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The morning after the festival was off to a slow start. Parties dragged long into the night had robbed this morning’s fresh exuberance, and that went double—perhaps even triple—for the Hyūga’s hive of workers. Maids tottered around with zombified persistence completing their tasks through the molasses of the grog. The festive adjustments to their uniforms had been done away with and the observant viewer would notice a number of oddities.
Despite the slowed pace, work appeared to be getting done at an even faster rate than normal—a tribute to their disciple, perhaps?
Hinagiku mused to herself. Though she wouldn’t usually have missed the chance to marvel at her Clan’s industriousness, even it could not account for the increased work-output. That honor of that achievement went directly to the maid corps themselves, and their leader Natsu, who had mobilized them in their numbers.
Under normal circumstance only a fraction of the Hyūga’s maids were on duty at any point in time, however, having judged that their normal numbers would not be enough to tackle the herculean task of festival clean-up, the entire maid corps had been put to work which made their internal structure more apparent that it usually was otherwise.
The casual observer would soon notice there were four different uniforms and a keen observer would note that an inversely proportional relationship between how oriental the style of a dress was and the number of maids wearing it. The observer with keen eyes and an astute mind would likely guesstimate—and they would be correct—that the dresses denoted rank and the more oriental the uniform, the higher the maid’s rank.
Generally, maids above the second rank were hardly ever seen wondering the Clan, their duties were often far more specific than the first-class maid who handled cleaning and daily chores. However, regardless of their ranks, each maid that passed by the main residence gave a bow and a slight giggle before continuing her work.
“Uwuwu—" Furījia could hardly think of a more embarrassing situation as she flailed with discomfort.
“I-I’m too old for this!”
For the past few minutes, she had been helplessly confined to her mother’s lap as the duo occupied a bench just outside the main residence. Given her short stature and flushed cheeks, she looked like a lass who shied upon ten winters rather than the dignified heiress on the cusp of adolescence.
“Nonsense darling, you’ll never be too old for this~”
Cheerfully, Hina shot down her daughter’s attempt to worm herself out of her grasp. The fifth such attempt since morning and the last one, it would appear, as Furījia sighed and accepted her fate. The mother-daughter pair snuggled closer, both lapsing into silence and nostalgia. How long had it been since they last held each other like this? A year…? Perhaps two?
Neither wanted to interrupt this idle bliss, but it was eventually Hina who spoke first.
“I heard you dealt with the Taketori and Kohinata Clans in my place…? Tell me about it.”
She had spoken slowly, tentatively, and admittedly with a bit of wonderment, as she addressed her daughter. Pride was apparent in the curl of her lips, but as she listened to Furījia recount her experiences, the girl’s face growing more bitter with every line, her smile faded. Guilt twisted in her stomach, but even more vile was the realization of just how much she had neglected her daughter and just how far the girl has strayed along a road she was not meant to walk.
“I hated it…but I’d hate it, even more, to let everyone down. I understand what I need to do, so I’ll make the sacrifice.”
As Furījia finished her story, silence reigned between them and the girl’s final words stirred Hinagiku’s thoughts. She was…conflicted.
On one hand, Furījia was correct. There was a place for sacrifice in the world they lived in; she might even go as far as to say sacrifice was the lens through which a leader viewed the world. Every decision needed to be weighed and each choice wrought its own sacrifice, this was even more so when your choices forced sacrifice upon others. That was the reality of leadership and although she was glad Furījia had learned this lesson within the comfort of the village, rather than on the battlefield—where she herself had learned it—she couldn’t help but feel the cost was too high.
The pillars of the village today, its movers and shakers, had all be tempered in the furnace of War. They were a generation forced into maturity all-too-soon as the Third Shinobi War wrestled away the last vestiges of their childhoods and revealed to them the reality of what they truly were—soldiers.
That shocking transition from child to soldiers…
It was something she had desperately wanted her daughter to avoid, but it now appeared to her that her methodology was not as effective as she had initially conceived. Her focus had been on simulating a trial-by-fire within the safe confines of the Clan and Village but now she realized just like a rose, trauma by any other name was just as sweet...
While her mother stirred in thought, the silence for Furījia grew increasingly unbearable. As the silence was drawn out and her mother’s praise was…less than forthcoming, Furījia's thoughts took a turn for the worst. Panic had set in and made its throne from the seat of her self-persecution. She could hear the maids giggle, but it no longer sounded as innocent and teasing as before. Now it was mocking and filled with schadenfreude. Even as they walked out of sight, she could still hear them whispering behind her back the same questions which filled her mind.
What had she done? Had she ruined the Hyūga’s relationship with two of their closest allies? What had she been thinking! Did she really believe that she would have been able to settle a negotiation? No way. She couldn’t do it before, and she still couldn’t do it now.
Once again, the truth was apparent. She couldn’t be her mother, and she never would be.
In spite of her mother’s arms wrapped around her—or perhaps, because of them—she was unbearable cold. She felt naked and vulnerable, an inmate awaiting their sentence in the comfort of her chilly cell. Her hands had balled into fists, frustration welling inside her as she trembled. She had tried her hardest and her best, but now she was tired. She wanted nothing more than to wail wretchedly with her fists wrought to wreak havoc on the confines of her cell.
). However, I think it’s kind of long overdue now and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting another moment like that soon. 
) yet Kiro still doesn’t have it lel
