Chapter 197: The Clothes Make the Shinobi
What are the consequences of a slip of the tongue? That depends on the person you slip up in front of. Mizuki was just thankful he'd fled the Hokage's office quickly enough. He could still feel the imagined pain of Shizune's poison-tipped senbon—or worse, Tsunade's iron fists. He wasn't confident even Sage Mode could help him tank a direct punch from the Fifth Hokage. A few bruises he could live with, but getting bandaged up right before his wedding? No thanks. He didn't want to show up with a busted face and get mocked for the rest of his life.
He strolled through Konoha's streets, watching as most people passed by in a rush. It was a busy hour. Only someone like Mizuki, who had wrapped up the major responsibilities of the day, had time to wander idly. In truth, even that was an illusion—he was just good at ignoring the minor things and focusing on the essentials. Most of the critical arrangements were already finalized. The rest? He'd improvise.
Typically, weddings between shinobi weren't so rushed. Even during war, the rituals could get elaborate. Mizuki and Koharu's wedding, by comparison, was positively spartan. But when both bride and groom were orphans—war orphans, no less—many traditions simply fell away. There would be no parents to offer blessings, no elders to preside. Just friends, comrades, and witnesses.
However, in place of family blessings, there was an old convention—when no elders could oversee the ceremony, it would be conducted before the gods, invoking their divine witness and protection.
And that was when Mizuki discovered something strange. Among the few gods still worshiped in the shinobi world, the most widespread was none other than the "Rabbit Goddess"—Ōtsutsuki Kaguya.
Yes. That Kaguya. The same woman who would attempt to destroy the world three years from now.
Mizuki had never paid attention to this detail before. But as he delved into the preparations and noticed the ceremonial texts and altars, he realized that faith in the so-called "Rabbit Goddess" had never truly died. Kaguya's legend, wrapped in layers of myth, had survived not as a warning—but as a religion.
Even more startling was that over a thousand years, despite all that had happened—Hagoromo and Hamura sealing her away, the battles of Indra and Asura, the Uchiha and Senju lineages—not a single major figure had attempted to extinguish Kaguya's worship. If anything, it had been allowed to take root and flourish, eventually becoming one of the bedrocks of shinobi culture. It was inconceivable.
Beyond the Rabbit Goddess, Mizuki also found mentions of other divine entities—some familiar, some obscure. "The Sage of Six Paths," "The Shinigami," and even "The Evil God" were referenced in various fringe cults, though only in scraps and fragments. Even so, the realization that such dangerous legacies were still quietly surviving under Konoha's nose left Mizuki deeply uneasy.
But that was a matter for another time. Today, Mizuki had more pressing concerns—like making sure everything was ready for the wedding. And more importantly, that things looked good.
He and Koharu had agreed not to see each other the day before the wedding, so Mizuki spent his time wandering, double-checking, and fine-tuning details. Most of the big decisions had already been made by Koharu. Mizuki had tried to involve himself, but she had insisted on certain things—especially the attire.
He hadn't paid much attention to traditional formalwear before, but Koharu looked stunning in her chosen ensemble: a white kimono embroidered with delicate floral patterns that gave her an air of ethereal grace. Something about her presence had changed. There was a quiet elegance that words couldn't quite capture.
As for Mizuki's own outfit, he'd originally wanted something more reserved—black or dark brown. In the end, they had settled on a deep purple. It suited him well, though Mizuki couldn't shake the feeling that he looked a bit like a villain. With his slightly long, unruly hair and sharp features, if he just dyed it purple, covered one eye with bandages, and started swinging a sword, he'd fit right into a rogue's gallery. Still, he had to admit, it did look good.
Sometimes, he mused, maybe he really should pick up swordsmanship just to match the aesthetic.
…
By the time Mizuki had finished his errands, it was already midday. With nothing better to do and nowhere specific to be, he wandered into a quiet restaurant for a simple lunch. But he had barely taken his seat when Sarutobi Asuma walked in, gruff as ever.
"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour," Asuma said, taking the seat across from him. "Funny seeing you here."
"You too. Couldn't find a place to eat?" Mizuki replied dryly.
He didn't believe in "coincidences." Not when Asuma, who had been glued to Kurenai's side since her injury, suddenly appeared alone in a secluded diner. Mizuki had deliberately chosen this out-of-the-way place to avoid just such interruptions.
"Something like that," Asuma said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
"Been holding back, haven't you?" Mizuki smirked. "Can't exactly smoke around a wounded Kurenai."
Asuma blinked, caught off guard, then gave a rueful chuckle. "How is it you always see right through people?"
"It's not me. You're just bad at hiding it."
"So," Mizuki leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Out with it. You clearly came looking for me. What's going on?"
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