Chapter Text
"Kisame Hoshigaki, right? Please sign here."
The staff member handed him some documents, which he skimmed without really reading. It was his first time attending a court-mandated group therapy session. He had dreaded this moment. The humiliation of being forced into something like this sickened him, but he had no choice. If he wanted to avoid prison, he had to comply.
So he agreed, though not without his lawyer trying to negotiate. But the judge had been firm: the charges were too serious for simple community service. Psychological monitoring and participation in a support group were mandatory.
He nodded to the staff member, then stepped into the gym and sat down on one of the many chairs arranged in a circle. He acknowledged the person next to him with a nod and waited for the room to fill up.
Once everyone was there, the facilitator closed the gym door and sat down beside them. He was average height, wore a warm smile, and had a messy ponytail. Kisame might have found him naïvely harmless if it weren't for the deep scar that marred his face.
"Hello, everyone!" he began. "I’m Iruka Umino. You can call me Iruka. I’ll be leading today’s session, and all the others from here on out. If you have questions, concerns, or things you’d rather not share during the group, you’re free to come see me afterward, or contact me using my professional number here."
He passed a stack of business cards to his neighbor, who began distributing them around. Most people looked at the cards with mild confusion. Some entered the number into their phones, others jotted it down in notebooks. Kisame was among the few who didn’t even read it. He simply folded the card and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans.
"Let’s get started," Iruka continued, placing his hands on his thighs. "I introduced myself, now it’s your turn. Tell us who you are—your age, your job, your hobbies, anything you like. But most importantly, tell us why you’re here. No need to get into the details of your trial. Just explain what brought you to this gym."
Kisame tensed. It was exactly like the movies. They were going to introduce themselves like some AA meeting.
Fuck, he thought. It was a nightmare. A complete nightmare.
He clenched his teeth and rubbed his face, exhausted.
"Any volunteers?" Iruka asked.
Surprisingly, a hand went up among the group. Everyone turned to the speaker, who introduced himself by name and age. He explained he was here for assaulting a supermarket cashier. Iruka didn’t ask why. He just thanked him and moved to the next person.
The next participant struggled to get his story out. After several painful minutes, he admitted to kidnapping a coworker for almost forty-eight hours. Iruka nodded and passed the floor again.
One by one, the stories unfolded.
Kisame slouched in his chair, arms crossed. What the hell was he doing here with these people? How had it come to this? He pressed a fist to his mouth. If he could go back, would he change anything? No. He would have acted exactly the same. His presence here was inevitable.
"Your turn," Iruka said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
The facilitator was looking at a visibly uncomfortable young man, who cleared his throat.
"I’m Kidomaru. I’m 23. I work at a sporting goods store. And I’m here because..." He hesitated. "Because... I hit my girlfriend."
Kisame raised an eyebrow and glanced at the speaker. Average height, dark skin, covered in cheap-looking tattoos. Kisame smirked with disdain.
"Is your story similar to his?"
Kisame looked up. Iruka was watching him, the scar on his face even more visible now.
Kisame pointed to himself.
"Me?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes," Iruka said.
All eyes turned to him. He was the last one who hadn’t spoken. He smiled, more surprised than embarrassed.
"No," he answered casually.
The question had seemed so absurd he hadn’t realized it was directed at him.
"Alright," Iruka said. "Maybe you could introduce yourself then?"
He didn’t want to. Sharing his name, job, hobbies with this group of idiots... it was the last thing he needed. But he had no choice. He cleared his throat.
"I’m Kisame. Thirty-five. Marine biologist."
That was a lie. He wasn’t a marine biologist. He had been a special forces operative—until his trial, when he was barred from all public service jobs for the next ten years. Currently, he was unemployed.
"And so you didn’t hit your girlfriend?" Iruka asked, gently pushing for clarification.
Kisame gave a bitter smile and crossed his arms gruffly.
"No," he scoffed. "I’d never do that."
His comment seemed to hit a nerve with one participant.
"Then what did you do?"
Kisame’s smile faded as he glared at the man. Surprisingly, the man didn’t flinch. Most people backed off when faced with Kisame’s monstrous build and imposing size. Not him. His violet eyes stared back calmly.
What was his name again? Kisame thought. Stephan? Evan? No. Hidan.
"Well?" Iruka encouraged.
Kisame clenched his jaw, irritated at having to explain himself to strangers.
"I hit my wife’s lover," he said in an impressively neutral tone.
Hidan burst out laughing.
"'Thou shalt not commit adultery,' Exodus, chapter 20, verse 14," he quoted cheerfully.
He pushed his white hair back and let out a bark of laughter, a predator’s grin stretching across his face.
"Hidan," Iruka reprimanded calmly.
Kidomaru turned to Kisame.
"How’s that any different from what I did?" he asked, confused.
"Well," Kisame sneered. "I don’t hit women."
Kidomaru flinched visibly, his face twisting into a grimace.
"So you’re better than me, huh?" he snapped.
Kisame shrugged.
"I’m responsible for what I say, not for what you understand."
"Kisame," Iruka said sharply.
For the first time, his warm smile was gone. Kisame was surprised. Until now, Iruka had seemed so easygoing, almost soft. He had been wrong. The look Iruka gave him now was firm, serious—it said clearly, "I know exactly what you’re doing, and I won’t tolerate it."
"Excuse me," a voice interrupted.
The woman who had checked them in peeked through the door.
"Yes?" Iruka asked, startled.
"We have a latecomer. Can you still take them?"
Iruka’s features softened immediately.
"Of course."
The woman stepped aside, letting in a young man. Kisame turned to watch him approach. His first thought was that the kid looked like an inkblot splattered on a sheet of white paper. Pale skin, shoulder-length raven-black hair, oversized black T-shirt, dark jeans. His eyes, framed by enormous dark circles, radiated an eerie mix of danger and fragility.
He stopped just at the edge of the circle, looking straight at Iruka.
"Please excuse my tardiness," he said, his voice calm and unnervingly emotionless. His speech was almost excessively polite compared to the rough, sometimes vulgar way the others spoke.
Iruka didn’t seem bothered. He just smiled warmly.
"It’s fine this time. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again."
"Understood."
Iruka nodded, looking for an empty seat.
"You can sit next to Sakon."
He gestured to a grayish goth boy with dark green lipstick. The newcomer observed him for a second, clearly assessing the risk—and Kisame couldn’t have blamed him. Then he moved with surprising grace and took the seat.
"We were just introducing ourselves," Iruka explained. "Kisame here was telling us why he’s here." He gestured politely toward Kisame. "Would you mind repeating it for our new friend?"
Kisame barely suppressed a grimace. Introducing himself once had been painful enough. But if he wanted out of this group quickly, he needed to cooperate.
He took a deep breath and nodded stiffly.
"I’m Kisame. Thirty-five. Marine biologist."
"And?" a voice prodded slyly.
Sakon was watching him through a curtain of gray hair, not smiling, just innocently waiting for an answer.
Kisame resisted the urge to glare. He tried to recall why this corpse-looking guy was here. Assault on a bus driver? Beating up a rival team's fan? Insulting a cop? He couldn’t remember.
"Kisame?" Iruka prompted again.
He shook off the thought and looked at the new guy.
"I’m here because I beat up my wife’s lover."
The new arrival, Itachi, showed no visible reaction. He just stared into Kisame’s eyes for a second before calmly turning back to Iruka, waiting for the next step.
"You can introduce yourself now," Iruka said with encouragement. "Tell us your name, age, job—if you have one—and why you’re here. Feel free to add anything else you want."
Itachi blinked slowly, then, for some reason, looked directly at Kisame.
"I’m Itachi. Twenty-eight. I’m a biotech engineer."
Everyone except Iruka raised their eyebrows. Until now, Kisame had been the only one with a supposedly ´intellectual’ job. Most of the others had technical trades, manual jobs, or none at all. A biotech engineer was well out of place here. Even Bourdieu would’ve been baffled.
"And why are you here?" Iruka asked.
This time, Itachi turned his gaze away from Kisame to answer.
"Because I stabbed my father and strangled my mother."
An unusually long silence filled the gym, until Kidomaru finally broke it with a booming voice:
"Holy shit..."