
He’s nailed it, clearly. Not that he didn’t expect anything else from himself. Giran shakily stands back up, legs a little wobbly, and greets him with a voice a little too cheerful to be genuine. The man rubs his hands together, runs one of them through his hair, and pats the stool next to him once he’s back onto his own.
“You never answered my text.” casually, like they’re old friends doing some catching up.
Neji half-shrugs, smiling. “I broke the phone.”
“Ah,” Giran brings his glass to his lips to buy himself some time. “That's unfortunate. Have you thought about the offer, then?” It’s an useless question, as he already sent him his answer, more a conversation starter than anything. The bartender scurries off somewhere else and pretends to be busy.
Neji finally takes the seat, seemingly completely at ease. “It’s a very appealing offer.”
Giran chuckles, and taps his fingers against the counter. “Can I buy you anything?” Saying Neji is very, very satisfied by the sudden change in dynamics between them would be an understatement.
“I don’t drink.” Technically not a lie. He also doesn’t want to get poisoned.
Neji turns to him, eye-smiling like Kakashi would, and starts in a faux pleasant way, not leaving time for Giran to answer: “I was thinking we could arrange something, to celebrate the start of our beautiful friendship.”
Giran pauses, disturbed by the impromptu change of personality. “And what would that be?”
“Our very first exchange of interests, of course. Though I believe it is a conversation for another place.”
“Right.” Giran clears his voice. “Of course, of course.”
They exit the bar, and Giran leads the way to another location. Neji relishes in the way the man’s anxiety shows in his irregular steps, tense shoulders, or in the way his hands flex at his sides, as Neji walks behind him and does his best to absolutely burn a hole in the back of his head with his eyes. It’s like a reward.
They stop in a deserted alleyway, far enough from the main street that the sounds of urban life seem like a distant buzz. Giran regards him for a long time, lips pressed in a hard line, and the lazy smile he had carried throughout their last meeting nowhere to be found.
“I need you to introduce me to some of your friends, you see.” Neji demands. Again, Giran’s expression is truly gratifying. He's going to chew that man up and spit him out, just how lowly scum like him deserve.
No one bosses around a Hyuga, less alone threaten them, without consequences.