[h2][center][color=salmon]~ Seichirō Roga[/color][/center][/h2]
[center][sub]Seichirō's room. The night before Hamajo Day.[/sub][/center]

Seichirō sat on his bed, tracing the left side of his temple with his fingers while he held a mirror in his right hand. He was not showy or flamboyant, but never missed the chance to admire how symmetrical his head looked like after a decent haircut. When it came down to it, he never even bothered to change his hairstyle. His strands were unruly, so much so that Seichirō himself had estimated it would take an entire squadron of hairdressers to get them to obey, even if for a couple of hours. He pondered shaving his head clean, but dismissed the idea out of fear someone might associate him with a monk or worse, make a note of his pineapple-shaped head. In the end, he decided to settle for an undercut for every trimester. It has worked for him, so far.

After gently placing the mirror on the wooden nightstand to the right side of his bed, Seichirō collapsed on top of the neatly fixed sheets. He wasn't exhausted one bit, at least not physically, but he needed himself in good shape for what was to come. As for his psychological state, it was fair to say he was worn out. His day had been spent meticulously dissecting aspects of their plan along with his teammates, then putting them back together to look for any loopholes. Names were tossed around, primarily the names "Aoi Fugeushi" and "Yamato Minamoru", both names which Seichirō had familiarized himself with long before joining the Jiyutai. He'd seen Aoi on TV several times, while he had met Yamato during a Hamajo-funded event in Konohagakure. The second they bumped shoulders, he knew Yamato was someone not to mess with, but he'd made the mistake of discarding Aoi as a government bimbo. 

As he slowly forced his eyes to shut down, his dick brain began constructing a new set of concerns to keep him awake and docile instead. Maema's words sprung to his mind, especially what he said about Akumako. Seichirō wondered if his habit of underestimating the kunoichi had to do with some innate, subconscious sexism that was planted in him at an early age. He found fulfillment in his "skill" to see the inner potential in people, but he could not see why she was chosen to spearhead the squad. He had concerns regarding her efficacy, concerns that were usually put to rest once he remembered Senhime was gonna watch over them. Maybe that was the point after all. Maybe Kuko was just a puppet leader and the entire thing was a ploy by Senhime to satisfy her younger sister.

Like a man possessed, Seichirō bolted out of his stasis. It was an instinctive reaction that was common in every shinobi and one that the young Roga was used to. He groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his right hand. He soaked in the scenery for a couple of seconds or so, the only sound emanating from him constantly shuffling on the bed. He threw a look at the far end of his room where his battle attire laid, properly ironed and nicely folded, prepped up for the big day. On top of it, there were two scrolls near one another and a dual sword sheath with the swords fitted in. From there, he shot a glance at the clock. He had only dozed for half an hour. 

As if to drive away the perturbing thoughts plaguing his mind, Seichirō assured himself, audibly [color=salmon]"It's gonna go fine, bud. You get in, you get out. Simple as that."[/color] With that said, he lazily raised his palm up, aiming it at the light switch near the door. At first, a thin line formed around his wrist, thought it wasn't blood that came out of it - it was smoke. Then, as the line got gradually wider, his hand detached from the rest of his arm, leaving a small stream of smoke as it traveled towards the light switch. After doing it's job of turning the light off, the hand returned back to it's owner with the same speed. It would deprive him off a small chunk of chakra, but he'd have until morning to replenish it, which was more than enough. With the grace of an Akimichi Clan ballerina, Seichirō fell on his comfy bed.

His slumber was a fairly peaceful one, until the snores began.
[hr]
[sub][center]Hamajo Day celebrations. Day of the assault on Amegakure.[/center][/sub]

Seichirō stood right on Senhime's line of sight, acknowledging her command via a stern affirmative nod. He was playing it fairly cool, but not because of any effort to do so but rather because he [b]had[/b] to keep his head on the mission at all times. With Akumako descending down on the square, the chunin Roga rapidly followed suit, his raincoat flapping behind like he was some sort of a comic book superhero. He didn't like openly indulging in such childish pleasantries while on a mission, but even he had to admit that was cool, the smile on his face perfectly encapsulating how content he was with himself at that moment. His mental gloating was immediately cut short as he barely avoided three shuriken that were aimed at Kuko. He had to give her credit for trying to reason first. In his fantasy scenario, he always imagined she would be the one to provoke the crowd first. 

Seichirō turned his head to look at Kuko who was informing the two of oncoming threats. Three Hamajo soldiers were heading their way. He grabbed his cloth and hurled it in the air, revealing his red battle attire. The jig was up and he needed access to Yin and Yang, access that was sort of restricted by those raincoats that they were sporting, so he saw no need to have it on him anymore. [color=salmon]"You don't need to say that twice!"[/color], he almost excitedly responded to Kuko's request, leaping on the ground as the civilian crowd dispersed in different directions. Two of their opponents took off from the ground and were heading towards Maema and Kuko. Seichirō intercepted the third one before he could take off, clashing his dual wakizashi with the man's silver gauntlets. He had seen weapons like those before and, much to his dismay, they were actually supposed to be chakra conductive. Didn't help that the man he chose to fight was built like a brickhouse. 

The second his legs touched the ground, Seichirō felt pressure coming from his right side. Though he barely saw it coming, the attack was too fast for him to be able to do anything, so he got blasted away. As a wise man said, knowing was half the battle, and while the Jiyutai rebel got his ass handed to him, he learned a thing or two about the properties of that particular weapon mainly that it was designed for wind release attacks that could be launched from the gauntlet's palm. With his face still on the ground, he gripped one of his swords tightly with his left hand, leading his tree-sized enemy into a false sense of security. The Hamajo shinobi tried to kick the sword out of Seichirō's hand, however the latter made a swift turn and attempted to stab his chest. The shinobi masterfully dodged it before grabbing the Jiyutai chunin by the neck and lifting him up the ground, setting him up for the finisher. Seichirō's sword-equipped hand detached from his arm, launching in the air and then doing a spinning motion that positioned the blade right behind the shinobi's back. His opponent closed his right hand into a fist, presumably choosing to not make use of the gauntlet in order to preserve chakra. Before he could take a swing however, his entire hand went numb. 

Opting to not waste any more time, Seichirō used the man's confusion to free himself from his grip. He acrobatically latched on the man's chest, before removing his own sword from his back. While the man was busy earlier trying to pummel him, Seichirō had used that to his advantage by utilizing his [i]Smoke Release: Detached Limbs Technique[/i] to strike a nerve on the shinobi's muscle, effectively disabling his right arm for a while. With that accomplished, he went in for a vertical kick to the man's jaw, knocking him down on the ground. 

[b]"W-Whaa.."[/b], the fallen shinobi attempted to communicate as Seichirō stood above him. He was visibly upset about his arm.

[color=salmon]"Don't worry cupcake, that's just your deltoid muscle going AWOL. The paralysis will fade away after an hour or two."[/color], Seichirō proudly declared. [color=salmon]"This, however, won't."[/color] The Roga's tone took an entirely different color as he shoved his sword in the man's right kneecap, causing him to shriek in pain and most likely rendering him permanently disabled for the rest of his life. Seichirō didn't want to kill anyone, especially considering that the nature of the mission was to portray the Jiyutai in a positive light, but he couldn't allow any hindrances either. 

After picking up his other sword, Seichirō's eyes searched for Maema, interested to see how he fared with his share of Hamajo infantry.