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Chapter 73: Of Bread and Bonds
The calculus of the moment was absurd. A stolen loaf of bread, a falling girl, and the weight of a future he shouldn't know.
For someone like Ragnar, whose every decision was calibrated for survival or strategic gain, this was a meaningless divergence. He was Konoha ANBU, deep in enemy territory, on a black-ops assassination mission. He should let the girl fall, let the bread rot, and vanish into the rain before the pursuing civilians could become a complication.
But the names—Yahiko, Konan—echoed in his mind, not as children, but as future architects of pain, idealism, and revolution. Letting this moment play out as it 'should' felt… like a dereliction of a deeper duty. Not to Konoha, but to the timeline itself. A causal link, if forged now, could be a lever to move mountains later.
His decision, when it came, was instantaneous.
He moved.
His right hand shot out with practiced ease, snatching the tumbling loaf from the air a foot before it hit the muddy ground. At the same instant, his left hand darted forward, not with a punch or a grab, but with an open palm that slapped gently against Konan's chest, right over her sternum. It wasn't an impact to hurt, but a perfectly timed, braced stop. The force of her fall was arrested completely, transferred through his arm and into the unyielding ground beneath his feet. She ended up standing, wobbling slightly, her nose inches from his rain-dampened cloak.
He held her there for a second, steadying her, before withdrawing his hand.
"Th-thank you," Konan stammered, her voice small and breathless, like a startled bird's chirp. She looked up at him, her pale violet eyes wide with shock and residual fear. At this age, there was no trace of the cold, paper-wielding angel she would become. Just a hungry, frightened child.
"You're welcome," Ragnar said, his voice flat, giving nothing away. He released her completely.
"Konan! Are you okay?!" Yahiko skidded to a halt, his orange hair plastered to his forehead by rain and sweat. He looked from Konan to Ragnar, confusion warring with relief.
Before Konan could answer, the baker and his two burly helpers finally bulled their way through the last of the gawking crowd.
"THERE! The little thieves! And that one's with them!" the baker roared, pointing a flour-dusted finger accusingly at Ragnar. His logic was brutishly simple: a young person helping thieves must be a thief.
"…" Ragnar stared blankly. The accusation was so absurd it was almost impressive.
Yahiko's face paled. "Konan, run! Now!" he yelled, grabbing her wrist.
Konan, however, hesitated. Her eyes darted to Ragnar, who was now being lumped in with them. He'd helped her. Leaving him to face the angry mob alone felt wrong. A fierce, protective instinct, born from her own constant vulnerability, flared.
"Come with us!" she blurted out, reaching not for his hand, but gripping his forearm tightly with her small, cold fingers. She tried to pull him.
Ragnar's expression shifted minutely, a flicker of something almost like bemusement crossing his features. He didn't resist. He let the small, desperate girl tug him into motion, falling into step beside her as Yahiko led the charge.
The three of them became a fleeing unit. Yahiko, with the desperate cunning of the perpetually hunted, led them through a maze of back alleys and narrow passages he and Konan clearly knew by heart. They ducked under laundry lines, scrambled over low walls, and slipped through gaps in fences. Ragnar moved with them, his own movements effortless and silent, a stark contrast to their panting, scrambling flight.
After a dizzying few minutes, they burst from the edge of town into the sodden wilderness beyond, leaving the shouts of their pursuers far behind.
Huff… huff… huff…
Yahiko bent double, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Konan leaned against a mossy rock, her chest heaving, her face flushed.
Ragnar simply stood, his breathing even and undisturbed. The frantic dash hadn't even registered as exercise for his enhanced physique. He watched them, his mind awhirl with calculations and possibilities.
Yahiko noticed first. He straightened up, wiping his mouth, and looked at Ragnar with open amazement. "You… you're not even winded. That's… amazing."
Konan looked up, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. "I'm… sorry. For getting you chased. For… all of it."
"It's nothing," Ragnar said, his tone still neutral. He then held out the loaf of bread, now slightly muddy from his grip. "Here."
Konan's eyes locked onto the bread, a war playing out on her face. Hunger, a raw, physical ache, battled against her ingrained decency. She shook her head slightly. "No… we got you chased. You should have it."
Ragnar almost smiled. She's starving, and she's refusing food out of guilt. The core of who she would become—loyal, principled, self-sacrificing—was already there. "I don't need it," he stated simply.
"But…" Konan's protest was weak, her gaze still glued to the loaf.
Yahiko, ever the pragmatist, cut in. "Konan, take it. He obviously doesn't want it. We need it." His voice was firm, the voice of a leader making a hard choice for his people, even if his people were just one other girl.
With a look of profound apology at Ragnar, Konan finally reached out and took the bread, clutching it to her chest as if it were a holy relic. "Thank you," she whispered again, her voice thick. "We… we're orphans. This is… the only way we know to keep living."
The confession hung in the rainy air, a simple statement of a brutal reality.
Ragnar looked at them—the fierce, orange-haired boy and the gentle, blue-haired girl, standing in the mud with their stolen prize. A strange echo resonated in his own chest. "So am I," he said quietly. "An orphan."
Konan's head snapped up, her violet eyes wide with surprise and sudden kinship. She scanned him again, noting his clean, if simple, clothes, his healthy appearance. The disparity was confusing, but she didn't question it. Orphans had different paths. Some were just luckier for a time.
Yahiko, however, wasn't one for melancholy. His eyes, sharp with a street-smart intelligence, assessed Ragnar's clear physical superiority. "You're an orphan, but you're strong! Look at you, not even breathing hard! Why are we so different?" He took a step closer, a bold, hopeful grin spreading across his face. "Hey, how about you team up with us? The three of us together! We could do big things! With your strength, we could… we could get more food, find better shelter!"
The offer was blunt, born of necessity and a nascent talent for recruiting. Strength in numbers. It was the first, raw foundation of what would become the Akatsuki's philosophy.
Ragnar's first instinct was a cold, internal no. He was a weapon on a mission. He had a list of names to cross off. Getting entangled with two starving children, no matter their future significance, was a liability, a distraction.
But the thought was followed by another. He'd been moving like a ghost for weeks. Killing, observing, moving on. The Hokage's list was long; progress was incremental. Perhaps a different kind of investment was warranted. Yahiko and Konan. If he inserted himself into their story now, became a part of their foundation… the dividends later could be incalculable. Access. Influence. Perhaps even a way to steer the catastrophic future he knew was coming.
He looked from Yahiko's hopeful, earnest face to Konan's watchful, curious eyes.
The mission could wait a day. The Hokage wanted results, not a schedule.
A faint, almost imperceptible nod. "Alright," Ragnar said. "For a while."
(End of Chapter)
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