After returning ho, Tsunade pushed open the door to her study and leaned over to rummage through the second shelf of her cabinet.
It didn't take long to find what she was looking for.
The dical records were sandwiched between two dical texts; she pulled them out, intending to slide them into her bag.
Then, her hand stopped.
Next to the records sat a dark blue velvet box, about the size of a fist.
Tsunade stared at it for a few seconds.
She set the records back down and picked up the box.
The velvet was slightly worn. There was no store logo on the bottom, no price tag. She turned it over and inspected it from every angle.
It wasn't hers.
She was one hundred percent certain.
She had never spent a single cent in a jewelry store in her entire life; gambling tables and taverns were the only places her money went.
And yet, it was right there in the cabinet, sitting next to the dical books she leafed through every day.
Tsunade frowned, trying to rember.
She had opened this cabinet last week to retrieve the very book sitting next to the box. Had she seen it then?
She couldn't rember.
It wasn't that she had "overlooked" it—she truly could not recall seeing it. It was as if the object had always been there, and though she had seen it countless tis, she had simply never realized it didn't belong.
The feeling was deeply unsettling.
It was just like those dreams.
The mont that thought surfaced, Tsunade stiffened.
She didn't want to go down that path. She had already put herself through enough turmoil over the past few months. She had already suppressed this.
But the box was in her hand.
It was physical, it had weight; it wasn't a dream.
Tsunade placed the box on her desk, took a step back, and leaned against the bookshelf.
Opening it would give her the answer. If it were empty, or contained so irrelevant trinket, this could all end right now.
She stepped forward, her thumb catching the edge of the lid.
She flicked it open.
A slender silver-white chain lay quietly against the dark velvet, holding a polished blue fluorite pendant. As the moonlight stread through the window, the surface of the fluorite gave off a cold, ghostly blue glow.
Tsunade didn't touch it. Her hand hovered above the chain.
She recognized this necklace.
A sudden image surged into her mind—
A pair of hands reaching around her neck from behind, fingertips brushing aside her long hair to fasten the clasp at the nape of her neck. The tal had been cool, but the pads of the fingers brushing her ear had been warm.
She heard her own voice: "Does it look good?"
The response ca from in front of her, very close.
"The necklace isn't the only thing that looks good."
Tsunade jerked her hand back.
She retreated two steps, her back slamming into the bookshelf. A book tumbled down, striking her shoulder.
The slight sting of pain felt exceptionally real.
She looked down at her hand.
It was shaking.
Her hand hadn't shaken when she faced Hanzo. It hadn't shaken when she reached into the open thoracic cavity of a wounded soldier to clamp a ruptured artery.
And yet, a single necklace had her trembling like this.
Tsunade gritted her teeth and forced herself to sit down, pressing both hands firmly onto her knees.
The feel of the dice, the color of the candy wrappers, the palm of that scarred hand, the warmth of a shoulder leaning against her by a campfire...
When those things appeared in her dreams, she could tell herself that her brain was simply weaving stories. Dreams could fabricate anything.
But a dream couldn't fabricate a real necklace!
Tsunade stared at the box on the table.
A conclusion was right on the tip of her tongue. But speaking it aloud ant that the five months she had spent "moving on" were completely void. It ant those dreams weren't dreams, and that she would have to face sothing she couldn't possibly explain.
She reached out and lifted the necklace.
The silver chain unfurled between her fingers, lighter than she had imagined. The fluorite pendant rested in her palm, a deep, heavy blue under the moonlight.
With her other hand, she touched the green crystal necklace around her neck.
She had worn it for many years; the chain's temperature had long since rged with her own. This necklace had followed her onto battlefields and into casinos; aside from her forehead protector, it was the only thing she had never changed.
But now, she wanted to take it off and put on this mysterious necklace she had only seen in her dreams.
Tsunade knew exactly how absurd this gesture was.
She took it off anyway.
The green crystal necklace was placed gently on the table. She wrapped the blue fluorite chain around her neck and fastened it herself.
The mont the clasp clicked shut, a chill brushed her nape.
It was exactly like the image in her mind, only missing the warmth of those hands.
Tsunade stood up and walked to the full-length mirror.
The blue pendant rested in the hollow of her collarbone. She touched the fluorite, her fingertip tracing its polished curve.
The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger.
She couldn't say why. She just felt that this chain suited her better than the green one.
An irrational kind of suitability.
Tsunade stood before the mirror for a long ti.
Then, she turned around and put the first hokage's green necklace into the box.
'I've put on the necklace that is supposed to belong to .'
'So, what about this one that was supposed to be given to you?'
Tsunade tucked the fluorite pendant inside the collar of her shirt.
She turned and pulled out the file on Kitahara Kaede that she had taken from the ANBU that day.
The last ti she had looked at the photo, she had told herself her eyes were playing tricks on her.
This ti, the necklace pressed against her collarbone.
Tsunade closed the file.
She was going to see him.
She needed to confirm if he was indeed the person from her dreams and figure out exactly what was going on.
***
At dusk, at the Hidden Leaf's South Gate.
Kitahara Kaede, carrying his pack, signed in at the registration desk. The Chunin on duty stamped his entry permit and waved him through.
He hadn't been back in five months.
When he pushed open the door to his apartnt, a thin layer of grey dust covered the table and floor.
Kitahara Kaede opened the windows to air the place out and locked his paynt into a secret compartnt under the bed. After taking a shower and changing his clothes, he sat on the edge of the bed.
He took out two rice balls for a simple dinner.
As he chewed, he suddenly stopped.
His gaze inadvertently fell upon the kitchen counter.
An image floated up into his mind.
Tsunade was standing at the counter, unable to tie her apron with her hands full, asking him for help.
Nawaki was sprawled across the table outside, complaining that he was hungry, only to be scolded by Tsunade for talking too much instead of helping.
The three of them had crowded into that kitchen—arguing, laughing, and sharing countless als.
Kitahara Kaede looked down at the rice ball in his hand.
Cold, hard, and eaten alone.
There was no one in this apartnt waiting for him to return. No one would stand at the counter, turn around, and ask him if he had bought the wrong soy sauce again.
And right now, Tsunade was probably walking down so street in the Hidden Leaf, or working overti at the hospital, or at ho preparing dinner...
Kitahara Kaede stuffed the remaining half of the rice ball into his mouth, chewed hard, and swallowed.
He stood up and set his alarm for five in the morning.
Morning training resud tomorrow; everything would be as usual.
The night grew deep.
He lay on his hard bed, staring at the ceiling. The apartnt was silent, save for the chirping of insects outside the window.
His hand instinctively reached toward the spot where his Omamori was usually kept.
He felt nothing but empty air.
Kitahara Kaede lowered his hand.
He closed his eyes and rolled over, facing the wall.
That image was still in his head.
Tsunade stood at the counter, turned around, and smiled at him.
"I made your favorite dish today. Nawaki is coming over in a bit..."
Under the covers, Kitahara Kaede opened his eyes.
He stared into the darkness for a long ti.
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