Chapter Text
It’s a glitch in the system that catches Etho. Something about the new spears – it must’ve ruptured a new wire, and now Etho’s stuck… somewhere new.
It’s not a fresh world, that much he can tell by the grand structures already built in the area. They’re not actually all that impressive, though, so it might just be a regular, casual server.
Etho struggles to his feet – he’d been knocked off them when Tango’s spear ripped through his chest and accidentally thrown him into another world – with a huff. He brushes the dirt off himself and wanders towards the walled town laying in wait.
The guards at the entrance barely even look up when he dawdles past, and he even gets a few friendly waves once he makes it into the town.
Overall, it’s a bit strange. Maybe the people on this server are just very kind. And they live close together. And there are a lot of them. Etho’s decided he isn’t too sure about this world. His own world, plus hermitcraft, is all he needs.
“Kakashi-sensei!” someone calls.
Etho pauses, having eyed a cozy looking ramen hole-in-the-wall nearby. It smells delicious, and– Etho checks his inventory– he doesn’t have any food on him.
“Kakashi-sensei,” repeats the voice, much closer, almost right up in his face, and Etho glances over his shoulder to see what’s going on.
A man stands next to him, smiling kindly at him. The man has olive tanned skin, long brown hair, and a scar across his nose.
“I like your hair, Kakashi-sensei – I’ve never seen it so… tame.” says the man, and he’s definitely talking to Etho.
Etho frowns and reaches up to pat his own head. His hair feels the same as always – a bit messy, but mostly controlled, and enough out of his eyes that he doesn’t constantly need to be pushing it back when he’s working on his latest projects.
But who’s Kakashi?
The man’s eyes drift down.
“That’s… new,” he says hesitantly, gesturing vaguely at Etho’s jacket.
It’s a classic, old thing, with a polar bear fur collar, and a shade of green that still hasn’t faded no matter how old the thing is. Redstone dust has managed to tint the bottom of the jacket, though, and the buttons were replaced with a metal zipper years ago. A red maple leaf on a white backdrop sits neatly sewn into the upper left arm.
Etho likes his jacket. This man doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.
“It’s actually quite old,” Etho says, because it is, and the man narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“I’ve never seen you wear it before,” he says, as if he’s caught Etho in some sort of big lie.
Etho distantly wonders who this man thinks he is.
“I’ve been wearing this skin since the beginning of the Craft,” Etho tells him – and it’s the truth. He has. He’s changed his skin once or twice, but mostly as a joke, and jokes don’t really count.
The man takes a step back.
“Alright, very funny,” he says slowly, “But you should know – the sandaime’s waiting for you.”
Sandaime, thinks Etho– who’s that?
“Okay,” says Etho, keen on getting the man off his case, no matter how kind he seems to be.
The man takes this as an answer of sorts, and gives him a short nod, still looking very suspicious, before walking away.
"You should cover your eye," the man calls over his shoulder as he leaves.
Etho’s left alone, in the middle of the street, in some place he’s never been before.
Time to find Sandaime. Whoever they are.
Etho flicks his wrist monitor open, and glances at the xp bar. It’s green. There aren’t any heads. The last time he saw that was last season, in the tenth world. It occurs to Etho that he might very well be lost. Just a bit. Not a lot. Hopefully.
Next, he opens up his inventory. Somehow, everything’s still there. At least he doesn’t have to start again from scratch.
He pulls out his elytra. As much as he hates the bird’s-eye-view, he’ll have to start the search from up above if he wants to be efficient. It sounds like this Sandaime character wants his presence, effective immediately.
Flying above the rooftops, he finds himself faced with a mountain covered in stone heads carved into the cliff-face.
Etho pauses. As odd as this world is, organisms are difficult – he’s heard as much from Scar and Gem – and these faces are pretty realistic. Not as good as a hermit’s handicrafts, but that isn’t the point.
Beneath the rocky mountain faces sits a large building with three circular structures. It looks pretty grand, so Etho decides to make his way towards it.
He catches a glimpse of people gawking up at him, staring, wide-eyed, as he flies past. Elytras must not be common here, then. Or maybe flying’s banned– no, if that were the case, he’d have been kicked by now.
Etho lands at the building’s base and wanders inside. He’s a bit of an explorer. New places always interest him.
Inside, he’s spotted immediately.
And this time, people are definitely staring. They aren’t even hiding it– he’s openly getting stared at. Astonished stares of disbelief. Etho hopes very much that these people haven’t heard of him. It’s always awkward when people recognise him.
He approaches what looks to be the front desk and smiles at the lady sitting behind it. Not that she would know, what with the mask covering his face.
She’s staring, too.
“I– Hatake-san–” she stammers.
“Who’s Hatake?” Etho asks. It’s probably a stupid question to ask, and he’s going to get a whole other bout of questions because of it, but it’s worth the bother.
The desk lady gawks at him.
“You are, Hatake-san,” she says. She doesn’t actually sound that surprised that he seemingly doesn’t know his own name. She’s still much more entranced by his jacket.
Etho inspects it closer. Maybe there’s void blood on it? It’s rare that Etho bleeds, but sometimes, at his weakest, he might nick himself and have void seeping out of him for a couple of seconds before the wound seams itself shut.
But no, there’s no blood, no sign of the void, and no sort of injury.
“I– er, I’m looking for Sandaime?” says Etho when the lady continues to (quite rudely) stare.
“Y-yes, of course you are… he’s in his office.”
“And where’s that?”
The lady’s eyes narrow with confusion. “Where it… usually is?” she attempts.
Etho sighs and gives her a polite nod, before finding a hallway he can disappear down.
Sandaime, as it turns out, is some sort of ruler. Etho’s never really liked servers with a hierarchy. They just don’t fit, for some reason. (Etho knows the reason. It’s the bloodshed. The three-life system of that old SMP that went down in flames.)
He’s still polite, though, so he knocks on the door of the Sandaime’s office and waits for someone to answer it before walking in.
A group of people are waiting inside, standing in front of an old guy smoking a pipe. The old guy, Etho presumes, is the Sandaime. His wrinkles crinkle with mirth as he spots Etho.
“Kakashi,” greets the old man. “How nice of you to join us.”
“Er– yeah. Sure.” says Etho. “So… what’s going on?”
He can’t help but notice how everyone but the Sandaime is wearing some sort of uniform. Either a dull green jacket or gray vests. Two gray-vested people, a young boy and girl, stand on either side of the Sandaime. The green jackets all stand in front of the Sandaime, staring at Etho with badly concealed shock.
“You’re on time,” comments one of them – he’s smoking absently on a cigarette.
“Am I not supposed to be?” says Etho.
Being ‘on time’ isn’t a very big deal in Hermitcraft. They’re all very relaxed about those sorts of things, but it is still rude to be overly late.
“You’re never on time,” says cigarette-man.
“Well, now I am,” decides Etho, because why not.
“Anbu tells me you’ve discovered a new transportation method,” says the Sandaime, his old, dreary eyes twinkling with amusement.
Etho frowns. Does he mean the elytra? Are elytras really that unheard of here?
“Not really,” he begins, but the Sandaime doesn’t seem to be listening.
“I’m sure you’ve realised why I’ve gathered you here today,” starts the old man, sucking at his pipe. A cloud of smoke wafts through the air.
“I take it all the other lands have already been notified,” says cigarette-man, still eyeing Etho wearily.
Is him being on time really such a big deal? Whoever this Kakashi character is, they must have one hell of a lazy streak.
“I’ve seen other genin in the village,” he continues. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon?”
“When do we start?” challenges a lady, one that distinctly isn’t wearing a green jacket. Instead she wears a dress and red lipstick.
“You have one week,” says the Sandaime.
A week for what? And what are genin?
“Take note – the chuunin exams will begin on the first day of July.”
Etho hesitantly raises his hand.
The Sandaime blinks in surprise. “Yes?” he says.
“What’re the chuunin exams?”