Emotions

Back in the present, Gaara sat quietly, still pondering Shukaku's cryptic words. Despite the tailed beast's attempt at clarification, Gaara couldn't fully grasp the meaning. Shukaku, sensing his confusion, sighed before continuing.

"Humans fear what they can't comprehend," Shukaku said, voice low. Gaara furrowed his brow, still unsure of the point.

"Generally, all you humans are the same," Shukaku continued, "however, you bear within you a great and handsome beast which your fellow Shinobi fear. That makes you, in their eyes, an automatic object of fear."

Gaara's mind started to piece together the concept of dominance that Shukaku had referred to. He took a deep breath, the realization slowly settling within him. It wasn't just about strength—it was about what others saw in him because of Shukaku's presence inside him. A fear of the unknown, the dangerous power he held within.

Sitting down, Gaara resumed his chakra control exercises, trying to center himself as he reflected on the brief encounter with the First host of Shukaku. The memory lingered with him, a reminder of the sacrifices and struggles of those who came before him. But even with that understanding, doubt still crept into his mind.

Shukaku, sensing the disturbance in Gaara's thoughts, spoke up, his tone surprisingly reassuring. "There was no way he would have gotten past your defense."

Gaara nodded, but a nagging question still troubled him. "I know that... But you don't always need to get past someone's defense to cause damage. What if he did somehow get through? What if the poison had touched me, or worse, what if it was too potent for even my defense to purge?"

Gaara's mind drifted back to the poison that had once seeped into his body. While Shukaku could protect him, the side effects of the poison—or the possibility that it could be too powerful for his defenses—kept him from feeling fully invincible.

"I don't want to be deceived by the thought of being undefeated, even though I have knowledge of the possible future," Gaara murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.

Shukaku, understanding Gaara's inner conflict, spoke up again, his voice steady and clear. "There is nothing you can do except grow at your own pace. You are still too young to be pushing yourself this hard."

The words hit Gaara like a wave. He froze for a moment as the realization struck him—he was still in the body of a six-year-old, not yet fully grown, still learning the limits of his power.

"True," Gaara said softly, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. "I need to relax... take a break."

Shukaku's voice grew slightly warmer, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You need experience. Consider your missions a vacation—do it for fun, for learning. It'll help you accumulate experience that way."

Gaara almost spoke again, but he stopped himself. He understood that pressing Shukaku for more would be pushing his luck—he had already received a great deal of wisdom just from their conversation.

Instead, Gaara's curiosity led him to ask, "...Don't you ever take a break?"

There was a long pause, and Gaara could almost feel the shift in the atmosphere. Shukaku's response came, but it was cold, tinged with bitterness. He didn't respond verbally; instead, Gaara could feel the tailed beast's emotions—resentment and a deep-seated frustration.

Gaara understood then—Shukaku couldn't take a break because of the constant burdens the Shinobi had placed upon him, controlling him for their own purposes. The very same Shinobi who had shaped Gaara's fate.

"Thank you," Gaara said quietly, offering a soft, sincere acknowledgment. He then turned back to his chakra exercises, refocusing on his training.

Meanwhile, in the next room, Temari sat quietly, lost in thought. She wasn't idle, her mind racing over the mission's events. After a while, she stood up abruptly, walking away with a purpose, though her exact intentions were unclear.

On the other side of the room, Kankuro, despite the success of their mission, stared at the small tanuki-shaped object that had once been a puppet. His gaze was intense, as if the object held a deeper meaning for him—perhaps a reminder of the complex relationship between the Shinobi, their beasts, and the sacrifices made in the name of protection.

The tension in the air was palpable, as each sibling, though outwardly calm, was processing their own thoughts and emotions in the aftermath of their mission—shaped by the lessons they had learned and the burdens they carried.