Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kakashi's head throbbed as he blinked against the harsh light, his consciousness slowly returning. The last thing he remembered was donning his old Sukea disguise for one final game of “unmask Kakashi” with his students before passing the Hokage title to Naruto and consigning the poor kid to a lifetime of paperwork. He vaguely remembers ‘accidentally’ fumbling the last shot his camera could take after a day of running around, then Sasuke’s finely honed patience snapping and a flash of… red?

With a groan, he attempted to sit up, feeling like something was weighing him down.

Blinking against the harsh light, he surveyed his surroundings, but nothing made sense. The village before him appeared different, and the buildings looked older, like they had done before most of the reconstruction efforts. From where the Hokage mountain looms above them, only 3 faces seem to watch over the village. Minato’s head was nowhere in sight.

Panic surged through Kakashi and he quickly tried to scramble up only to find himself tripping on his clothes. It feels odd to say, but was the ground always so close? His confusion deepened as Kakashi's gaze fell to the sleeves bracing him against the ground—they bore a striking resemblance to his Sukea disguise, but they were sized for someone much larger than him.

With trembling hands, he freed his hands from the sleeves, only to discover something even more unsettling: his hands, once weathered and scarred from years of battle, were now small and only lightly calloused. He stared at them in disbelief, as if seeing them for the first time. These were the hands of a young shinobi, they hadn’t looked like this in decades.

Desperation clawed at Kakashi as he attempted to dispel the illusion, folding the little hands to focus his chakra and muttering “Kai”. Yet, the world around him remained unchanged.

A chill ran down Kakashi's spine as realization dawned upon him. Somehow, inexplicably, he had been transported back in time,

"What a way to start my retirement..." Kakashi muttered incredulously to himself, his mind reeling with the absurdity of the situation.

He’s lost on what to do next. He tries to pinpoint his age. Surely genin, but the exact age eluded him, however, he was sure he must be living alone and at the beginning of his shinobi career just by the few calluses he had.

Focusing on practicality, Kakashi formulated a plan. He needed to blend seamlessly into the life of his younger self, starting with changing into clothes that fit. With a sense of urgency, he shoved the cumbersome parts of his outfit into his camera bag, leaving himself clad in oversized pants, a t-shirt, and a scarf, along with the wig to maintain some semblance of dignity since he didn’t have a mask.

Rolling up his pant legs to prevent tripping, Kakashi glanced down at his shoes—far too large for his current form. With a resigned sigh, he abandoned them, opting to navigate the rooftops with nimble precision. His chakra is low but he’s worked with lower when he still had Obito’s sharingan in his head.

He idly picks off the paint from his face as he tries to reorient himself with a village layout that hasn’t been like this for the better half of a decade from Kakashi’s point of view, trying to find his apartment.

Entering through the window with practised ease, Kakashi scanned the room, noting its stark emptiness. It is so unlike the cluttered space it will become, as this room seemed sterile, devoid of personal touches. The room was barren—no bookshelves cluttered with Icha Icha, no collections of plants and no knickknacks from friends. Just sterile training manuals on the shelves and a bed neatly made. It was exactly how he remembered his childhood room.

With a sigh he starts rummaging through his meagre possessions for a spare outfit to wear, however, his task is interrupted by the sound of the door clicking unlocked. He turns to look at this intruder to find another Kakashi. The two of them blink in confusion at each other until the other one springs into action.

Dodging the attack with ease, Kakashi realized this must be the current him… Is he an additional Kakashi? He mused. The child is still attacking and though the child possessed skill, Kakashi's years of experience allowed him to evade the strikes effortlessly.

“Mind if you stop attacking?” he attempted to defuse the situation, “I’m sure this can be talked out,” Kakashi suggested, hoping to avoid a brawl. Kakashi spoke calmly, but his words only seemed to agitate his younger self further, the boy lunges and in the process of ducking out of the way he finds himself tripping up on his scarf

Kakashi finds himself being pinned to the ground with surprising strength “Talk?! Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?!” the younger Kakashi demanded. Feeling the weight of the child version of himself pressing down on him, he considers, this is one way to talk.

“There is a perfectly reasonable reason for why I am here,” he reassures.

The look in young Kakashi’s eye seems more like he just wants to stab him and get everything over with so before he can follow through with it, older Kakashi decides to just deal with it like how he would with his students, by ripping the bandaid off and attempting to flee if it backfires so lifting his hands slowly from where they have been in a surrender pose, he yanks off the Sukea wig, which had somehow stayed on his head throughout all of this and just to really drive it home he lifts an edge of his scarf to cover up to his nose.

"I'm you from the future."

The younger Kakashi’s gaze turned absolutely frosty.

Yeah, he didn’t think that would work either, but he didn’t have any better plans.

“Stop playing around! If you won't tell me who you really are, I'm sure we can get the Hokage to help sort this out.” the younger boy threatens, managing to haul Kakashi to his feet and out the window.

He definitely doesn't want the Hokage or any of the council really to find out about this!

Kakashi's reduced to pleading as he tries to use whatever chakra he has left to stick to any surface available to give him more time to explain.

“I have proof! Ask me anything about our childhood! No wait, you're still at that age where you want nothing to do with our past… Training? I can offer training you don't have access to? ” Kakashi frantically wracks his brain to think of any proof. He only has the clothes on his back and whatever was in his camera bag… The camera bag! “There's a camera in my bag! If you'll let me develop the film, the photos can prove I'm from the future!”

“Are you just going to plead the whole way? You are making me even less inclined to believe you.” Past Kakashi grunted as he leveraged him over another rooftop.

“I don’t exactly have many options. I’m not going to surrender because being locked up would probably cause future issues,” Like being snapped up by ROOT, Future Kakashi thought grimly, “and I didn’t exactly expect to run into you or have a chance to make a plan because I didn’t expect any of this to happen.”

He’s not sure what he said but the younger Kakashi stops and seems to start listening. He can tell the boy is plotting something, recognising the same look Suzune and Iruka would complain about when he was planning to escape his work.

“Do you know if you are going to go back?” The boy asks.

“I would strongly estimate, no. I didn’t get a look at what sent me here but an educated guess would be an extremely upset Uchiha possibly using an ability similar to the Sharingan’s Izanagi genjutsu.”

The boy really looked like he wanted to ask what an Izanagi genjutsu was but he was running on mission mode and was trying to focus on his ‘mission’ The boy eventually decides. “I’m not going to hide you. If you aren’t going back then you’ll probably get chased by more ‘extremely upset Uchiha’ due to being suspected of being a spy. I’m still going to take you to the Hokage, but I want you to follow my lead. I think I have a plan.”

Kakashi was a little uncertain of following the plan of a… maybe preteen version of himself in the past, but he didn’t exactly have any better options.

—

The time-displaced Kakashi had been unceremoniously dragged into the Hokage’s office by his younger self’s firm and purposeful grip. No one had stopped them along the way—a fact that briefly puzzled him until he remembered the Third Hokage had always held a particular fondness for the children of the village, often being softer on them. His younger self, naturally, was oblivious to this unique privilege, likely assuming it was standard treatment for all.

As they entered, Kakashi was hit by a wave of nostalgia at the strong scent of tobacco. That lingering aroma would haunt this office for years, taking nearly two Hokage tenures to finally fade. Standing in the familiar room, Kakashi’s sharp eyes fell on the man behind the desk.

This was not the weary, disillusioned Sarutobi he remembered. This was a younger, more hopeful Third Hokage, his gaze warm and almost fatherly. It caught Kakashi off guard—it had been so long since he’d seen the man look this way, even when he was alive.

The younger Kakashi shoved his older counterpart forward, already speaking with a poise that seemed unnaturally mature for his age. “Lord Hokage,” he began smoothly, “I thought it best to bring this to your attention immediately.”

“Oh, Kakashi,” Sarutobi greeted warmly, setting his pipe aside. “How nice to see you. That is a very detailed shadow clone you’ve created.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, his younger self answering before he could. “He’s not a shadow clone,” young Kakashi said, his tone crisp and authoritative. “This is my brother. I found it an oversight that our father wanted us to operate as one unit. With the upcoming changes to my team, I think it would be more efficient if we worked separately.”

Kakashi’s jaw nearly dropped. Brother? Of all the lies his younger self could spin, this one was bold. He vaguely remembered stories of shinobi families with twins operating as a single identity to maximize efficiency and cover for each other. His younger self had taken that idea and run with it, crafting a convenient fiction on the fly.

Feeling a nudge, Kakashi straightened awkwardly and bowed. “Uh, hey, Lord Third. Nice to meet you, officially?” he said, his tone adopting the casual, playful demeanour of his Sukea persona. “I’m Sukea. Sorry for the sudden inconvenience.”

Sarutobi’s keen eyes flicked between the two of them, his expression thoughtful. “Your brother?” he repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. “This is quite the revelation, Kakashi. I wasn’t aware Sakumo had another child.”

“It was kept… private,” young Kakashi replied, his tone steady but with a calculated touch of hesitation. “While we’ve operated together effectively, it feels inefficient to continue under the pretence of being a single shinobi. I thought it best to inform you.”

Kakash– no Sukea, he’s Sukea now. Either way, he cringed internally since his younger self was really laying it on thick. To his surprise, Sarutobi didn’t immediately seem sceptical. Instead, he leaned forward, clasping his hands in thought.

“I see,” Sarutobi murmured, his expression unreadable. “And what brings you both to my office?”

Without missing a beat, young Kakashi responded, “Concealing the existence of a potential threat would violate the ninja code. I wanted to mitigate that risk and ensure that Sukea could operate as his own shinobi.”

The Hokage’s gaze shifted to Sukea, scrutinizing him. “Interesting. And do you share your brother’s prodigious skills, Sukea?”

“I’d like to think so,” Sukea replied with a sheepish chuckle, playing up the persona. He's not going to let them think they received a new weapon they can play with, “Not quite as sharp, maybe. That’s why he’s usually the ‘face,’ but I can hold my own.”

A heavy silence followed as Sarutobi steepled his fingers, studying them both with quiet intensity. The pause stretched just long enough for Sukea to feel a bead of sweat begin to form. Maybe I should’ve played it safer—acted more like a younger Kakashi clone, he worried, what if it's too out of character and they send him to T&I to dig. Still, he was a ninja, and showing doubt wasn’t an option. Steeling himself, he adjusted his oversized scarf, pulling it more snugly over his face, a subtle tell that betrayed his unease.

“I’d like both of you boys to report to the hospital for an official medical evaluation,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sukea felt his younger self stiffen beside him. He recognized that reaction all too well—the same visceral dislike of hospitals he still carried. Despite the obvious distaste, they both responded obediently in unison: “Yes, sir!”

As they turned to leave, Sukea’s sharp Hatake ears caught Sarutobi muttering under his breath. “I thought this was something only my Sensei had to worry about… I’ll need to keep a closer eye on shinobi families. Can’t let these things slip by unnoticed…”

Suppressing a groan, Kakashi followed his younger self out of the office. This day was turning into more of a headache than he’d anticipated.

—

The two boys trudged into the hospital with the energy of condemned men on their way to execution. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit Sukea like a punch, and he winced internally. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been in a hospital in years—he’d had his fair share of injuries—but there was something about the clinical chill and harsh lighting that made his skin crawl. He’d gotten better about tolerating them as an adult, but that had a lot to do with Sakura working with him or the comforting presence of someone like Gai holding his hand or even one of his aides in an emergency.

Here? He was on his own. Well, sort of.

The two were quickly intercepted by a no-nonsense nurse, clipboard in hand and an air of authority that brooked no argument. “Ah, the Hokage mentioned you two would be arriving,” she said briskly, steering them into an exam room with practised efficiency.

Blood was drawn almost immediately—first from Sukea, who grimaced but held still, and then from his younger self, who seemed to bristle at the intrusion but offered no complaint. The vials were whisked away by another nurse, no doubt to run every test imaginable, from genetic matching to whatever else they could think of to prove Sukea wasn’t some kind of imposter.

As Sukea rubbed his sore arm, he caught sight of the nurse’s clipboard, which bore two files—one with sparse scribbled handwriting, likely his younger self’s, and one blank, soon to become his.

“Name?” the nurse asked curtly, beginning with him.

“Sukea Hatake,” he answered smoothly, She then went through other basic health and identification questions, rattling off his date of birth–September 15, Allergies–None and everything else they threw at him.

The nurse scribbled down his answers before turning to young Kakashi, confirming the same set of questions against his existing file. When Kakashi huffed that he was nearly nine years old to get the nurse to stop coddling him during his questions, Sukea nearly choked. They were eight? He didn’t realise they were that young. Was he even a Chuunin yet? Had the rest of Team Minato even graduated from the Academy yet?

As the questions continued, Sukea shifted uncomfortably on the exam table. The sterile smell was oppressive, the kind that seeped into your clothes and wouldn’t wash out. He glanced at his younger self, who was as rigid as a plank of wood, answering every question with clipped precision.

For a moment, he debated reaching over to take his younger self’s hand. It might help ease his nerves—or it might end with Sukea losing a few fingers. He eventually decided it was worth the risk. At least I’m in the right place if this goes south.

To his surprise, young Kakashi didn’t pull away. The smaller hand in his own was still, but something about the contact settled his own nerves.

When they were called up to have their height, weight, and vitals measured, they let go without a word. But as soon as they were done, young Kakashi silently offered his hand back into grabbing range. Sukea took it without hesitation.

The nurse frowned at the results, muttering something about how their measurements were “nearly identical.” She double-checked the clipboard, clearly wondering if she’d been tricked into measuring the same person twice. Sukea supposes that they probably are exactly identical due to matching Kakashi at the exact moment he was pulled back to

Finally, they were told to wait for the bloodwork results. The two of them sat side by side in the quiet room, the only sound the faint rustle of paper and the occasional distant footsteps.

“Why are you going along with this?” Sukea asked after a while, breaking the silence. “You didn’t seem to believe me earlier.”

Young Kakashi shrugged, his expression smug. “If you were lying, I don’t think you’d let me drag you this far. Besides,” he added, even his mask couldn’t hide how his smirk widened at his next word, “it makes it easier for me to throw you to the wolves if this is a trick.”

Sukea huffed a laugh, swinging his legs idly. His hand still gripped his younger self’s, and he gave it a little swing for good measure.

“You’re holding my hand like Sensei,” young Kakashi said suddenly, his voice quiet but tinged with suspicion.

Sukea blinked. Oh. Is that why this feels so familiar? The realization hit him like a kunai to the chest. “Well,” he replied after a moment, adopting a cheeky tone to mask his sudden wave of emotions, “Sensei’s not here, so I guess it’s up to me to take on my new role as your older brother.”

Young Kakashi yanked his hand away immediately, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. “I’m not a kid who needs to be taken care of!”

Sukea smiled, unbothered by the outburst. His genin had long since grown out of their cute phases, but here was a younger version of himself—grumpy, proud, and full of potential. Plenty of time to enjoy watching him squirm.

“Sure you’re not,” he teased lightly, leaning back in his seat. Oh, this is going to be fun.

—

The moment the nurse confirmed the blood tests, both Kakashi and Sukea bolted from the hospital like it was on fire. Sure, the nurse had tried to trap them with a lecture about the glaring holes in their medical records—how on earth could such an obvious fact have been missed for so long?—but neither of them stuck around long enough to get properly scolded. The important part was over: they were officially "twins," at least as far as the system was concerned.

As they darted down the street, Kakashi announced they were going to train.

“I don’t even have proper clothes,” Sukea countered, gesturing to his oversized and ill-fitting attire. “Unless you want me tripping over myself, we’re making a stop first.”

The first shop they stumbled into was a second-hand ninja supply store, cluttered with racks of faded flak jackets, utility belts, and a random assortment of gear that had clearly seen better days. Sukea scanned the place, half-looking for clothes that might fit and half-distracted by the reality of child soldiers being so normalized in this era. Clothes for kids? Not a problem—plenty of stock.

As he sifted through racks, he also considered what kind of image Sukea Hatake should present. His movements slowed as he reflected. Should he aim for something deliberately distinct from Kakashi, or lean into the similarity for simplicity’s sake? Kakashi, naturally, had no patience for his musings.

“You’re taking forever,” young Kakashi complained, arms crossed as he stood near the door.

“I’m trying to figure out who I want to be,” Sukea shot back.

“Be faster,” Kakashi retorted.

Sukea snorted but relented, grabbing a few practical pieces—some simple kimono shirts, pants, and a jacket—before blindly snagging a couple more just to shut Kakashi up. “You’re paying,” he declared as they approached the counter. “Whatever’s yours is mine anyway.”

Kakashi scowled. “No, we’re not the same person anymore. You can pay me back with training.”

“Yeah, sure,” Sukea muttered, only half-listening as he handed over the items for purchase. Ducking into the changing room, he swapped his ill-fitting clothes for something that actually fit. It was a relief—though his face still felt oddly exposed, and every smell in the shop seemed sharper than before. Pulling his brown wig out of his pocket, he carefully adjusted it over his head. It didn’t fix the sensory overload, but it made him feel less... seen.

He bundled up the oversized clothes he’d been wearing and handed them to the shopkeeper as a donation. As soon as the bag of purchases was packed, Kakashi grabbed his arm. “We’re going to train. There’s still daylight.”

“Barely,” Sukea grumbled as they were dragged toward the outskirts of the village.

The sun was dipping low in the sky when a voice called out, “Kakashi!”

Both of them turned instinctively, and Sukea’s breath caught. Minato-sensei. He looked so young—barely older than a teenager himself, his blond hair slightly tousled as he jogged toward them, radiating energy and optimism.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Minato said, stopping in front of them. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

Kakashi crossed his arms, already exuding impatience. “Can it wait? We’re about to train.”

Sukea jumped in, sensing an opportunity. “We can train tomorrow,” he said with a shrug. “Whatever Minato-sensei needs is probably more important.”

Minato beamed. “Exactly! And besides, you both need to eat. Let’s grab some ramen. My treat.”

Kakashi groaned, but Sukea grinned. He wasn’t about to turn down free ramen.

At Ichiraku, they settled onto stools as Minato introduced himself to Sukea. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said warmly. “It’s great to know Kakashi has friends his own age. I’ve been a little worried about that.”

“We’re not friends,” Kakashi snapped, glaring at Sukea as though this was somehow his fault.

Minato sighed, his smile softening but not fading. “Well, it’s good to see you spending time with someone, at least.” His tone grew more thoughtful. “Maybe it’ll help you take what I have to tell you a little better.”

Before Kakashi could respond, their ramen bowls arrived, and Minato dove straight into his point. “Kakashi, I just got word that I’ll be assigned a team from the next batch of academy graduates. That means you’ll be part of a proper genin team soon.”

Kakashi’s chopsticks froze midair. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Minato hesitated, then continued, his voice steady. “If the team doesn’t pass my test, all three of you will be sent back to the academy. I want you to do your best to get along with them.”

Sukea blinked, a vague memory stirring in the back of his mind. He remembered Minato confessing, years later, that this was all a ploy to encourage Kakashi to interact more with his peers. At the time, though, it must have felt like an impossible betrayal. Kakashi’s face made that clear enough—his younger self looked stricken, the flicker of vulnerability quickly buried under a cold, defensive glare.

Sukea can’t even think of a way to smooth it over so he decides it isn’t his problem. He drained his bowl as fast as possible, setting the empty dish down with a clatter. “Well, this has been fun,” he announced, standing abruptly. “But I need to drop off my shopping. Catch you both later.”

—

Kakashi barely registered Sukea’s retreat. His focus was entirely on Minato-sensei, who, in his eyes, had just delivered the ultimate betrayal.

“Why?” he demanded. His voice was low, and controlled, but the raw emotion undercut his composure. “Why would you let this happen?”

Minato’s expression softened, his tone gentle. “Kakashi, this isn’t a punishment. It’s an opportunity. I want you to—”

“To babysit some academy brats?” Kakashi interrupted, his disbelief sharp enough to cut. “I’ve worked harder than anyone, and you’re throwing me in with—children?”

Minato’s calm didn’t waver, though a shadow of disappointment darkened his gaze. “I know this isn’t what you expected, but you’re still young, Kakashi. You’re a brilliant shinobi, but even the best can’t work alone forever.”

Kakashi’s fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t need anyone. He couldn’t rely on anyone. Minato-sensei, the one person he thought understood that, was now standing here telling him otherwise—and it stung deeper than any kunai.

The tension stretched thin between them, taut as a tripwire. Kakashi turned abruptly on his heel and walked out of the ramen stand without another word.

Minato’s disappointed gaze lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. He didn’t understand—didn’t want to. All Kakashi wanted was to go home, shut the world out, and pretend none of this had happened.

His plan for solitude was derailed the moment he stepped inside his apartment and found Sukea lounging on the floor.

The boy had ditched the brown wig, tossing it onto a pile of newly purchased clothes. However, he was wearing one of Kakashi’s masks—his mask. Sukea sat cross-legged, methodically sorting through his earlier haul of second-hand clothing, his movements deliberate yet oddly relaxed. He seemed completely unaffected by the day’s chaos, and that infuriated Kakashi more than he cared to admit.

“How are you so calm?” Kakashi blurted, his irritation bubbling to the surface.

Sukea glanced up, his brow quirking at the question. “Should I not be?”

“You’re wearing my mask,” Kakashi shot back instead, deflecting the conversation.

“Oh, this?” Sukea touched the fabric covering his lower face, his tone casual and almost teasing. “Felt weird not having one on.”

“Well, it’s mine,” Kakashi snapped, his voice sharp with frustration.

Sukea leaned back, propping himself up on his hands with an infuriatingly calm demeanour. “Relax, kid. We might have to do a little sharing until everything’s sorted out. Be glad I’m putting effort into into building a new identity so we might have a chance at separate lives rather than becoming ‘The Hatake prodigies’ or something. Plus, we’re practically the same person, so I have some right to my old stuff.”

The flippant remark hit a nerve. Kakashi’s scowl deepened. “We’re not the same person. You certainly aren’t acting like it since you could stand to be more serious about all this.”

For a moment, Sukea’s expression shifted—something unreadable flickered across his face. Then he shrugged. “You could stand to loosen up a little. Not everything has to be life or death.”

Kakashi clenched his fists tighter. He didn’t want to loosen up. He didn’t want advice from someone who looked like him but felt like a stranger. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

—

The next morning, Sukea woke to the unwelcome sight of Kakashi standing over him, sharp-eyed and impatient.

“Get up,” Kakashi ordered. “We’re training.”

Sukea squinted against the faint morning light streaming through the window. He groaned. “It’s not even sunrise.”

“I want to get some training in before meeting Minato-sensei,” Kakashi replied, his tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Sukea dragged himself out of bed, his chakra reserves still depleted from the day before. As he shuffled around to get ready, he couldn’t help but notice the intense frustrated energy Kakashi radiated as the boy straightened out the sleeping roll on the other side of the bed. Had Sukea changed something by being here? Or had he just blocked it out?

By the time they found a field, Sukea realized belatedly that he wasn’t much of a teacher. His students had always been trained either by others or by stumbling through techniques after he half-showed them how. Sure enough, their “training” quickly devolved into sparring, with Sukea adjusting to his altered proportions and Kakashi venting his frustration about being forced onto a genin team.

The morning wore on until an ANBU approached them, their mask concealing any emotion. “Hatake Kakashi,” the ANBU addressed formally, “inform Hatake Sukea to meet with the Hokage in twenty minutes.”

Kakashi turned to Sukea, relaying the message like a bland order. “You heard them. Go. I’ve got to meet Minato-sensei.”

As Kakashi walked away, Sukea couldn’t resist calling out, “Fine! Have a great day! Be good for Minato-Sensei!” His voice dripped with mock encouragement, the tone he used to tease his own students.

Kakashi didn’t turn, but the redness in his ears was reward enough.

Chapter Text

Sukea ambled toward the Hokage Tower, his pace unhurried as he took in the village around him. The once-familiar streets felt so different with the reversal of time. Everywhere he looked, the sights and sounds of the village dredged up long-buried memories. He’d forgotten how much Konoha had to change due to all the destruction during the wars, and yet now all that change was undone.

He ducked into a small bookstore on impulse to find something to distract himself with. Browsing aimlessly, he scanned for a particular title and frowned when it was nowhere to be found. Of course, Icha Icha wouldn’t exist yet—it was barely a glimmer in its author’s imagination. Sukea’s dog-eared copy of the first book sat snug in his camera bag, but it if it didn’t exist yet, it would be unwise to enjoy it outside of the privacy of his own home.

His fingers trailed along the spines of other novels. Despite his best efforts, no other series ever hit the same combination of wit, thrill, and complexity in his nearly 40 years of life but he grabbed a few titles that had potential anyway, only having to henge 2 of them into similarly priced books to get them past the civilian shopkeeper.

As he stepped out of the shop and paused to get his bearings to properly pack his books away on his person, a scene caught his eye. A boy was helping an elderly woman cross the street, his wide grin and boundless energy reminding him of Obito. He looked so young and carefree…Geez he really was an old man despite how he looked.

But then, on a second glance, the realization hit him.

Wait. That really was Obito.

He watched, almost disbelieving, as Obito darted off, shouting something about being late.

Wait, late?

Reality snapped back into focus, and with it, the sinking realization that he was late too.

“Ah, crap,” Sukea muttered, breaking into a brisk jog toward the Hokage Tower.

When he finally reached the Hokage’s office—only ten minutes behind schedule—the Third Hokage took a few moments to recognize him before greeting him with a pointed glance.

“You’re late,” the Hokage said, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Sukea rubbed the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. “Apologies, Lord Hokage. They told Kakashi instead of me, and, well... I’m here now.”

The Hokage raised a skeptical eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by the excuse. “I understand my messenger had some difficulty locating you.” His gaze swept over Sukea’s attire.

“Well,” Sukea began, adopting a casual air, “it’s suspicious to have two of the same ninja running around. I figured I’d change things up. You know, for everyone else’s sake.”

His current appearance was a rehash of his Sukea disguise as he had put a lot of effort into crafting it and it did a good job of leaving little to suggest the infamous Hatake bloodline. The brown shaggy wig obscured his silver hair, clan paint around his eyes and cheeks softened his sharp features and drew attention away from the rest of his face, his secondhand shinobi gear, coupled with the practised suppression of his chakra, completed the transformation. From even the most trained eye, he was just another dime-a-dozen genin.

The Hokage sighed, a touch of exasperation creeping into his voice. “I see. Well, no matter. You’re here now as you said.”

He gestured for Sukea to sit. “Given your... sudden appearance, I’ve decided the best course of action is to enrol you with the graduating class at the Academy. This will allow us to evaluate your abilities alongside your peers without the complications of finding you an apprenticeship on such short notice.”

“The Academy?” Sukea blurted, barely suppressing a wince. “Really?”

“Yes,” Lord Third said firmly. “I have made the arrangements for you to join the class today.” gesturing for a chuunin to escort him the short walk to the lower level where the Academy classes were held.

As he stepped into the classroom, dozens of curious eyes turned to him. But some familiar faces stood out among the crowd—Rin, Guy, Genma, Kurenai, and Asuma—each looking far younger than he remembered. He was scanning for an empty seat when the door slammed open behind him.

“Sorry I’m late!” Obito’s voice rang out as he barged in, already rattling off excuses. His tirade came to an abrupt halt when his eyes landed on Sukea.

“Who are you?” Obito demanded, marching up to him.

The challenge in Obito’s tone made Sukea’s instincts flare. Every Hatake part of his brain screamed to respond in kind, to assert dominance. But logic—and hard-won wisdom—reminded him that this was Obito: a child, with a heavy lack of personal space. Not an opponent.

He tamps down on ingrained responses to bite back, the exact same responses that caused him and Obito’s relationship to be so sour when he was Kakashi and puts on his most serene and Rin-like false grin, “I’m Sukea,” he said evenly. “Your new classmate.”

Obito squinted, placing a hand on top of Sukea’s head as if measuring him. “Aren’t you too small to be in this class?”

Before Sukea could really bite him for that, Rin intervened. “Obito! Don’t be rude!”

The teacher followed suit, sternly instructing both boys to take their seats. As Sukea made his way to an empty desk, Rin flashed him an apologetic smile. The sight of it twisted something in his chest, bringing back memories he had tried so hard to bury.

Sukea exhaled slowly as he sat down. The day had barely begun, and already, he felt the weight of the past pressing down on him. He glanced around at the young faces surrounding him, wondering how he would survive.

—

Sukea fought hard against the pull of sleep as the morning dragged on. The material being taught wasn’t just unchallenging—it was mind-numbing. He already knew more about these topics than the teacher presenting them, and none of the books he’d grabbed earlier were the right size to discreetly pass off as textbooks. Still, he resisted zoning out completely; he’d learned from the Nara clan’s reputation that appearing too disinterested was an invitation for a teacher’s attention.

His plan for surviving the Academy was simple: be competent but unremarkable. Perform just well enough to avoid reprimand, but never excel to the point of being noticed. He wasn’t here to relieve the burden of a “prodigy” title; he’d already carried that weight, and he knew better now that it drew the wrong types of attention.

Occasionally, his age drew a few raised eyebrows. He was younger than most of his classmates, though not so young as to be a glaring anomaly—He didn’t think 8 was all that much younger than the 12-13 years old most of his classmates were, besides Guy was also only a year or two older, after all.

When the class split into the boy's Shinobi Battle Exercises and girl's Kunoichi Studies, Sukea saw his opportunity to shake off the monotony.

Sukea approached the teacher, letting his shoulders hunch just slightly and his voice soften. “Excuse me, sensei,” he began, tilting his head like he was nervous. “Can I sit in on the Kunoichi studies today? I’m worried I’m too small to spar fairly with the boys, and I’m still behind on some things because of my transfer.”

It was a calculated lie, delivered with just enough humility to seem genuine, though the truth was that he’d probably struggle more with holding back than with keeping up.

The teacher barely spared him a glance, and clearly not putting much stock in the skill required of Kunoichi techniques, waved him off with a muttered, “Just don’t disrupt their lesson.”

Suppressing a grin, Sukea trailed after the girls to their outdoor training area. The shift in scenery and subject matter was a welcome relief. Today’s lesson focused on ikebana and hanakotoba—flower arrangement and the meanings behind different blooms. It wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was new to him. His experience with kunoichi techniques had been limited to independent study, and this was an opportunity to expand his repertoire.

After the brief lecture, they were scattered to attempt the practical application of the skill. Sukea buried himself in the textbook, selecting wildflowers from the nearby field and carefully arranging them to match the examples. His focus on the task was so complete that he didn’t notice someone sitting beside him until a soft voice interrupted.

“I’m sorry about Obito earlier. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he means well.”

Sukea glanced up to see Rin, her expression gentle and apologetic. The sight of her alive, smiling, stirred something deep in his chest—a mix of longing, regret, and guilt that he wasn’t prepared for. He had built his Sukea persona around her memory, her warmth and kindness. Seeing her again made his hands feel unclean, as though he didn’t deserve to be here in her presence.

He forced himself to smile, matching her warmth. “It’s fine. He just startled me, that’s all.”

Rin’s face lit up with relief, her smile growing brighter. Sukea found himself mirroring her expression almost unconsciously, focusing on perfecting his imitation of her instead of the ache in his chest.

“Why are you in the Kunoichi class?” she asked, tilting her head with curiosity.

Sukea repeated the excuse he’d given the teacher, adding a touch of self-deprecation to make it more convincing. “I’m too small to spar fairly with the boys, and I’ve got a lot of catching up to do after transferring.”

Rin nodded in understanding, her gaze drifting to his work. She noticed the way he studied the textbook intently, and her eyes softened. “Some of this can be tricky, especially for someone who’s just starting out. If you want, I can show you some tips I learned from the Yamanaka girls—they have clever tricks that aren’t even in the textbook.”

Her kindness caught him off guard, and for a moment, he hesitated. But her enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself nodding.

Rin leaned closer, demonstrating techniques with a precision that spoke to her natural skill. She explained how flower meanings could shift depending on arrangement and context, and that a few of them had secondary medicinal purposes. Sukea listened more intently than he intended, caught up in her quiet passion.

The lesson ended all too quickly, with students gathering their materials to leave. Just as Sukea was about to go, the kunoichi instructor approached him.

“Sukea, stay behind for a moment,” she said, her tone calm but firm.

Sukea froze but kept his expression neutral, following her to the front of the group.

“I wanted to commend you on your budding infiltration techniques,” she said, a note of approval in her voice. “You have a natural aptitude for blending into unfamiliar environments. It’s a shame…” Her sharp eyes swept over him thoughtfully. “…that you’re a boy. It limits certain avenues of application, but I’ll allow you to continue taking my class since you seem to have talent and are interested in learning.”

Sukea suppressed the urge to scoff. From his future perspective, gender wasn’t much of a barrier in infiltration—it all depended on the target and the approach. But he nodded politely, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before she dismissed him.

—

The bell’s chime had barely faded before Sukea darted from the Academy, eager to shake off the lingering monotony of the day. He darted through Konoha’s winding streets with a sense of purpose, dodging pedestrians and leaping over obstacles without breaking stride. His destination was clear—he knew exactly where his younger self would be at this time of day.

Sure enough, he found Kakashi in a quiet clearing, his lithe form bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun as he worked through a set of drills. Minato had likely dismissed him for the day, but Kakashi’s work ethic rarely allowed for rest.

Sukea strolled into the clearing, a mischievous grin on his face and a flower crown in his hands. The crown, hastily crafted from the remnants of his Kunoichi lesson, was far from perfect. It likely conveyed an odd mix of meanings—something like “survival, longevity, familial love and protection” or could just make a diuretic snack—but the meaning wasn’t the point. He plopped it unceremoniously onto Kakashi’s head before the boy could react and the absurdity of the gesture earning a rare flicker of surprise on the boy’s usually stoic face.

“You won’t believe what happened today!” Sukea exclaimed with exaggerated drama. “The Hokage enrolled me in the Academy. I have to graduate to become a genin again. Can you imagine?” He flopped dramatically onto a patch of grass, groaning for effect. “You’ve got it easy, Kakashi! All you have to do is get along with your team when they graduate. Meanwhile, I’m stuck taking classes with them. It’s like actually living Minato-sensei’s worst-case scenario threat!”

Kakashi froze mid-strike, one hand reaching up to gingerly remove the flower crown. His face twisted into a grimace as he processed the news. “That’s... unfortunate,” he said at last, his tone dry.

“Unfortunate?” Sukea repeated, throwing an arm over his eyes as if the indignity were too much to bear. “I need comfort. At least pat my head and say, ‘there, there.’”

Kakashi shot him a flat look, clearly unimpressed with the dramatics, but after a moment’s hesitation, he relented. He stepped closer, reaching out with all the enthusiasm of someone forced to humour a ridiculous request. His hand landed on Sukea’s head in a stiff, mechanical pat. “...There, there,” he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Sukea peeked out from under his arm, shocked that the boy even tried. Sure it was the same way he would often humour non-mission related requests given by Minato Sensei but he felt a swell of affection with how cute his younger self was, so overwhelming that he reached out to pull him into a hug.

Kakashi dodged with lightning-fast reflexes. “What are you—stop that!”

Sukea laughed, lunging forward for a second attempt. Kakashi ducked and retaliated with a light shove that turned into puppy fighting. The clearing echoed with the soft thuds of their mock fight, both of them grinning despite themselves.

It wasn’t long before Kakashi’s competitive streak took over, and the playful scuffle shifted into earnest training. Sukea matched him strike for strike, offering subtle corrections under the guise of banter.

—

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat at his desk, the faint glow of the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. In front of him lay a stack of files, each bearing the name of a hopeful young shinobi.

He’d just gotten to Hatake Sukea’s file, although it appears he’s just been going by Sukea. He understood the shadow cast by a name like Hatake, especially after the tragedy of Sakumo.

Hiruzen flipped through the modest file, his flicking over the sparse details. Sukea’s academic performance was solid—commendable, even—but nowhere near the brilliance that had defined Kakashi. Not that they would have expedited his graduation anyway as they were still updating the records to account for an unexpected ninja in their ranks.

The Hokage leaned back in his chair, his pipe balanced delicately between his fingers. He knew Kakashi hadn’t taken the passing of his father well, as he had turned to the ninja code as his compass. This was likely the only reason he came clean about his clan's deception, likely the secret itself becoming too large to hide, even if it did take time for him to do so.

Hiruzen turned to the Chūnin instructors gathered before him. "What are your impressions of the boy?" he asked, his tone measured.

The head teacher, a bespectacled, middle-aged man with a perpetually tired expression, spoke first. "Sukea is... subtle. It’s easy to forget he’s even in the room sometimes, but that’s not to say he’s lazy. He does his work, never asks for help, and never causes trouble. He’s... efficient, I’d say. Adaptable."

The Kunoichi instructor, a sharp-eyed woman with a reputation for demanding excellence, chimed in next. "I’ll admit, Hokage-sama, I was sceptical at first when he joined my class. But the boy has a natural talent for observation and imitation. He’s been studying the top Kunoichi Nohara Rin—mirroring her mannerisms, even adopting her approach to maintaining peace in the group. He’s turned it into a form of infiltration training, whether he realizes it or not. It’s clever, though perhaps unconventional and I think he’s a bit smarter than he’s letting on.”

Hiruzen raised an eyebrow. “He was in your classes? Why is he in the Kunoichi classes?”

The head teacher scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure how to phrase it. “He claimed his size put him at a disadvantage during sparring with the boys. Said he’d learn more in the Kunoichi classes. We allowed it—it seemed reasonable enough. He’s certainly made use of the opportunity.”

Hiruzen hummed thoughtfully, turning the information over in his mind. The boy’s actions painted a picture of someone deliberately crafting a skillset that complemented his brother’s. Where Kakashi was a sharp and unyielding blade, Sukea a was fluid and unassuming peacekeeper. Together, they might have been unstoppable.

Yet, the Hokage’s gaze darkened as he considered the looming war. The village didn’t have much need for diplomats or peacekeepers in the immediate future; it needed warriors, strategists, and protectors. Sukea’s talents were remarkable, but Hiruzen knew the boy would need more than cleverness to survive the coming trials.

He turned back to the files spread before him, his eyes scanning the team rosters. He had initially been considering Ebisu for a position on Team Chōza—someone with a bright mind to balance Guy’s relentless energy. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised Sukea might be a better fit.

The Hokage placed the boy’s file atop the growing pile of finalized placements.

“Assign him to Team Chōza,” he said, at last, his tone decisive. “He’ll have to learn to fight regardless of his size.”

—

The Academy classroom emptied further with every announcement, save for the handful of students still waiting to hear their team assignments. He got a brief glance at Kakashi when Minato came to pick up the new Team 7. The classroom had grown quieter since then though, with most people's friends having already left and them all just zoning out listening out for their own names.

“Next, we have Team 23!”

Sukea cringed as he realized how many of the students he had watched walk out of the room, who barely seemed ready to hold a kunai properly but had passed because of the looming war outside these walls. They weren’t just going to be tested in battle simulations or training exercises anymore.

“Might Guy, Shiranui Genma, and Sukea! Your new sensei is Chōza Akimichi! Please exit the room with your sensei!”

The instructor’s voice snapped him from his thoughts.

Sukea rose slowly, he wasn’t sure how to feel about his assignment. On one hand, Guy was his eternal rival—or had been, in his prior life. He’d gone out of his way to avoid Guy unwilling to risk drawing attention by engaging in any challenges. Not that the boy would likely issue them anyway, as the relationship would never be the same.

Chōza Akimichi stood at the classroom door, his broad frame and booming laugh immediately commanding attention. “Alright, Team 23! First things first: we’re going to Yakiniku! To work well, you have to eat well!”

Yakiniku? Sukea blinked, caught off guard by the unorthodox introduction. But there was no room to protest as Chōza ushered them toward the restaurant with a grin that could have disarmed even the most stoic shinobi.

Sukea supposed that is one way to get to know your students…

—

The restaurant’s warm, smoky atmosphere set the stage for their impromptu feast. Plates of marinated meats and sides piled high in front of them, and Chōza wasted no time encouraging his team to dig in. Sukea hesitated, feeling the familiar tension of dining in public, but the allure of good food—and his sensei’s insistence—was hard to resist.

It didn’t take long for Genma to stir the pot. “This table’s as much of a sausage-fest as our team is,” he remarked, his tone dripping with teenage bravado. His grin turned sharp as his gaze zeroed in on Sukea. “Unless I’m wrong about your size being the only reason you were in the Kunoichi classes?”

Sukea’s carefully constructed persona cracked for just a moment, his dry wit slipping through. “Some of the kunoichi classes do cover remedies for that particular problem.” He said it evenly, though the glint in his eyes gave him away. Without missing a beat, he picked up some meat, slicing it with precision before placing it on the grill.

Genma crossed his legs at the subtle threat before his face settled into a nervous grin, “Good to know you won’t be completely useless then!” Genma appraised him, Sukea having passed whatever test the boy had just thrown at him.

Guy, oblivious to the undertones, clapped a hand on Sukea’s shoulder, nearly making him drop his chopsticks. “Do not worry, Sukea! Since you were in the Kunoichi classes, I will personally help you build your stamina so you can fight alongside us!”

Sukea forced a grin, already knowing what “help” from Guy would entail. “I’ll look forward to it,” he lied smoothly, internally making plans to redirect Guy’s enthusiasm toward Genma. The boy did survive being Guy’s teammate the first time around so he should be able to handle it.

Chōza quickly chimed in, piling more food onto Sukea’s plate. “That’s a great idea, Guy! But before we worry about stamina, we’ve got to make sure you’re eating enough. Growing boys need plenty of energy!”

Sukea, used to wolfing down his meals quickly to avoid being seen unmasked, ate at his usual pace. He didn’t even notice the way Chōza’s brows furrowed until his sensei gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, kid. The food’s not going anywhere. Take your time. Savour it.”

It was said with such genuine concern that Sukea found himself slowing down, if only slightly.

—

Team 23 had, somehow, managed to polish off the entire spread during the time their sensei was getting to know them. Their new sensei, Chōza Akimichi, leaned back with a satisfied sigh, patting his stomach and grinning at the trio.

“Well, that was a feast,” he said, with a tone of finality, “But now, the real test begins.”

Sukea’s chopsticks froze mid-air and he was placing them down. He glanced at Genma and Guy, who both wore matching expressions of mild confusion. Before anyone could ask what he meant, Chōza dusted off his hands and stood.

“You see,” he continued, with an apologetic grin, “I didn’t bring my wallet.”

The statement hung in the air for a beat before Genma broke the silence with an incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”

Chōza’s grin didn’t waver.

“You’re not joking,” Genma realized, his face falling. “What kind of sensei doesn’t bring his wallet?”

“Well there’s nothing to be done about it now, so I want to see how my new team will solve this problem. You’ve got until the manager comes to collect the bill.” Chōza patiently explained.

Genma groaned, slumping back in his seat. “We should just make a run for it,” he suggested, already glancing toward the door.

Sukea, who had been entertaining a similar idea, nodded. “It’s a solid plan. We can cover each other’s exits.”

Guy, however, was aghast. He shot to his feet, his eyes blazing with determination. “No! We cannot dishonour ourselves by running away! It would bring shame upon our team and our sensei! We must work for our meal.”

Before the debate could escalate, the manager—a broad-shouldered Akimichi—appeared. She arched a brow at the commotion. “Is there a problem here?”

Guy stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Honorable manager, we humbly request the opportunity to work off our debt. Please allow us to serve your establishment as repayment for this magnificent meal.”

The manager studied the group for a moment before nodding. “Fine. The kitchen could use some extra hands. Follow me.”

—

The trio was ushered into the back of the restaurant, where they were promptly assigned tasks.

“Let’s see who can wash the most dishes!” Guy declared, rolling up his sleeves.

Sukea, against his better judgment, found himself rising to the challenge. “You’re on.”

Plates and bowls flew through their hands as they scrubbed, rinsed, and stacked with almost alarming intensity. Water splashed everywhere, and the occasional clatter of a dropped dish drew exasperated glances from the kitchen staff.

Genma, standing to the side, watched them with a mix of resignation and disbelief. “I didn’t think I’d be alone in being the normal one,” he muttered, though he still managed to step in and redirect some of their energy whenever it threatened to spiral out of control.

When the dishes were done, Guy moved on to vegetable prep, challenging Sukea to see who could chop the most carrots in the shortest amount of time. The competition escalated until the cutting boards were piled high with perfectly sliced vegetables—and a few slightly mangled ones from Genma’s reluctant contributions.

Next came mopping the floor, which somehow turned into a race to see who could cover the most ground. By this point, the kitchen staff had resigned themselves to the chaos, stepping around the trio with practised ease.

—

Hours later, the trio stumbled out of the kitchen, sweaty, exhausted, but oddly triumphant. The manager clapped them all on the back, nodding in approval. “You three are welcome back anytime—though preferably with your wallets.”

Chōza was waiting for them near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. His smile was warm, his gaze proud. “Well done, Team 23. You’ve passed the test.”

Sukea blinked, realization dawning. This had been planned from the start. Chōza had orchestrated the entire ordeal instead of a combat test like he had expected.

Chōza pushed open the door, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, kids. Let’s call it a night. We’ve got training bright and early tomorrow.”

—

Sukea barely had time to close the window behind him before the atmosphere in the apartment hit him. It wasn’t the peaceful, slightly awkward quiet he’d grown used to sharing with Kakashi—it was charged, like the air before a lightning storm. Something was brewing, and judging by the faint scuff marks on the floor from pacing, it wasn’t good.

“Kakashi, I’m home,” Sukea called cautiously, slipping off his shoes and making his way into the main room.

An irritated grunt answered him. It didn’t take long to find Kakashi, who was perched on the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his silver hair even more dishevelled than usual. His brows were furrowed in a deep scowl, and his whole posture screamed brooding frustration.

Ah, right. Team Minato's assignment and test were today too.

Sukea winced inwardly. He’d thought about warning Kakashi about what he’d be walking into—particularly regarding Obito—but had ultimately decided against it. If anyone needed a dose of character-building, it was Kakashi.

Still, Sukea couldn’t resist poking the bear.

“So,” he began, sauntering into the room with his usual easy grin, “how’s the new team?”

Kakashi’s glare could have performed a Katon jutsu. “I don’t want or need them,” he said sharply. “I’m only doing this because Minato-sensei is making me.”

Sukea plopped down into the armchair across from him, pulling out one of his books. “But you passed,” he said cheerfully. “Congratulations. Welcome to the beautiful bond of teammates.”

Kakashi’s expression darkened even further. “Obito Uchiha is on my team,” he spat, the name dripping with disdain. “He’s reckless, annoying, and can’t even throw a kunai straight half the time. There’s nothing beautiful about it.”

Sukea raised an eyebrow. “And you’re an unapproachable know-it-all who barely speaks to anyone unless it’s a mission briefing,” he countered smoothly, leaning back and crossing his legs. “We all have our flaws. It’s good for you.”

Kakashi bristled at the remark, his fists clenching at his sides. “How is that supposed to help me?” he demanded.

“It’s called building character,” Sukea said with a dismissive wave, his tone dripping with mock wisdom. “Trust me, dealing with Obito will push you to grow in ways you didn’t even think were possible.”

Kakashi’s glare didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of doubt behind his irritation now. “You’re enjoying this,” he accused.

“Me?” Sukea pressed a hand to his chest in mock indignation. “Never. I did my time, and look at how well-adjusted I turned out.”

Kakashi gave him a long, sceptical look—the kind that could strip paint off a wall. It was completely unwarranted in Sukea’s opinion. He had taken great effort to act as normal and well-adjusted as possible during their time cohabitating.

Kakashi sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because deep down, you know I’m right,” Sukea said smugly. “And because I have nowhere else to go.”

Kakashi huffed but didn’t argue. Sukea counted that as a win.

He turned the page of his book… Nope, still not as good as Icha Icha.

Chapter Text

Sukea groaned loudly, dragging his blanket over his head as Kakashi nudged him for the fifth time. “Why do I have to get up for morning training? I’m old. Practically retired. Noon training is the earliest I should be expected to function,” he grumbled, voice muffled by the fabric.

“You’re not old. Not anymore,” Kakashi replied flatly, yanking the blanket away with ruthless efficiency. “And you’re still a shinobi. No excuses.”

Sukea cracked an eye open, attempting his most convincing plea. “What if you went in my place? No one would even notice. My stuff’s over there—it’s easy to apply.”

Kakashi stared at him, unimpressed. “Not a chance. I’ve got my own training, and there’s no way I’m facing Guy for you.”

Sukea groaned again, louder this time, before flopping back onto his pillow. Unfortunately, Kakashi’s patience had officially run out. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed Sukea by the back of his shirt and hauled him out of bed like a scruffed puppy. Sukea flailed half-heartedly but gave up quickly, grumbling all the while.

“I don’t know or care how old you think you are,” Kakashi said, dropping him unceremoniously onto the floor, “but no shinobi should be so relaxed about being late.”

Reluctantly, Sukea got himself ready, and the two headed toward their respective training grounds. As they walked, Sukea noticed their paths seemed to align. “Looks like we’re going the same way,” he commented, hoping for some excuse to drag his feet only to get a grunt in response.

As they passed a modest house, a booming voice suddenly erupted from within, startling them both.

“It’s your first day of training, and I couldn’t be prouder! Your springtime of youth is upon you! Find something important to you and train until you’re strong enough to protect it!”

Kakashi visibly stiffened, his pace quickening.

A voice from inside cut him off with a dramatic sob of gratitude.

“Thank you, Father! I will not let you down!”

“Hey, isn’t that—” Sukea began, just as Kakashi all but broke into a jog. This is Guy’s old house, he realized. That voice… it’s been years, but how could I forget Duy?

The door burst open, and Guy bounded out, brimming with exuberance. His tear-streaked face lit up when he spotted the two of them.

“Ah! Good morning my eternal rival and my youthful teammate!” he exclaimed, his energy undiminished by the early hour. “I did not know you were acquainted! Let us have a race to see who can reach the training grounds first!”

Before Sukea could even think of declining, Kakashi picked up his pace, clearly trying to escape.

Unfortunately for Kakashi, like an overexcited puppy, Guy interpreted this as an acceptance of his challenge. “So youthful! Your enthusiasm inspires me, Kakashi!” before taking off down the street.

Sukea couldn’t help himself—he burst out laughing, caught between amusement and exasperation. Breaking into a sprint, he shouted after Guy, “Kakashi’s team is meeting at the Third Training Ground! We should go there!”

And just like that, the race was on. Guy took off like a whirlwind of energy, Kakashi groaned in defeat, and Sukea couldn’t help but laugh as he sprinted after them, some of his favourite short-cuts not existing yet. The morning was chaos—but at least it was entertaining chaos.

—

The three of them barreled into the training ground in a whirlwind of dust and pounding footsteps, arriving in such a chaotic tangle that it was impossible to determine a clear winner. Not that it stopped Guy.

“I won by a mile!” Guy declared, striking a triumphant pose as if the entire village were watching.

Kakashi, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment, brushed past without breaking stride. “It wasn’t even a race, Guy,” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

“Admit it, Kakashi! My youthful speed was unmatched!” Guy retorted, his enthusiasm as indomitable as ever.

Their bickering escalated quickly, Guy throwing increasingly absurd arguments about why he was clearly the winner, while Kakashi shot them down with terse, cutting remarks. Sukea hung back, watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and detachment. It wasn’t his place to intervene—this wasn’t his dynamic anymore. He wasn’t Guy’s rival, just his teammate now.

For a moment, he considered slipping away entirely. His own training didn’t start for a while, and unfortunately thanks to the impromptu race, he was already ahead of schedule. However, his thoughts shifted as he noticed a young girl standing a few meters away, clutching her pack tightly and watching the scene unfold with wide, uncertain eyes.

Rin. She must have arrived early, likely nervous about her first official day of team training.

He approached Rin with an easy, disarming smile, feigning the kind of nerves he figured a normal new genin might have. “Sorry about my teammate.” he said lightly, gesturing toward the still-arguing duo, an almost mirror of their first conversation.

Rin blinked in surprise, but her face quickly softened into a warm, polite smile. “Oh, Sukea! You’re here too? It’s fine, really. They just startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone else this early, that’s all.”

“We were just passing through on our way to our own training. We’ll clear out soon. Leave you in peace.” Sukea explained, nodding toward the still-bickering pair.

Sukea saw some of the tension ease from her posture. “It’s no problem. It’s… lively,” she said, glancing back at Kakashi and Guy. Her voice dropped slightly, tinged with hesitation. “I was a little worried after yesterday’s meeting. Kakashi always seemed… distant. I thought he might be impossible to get along with. Not that I wasn’t going to try! But I’m glad to see he has friends.”

That admission hit Sukea harder than he expected. He’d always found Rin’s behaviour toward him—toward Kakashi—clingy and overbearing when he was younger. But was it possible she’d been trying all along to ensure he didn’t feel isolated? He’d always just brushed it off as some kind of misguided crush since she’s a girl.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “He’s… rough around the edges, but he means well,” Sukea managed, repeating the words she had used to try and smooth the edges of Obito’s rough personality.

Before the moment could grow too vulnerable, he turned back toward the others. “Guy! We’ve got training to get to!” he called, already retreating.

As they passed Kakashi, an idea struck Sukea. He stopped and turned back, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. In an exaggeratedly sweet voice, he called out, “Bye, Kakashi! Good luck on your first day of training! I’m sure you’ll become great friends with your team! You’re going to do amazing!” He gave an enthusiastic double thumbs-up for emphasis.

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Guy, of course, oblivious to Sukea’s teasing, joined in enthusiastically. “Yes, my eternal rival! Let your springtime of youth shine brilliantly today!”

Kakashi’s expression darkened further, promising retribution, but Sukea wasn’t worried. He had a knack for dodging consequences. Sukea nearly added an exaggerated “I love you” for good measure—something he’d seen parents do outside the academy—but stopped short. The idea of practically reenacting the familial love scene from Icha Icha Tactics in front of Rin was enough to make him reconsider. Kakashi already looked like he was ready to strangle them both, and Sukea had no desire to actually die of embarrassment, even if it was for a joke.

Instead, he opted for a quick, playful salute before jogging after Guy. Behind him, Rin’s soft giggles reached his ears, muffled but unmistakably amused.

Sure, Kakashi would hold this against him for a while, but he didn’t mind. Rin looked more at ease now, her nerves eased by the ridiculousness of it all and it had the bonus of hopefully knocking Kakashi down a few pegs. Both were a win in his book.

—

Training with Chōza-sensei was a stark contrast to the loose, adaptive sessions Sukea had experienced under Minato. Chōza’s style was regimented, with every drill carefully planned and every exercise emphasizing precision and discipline. It was fitting—Chōza wasn’t just any jōnin but the heir to one of Konoha’s major clans. His teaching style mirrored the leadership he was honing for his future role. Young Kakashi would have loved this kind of structure, and playing the part of the perfect little soldier.

The thought gave Sukea pause. Had Minato been deliberately assigned to Kakashi to try to counteract his rigidity? If so, it had been a clever move. Not that Kakashi appreciated it at the time.

Chōza’s training regimen was gruelling, leaving no time for second-guessing or hesitation. By the end of the day, they were all battered and sore, but Chōza didn’t stop there. He insisted they replenish their strength with a hearty meal, dragging the three of them to a cosy Akimichi restaurant.

Sukea, used to putting himself through worse, found it easy to manage the strain. But he had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to be an experienced shinobi anymore. He mimicked Genma’s groans and complaints, hoping to blend in.

When the meal was done, Guy, wincing but determined, stood with a resolute expression. “I will go train more,” he declared, his voice brimming with youthful vigour despite his obvious exhaustion.

Genma groaned dramatically, slumping further into his seat. “If you’ve got that much energy, you should just carry me home. I can’t move.”

Guy took the suggestion at face value and scooped Genma up in a fireman’s carry before anyone could protest and marched toward the exit

“Wait, what? I was joking!” Genma’s protests echoed as Guy ran into the distance with him.

Sukea rose to follow, chuckling under his breath, but Chōza held up a hand to stop him. “Sukea, stay for a moment.”

A flicker of unease passed through Sukea but he forced his expression into one of mild confusion and nodded.

Chōza’s demeanour was gentle but deliberate as he gestured for Sukea to sit back down. “Would you like to order dessert?” he asked, his tone light.

Sukea shook his head. “I don’t like sweets, Sensei.”

“There goes my plan to ease into this with dessert.” Chōza sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be blunt, then. Do you need any specific accommodations for clan training?”

Sukea blinked, caught off guard. “Clan training?”

Chōza nodded, his tone thoughtful. “Yes. The Hatake clan may not have an active adult clan head, but it would be disrespectful not to ask if you require anything specific.”

Sukea’s mind raced. “Minato-sensei never—” He stopped himself, cringing internally at the slip. “I mean, Kakashi’s sensei never asked, so… I haven’t thought about it.”

But really, he hadn’t even realized this was something a sensei was supposed to offer. Minato had never brought it up. Then again, Minato had been civilian-born and might not have known to ask.

Chōza looked serious. “I should probably discuss this with him so you can actually plan some clan training with Kakashi if you need it and ensure no one else is overlooked.”

Panic flared in Sukea’s chest. “Wait—don’t tell Minato-sensei!” The idea horrified him. Minato’s kindness and attention to his students meant he’d likely feel guilty for missing something so significant. “It doesn’t even matter that much! We train in our own time. Please, Sensei. He’d feel awful.”

Chōza’s gaze softened, but his tone remained firm. “Sukea, this isn’t just about you. Minato’s new team includes an Uchiha. He needs to be aware of these matters for all his students.”

The comment struck Sukea. That probably explained why the Uchiha clan had sometimes been cold toward Minato... Hesitating, Sukea finally relented. “Could you… not mention me when you talk to him? I don’t exactly advertise being a Hatake.” He also didn’t want his old Senei to second-guess every interaction he’d had with Kakashi and feel bad for something that honestly wasn’t a problem.

Chōza’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Understood. But your concern for Minato’s feelings speaks volumes. The Hokage tried to give me some insight into your situation when you joined my team despite not knowing much himself but let me guess—Minato wasn’t just your brother’s sensei. He was yours too, even if he didn’t realize it.”

Sukea felt a flush creep up his neck. Chōza wasn’t wrong, but the truth was far more complicated than the simple observation. Time travel wasn’t exactly easy to explain, and certainly not to his current sensei. Instead, he gave a hesitant nod since it was close enough.

Chōza’s smile warmed. “Well, Sukea, I hope, in time, to earn that same kind of loyalty from you.”

—

Chōza Sensei had arranged a joint training session the following day, despite it being so soon since the teams themselves were formed.

The group gathered at Training Ground 3 and everyone waited, shifting awkwardly under the morning sun, while the last team member remained conspicuously absent.

“Where is he?” Kakashi grumbled, arms crossed and posture stiff. His sharp eyes scanned the empty path leading to the training ground. “It’s bad enough Obito is late to everything. Now he’s making us all waste time.”

“It’s alright, Kakashi.” Minato smiled, the picture of patience. “This gives us a chance to get to know the team we’re training with today.”

Kakashi scoffed, but introductions began anyway. Most were for the benefit of the sensei, as the students had met briefly at the academy.

Minato’s attention turned to Sukea, a glimmer of recognition in his kind blue eyes. “Sukea, are you excited to train with Kakashi? I remember you’re Kakashi’s friend.”

Kakashi scowled. “He’s not my friend,” he snapped before Sukea could reply.

Rin, undeterred, grinned. “Don’t listen to him! Kakashi’s just being stubborn.
They arrived together, and Sukea was cheering him on before training yesterday.”

Kakashi’s expression soured further. “I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered, swiftly changing the subject. “Obito’s tardiness is the real issue.”

Chōza, stroking his chin thoughtfully, chimed in. “Uchiha clansmen sometimes follow specific training traditions—either at sunrise or sunset. Could he be late because of that? Or might he need accommodations?”

Minato hesitated, clearly uncertain. “I don’t think it’s a tradition in this case,” he admitted. “Obito’s just… bad with time management.”

As if summoned by their words, Obito finally appeared, panting and dishevelled. “Sorry! I had to help Granny get yams, and then I got lost!” he called, waving sheepishly.

Chōza didn’t waste a second. “Now that you’re all here, warm up and start sparring,” he ordered. “Minato, I need a word.” He gestured for Minato to follow, leaving the students to sort themselves out.

The group split into pairs. As expected, Guy immediately declared Kakashi his sparring partner, proclaiming their rivalry with his usual fervour. That left Sukea paired with Rin, much to Obito’s poorly concealed dismay.

The matchups weren’t entirely random. Many—including Obito, Genma, and Rin—still believed Sukea was “too small” to spar with the boys. Kakashi, unimpressed, pointed out dryly, “We’re the same size.” But his observation was ignored as Guy pulled him away with relentless enthusiasm.

Sukea didn’t mind being underestimated. It played into his cover. As Rin led their spar, he blocked and dodged her strikes on autopilot, his focus elsewhere. His sharp Hatake senses honed in on the low conversation between Chōza and Minato just out of earshot.

Most of it was what he’d anticipated. Minato’s uncertainty about clan training protocols? Expected. His mild embarrassment at his lack of knowledge about Uchiha traditions? Perfect. The more they focused on Obito and his clan, the less they’d look at Kakashi—or him. That was exactly how Sukea wanted it.

He allowed himself a small smirk as he sidestepped Rin’s punch, his mind half on her movements and half on the conversation. But Chōza’s next words made his stomach drop. “The Hatake clan may only have two members, but Kakashi is still a clan ninja and he may need time for his own clan duties as well.”

Minato’s response was harder to catch, probably shock at never having considered it, but the question “Who’s the other member?” rang clear in Sukea’s ears.

What is he doing? Why is he bringing this up?

He was so absorbed in eavesdropping that his sparring with Rin faltered. She saw an opening and lunged, determination blazing in her eyes. Sukea’s instincts, honed over years of battlefield survival, kicked in before his conscious mind could catch up. He countered with a sharp strike that landed squarely.

Rin staggered back, her hand flying to her face as blood began to drip between her fingers. Sukea’s stomach dropped.

Her lip was split—or maybe her nose was broken. He couldn’t tell. All he could see was the crimson seeping through her fingers.

On his hands.

Blood. Rin’s blood.

Suddenly, he wasn’t in the training ground anymore. He was on that battlefield, his hand plunging into her chest, her lifeless eyes staring back at him as her blood coated his arm. He couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened, and his vision blurred.

“I—I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t—”

“Sukea, it’s fine!” Rin’s voice was muffled through her bloodied hand, but he barely heard her.

Obito, however, had zeroed in on the situation and was already storming over. “You actually hit her?!” he yelled, fury in his eyes. “What kind of guy hits a girl?!”

Sukea didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His knees buckled as he fell to the ground, his hands trembling. His breaths came in sharp, erratic gasps.

Genma was at Rin’s side in an instant, trying to stop the bleeding. Guy had moved to intercept Obito, holding him back with surprising strength.

“Calm down, Obito! It was an accident!” Guy’s voice was firm but strained as Obito struggled against his grip.

Meanwhile, Kakashi stood frozen, his usually sharp eyes wide with confusion and alarm. He didn’t know what to do. Sukea wasn’t responding.

The sensei, alerted by the commotion, returned to find chaos. Rin was bleeding but otherwise calm under Genma’s care. Obito was shouting, restrained by Guy. Sukea was on his knees, hyperventilating, his eyes glazed with panic and unshed tears. And Kakashi—Kakashi just looked lost.

Chōza was starting to instruct everyone to give Sukea space but Minato crouched beside Sukea, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. “Sukea, look at me,” he said gently, his calm voice cutting through the noise. Sukea’s gaze flicked to Minato, but the panic in his eyes didn’t abate. “Her blood—” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s my fault. I couldn’t save her.”

Minato’s eyebrow furrowed. The amount of both coming out of his student and on this boy's hands was not fatal.

Chōza knelt on Sukea’s other side, his deep voice firm but kind. “She’s fine, Sukea. Look.” He gestured toward Rin, who offered a weak but reassuring smile through her bloodied face despite how much of it had managed to drip onto her shirt.

But Sukea’s breaths only quickened. “It’s not coming off,” he murmured, his hands trembling. “There’s so much blood.” He began scratching at his hands, as if trying to scrub them clean.

Chōza exchanged a worried look with Minato. “New plan. Kakashi, take Sukea to clean up. Genma, escort Rin to the hospital to get her checked properly.”

Chōza hauled Sukea to his feet and practically shoved him toward Kakashi, who caught him awkwardly. “Take care of him,” Chōza instructed, his tone brooking no argument. Kakashi nodded, guiding Sukea away with a rare flicker of concern in his sharp, calculating gaze.

—

The first thing he consciously perceived was the sound of trickling water. Soft at first, a distant murmuring, but then louder, accompanied by splashing. Coldness seeped into him, not just from the water but from the sharp grip of someone harshly wrenching his hands apart.

“They’re not going to get any cleaner!” a voice snapped, sharp and laced with frustration.

He blinked, disoriented, the world slowly sharpening into focus. His hands felt raw, the sting of overzealous scrubbing still lingering. Instinctively, he gripped onto the hands that had pulled his own apart, something solid to anchor him in the moment.

His blurry vision cleared, and then his breath hitched. He was staring at… himself?

But no, not quite himself. Younger. Angrier.

It took a few moments for the jumbled pieces of his mind to fit together. This wasn’t a manic hallucination. This was Kakashi. His younger self, alive, breathing, and all too real. The hands still gripped in his own were so small yet the same size as his, both pairs free of electrical burn scars, nor calloused by years of ANBU work or other signs of missions gone wrong. The eyes glaring at him were sharp and familiar, he used to look at himself in the mirror trying to figure out what was wrong with himself with that same look.

Sukea blinked hard, shaking his head as fragments of memory slid into place. The past. He wasn’t in his time—hadn’t been for weeks now. He’d been living with his younger self, trying to maintain this fragile, fabricated identity. But why was he here, next to the river, half-wet and trembling?

“Are you broken or just stupid?” Kakashi’s younger voice cut through the haze. He yanked his hands free and crossed his arms, glaring with the same irritated sharpness Sukea once wore like armour. “You’ve been sitting here, scrubbing your hands like a lunatic. What’s wrong with you?”

The question, though blunt, and harsh carried an undercurrent of something like concern—or at least curiosity.

“I…” His voice cracked, hoarse from the earlier panic that had gripped him. “I suppose I’m broken.” The words were a whisper, weighed down by the image of blood on his hands. His gaze darted back to Kakashi, wide and desperate. “Wait, is Rin okay? I didn’t hurt her badly, did I? I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because of me,”

Sukea’s voice climbed as the panic crept back in, his breaths quickening. His chest tightened, and his words tumbled out in a frantic stream.

Kakashi regarded him with a blank stare, his expression flat. “I mean… you punched her in the face,” he said bluntly. “But she’ll live.”

“I punched her in the face?” He breathed with disbelief startled out of his panic then he gave a weak chuckle, hollow and brittle. “Look at me, I’m pathetic, getting so freaked out over a little girl's blood.”

For a long moment, Kakashi said nothing. His sharp, calculating gaze lingered on Sukea as though weighing the situation. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and tentatively patted Sukea on the head.

“There, there,” Kakashi said stiffly, his hand lingering awkwardly on Sukea’s hair before quickly retreating.

Sukea blinked, caught completely off guard by the gesture. It was clumsy, impersonal, and almost comical, but it wasn’t nothing.

Kakashi, clearly deciding his comforting duties were fulfilled, shoved his hands into his pockets and added casually, “By the way, my teammate Obito has taken you hurting Rin pretty personally.”

Sukea’s stomach sank.

But Kakashi shrugged as though it were the most insignificant thing in the world. “He’s not very strong, so I don’t think there’s any real danger, but if he starts running around after you screaming, that’s why.”

Chapter Text

Sukea slumped heavily on the riverbank, his legs trembling from the adrenaline crash. He felt damp and uncomfortable, water soaking through his sleeves and clinging to his skin. His wig felt sticky and wet with either sweat or water—he didn’t know or care which.

With a sigh, he tugged the wig off, letting it fall limply into his lap. Digging into his shirt, he pulled out the training mask he’d swiped earlier. The familiar fabric slipped over his face, grounding him with its scent and weight.

“Wait.” Kakashi’s voice cut through the quiet. “Isn’t that mine?”

Sukea glanced up at his younger self, who stood glaring at him, arms crossed and looking mildly betrayed.

“Mine still has that new mask smell,” Sukea muttered, too drained to argue.

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed, but he only huffed, muttering something about thieves under his breath before plopping down next to him.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Sukea leaned back, palms pressing into the damp earth as he closed his eyes. He could feel Kakashi’s gaze on him but didn’t have the energy to care.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the quiet, and Sukea opened his eyes to see Chōza towering over them.

“Kakashi? Where’s—” Chōza’s words trailed off as his eyes flicked between their identical masks. His brow furrowed, then relaxed with faint recognition. “Oh, Sukea,” he said. “Didn’t notice the resemblance before. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“We’re twins,” Kakashi said flatly, arms crossed. “Of course we look the same. Especially when he’s wearing my mask.”

Sukea snorted at how that seemed to be the thing his younger self was focused on.

“Well, it looks like you’re feeling a little better, then?” Choza asked, his deep voice steady but not unkind.

“Better’s a strong word,” Sukea admitted. He straightened slightly, trying to seem a bit more together. “But… yeah. I’ll live.”

Chōza studied him for a moment before he crouched beside him, his large frame somehow managing not to loom intimidatingly. “Living is good, but what happened back there?”

Sukea stiffened, his gaze flicking away as the memory of Rin’s blood resurfaced. “Nothing,” he said finally, his tone stubborn and clipped.

For a moment, Chōza didn’t respond.

“Sukea,” he began, placing a large hand on his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture, but Sukea’s muscles locked under the weight of that hand. He didn’t like how pinned it made him feel, as though escape wasn’t an option.

Choza’s voice softened into a gentler tone. It was the kind of voice someone used with a spooked animal—careful, coaxing, and entirely patronizing. You don’t need to pretend with me,” he said gently. “I’m your sensei, Sukea, and I want to help. I know it must have been hard seeing Rin hurt like that. Your reaction—well, it was understandable, I do recall what happened to your father even if the village likes to pretend it doesn’t.”

“Excuse me?” Sukea asked, his voice sharper than intended. He could feel Kakashi bristling on his other side.

Chōza sighed, his grip on Sukea’s shoulder firming slightly like he was trying to give comfort. “It’s clear that blood… affects you,” he began carefully trying to explain himself. “I looked into your clan's specialities when I took you on as a student and noticed that most of the Hatake often tended to use kenjustu yet Kakashi is the only one of you with a sword, I even noticed you opted for the kunoichi track instead of the standard combat training and yet when I gave you training drills, you took to them very well, so it’s not a lack of experience drawing you towards it. You’re avoiding combat.”

“It’s no wonder you’d have a hard time,” Chōza continued, his voice laced with sympathy. “Possibly witnessing something like that… it affects even the most seasoned Shinobi. There’s no shame in it, Sukea. If you or Kakashi ever feel comfortable, you should consider speaking to someone—perhaps a Yamanaka. My old teammate is Inoichi Yamanaka and I can ask him—”

Sukea froze, his breath catching and tuning out his sensei’s probably well-intentioned but misguided theory. The implication hit him like a blow: He thinks my reaction to Rin’s blood is some blanket fear of blood… from witnessing Father’s death?

He barely remembered his father’s death in detail—just the detached haze of trying to stop the bleeding, until he realised it was too late, and then feeling duty-bound to guard over Sakumo’s lifeless body until someone discovered them. He hadn’t cried then, hadn’t felt the overwhelming grief they’d expected of him. To him, it had just been a mission.

The breaking point hadn’t come until much later. It was Obito’s blood, Rin’s, and then the endless crimson of his loved ones that followed in his years as a shinobi that finally made him feel the weight of it.

“I…” Sukea’s voice cracked, his throat tightening. Sukea feels conflicted, should he lean into his teacher's misconception? But before he could say anything, Kakashi cut in.

“He’s fine,” the younger Kakashi said sharply, his tone clipped but strangely defensive. “We don’t need to see a Yamanaka. He just overreacted. It happens.” He shrugged, as though the ordeal was a minor inconvenience, nothing worth dwelling on. “The academy combat classes were boring anyway. And he doesn’t have a sword.”

Sukea blinked, taken aback, realizing that Kakashi was trying to defend him from the allegation that he… had a fear of blood and combat. The pause that followed was faintly awkward, almost hesitant, before Kakashi added, “I suppose I could let him borrow the White Light Chakra Sabre sometimes.”

Sukea flinched as if struck. That blade wasn’t his to touch. He’d broken his own weapon long ago. He had no right to Kakashi’s. It was Kakashi’s choice whether to cherish it, wield it with honour, or let it shatter like Sukea did. Logically he knew the boy was trying to do a kindness but the offer tore at Sukea’s already raw emotions, scraping against the fragile stability he’d just begun to piece together. His voice snapped before he could stop himself.

“I don’t want it!”

The words hung heavy in the air, echoing louder than he’d intended. Both Choza and Kakashi froze, startled by his outburst. The silence that followed pressed down on Sukea. His chest burned, his emotions unravelling beneath the strain.

Choza raised his hands slightly, a placating gesture. “All right,” he said carefully, his voice even and calm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Sukea sucked in a shaky breath, willing himself to regain some semblance of composure. But the tightness in his chest refused to ease, and every muscle in his body screamed for escape. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow, a brittle attempt at reassurance. He turned to Kakashi, his voice tight and strained. “Kakashi. I want to go home. Help me up.”

Kakashi hesitated but offered his arm. Sukea gripped it, leaning heavily on his younger self as his legs wobbled beneath him. Together, they began to hobble away from the riverbank. Sukea kept his gaze fixed on the ground, avoiding Choza’s concerned eyes, unwilling to face the compassion or pity he might see there.

Sukea didn’t look back. His mind swirled with conflicting emotions. He knew, in the back of his mind, that his reaction had only cemented Choza’s misconceptions about him disliking blood and avoiding combat. Yet, he couldn’t summon the energy to care.

By the time they reached home, Sukea was running on empty. The moment they stepped inside, he made straight for the bedroom, barely bothering with the lights. He sank to his knees by the small collection of belongings he’d had on him when this whole mess began, fingers brushing absently over the camera and rolls of undeveloped film.

He pushed them aside and found what he was looking for—a well-worn copy of Icha Icha. Relief coursed through him as he cradled the book in his hands. Flipping to the first page, he curled up in the corner of the far too big bed that had come with the apartment. He didn’t need to think to follow the words; he’d memorized every line long before, even without the aid of his Sharingan. The familiar, vivid descriptions swept over him, comforting in their predictability.

His mind wandered freely as he read, allowing the cadence of the story to soothe him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the subtle creak of a floorboard drew his attention. He glanced up to see Kakashi quietly settling down beside him.

The boy didn’t say anything at first, pulling a book of his own from his pouch—a well-thumbed training manual— and offering a few simply made riceballs. At some point, they fell asleep.

—
.
.
.

The steady trickle of running water tugged Kakashi from the edges of sleep. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, willing the sound to fade. But it didn’t. It continued, persistent and grating, gnawing at his fraying patience. Why would the tap even be running at this hour?

With a groan, Kakashi pushed himself up, the cool night air biting at his skin as his bare feet hit the floor. Muttering under his breath about carelessness, he shuffled toward the source of the sound. The faint echo of a voice accompanied the water now, barely audible but unmistakable. Someone was there.

He froze outside the bathroom door, unease prickling at the edges of his irritation. Slowly, he pushed it open and steam billowed out.

Sukea was hunched over the sink, his hands under the relentless stream of water. He scrubbed furiously, his movements rigid, almost frantic, as if trying to erase something only he could see. His fingers were raw, his knuckles red and swollen from the assault and based on the steam filling the room the water was probably running hot. Kakashi had seen him do this after the sparring match earlier that day, obsessively scrubbing his hands clean. He’d assumed it had been resolved once the blood was gone. He’d seemed fine.

But he doesn’t seem fine now.

Sukea’s expression was blank, his eyes hollow and distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. The look made his stomach twist, as it dredged up a memory, what with Sukea’s teacher bringing it up. He’d seen that kind of look before—once, just once—in his father’s eyes. It was after he had returned from that ill-fated mission when Kakashi had come across him in the kitchen in the dead of night. For one fleeting moment, Sakumo hadn’t been wearing his usual smile, hadn’t put on a cheerful front. He’d looked… empty, weighed down by something Kakashi hadn’t understood at the time.

The memory spurred him into action. Kakashi darted forward and shut off the tap, the sudden silence jarring. Sukea didn’t even flinch, his hands still clawing at the air, scrubbing at something that wasn’t there.

Kakashi grabbed his wrists, his small fingers wrapping tightly around Sukea’s trembling hands. “Stop it,” he said firmly, his voice sharper than he intended.

Sukea blinked, his movements faltering. His gaze slowly shifted to Kakashi, but it was unfocused like he was struggling to place where—or when—he was.

Kakashi’s chest tightened. He didn’t know what to do with Sukea. He didn’t know how to handle people breaking apart in front of him. Kakashi tightened his grip, feeling a pang of something he didn’t quite understand. Helplessness? Frustration? He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, blunt and unfiltered. “Why are you like this? Why are you so… broken?”

Sukea looked down at their joined hands, eyes still looking hazy, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“I don’t want this for you, Kakashi,” he murmured, his words heavy with something Kakashi couldn’t name. Regret? Guilt? “I’ve hurt so many people—people who mattered to me. And the things I’ve done… they’ve caused even more pain. My hands never feel clean.” He swallowed hard, his voice cracking. “I can still feel it, no matter how hard I try to scrub it away.”

Kakashi stared at him, unsure what to say, unsure how to process the raw vulnerability spilling out of this strange, older version of himself.

Sukea was still such an enigma, someone who felt simultaneously familiar and alien. Most of the time, Kakashi could almost believe the lie—that Sukea was just some hidden sibling rather than an older version of himself. He was too childish, insisting Kakashi “loosen up,” lazing around, and reading trash novels Kakashi wouldn’t touch with a kunai. But then there were those quiet moments when they moved around each other, perfectly in sync, or when their likes and dislikes aligned so effortlessly. Those moments made Kakashi feel like he was staring into a mirror.

But this? Sitting on the bathroom floor, watching Sukea fall apart and insist that he didn’t want Kakashi to end up like him—this left Kakashi with more questions than answers.

—

Sukea stirred, the cool hardness of familiar bathroom tiles anchoring him as he blinked blearily into consciousness. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts muddled, but the faint ache in his neck reminded him where he was—and why. Another nightmare. He grimaced, shifting to sit up, but something held him down.

Kakashi.

The boy was slumped awkwardly beside him, one small hand gripping Sukea’s sleeve even in sleep. His hair was mussed, his breathing soft and steady, and his expression was uncharacteristically peaceful. The sight tugged at something deep within Sukea—a pang of guilt, tangled with reluctant fondness.

What is he even doing here? The thought came unbidden, sharp and laced with unease. Not here in the bathroom, but here in this time.

He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in the past. The Sharingan’s abilities were vast and unpredictable, but even this felt beyond comprehension. Kakashi—the younger Kakashi—had offered him refuge under the pretence of being a twin. But it’s not even like he had a choice but to accept. It was either that or being on the run, and doing that during a war would be a death sentence, especially in a time that still vividly remembers his father. Even if he’d wanted to return to his time, there was no clear way back.

And now he’s here, sitting on a bathroom floor, staring at hands that still stung from the frantic scrubbing he barely remembered doing. He thought he’d broken that habit long ago. As Hokage, the compulsions had grown rare, pushed aside by overworking himself and a need to keep moving forward. But this… this time, this place, with its fresh reminders and reopened wounds, had unravelled years of fragile progress.

His gaze lingered on Kakashi, his younger self, and a weight settled in his chest. Sukea knew he was dragging the boy into his own mess, into a mire of grief, guilt, and regrets that weren’t even Kakashi’s to carry yet. He clenched his jaw, swallowing back the bitterness. ‘I’ll make it better’, he thought fiercely. ‘Somehow, I’ll make sure he doesn’t end up like me.’

Bitter. Broken. Haunted by ghosts that wouldn’t let him rest.

His voice was barely more than a whisper, echoing in the stillness of the room like an apology.

“In the ninja world, those who break the rules are scum… but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.”

Kakashi stirred slightly at the sound, his fingers tightening momentarily on Sukea’s sleeve before relaxing again. The sight made Sukea’s throat tighten.

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as exhaustion threatened to pull him under again. He didn’t know if he could fix things—didn’t know if it was even possible to steer this Kakashi toward a better future. But maybe, just maybe, he could push him far enough away from the path Sukea had taken.

Far enough to give him a chance.

—

Sukea's hands stung as he flexed his fingers. It had been a while since he’d found himself in this situation—so long, in fact, that he’d nearly forgotten the clumsy art of tending his own wounds. As Hokage, there had always been a med-nin nearby to tackle him down and patch him up.

He’d snuck away to the kitchen, hoping to quietly clean and dress his hands without alerting his younger counterpart. But the moment the kitchen sink sputtered to life, a white blur shot into the room like an overzealous watchdog.

“What are you doing?” Kakashi’s sharp voice cut through the quiet, his storm-grey eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I’m just cleaning them before I bandage them.” Sukea said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace.

Kakashi’s gaze flicked to the counter, where salve and bandages already lay neatly arranged. His expression darkened with determination. “I’ll do it.”

Sukea rolled his eyes, exhaling a quiet sigh as he extended his hands, “Fine. Knock yourself out.”

To his surprise, Kakashi worked in relative silence, his movements precise but tentative, as though afraid of pressing too hard. Sukea couldn’t resist offering the occasional critique, pointing out how to wind the bandages tighter or apply the salve more evenly—tips born of years of ANBU experience. Kakashi grunted in reply, his expression unreadable as he worked.

When the job was done, Sukea flexed his fingers experimentally. “Not bad,” he said, earning a faint shrug from the boy, who disappeared to prepare for his training.

Later, as Sukea wandered into the hall, he spotted Kakashi adjusting his gear. The boy hesitated, fingers lingering on the strap of their father’s sword, now slung across his back. His stormy gaze flickered to Sukea, conflicted, as though waiting for permission—or disapproval.

Sukea’s throat tightened as he realized why. Yesterday’s outburst still hung between them. He forced himself to smile, soft but firm. “It’s yours, Kakashi. I’ll borrow and steal masks and training equipment but not that. I was careless with father's sword and treated it like just any weapon and it broke during a mission in my time. I don’t deserve to take that away from you.”

Kakashi’s grip tightened on the strap at the mention of it getting broken, “Was it a lack of training?”

“What?” Sukea blinked, caught off guard.

“Was it a lack of training that caused you to misuse it?” The boy presses, “If it is I’ll need you to help teach me how to not do that.”

“Are you trying to ask me to teach you kenjutsu? I thought I already showed you I’m not a very good teacher.” referring to their prior attempts at training that just turned into sparring.

“That’s okay,” Kakashi replied, his tone casual, though the faint pink colouring his ears betrayed his embarrassment. “I don’t know anyone else currently learning kenjutsu. It would be nice to have someone to practice with.”

The boy’s earnestness sent a wave of elation through Sukea. This... this is the cuteness of having a student that he missed.

“I’ll warn you now,” Sukea began, his grin softening. “I’m going to have to relearn the Hatake style with you. After the sword broke, I fell back on the standard shinobi techniques when I picked up kenjutsu again.”

Kakashi frowned, clearly processing this, though he didn’t push further. Sukea hesitated. The truth—the destruction caused by the Nine-Tailed Fox’s rampage, had wiped out the Hatake compound along with its records and techniques, leaving anything Kakashi didn’t actively learn lost—was not something the boy needed to shoulder. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

A knock at the door shattered the quiet moment.

Kakashi’s head turned sharply, his senses instantly on alert. With practised ease, he used a little chakra to scale the doorframe, lifting the cover on a peephole to glance outside. “What do you want, Minato-sensei?” Kakashi called through the door, while waving Sukea away.

Although he had taken to suppressing his chakra like he used to in ANBU, he double-checked, ensuring it was tightly cloaked so his teacher, correction so Kakashi’s teacher, couldn’t feel him.

He quietly indicates to Kakashi that he’s going to go out and Sukea makes himself scarce. He quickly put his wig on and only fumbled a little with his eye makeup before escaping through the window.

From outside, as he quietly shut the window behind him, he could faintly hear Minato’s warm voice explaining, “Chōza mentioned yesterday that I might have been neglecting your needs as a clan shinobi, so I thought we could talk about it before we meet everyone else for group training—”

The rest was muffled as Sukea slipped away.

Chapter Text

Sukea scrambled out the window, landing lightly on the ground. His hands still stung faintly under the fresh bandages Kakashi had applied. Flexing his fingers experimentally, he glanced down at them. They were wrapped with a surprising amount of care for someone as blunt and impatient as his younger self. He then shoved them carelessly into his pockets and began to meander down the street. It was too early to start making his way to the training grounds yet.

He found his feet taking him to the memorial stone. He wasn’t surprised as its solemn weight usually grounds him.

Sukea’s steps slowed as he approached, his eyes scanning the etched names instinctively. He stopped short when his gaze fell on a blank section of the stone. The names he knew by heart—the comrades, the friends, the weight of his failures—hadn’t been added yet. Well, there was one missing. But that was for entirely different reasons.

His father’s manner of passing had robbed him of that honour.

Eventually, he decided that this blank stone didn’t have the comfort he was looking for.

His feet carried him onward, almost against his will, to a place he had avoided in his first life: Sakumo Hatake’s grave.

Back then, he’d stayed away, his emotions a tangled mess of bitterness and grief. As a boy, he’d felt betrayed by his father’s actions, and later, as a man drowning in his own guilt, he couldn’t bring himself to face the man he felt he’d failed in turn. But now, the pull was undeniable.

The cemetery stretched out before him, its familiar quiet almost jarring. He passed empty plots that he hopes he will never have to visit again and makes his way towards ones that have long been filled. The morning light cast long shadows across the ground, and when he finally reached his father’s grave, he stopped short.

The sight of it hit him like a blow.

The gravestone bore the scars of malice—his father's name crudely scratched out by someone who hated Sakumo even in death. He wouldn’t have been sure he had the right one if not for the faint graffiti damning ‘the white fang’ marring its surface. The last 4 years had dulled the active malice villagers had shown since most of this damage looked old and to Sukea’s surprise, it appeared someone had been attempting to tend to it. The weeds had been pulled, and the stone was wiped of dirt.

Unconsciously, he fell into old habits, standing vigil like he would before the memorial stone. His eyes traced where Sakumo’s name should have been, lingering on the deep gouge left by resentment. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for a kunai. He certainly couldn’t make it look any worse.

Kneeling, he began carving into the stone, restoring the name. The act felt futile—almost childish—but it gave his hands something to do. Each stroke sent a fresh twinge through his fingers, but he ignored the sting, focusing on the rhythmic scrape of metal against rock.

He had just begun to form the letters "SAK—" when a furious shout broke the silence.

“First you hit a girl, and now you’re defacing the grave of the great hero ‘The white Fang’? What is wrong with you?!”

The furious shout startled Sukea, his kunai slipping in his grip. He turned sharply, only to see Obito marching towards him, fists clenched and trembling with righteous indignation.

For all his attempts to not get on Obito’s bad side this time around, he’s really not succeeding.

Regardless, Sukea froze, holding his hands up in surrender as Obito stormed closer, his fiery glare boring into him.

“What are you doing?!” Obito demanded, jabbing a finger at the half-carved name. “Were you writing your own name on there?!”

Sukea blinked in confusion. Writing my own name? Sure his handwriting probably isn’t the best since he isn’t much of a carver but why would he-? Then it dawns on him.

To Obito, the half-carved "SAK" could easily look like the start of "Sukea," especially if Obito didn’t know the White Fang’s real name.

He let out a measured breath, forcing his pulse to slow. Obito was bristling, ready to explode, and Sukea needed to defuse the situation fast.

“Look, Obito, it’s not what it looks like,” he began, keeping his voice even.

Obito’s glare only sharpened, his arms crossing as he stepped closer. “That’s what people say when they’re caught doing something wrong!”

Sukea quickly added, “This is my father’s grave. His name used to be here—Sakumo. I was just trying to fix it.” He gestured to the scratched-out section of the stone. “I’m not defacing anything. I’m restoring what should’ve been here all along.”

Obito faltered, his defiance wavering as his brow furrowed. “Your… father?” he echoed, his voice quieter now. He stared at the grave for a long moment, his anger visibly giving way to uncertainty. “I… I heard the White Fang had a son, but…” He looked back at Sukea, his expression conflicted. “I’m still not going to forgive you for punching Rin!”

Sukea’s heart sank at the reminder, guilt flaring anew. He leaned forward slightly, concern edging into his voice. “Is she okay?” he asked quickly. No one had told him much after the incident—just brushed it off as a non-fatal injury—but the thought of her being seriously hurt made his chest tighten painfully.

Obito blinked at the question, caught off guard by the genuine worry in Sukea’s tone. “Her nose was broken,” he admitted, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “The medics said it wasn’t serious enough to waste resources on, so they’re letting it heal naturally. She said it hurts a lot, though.”

Sukea winced, the knot in his stomach tightening. “I didn’t mean to hit her,” he said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

That vulnerability felt too exposed, too raw, and the shinobi in him recoiled instinctively. He needed to regain control, to reframe the situation. His eyes darted to the half-finished carving of his father’s name, and he seized on it, turning his turmoil into a tool for a mission.

“I-I didn’t think to check on her,” he continued, voice halting, as if forcing himself to speak through the rising discomfort. “The sight of the blood, it—it reminded me too much of—” His words caught, his gaze fixed firmly on the desecrated stone beneath his fingers. He felt a pang of guilt for using his father as part of the cover, his sensei already seems to believe it, he may as well lean into it. ‘Sorry, Dad. I didn’t mourn you properly the first time and now I’m play-acting it to cover up my other secrets.’ he apologised mentally.

Obito’s eyes followed Sukea’s gaze to the grave. His indignation softened further, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Her nose looked bad,” Obito admitted after a moment, his tone quieter. “But Rin’s tough. She said she’s going to practice healing it herself since she’s been learning medical jutsu.” His voice brightened with admiration. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

Sukea nodded absently, relieved to hear Rin would be okay but unable to fully shake the weight pressing on his chest.

Obito’s tone shifted again, turning more stern. “But don’t think that gets you off the hook! You still owe her an apology. You hear me?”

Sukea managed a faint smile, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Fair enough,” he murmured, his tone subdued.

He wasn’t sure he could actually face Rin yet—not while the shame still felt so raw—but he would cross that bridge when he got to it.

Then, suddenly, Obito stiffened, his eyes widening in panic. “Oh no! I’m late for training!” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and bolted, his hurried footsteps fading quickly into the distance.

Sukea watched him go, sighing as he glanced at the sun’s position in the sky. Unless the boy had the speed of Minato himself, there was no way he’d make it in time for training. Then again, Sukea wasn’t doing much better. Late was late, whether you strolled in leisurely or sprinted in breathless.

Shrugging, Sukea settled back into his crouch and retrieved his kunai to resume his work, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone grounding him as it stung his hands. Slowly and deliberately, he continued carving, letting the task absorb his attention.

When he was finished, he sat back, brushing away the stone dust, tidying up the mess he’d made and picking a few weeds while he was at. It was then that he sensed someone else approaching. He ignored it at first, probably another mourner, instead focusing on his cleanup, until the presence lingered directly behind him.

“OH! Another boy helping keep the resting place of humble heroes respectable! Are you friends with the Uchiha boy who usually helps clean the graves?”

The loud, booming voice startled Sukea so badly he flinched, spinning to face the source. There stood Duy Might, his radiant energy almost as overwhelming as his son’s, though tempered with a certain warmth.

Sukea blinked, momentarily at a loss. “Uh… you mean Obito?”

“You are acquainted then? Wonderful!” Duy’s voice brimmed with emotion, his enthusiasm as boundless as his grin. Tears welled in his eyes as he clasped his hands together. “It’s so inspiring to see the youth of today choosing to spend the springtime of their youth in such noble ways! It’s always so neat and tidy when I visit. I worried when that boy was no longer required to clean after moving up in the academy, but he still comes! He says he doesn’t want heroes to be forgotten. It’s so YOUTHFUL!”

A wry smirk tugging at his lips despite himself. He knew the boy was often off helping grannies cross roads and seemed to have terrible time management but learning this he couldn’t help but think that maybe if Obito wasn’t squeezing every good deed in Konoha into his schedule, he’d make it to training on time.

“How often is he here?” Sukea asked, more curious than he’d intended.

“Oh! Are you attempting to align your schedules?” Duy beamed. “I would say he comes on the days between when the academy students handle the maintenance… though they sometimes skip this area, depending on the teacher in charge.”

Sukea’s gaze swept over the graves surrounding Sakumo’s. These weren’t the resting places of celebrated heroes. Those graves lay closer to the entrance, well-kept and adorned with flowers. Here, the names on the stones belonged to those whose ends had been deemed dishonourable or whose lives had lacked the familial ties to secure their memories. Sakumo’s grave sat among them, a fallen hero surrounded by the forgotten and the cast aside.

The realization settled in his chest like a fresh ache, his fingers tightening into fists at his sides.

Duy’s voice softened, breaking through the heavy silence. “It’s a shame, isn’t it?” he said, his usual exuberance replaced by quiet solemnity. His gaze swept across the neglected stones. “They gave so much, and all the village saw were their mistakes.”

Sukea swallowed hard, his throat tight as he nodded. “It is,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the unspoken hanging between them. Then, with a gentle clap on Sukea’s shoulder, Duy smiled, his warmth returning like the sun breaking through clouds. “Well, young man, I’ll leave you to your noble work. But remember this—your efforts here, matter. You honour them.”

As Duy walked away, his steps light despite his earlier solemnity, Sukea turned back to the grave. He crouched down again, his eyes resting on his father's newly restored name. He wanted to stay and mourn longer but he would be pushing his luck to stay longer. He was late to training.

—

Sukea strolled into the training grounds late, greeted by his team’s concerned expressions. He wasn’t surprised—they weren’t yet used to his tardiness. Their worry amused him more than it should, and he mentally filed away that he probably had some leeway before they realized this was going to be a pattern. Flashing them a sunny smile, he waved off their concerns.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” he said breezily, adjusting his gear like nothing was amiss.

Choza’s gaze remained serious as he stepped forward. “Sukea, may I talk to you before we start?”

“Oooh, Sukea’s in trouble~,” Genma teased, chewing on a senbon as he grinned.

Choza shot him a look of mild annoyance. “Both of you, continue the drills you were doing before we were interrupted.” Then, gesturing for Sukea to follow, he stepped aside, his voice softening. “I was worried when you didn’t show up on time. Is everything okay? Inoichi mentioned I might’ve been too blunt in how I handled things… after. And I could have been gentler in approaching you.”

Sukea met his eyes evenly. “I’m fine, Sensei. Rin startled me, but I’ve been working on it,” he reassured, his tone even.

The man didn’t seem reassured but nodded slowly his brow creasing. “Will you be okay with sparring during training today? If you’re not ready, I can adjust the session—give you individual training or postpone your matches until you catch up, if you’d like.”

Sukea frowned, irritation flickering across his face. “Sensei, do you think I’m less capable than my teammates?” Sukea is starting to notice a pattern of people underestimating him. He thought it was funny at first but now he’s getting a little irritated at how willing people are to put him in that box.

Choza balked. “No! Of course not!” But his eyes flicked to Sukea’s bandaged hands, concern etching itself deeper into his features. “Wait—are you injured? I just saw you yesterday.”

“It’s nothing,” Sukea replied, flexing his fingers with feigned nonchalance. “Barely a civilian injury.”

Choza hesitated, then sighed. “Alright. Warm-up drills,” he instructed, and Sukea joined his teammates without further protest.

Sukea relished the structured routine, each motion grounding him in the present. After the warm-ups, Choza clapped his hands together.

“Genma! Guy! You’re up! I want empty-handed sparing. Knock your opponent over. You get five minutes. Go.”

Sukea watched as Genma tucked away his senbon and stepped forward with Guy. They exchanged the Seal of Confrontation and began. The match was a little clumsy, with both boys relying heavily on academy basics. Guy’s enthusiasm, training with his father and raw energy gave him an edge, though his movements lacked refinement.

When Guy won their match, Choza called for the next pairing. “Genma and Sukea, you’re up!”

Sukea had intended to try and match the skill of his opponent when he fought but as they took their stances, Sukea noted the hesitation in the other boy’s posture. From the first tentative hit which was easily blocked, it was obvious Genma was holding back since he had just seen him fight Guy. His strikes were too measured, his steps too cautious.

He wasn’t sure if the other boy legitimately thought Sukea was unable to fight or was still affected by yesterday's events but it seemed Genma had taken that uncertainty to mean he had to go easy on Sukea.

A flicker of irritation sparked in Sukea’s chest. He didn’t want to be played with.

He tightened his fists and ignored the sting as he pressed harder, his strikes sharper and faster. Genma’s eyes widened at the sudden aggression, his own movements becoming more reflexive, less restrained. The sparring felt real now—no longer the coddling as Genma could no longer afford to do that with Sukea pushing him to his limit. Now he was the one playing with Genma.

“You’re not bad,” Genma muttered, his tone almost begrudging.

Sukea let a sharp smirk curl across his lips, “And you’re not as good as you think you are.”

Before Genma could respond, Sukea feinted toward his face—not too dissimilar to what happened to Rin as a distraction. His real target was Genma’s legs, aiming to sweep him off balance. He misjudged slightly since he’s used to having longer limbs, instead landing a solid kick to Genma’s ankle instead, but it was enough to unsteady the boy and end the match regardless.

“Winner: Sukea,” Choza declared.

Sukea offered a hand to Genma, though his grip was rougher than intended as he hauled the boy to his feet. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you trying to go easy on me. Don’t.” he said, his voice firm. “Underestimating your opponent will get you killed.”

Genma winced, discomfort flashing in his eyes, for a moment, Sukea felt a brief pang of guilt but quickly pushed it aside. He knew his words were harsh but they were true. War was looming, and softening the lesson now wouldn’t help anyone. Genma had just been unlucky enough to catch one of his hidden sharp edges.

When it was time for Sukea to spar with Guy, the entire mood shifted. From the first clash of their fists, Guy came at him with a ferocity that Sukea could feel was the boy giving his all

Every move was an explosion of energy, each strike relentless and fast. Sukea had to stay focused, adjusting his pace to Guy’s speed. He found himself stumbling a bit, expecting his strikes to be more powerful than they were, but he couldn’t help but grin. There was something exhilarating about the challenge.

For every ounce of aggression Guy threw at him, Sukea met it head-on. Their movements became a feedback loop. It wasn’t the cleanest fight, but it was fun.

They kept going until the timer ran out. Admittedly, Sukea was doing exactly what he’d just criticized Genma for—holding back. He couldn’t let himself appear too strong, so he used Guy as a benchmark for his age group. And in the process, he was having a blast. The spar ended in a draw, both boys panting heavily, sweat dripping down their faces.

Genma, watching from the sidelines, gawked in disbelief. “Did you know he was this good at fighting?” he muttered loudly enough for Choza to hear.

Choza raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.

Chapter Text

Sukea rolled his shoulders, wincing at the lingering soreness from their last taijutsu session. His body was young again, and he had to rebuild his hard-fought muscles and flexibility.

“Well fought, everyone,” Choza declared, surveying his team. “Let’s wrap things up with a meal. My treat.”

A ripple of relieved excitement spread through the other boys at the prospect of food.

As they were leaving the training grounds together, they spotted Minato’s team emerging from their own nearby training area.

Minato’s bright smile seemed to widen the moment he saw them, and without a second thought, he jogged over, leaving his team to trail after him.

“Choza! Good to see you!” he greeted warmly.

Sukea watched with a raised eyebrow. There was an unmistakable enthusiasm in Minato’s demeanour, as though he’d been hoping for this encounter.

Choza nodded in greeting, already preparing to continue on their way, but before he could, Minato spoke again, his tone casual but lined with boyish hopefulness.

“I’m treating my kids to some dango after training,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Would you and your team like to join us?”

Choza glanced back at his team, weighing the suggestion. “We usually go for something heavier after training,” he admitted. But then Minato’s hopeful expression faltered ever so slightly, Choza
quickly amended, “But a light snack could be a nice change.”

Minato beamed, and as the two teams walked together, his true motive became clear. He was relentless in his questions, engaging Choza in an eager discussion about clan etiquette and training schedules.

Sukea trailed behind, only half-listening. He’d almost forgotten how insatiably curious Minato could be when he fixated on something new. The current topic, however, held little interest—something about the correct protocol for approaching an Uchiha elder.

His gaze wandered, and it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on Rin.

The small split across the bridge of her nose and the dark bruising around her eyes stood out starkly against her otherwise cheerful demeanour.

She laughed at something Obito said, her voice light and unbothered, but the sight of her injuries made Sukea’s chest tighten. The sight only deepened the guilt twisting in Sukea’s chest. He forced himself to look away, but the image of her injuries lingered in his mind as they arrived at the dango stand.

Fate seemed determined to test him, as Rin marched up to him while they were waiting for their order, Sukea painfully aware of her presence. Then, Rin broke the ice, her voice soft but sincere.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her warm brown eyes filled with genuine concern.

The question caught him off guard. He could feel Obito’s glare from where he was tied up in a conversation with the other boys, the boy clearly waiting for an apology for Rin. Sukea swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“I should be the one asking you that,” he said, his voice low and tight. “I’m the one who hit you.”

Rin waved it off with a shake of her head. “During training!” she insisted, her tone firm but kind. “It’s fine! I’ll heal, see?”

She raised her hands to her face, a faint green glow of healing chakra illuminating her fingers. As she worked, the swelling in her nose lessened slightly, and the bruising began to shift from an angry purple to a softer greenish hue at the edges, it wasn’t pretty but broken noses often aren’t when in the middle of healing.

Still, Sukea could see the exhaustion in her eyes and the slight tremor in her hands. She was still learning and from what he had heard from Sakura’s complaints when she was learning, facial injuries were complex and this girl was likely pushing herself, to make him feel better.

“See? Getting better, Pains mostly gone.” Rin said with a grimace, despite the mottled bruising still marring her face, “These things happen in training. I’ll be fine.”

Her reassurance didn’t soothe the guilt clawing at him, but Sukea managed a faint nod.

When the food arrived, he stared at the skewered dango in his hand. He’s never been fond of sweets, and today he couldn’t muster the energy to even pretend. After a moment’s hesitation, he extended the skewer toward Rin.

“Here,” he offered, his voice quiet. “I don’t really like sweets, so… take it. As an apology.”

Rin blinked, clearly surprised, before her face lit up in a smile. “Thank you.”

She took the skewer from him, her fingers brushing his briefly, but her expression shifted as her eyes fell on the bandages wrapped around his hands. Without a word, she stuck both skewers in her mouth and before Sukea could protest, Rin grabbed his hands with her sticky dango fingers, determination etched across her face. “Hold still,” she mumbled around the dango, her chakra flaring faintly as she attempted to heal his raw hands.

“Why are you holding that jerk’s hands?” Obito’s sharp voice interrupted, his irritation palpable as he stomped closer.

Sukea froze, unsure whether to laugh or feel guilty. The sting in his hands was already beginning to fade, but Rin’s obvious exhaustion made him uneasy. Before he could say anything, Rin spoke up.

“I need the practice,” she said firmly, her words slightly muffled by the dango still in her mouth. “Let me do this.”

Obito scowled, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. “She doesn’t have to practice on you,” he grumbled, his voice turning into a whine. His glare shifted to the skewers Rin had shoved into her mouth. “And how come she gets two dango? That’s not fair!”

“One of those was mine,” Sukea said flatly, his tone tinged with exasperation. “I gave her mine as an apology.”

Obito’s mouth opened as if to retort, but his face flushed as realization dawned. His indignation faltered, causing the boy to look more like a gaping red fish.

Meanwhile, the younger Kakashi stood nearby, staring at his own untouched dango skewer. His sharp eyes flicked to Sukea, then to Rin, then back to his dango. Sukea could practically see the gears turning in the boy’s head. Slowly, with a deliberate sort of logic, he wandered over to them.

“What do you want, Bakashi?” Obito quickly snapped, still bristling from his prior embarrassment.

“Here,” Kakashi said flatly, extending his dango skewer toward Obito without preamble. “You can have it.”

Obito blinked, caught completely off guard. His mouth opened, no doubt to argue, but he hesitated. After a beat, he snatched the skewer with a disgruntled grumble. “You’re such a jerk,” he muttered, though the insult rang hollow as he immediately started eating.

Kakashi stood frozen, his expression flickering with confusion and irritation. He glanced at Sukea, then at Obito, as if trying to decipher what he’d done wrong, and just as the boy was about to snap at Obito for his attitude, a loud, booming laugh interrupted the tension. Guy sprang into the middle of the scene, his boundless energy making everyone flinch. “Kakashi!” he exclaimed, his voice ringing with dramatic enthusiasm. “That was so hip and cool! Offering your dango to Obito like that! A true act of selflessness!”

Kakashi’s visible irritation deepened, but his pale cheeks flushed pink. “It wasn’t a big deal, I just didn’t want it.” he muttered under his breath, attempting to deflect the sudden attention.

Sukea saw an opening and couldn’t resist piling on. “No, no,” he said, voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Let’s give Kakashi the credit he deserves. It was so kind of him to give away his dango—especially to someone so ungrateful.” He shot Obito a pointed look. “He could have thrown it away, or better yet, given it to someone who’d actually appreciate it. Like Rin, for instance.”

The jab hit its mark. Obito bristled, his face turning a shade darker as he sputtered, “He didn’t do it to be nice! He was just showing off!”

Rin, still crouched in front of Sukea with her sticky fingers wrapped around his hands, finally snapped. “Obito!” she barked, her voice sharp enough to cut through the escalating noise. Her brown eyes blazed as she shot him a glare, though her dango-puffed cheeks slightly undercut her authority. “He was trying to be nice. Now you need to do the same. Apologize to Kakashi. Then thank him.”

Obito opened his mouth to argue, but Rin wasn’t finished. “And do it away from me,” she added, her tone firm. “I’m trying to concentrate here, and I don’t want to mess this up.”

Obito froze, his indignation deflating under Rin’s commanding tone. His gaze darted to Kakashi, then back to Rin. “Fine,” he grumbled reluctantly, dragging his feet as he shuffled a few steps away. “Sorry, Bakashi. Thanks for the dango, I guess.”

Kakashi stood silently, his expression blank, though the slight twitch of his eyebrow betrayed his irritation. “You’re welcome,” he replied flatly.

Meanwhile, Rin let out an exasperated sigh and turned her attention back to Sukea’s hands. “Honestly,” she muttered, half to herself. “What would they even do without me?”

“Suffer?” Sukea replies automatically.

She laughs but Sukea isn’t completely joking.

—

The next morning, Sukea woke up a little confused when he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve as he tried to get up. He looked over to see Kakashi curled up next to him rather than on the furthest edge of the large bed or in his mission sleeping bag like he had most nights before, his fingers gripping the fabric much like he had the prior morning on the bathroom floor. Sukea’s brows furrowed. He’d thought Kakashi would have long grown out of a clingy puppy phase by now… Not suddenly develop one.

Carefully, he shifted, attempting to slide his arm free. Kakashi’s grip tightened immediately, holding on like a dog refusing to surrender a chew toy. Kakashi growled in his sleep but didn’t wake. Despite the boy’s tenacity, Sukea was an elite ninja, and with practised precision, he gently pried Kakashi’s hand away.

Sukea moved through the apartment with silent efficiency, slipping on his wig and carefully applying his clan makeup as what was quickly becoming routine before grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He scribbled a quick note on a scrap of paper and stuck it to the counter: ‘Off to training early.’ Signed with a henohenomoheji.

Satisfied he was ready, he stepped toward the window and leapt out, as he landed, his departure was shattered by a booming voice.

“My youthful teammate! Good morning!”

Sukea flinched, his instincts sharp but his nerves momentarily dulled by surprise. He turned to find Guy standing in the middle of the path, hands on his hips, his trademark confident grin radiating energy that seemed almost too bright for the early hour. He wasn’t alone. Beside him stood Duy, looking every bit as energetic as his son, though his expression carried a flicker of surprise at seeing Sukea but thankfully he didn’t voice it aloud.

Sukea blinked, his mind scrambling to shift gears and respond like a coherent human being. “Uh, hey, Guy. What are you doing here so early?”

Guy thrust a fist skyward with dramatic enthusiasm. “I am here to challenge my eternal rival, Kakashi! He was so wonderfully cool and hip yesterday with his kindness, and I need an opportunity to even the score!” His grin widened as he added, “I didn’t know you lived in the same building!”

Suppressing a groan, Sukea managed to keep his expression neutral. Great. Guy now knew where he lived. Thankfully, Guy seemed more focused on Kakashi for now.

“Right. Well… good luck with that.” He adjusted the strap of his bag, glancing toward the apartment above. Guy would undoubtedly keep shouting until Kakashi woke up. He probably should let it happen since Guy is his rival, but he’s a little disappointed at not having an early morning challenge himself. Sukea forced his tone to remain neutral. “I’m just heading out for some training.”

At the mention of training, Guy’s eyes practically sparkled. “Ah, of course! Making up for your recent tardiness—how wonderfully youthful!”

Before Sukea could respond, Duy chimed in, his voice as warm and enthusiastic as his son’s. “Oh, is this the teammate you were talking about, Guy?”

Guy gasped, realization dawning. “Ah, of course! I haven’t introduced you two!” He gestured dramatically between them. “Father, this is my teammate, Sukea! Sukea, this is my most beloved and inspiring father, Duy!”

Sukea eyed the man, almost internally pleading that he wouldn’t contradict his son’s assumption that they had never met before giving him a wary but polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you,” Sukea said smoothly, sidestepping the man. “I have training to get to, though. Have fun with Kakashi.”

Guy beamed. “Thank you! And may your training be as spirited as our rivalry!”

Duy remained silent, his expression unreadable, but he gave a nod as Sukea walked away.

Sukea’s feet carried him with an unthinking rhythm, the path familiar now. No more ghosts were waiting for Sukea at the memorial stone in this time and somehow his father's grave became his new tether. Like he usually did at the memorial stone, his feet unconsciously took him to where he had planned to sit there in solitude.

But when he arrived, he stopped short. Someone was already there.

Obito.

The boy was crouched by Sakumo’s grave, his back to Sukea, carefully brushing dirt and debris from the worn headstone. A kunai he’d brought with him glinted faintly as he used it to carve out weeds tangled around the base. He shouldn’t be surprised, he suddenly recalls Duy had mentioned he was a regular visitor last time he was here.

Obito’s fingers brushed over the crude letters Sukea had carved into the stone the day before. “The White Fang’s name is Sakumo, huh?” he murmured, his voice low but clear in the stillness. A faint smile touched his lips. “Nice to finally meet you properly, Sakumo.”

Sukea felt his throat tighten at those words. His feet rooted to the ground, he didn’t know what to say—or if he even wanted Obito to know he was there. This moment felt too intimate to intrude on.

But Obito didn’t stop. He moved from grave to grave, speaking softly to the markers as if their occupants could hear him. Most of it was the same kind of optimistic boasts Sukea had heard before, about how he was going to train hard and become Hokage to make the village better. Yet there was something deeply sincere in the way he spoke, as though he believed every word.

After a while, Obito glanced at the sky and stiffened. “Oh no! I have to help Granny with her groceries before training!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet and sprinting off before Sukea could think to step forward.

Sukea rolled his eyes, then crept over and finished cleaning some of the graves himself, finishing the work Obito had started.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

Sukea startled slightly, turning to see Duy standing a few paces away. The man’s voice was softer now, his usual exuberance tempered.

Sukea straightened, brushing dirt from his hands; he berated himself for not noticing he had been followed. “No need. I’ll try not to be late to training today.”

Duy raised a hand, his voice calm. “I’m not here to dictate your punctuality. I was just curious about what kind of teammate was having my boys back. I was planning on visiting here today though anyway.”

Sukea found himself wondering why Duy would plan to visit. He hadn’t known his father to be particularly close to Duy in life, although his own memories of his father’s friendships were hazy—most had distanced themselves before… it happened.

“Were you friends with him?” Sukea asked, nodding toward Sakumo’s grave.

Duy’s face softened, the usual sparkle in his eyes giving way to something more reflective. “No,” he admitted after a pause. “I wasn’t friends with Sakumo. I admired him—he was a wonderful man—but we didn’t know each other well.” He glanced at the grave, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. “I come here to visit my son’s mother. She’s buried nearby. I noticed Sakumo’s grave not long after he was buried, and… well, it didn’t feel right to leave it untended. So I’ve been keeping it in order. Lately, that Uchiha boy has been helping, though he’s always in a rush.”

Duy chuckled softly, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if to steady himself. “I’ve wondered, sometimes… If this is how a hero like Sakumo is remembered, then what about someone like me? A genin? How will I be remembered?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Duy’s voice wavered for a moment, but he quickly forced a smile, his tone rising back to its usual cheer. “Ah! Forgive me. These are not thoughts for someone your age to dwell on. Forget I said anything!”

But Sukea didn’t forget. He couldn’t. Because deep down, he already knew the answer to Duy’s question. He’d seen it firsthand. Despite Duy’s eventual sacrifice—his heroic final stand that saved his son and embodied every belief he held dear—few would truly remember him. His legacy would be just a footnote as Guy’s genin father as Guy ‘beat the odds and became great’ and Duy’s own deeds covered up to protect the village's pride.

And it hurt. For Duy, for his own father and for all the others who had given everything to a village that seemed to demand more than it ever gave back. For those who died as heroes but were shunned by the village.

And yet, there was one thing Sukea could say with certainty.

“Your son,” he said softly, meeting Duy’s gaze. “Guy. He’ll never forget you. And really, your precious people are the only ones who should matter. ‘Those who break the rules are scum… but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.’”

Duy’s eyes widened at the words, his breath catching. A sheen of unshed tears glistened in his gaze, and he turned his face slightly away, hastily wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You’re very mature for your age,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

Sukea watched him for a moment, his own expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he dusted off his pants and turned to leave. “I have to go,” he said over his shoulder. “Or I’ll be late to training.”

As he walked away, the faint sounds of Duy’s quiet sniffles followed him.

Sukea felt a flicker of guilt. He hadn’t paid much attention to Guy’s father in his first life, and hadn’t even known when Duy passed until much later on when Guy started getting clingier about his rivalry. By the time he and Guy actually grew close, the grief had long been buried beneath layers of unshakable resolve.

—

Sukea wondered if it had even been worth showing up on time. The moment Choza announced that they’d be starting chakra manipulation exercises, he had to fight the urge to sigh. Seriously? These are actual child lessons…

He glanced at his teammates. Genma looked intrigued, absently rolling a senbon between his teeth, while Guy practically vibrated with anticipation, already bouncing on the balls of his feet. Sukea leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He already knew how his chakra worked—this was going to be a dull exercise.

Choza’s large frame commanded attention as he addressed them. “Before we begin tree and water-walking, we’ll start with the fundamentals of chakra nature. Chakra comes in five basic elemental affinities: Fire, Wind, Lightning, Earth, and Water. Most shinobi naturally align with one of these elements. Your affinity determines which types of jutsu will come most easily to you.”

Sukea zoned out slightly. He already knew this. He’s explaining it like a textbook… It wasn’t that Choza was a bad teacher—he gave the essential basics—but Sukea had taught this lesson before. Mastered it. It was hard to sit through something so basic when he had long since surpassed it.

Meanwhile, Choza continued, holding up three slips of chakra paper. “By channelling chakra into these, you’ll see how yours manifests. Fire will burn the paper. Wind will slice it. Lightning will crumple it. Earth will turn it to dust, and Water will dampen it.” He handed each of them a slip. “Go ahead.”

Genma was the first to focus. His paper instantly caught fire, burning to ash in seconds.

“Fire release,” Choza confirmed with a nod.

Guy followed, and his paper also ignited, though Sukea noticed it crinkled slightly before being consumed. Guy didn’t seem to care, grinning broadly at Genma.

Then it was Sukea’s turn. He pushed chakra into the slip, and immediately, the sound of faint static crackled in the air. A sharp scent of ozone followed as the paper crumpled tightly in his fingers.

Choza frowned slightly. “Lightning release,” he mused, rubbing his chin. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sukea—I might have a little difficulty training you in your natural affinity. Most shinobi specializing in Lightning release come from clans that migrated from the Land of Lightning, and it’s… less common in Konoha.”

Sukea shrugged. “That’s fine. I’ve already got some resources.” He kept his tone casual, not wanting Choza to waste time trying to find him a tutor. The last thing he wanted was for Choza to go out of his way to search for a tutor he didn’t need. The Hatake were one of those clans from the Land of Lightning, after all. He doubted anyone in Konoha knew more about Lightning release than he did.

Choza gave him a sceptical look, one that clearly said we’ll talk about this later, before moving on.

“The reason we test this now is to help tailor your training,” he continued. “Each affinity has strengths and weaknesses, and the better you understand yours, the more efficiently you’ll be able to use your chakra in battle. For example, Fire overpowers Wind but is weak against Water. Earth beats Water but is countered by Lightning. These natural advantages can help shape your approach in combat.”

Sukea let the explanation wash over him. He already knew all of this—he had spent years mastering all five elements. Still, he forced himself to look mildly interested. No need to draw attention.

Choza eventually wrapped up the lecture and handed each of them a single leaf. “Now, we’ll practice refining your elemental control. Genma, Guy—focus on burning your leaves with your chakra. Sukea, your goal is to crumple yours.”

Sukea had resigned himself to sitting around and maybe pretending to figure out the ‘trick’ to channelling his chakra. That was until Genma piped up.

“Wait a second! That’s not fair. Guy and I have to actually destroy our leaves, but Sukea just has to crumple his? He’s got it easier!” The boy argued.

Sukea shot the boy a deadpan look, feeling his patience wear thin. He turned his attention to the leaf in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. If he thought his task was so easy, fine—he’d show him. With a deliberate flick of chakra, he sent a surge of chakra into the leaf.

There was a sharp snap and a crackle of static as sparks danced across his fingers, and the sharp scent of ozone filled the air again. The leaf crumpled before catching alight. Sukea gave the remnants of the leaf an unimpressed glance before turning the look to Genma.

“I'm done sensei.” Sukea commented, his tone dry.

Genma gaped at him.

Choza looked a little lost at what to do next. It was clear he hadn’t anticipated anyone finishing the exercise so quickly and had probably expected it to take the whole lesson.

“Well, uh…” Choza started, glancing between Sukea and the other two boys, who looked clueless on how to perform a similar act with their own leaves. Although Guy was trying, marked by the heavy concentration on his face that looked more like he was in pain. “Sukea? Why don’t you go grab a few more leaves over there and practice… different levels of crumpledness?” Choza suggests a little helplessly, “I’ll, uh, check on your progress once I get Genma and Guy started, Okay?”

Sukea shrugged, throwing his sensei a bone. “Fine by me.”

He wandered to the edge of the clearing, finding a patch of shade under a large tree. He leaned against the trunk, folding his arms and watching as Choza knelt down between Genma and Guy, launching into an explanation of how to focus their chakra into the leaf since it would take much more effort than with the chakra paper since the paper does most of the work for you.

At first, the two boys listened intently, their brows furrowed in concentration. But it wasn’t long before Guy’s competitive streak kicked in and Sukea was disappointed that he’d already shown his hand and couldn’t participate.

Genma looked flustered at being rushed by Guy’s challenge but it kept each other occupied, which Choza took as an opportunity to make his way back toward Sukea. His expression was equal parts concerned and exhausted, but there was also a note of curiosity in his gaze as he approached.

“So,” Choza began, crossing his arms as he regarded Sukea. “Have you done the exercise before or are you just a fast learner?”

Sukea shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of smugness he couldn’t tamp down. “Both.”

Choza raised a brow. “I know it wasn’t Minato who taught you, considering he was the one asking me for advice on how to lead this very exercise not long ago. So…?”

“Hatake have had Earth and Lightning natures for generations,” Sukea replied offhandedly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Dad taught us the basics, and scrolls filled in the rest.” He idly picks up a leaf from the ground and crumpled it with his chakra.

He’s probably been able to crumple a leaf with his chakra since he was 2. His father had been kind and loving but from how people reacted when Sukea had told people of how young he was when he started training, they apparently deemed his father as having absolutely no idea what an appropriate age to start training a child should have been.

He thought Choza would be impressed since he’s from a clan, a big one at that, but his expression sits firmly in the concerned category.

Choza looked like he wanted to say a lot of things but ultimately settled on, “And you didn’t show any of this at the academy?”

Sukea snorted. “No. They wouldn’t have promoted me like Kakashi anyway—it was too close to graduation for that. Besides, I wasn’t interested in walking out of the academy with the label of ‘prodigy.’” He waved a hand dismissively. “Ask any Nara—it’s not worth the hassle. And people would’ve started comparing us. No thanks.”

Choza gave him a long, considering look before offering. “I could see if I can arrange some advanced training for you—something better suited to your skills?”

Sukea gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’ll think about it.”

Before Choza could press further, a commotion broke out as one of the boys finally managed to get a thin wisp of smoke from their leaf. Choza rushed over to intervene, leaving Sukea alone again. For a while, he watched in silence, but boredom eventually got the better of him. Wandering back over, he offered some advice, carefully explaining how to focus chakra in a way he knew would make sense with his green-suited teammate.

It worked. Within minutes, both Genma and Guy were making progress—enough to make Choza’s expression shift from relief to mild alarm as small flames began to lick at their leaves.

“Careful, careful!” Choza called, rushing over. Sukea leaned against a tree again, satisfied. If they set the forest on fire, at least it wouldn’t be his fault.

—

Kakashi came home from training and was clearly upset.

Sukea looked up from the rom-com novel he’d picked up after training. He had been trying to scratch his itch for some light public reading material since he’s probably got a lot of waiting around in his future, but the convoluted love triangle and the author’s glaring misconceptions about shinobi life made it a less-than-enjoyable experience. With a sigh, he set the book down.

Judging by the glare Kakashi wore, whatever gripe his younger self had was bound to be more interesting than that flimsy excuse for a plot.

“How was training?” Sukea asked with a smile, already bracing for the tirade.

“They don’t even know water walking!” Kakashi exploded, his hands thrown up in frustration. “I tried to show Obito how to do it, and he accused me of showing off!”

Kakashi flopped onto a nearby cushion, “I can’t believe Rin and Obito are STILL working on the basics. It’s not that hard." he mumbled through a pillow.

Sukea snorted, unable to hold back his amusement. “Good to know I wasn’t the only one thinking that today.” He reached over to ruffle Kakashi’s hair, ignoring the younger boy’s weak attempt to bat his hand away. “Choza-sensei had my team practising elemental manipulation, and trust me, they’re struggling just as much. We’re probably on the same curriculum so I guess we both get to suffer together.”

Kakashi rolled onto his side, glaring at Sukea with a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. “Minato-sensei said I should just go do solo clan training tomorrow while he works with them. He’s trying to get rid of me,” Kakashi grumbled, though there was a flicker of genuine hurt beneath his words.

“Actually, I think Minato-sensei’s suggestion for clan training sounds like a good idea. I think I’ll join you!” Sukea announced brightly.

Kakashi’s glare faltered, replaced with a suspicious squint. “Why would you do that?”

Sukea sighed, leaning in with an exasperated look, “Come on, Kakashi. Your teammates just graduated from the Academy. Of course they’re behind you. Minato-sensei isn’t trying to get rid of you—he’s just giving you a break while he gets them up to speed. Do you really want to spend the day watching Obito and Rin falling out of trees? And let’s be honest, Obito’s ego can’t handle you pointing out what he’s doing wrong. Waiting for him to figure it out himself? That’s practically torture.”

The logic seemed to cut through Kakashi’s initial worry about being abandoned by Minato, and a flicker of excitement lit up the boy’s face before it faltered. “Wouldn’t you need to let your sensei know first? About joining me on such short notice?”

Sukea waved the concern away with a casual flick of his hand. “It’s fine~ I can sort it out easily!”

The confidence in his tone seemed to mollify Kakashi somewhat, who let out a small huff of reluctant acceptance.

Chapter Text

The Hatake compound loomed in front of him. Sukea’s gaze lingered on the humble estate, an odd tightness settling in his chest. It had been decades since he last set eyes on it. He’d barely come by since he moved out after he graduated from the Academy. Every ryo of mission pay had gone toward securing the apartment he’d kept for most of his life. The Hatake estate had always been too big, too empty, too much for a child to maintain, let alone call home.

He had only ever returned when necessity demanded it—a tool, a scroll, a training manual. Even then, most of its contents had remained untouched before being lost forever. In Sukea’s time, nothing had survived the Kyūbi’s attack.

But here, now, the house remained. Unchanged.

Kakashi barely spared him a glance before pushing past, heading straight for a side door. The panel groaned in protest as he tried to slide it open, the wood stubbornly stuck in its tracks from disuse. He scowled and braced himself for another attempt. It had clearly been a while since he’d been here, too.

Sukea sighed and moved to help. Together, they forced the door open with just a bit too much effort—it slammed aside with a heavy thud, sending a tremor through the frame. Dust was dislodged and billowed outward in a thick cloud.

Sukea adjusted his mask higher on his face, thankful he hadn’t bothered with his persona today. The air was thick with the smell of loose dust, stale wood and dry parchment and it took Sukea a few moments to even recognize the room as the main storage room.

Kakashi stepped inside without hesitation, picking his way through the clutter toward a rack of scrolls. Sukea followed, watching as he selected several on sword techniques. He squinted at the titles, noting the advanced styles Kakashi had grabbed.

“Not today,” Sukea said, plucking the scrolls from the boy’s hands and shoving them back onto the shelf. He selected a few more beginner-friendly ones and dropped them into Kakashi’s arms.

Kakashi scowled. “You’re holding me back. I can handle those.”

“We’re both learning today,” Sukea countered, raising an eyebrow. “And I want to start with these to go back over the basics since I’m rusty, so deal with it.”

Kakashi huffed but didn’t argue further.

“Now… a weapon,” Sukea murmured, his gaze drifting to the racks of blades lining the room.

The Hatake clan had been samurai long before they were shinobi, and the room reflected that history. Training blades and real swords, left behind by generations of warriors, now sat unused, collecting dust and rust. The sight of them made Sukea uneasy. He’d only ever really used his father's sword or ones picked out by the ANBU weapons specialist.

He hesitated, his hand hovering over a worn hilt. It would’ve been better to commission a new sword, but that would take time. More importantly, it would imply that kenjutsu was something he wanted to pursue seriously—not just a way to help Kakashi solidify his Hatake kenjustu basics, something Sukea himself had never properly done.

Finally, he picked up the first blade in front of him and gave it a tentative swing. Way too heavy. He grabbed another. The balance was off. Another. The hilt felt wrong in his grip.

“I’m going to the training grounds to start,” Kakashi announced, clearly losing patience.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Sukea replied, waving him off as he continued his search.

The problem with secondhand equipment, Sukea mused, was that none of it was tailored for you. Sometimes, you just had to find the least-worst option.

Eventually, he found a blade that felt right—light enough for his size, with decent balance and a grip that didn’t chafe. It was far from perfect: the blade was dirty, and there was a noticeable nick near the tip. Worse, he knew he would have to do this all again once the growth spurt he knew was looming over their horizon hit since the blade was only just barely long enough. Still, it would do for now.

Sukea grabbed some sword-cleaning supplies and headed out to join Kakashi at the training grounds.

Unrolling a scroll, Sukea seated himself on a nearby rock, roving his eyes over it while brushing off the worst of the dirt from his blade as he split his attention between his own tasks and Kakashi’s attempts at kenjutsu.

Kakashi stood a few paces away, his tanto glowing faintly with the Hatake clan’s distinctive chakra hue—a flickering white glow that seemed to pulse with each sharp, precise swing. Sukea’s grip tightened on his borrowed sword as the memory of his own shattered blade flashed through his mind.

Kakashi’s movements were confident, but they carried the stiffness of someone still learning and actively running through the motions rather than muscle memory.

It was good for his age but Sukea could already hear his ANBU instructor in his head nitpicking at every flaw. Too wide. Overextending. That stance is easy to break and is going to get you killed.

He exhaled quietly, focusing on the task at hand. Most of the dirt was gone now; proper maintenance could wait until later.

Eventually, Kakashi noticed him watching and called out, “Are we going to spar, or are you just going to sit there cleaning?”

Sukea stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders with a long, drawn-out groan. “Alright, alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They moved into the first practice spar, and the difference in their skill was glaring from the start. Sukea’s experience in various kenjutsu forms gave him a clear advantage, while Kakashi was still stumbling through the basics, still learning, still building.

The match was brief. Kakashi was quickly left flat-footed, unable to keep up with Sukea’s fluid, well-executed strikes. Sukea couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to needle him. With an exaggerated sigh, he muttered, “I can’t believe you’re having trouble with the basics. It’s not that hard.”

Kakashi shot him a dirty look, his eyes burning with quiet frustration. He then stubbornly held up his sword for another round.

The next round, Sukea slowed his pace, limiting himself to the half-remembered Hatake basics and whatever moves Kakashi attempted—only to throw them back at him. It was an almost lazy approach on his part, mirroring each strike and block, adjusting his footwork to match Kakashi’s own.

Even without the Sharingan, Sukea was pretty good at picking up and copying new skills.

To be fair Kakashi, though, he seemed to know something was up with how much better he was doing this round however, it still took him at least 3 ‘surprise attacks’ before he realized exactly what was happening.

Kakashi’s stance faltered for a split second, a flash of understanding flickering behind his narrowed eyes. His next strike carried a little more bite, more accusation than technique. “You’re copying me,” he muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.

Sukea only grinned. “Took you long enough.”

The match continued, Kakashi now keenly aware of the game being played. He tried to throw in feints, abrupt shifts, anything to trip Sukea up, but each time, Sukea adjusted effortlessly, throwing the same move right back at him. It was both frustrating and instructive, forcing Kakashi to refine his techniques in real-time and giving Sukea a refresher of moves he should know.

They kept going, until Sukea—Feeling the telltale signs of fatigue in his younger body and seeing Kakashi start to struggle with them too—finally put a stop to the match. “Break time,” he announced, dodging what was probably meant to be a finishing blow but lacked the force to follow through.

Kakashi scowled but didn’t argue. His stance had been wavering, his arms slower to reset after each strike. Sukea knew firsthand how hard it was to admit when you’d reached your limit.

“Come on,” he added, already making his way toward the scattered scrolls. “We can go over some techniques while we rest.”

They settled onto the floor, rolling out the scrolls between them. Kakashi, despite his exhaustion, still had enough energy to glare down at the text as if willing it to reveal its secrets faster.

Sukea found a scroll that caught his attention. The technique described was similar to one he’d learned in ANBU, but tailored to the speed and agility the Hatake were known for. When he could feel his arms again, he ran through a few practice swings, and he found the snappiness of the movements felt surprisingly natural.

He supposed that was the point of clan techniques. Built to work with the natural traits of the families who develop them.

I should have used the Sharingan back then.

The thought hit him hard.

Back when he first had it, he had never even considered using it to memorize his family’s techniques. He had just assumed the knowledge would always be there, waiting for him to return to one day.

Until it wasn’t.

Most of his current skills were just copied from every inch of the nations. Some are very similar, but still not the same.

Sukea swallowed hard, forcing the thought away.

He had been meaning to find something to read, anyway… so if a few scrolls somehow made their way into his pockets, well—that was his own business.

—

When training was done, it only felt right to clean the house before they left. Air it out, sweep the floors, scrub the bathroom—fall back into the same ritual Sukea had once followed every morning before leaving for class.

Of course, the place had been left for so long that it truly needed two people to get through it all. Dust clung stubbornly to the floors, the walls, and the very air itself. The tatami mats had stiffened with neglect, and the kitchen smelled faintly of old wood and forgotten time. But they worked through it without complaint, settling into a quiet rhythm.

He’d lost sight of Kakashi at some point, saying he needed to get something.

Sukea didn’t question it.

By the time he reached the storage room again, he found himself standing in front of the weapons rack. His borrowed sword rested in his hand, and for a long moment, he simply stared at it, debating whether to put it back.

He should probably take it—if nothing else, it still needed cleaning and maintenance—but carrying a sword around would be a very sudden change, especially with the possible assumptions his sensei has.

Before he could reach a decision, something struck him hard in the side, knocking him slightly off balance.

Sukea turned sharply, instincts kicking in—but instead of an attack, he found Kakashi standing there, holding something impatiently.

Sukea blinked, thrown off for a moment.

Then recognition clicked. His old fishing rod. That’s probably why the boy disappeared. He went to go get it.

“Hurry up,” Kakashi said flatly, “We’ll be walking along the river on the way home. I’d like there to be some light left while we get dinner.”

Neither of them had training with their teams today, which meant no easy opportunity to bum lunch off someone else. They would have to fend for themselves.

How long had it been since this was his life?

Even after he could afford meals, Sukea had always been good at scrounging them off others so he hadn’t thought about it until now. But this was probably the time where he had developed the skill in the first place. At best, they’d be stuck in pure training for a few more weeks until Team 7 resumed D-ranks. At worst, longer.

The Hatake weren’t destitute, but they weren’t a large clan either. Most of their inheritance was tied up in land and heirlooms rather than liquid assets. And with Team 7 benched from missions due to training new genin, Sukea had probably decimated whatever savings Kakashi had left just by showing up. His timing was impeccable as always.

Tonight, it seems they were fishing.

It had been years since he’d had to live like this, but it was still leagues better than surviving off nothing but instant ramen—unlike a certain orange-wearing menace he could think of.

Sukea frowned thoughtfully. “I vaguely remember buying a few different rods until I found one I liked. Do we still have any of them?”

Kakashi tilted his head toward a corner of the storeroom. “Over there.”

Sukea rummaged through the pile, stumbling across a long fishing bag. He popped it open and examined the rod inside—adult-sized, the bag sized to match. One of his first purchases, back when he’d first read a book about fishing and wanted to try it out and so bought the first rod he found.

The size of the bag gave him an idea.

Slipping the fishing rod out, he carefully placed his sheathed sword in its place before scrounging around for a smaller rod to tuck in beside it. Then, satisfied with his makeshift carrying case, he slung it over his shoulder.

—

The river wasn’t far from the path home. They found a good spot where the water widened and ran deep, the current slow but steady. The late afternoon light danced over the surface.

Sukea set up his rod with practised ease, movements fluid, and effortless. He’d learned a thing or two from some of the more water-faring nations in his time. The line arced smoothly through the air before landing in the water with a faint plunk.

Kakashi watched him for a moment before setting up his own line beside him.

The river stretched before them, quiet and unhurried. The only sounds were the whisper of the breeze, the soft lapping of water against the shore.

This is a bit more of how he envisioned his retirement.

—

Sukea slipped out of his apartment early, leaving behind a messily written note for Kakashi. He deliberately avoided being spotted by Guy as he stood outside, likely awaiting to challenge Kakashi.

He wasn’t going to interfere with a good challenge. After all, they were eternal rivals—navigating their dynamic would do Kakashi more good than Sukea accidentally stealing him. Not that it would happen, Guy has too much loyalty for that.

The streets were quiet as he made his way to the cemetery, where Sukea crouched in front of his father’s gravestone, his movements methodical as he brushed away and pulled moss and weeds trying to take up residence on the stone. He pulled a cloth from his bag, dampened it with a small suiton, and carefully wiped down the engravings, ensuring the name and title carved into the stone gleamed clearly once more.

His quiet task gave him time to speak, recounting small, innocuous details of his days—the kind he regretted never telling his father. The cemetery's stillness made it feel like someone was listening, even if it was just his own mind filling the silence.

“Kakashi and I are learning your kenjutsu techniques,” he began, his voice steady but soft. “I’m letting him keep your sword. I don’t… I don’t really deserve it. Not after what happened to mine.” He paused, glancing at the dirt-streaked cloth in his hand before setting it aside. “I started cleaning up one of the older ones from the clan storage. It’s nothing like yours, but… it’ll do.”

Reaching behind him, Sukea unsheathed the short sword and laid it carefully on the ground. He had started carrying it without saying much to anyone, though it saw little use outside of training with Kakashi.

He leaned back slightly, tilting his head as if waiting for an answer he knew wouldn’t come. The silence stretched, broken only by the breeze rustling the leaves. He smiled faintly and went on.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I need to take better care of it.” With a small chuckle, he picked up a fresh cloth and began polishing the blade now that his father's headstone and the area around it was as clean as he could get it.

His hands moved instinctively as he continued speaking. “I haven’t seen much of Kakashi’s team lately. He says they’re doing fine, though I think he’s itching to get back to missions. They’re still working on the basics. Probably will be on D-ranks when they start again. I think Minato-sensei has been doing lesson plans with Choza-sensei because our teams sound like they are working on similar lessons.”

The cemetery remained still, a sacred space where his words felt more like a prayer than conversation.

Then, something shifted.

A flicker of familiar chakra.

Sukea stilled, his senses sharpening. “Speaking of Kakashi’s team…” he murmured, quickly gathering his things and slipping behind a cluster of trees.

Obito jogged into the clearing, slowing when he saw the grave he had been coming to tend already cleaned. His expression scrunched up in confusion before he shook it off, stepping forward to pay his respects. His voice, though quieter than usual, was still full of the same boundless energy as he spoke to the stone before him. Then, just as quickly, he spun on his heel and darted off, likely off to another errand before training.

Sukea lingered only a moment longer before standing. He cast one last glance at his father’s grave before deciding, on a whim, to follow.

Obito ran through the streets with an ease that spoke of familiarity, weaving his way back into the Uchiha district. Sukea trailed him at a careful distance, slipping through the shadows as seamlessly as breathing. No non-Uchiha are allowed inside their district without permission, but that only made the challenge more interesting. His ANBU training made it easy enough to stay out of sight, and with a little effort, he found a vantage point that let him observe without being seen.

Obito came to a stop in front of an older Uchiha woman, who turned toward him with mild surprise.

“You’re on time today,” she noted, her voice laced with amusement.

Obito scoffed, crossing his arms. “I’m always on time.”

She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced, but let it slide. Obito was then leading her back out of the Uchiha district.

Sukea followed from a distance,

They were shopping, he realized after a few blocks. The woman—The Granny Obito often attributes to his lateness, perhaps?—led the way as they picked up groceries, chatting all the while.

“Training has been going well,” Obito was saying, puffing up slightly. “Rin and I are making real progress!”

The woman hummed in response, sorting through some vegetables. “And your other teammate? Usually, most genin teams have 3 members, unless that has changed in the years since I retired.”

Obito made a noise of irritation. “Him? Ugh. He’s such a little know-it-all! Always acting like he’s so much smarter than the rest of us. It’s annoying!”

Sukea raised an eyebrow at the comment.

If Obito is going to be flinging insults around, he may as well face some of the consequences for it.

In one smooth motion, Sukea ducked into an alley, stuffing his wig into his bag, picking off the remnants of face paint, and peeling off his outer shirt. He pulls up the mask on his undershirt and adjusts his fishing bag to be slung across his back like Kakashi’s sword, effectively looking a bit more like what Kakashi would probably wear today.

With that, he stepped back onto the street—directly into Obito’s path.

The effect was immediate.

“Wha—?! Kakashi?! What are you doing here?!” Obito sputtered, nearly dropping the bag in his hands.

“I’m on my way to training.” Sukea crossed his arms, letting his voice take on an unimpressed edge. “Like you should be.”

Obito’s mouth opened, ready to argue, but then he hesitated. His expression flickered with suspicion before he checked the time.

His face paled.

He was definitely going to be late.

Obito looked between his grandmother and the half-filled shopping bags with mounting dread.

Before Sukea could make his next move, a voice interrupted—calm, polite, but with the kind of firmness that expected immediate attention.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Sukea found himself under the piercing gaze of the elderly Uchiha woman. Her dark eyes swept over him, assessing with a quiet sharpness. She looked at him the way a veteran shinobi sized up an opponent. Sukea did not meet her eyes. She was Uchiha. And not being careful around an Uchiha is precisely what got him sent back in time in the first place.

“You’re on Obito’s team, correct?” The woman's question almost sounded like a command.

Sukea inclined his head. “Correct.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. He gestured vaguely at Obito. “Apparently, I’m the ‘little know-it-all.’”

Obito made a strangled noise of pure betrayal, spinning toward him with wide, mortified eyes. Why would you say that?! his expression screamed.

His grandmother sighed, unimpressed. “I see. I wasn’t aware he was also showing up late to training. Can you tell me what Obito’s schedule actually looks like? I don’t think I’ve gotten a straight answer from him.”

Sukea nearly met her eyes in shock—caught himself just in time. Instead, he fixed his gaze just above, focusing on the edge of her brow.

Obito groaned dramatically. “I told you—I help when you need it, Granny! You don’t have to worry about my schedule!”

“Training starts in fifteen minutes,” Sukea supplied. “Minato-sensei sets it for the same time Monday through Friday.”

The older woman pursed her lips. “So I have been holding him up. Obito should know it these trips take at least an hour…” A beat passed before she added, “What about clan training? Shouldn’t there be a day dedicated to working on family techniques?”

“Minato-sensei is clanless, he’s been a bit slow to set them up.” Sukea replied automatically to her commanding tone. “Last I heard, he was still trying to find someone to coordinate with for Obito. Mine is self-paced, so I don’t have a fixed schedule.”

Obito’s grandmother frowned. “Obito! I gave you a letter of recommendation for your sensei so he could discuss your training with the clan! My sister and I have both offered to train you. I thought he was ignoring us, or that he’d found you someone better!”

Obito flinched. “Minato-sensei’s training is fine! And I have been practising Uchiha techniques! I just—”

Obito’s grandmother squinted her eyes suspiciously at him. “Don’t tell me you purposely didn’t give him the letter just so you wouldn’t have to train separately from that Rin girl.”

Obito’s face immediately flushed, and he started spluttering. “I’m not doing it on purpose! I just… forgot! And Rin is really nice, and she helps me train, and—!”

“You are an Uchiha,” his grandmother cut in, unimpressed. “You need to stop smothering her before you get too attached.”

At that, Sukea abruptly realized he had inserted himself into a very personal family matter—one he had absolutely no interest in witnessing. Without hesitation, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

“Hey! Where are you going, Bakashi?!” Obito called after him.

“Training.”

“Oh, and before I forget—Hatake-kun,” Obito’s grandmother called out.

Sukea froze mid-step. The way she addressed him—pleasantly, but with that shrewd gleam in her eyes—made it clear she had pieced together exactly who he was, despite the lack of a proper introduction. It was as if she wasn’t watching him make a clear attempt to escape.

“I’ll need to keep stealing Obito before training until Wednesday at the latest,” she said, as if this was already a settled matter. “Let your sensei know, will you? After that, I should be able to arrange something that fits his schedule better.”

Sukea had no idea how to respond to that.

He made a vague, noncommittal noise before flickering away to change.

—

Choza slumped into his seat at the barbecue restaurant, his favourite meeting spot with the rest of the Ino-Shika-Chō trio. He let out a long, tired sigh, drawing Shikaku’s attention as his teammate roused from his usual pre-meal nap. Shikaku’s sharp eyes flicked to Choza’s worn expression, and despite not everyone being there yet, he raised a hand to flag down a server.

“Tell the chef Choza’s here and it looks like he’s had a bad day so we’ll need double the usual.” he said blandly before turning his attention back to his friend. “Do I even want to know what’s making you pull that face?”

Choza groaned and rubbed his temples. "Shikaku, I think one of my students is trying to drive me to an early retirement."

Shikaku raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as he waited for Choza to continue.

“He’s been showing up late to training. And recently, he tricked one of his teammates into delivering this.” Choza pulled a crumpled note from his pocket and handed it to Shikaku, who raised an eyebrow at the scribbled message.

The note read: “Taking you up on organizing clan lessons. ~Sukea” In the corner of the page, there was a messy doodle of a henohenomoheji.

“And then he just didn’t turn up,” Choza continued, clearly exasperated.

“Then punish him for falling behind,” Shikaku said bluntly.

Choza shook his head in frustration. “That’s the problem—he’s not falling behind. If anything, he’s ahead of the others. Might even be better already.” He sighed, barely noticing when the food arrived. Automatically, he started grilling meat, eating distractedly as though it might help with his mood.

“Prodigy?” Shikaku guessed with a smirk.

“Apparently,” Choza muttered, stabbing at the grill with his chopsticks. “The Academy didn’t even notice.”

Shikaku snorted. “Didn’t notice, or didn’t say anything?”

Choza hesitated. “He avoided it on purpose. Told me to ‘ask a Nara’ why he wouldn’t want the label.”

Shikaku sighed, looking at the note again. “Sukea. That’s the Hatake boy, right?”

Choza nodded, his mouth now too full to reply immediately.

“Well, there’s your answer,” Shikaku said with a shrug. “Smart boy. Being labelled a prodigy is like slapping a giant target on your back. If he’s going out of his way to avoid looking like a Hatake, he sure as hell isn’t going to want the attention that label brings.”

Choza frowned. “That explains why he was hiding his skill, but why start acting out now? He was fine at first.”

Shikaku tilted his head. “What kind of training are you doing?”

“Standard chakra training. The same plan I helped Minato put together,” Choza replied.

Shikaku tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I’m no Yamanaka, but I’d bet it’s one of two things. Either he’s bored, or that’s just the way he is, and he’s only now letting his guard down enough to be himself.”

Before Choza could respond, a flash of yellow caught his eye. Expecting Inoichi, he was surprised to see Minato Namikaze approaching their table.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Minato began, cheerfully thankful, “I just wanted to thank you again for helping with my lesson plans, Choza. They worked really well today! Especially since I figured out something for Kakashi to do so he and Obito wouldn’t end up fighting and derailing everything… again, But, uh… you don’t look so great. Everything okay?” his cheerful tone faltering slightly at the end.

Shikaku waved him off lazily. “Don’t worry. Choza’s just having some growing pains with one of his students.”

“Oh no,” Minato said, his face morphing into a look of genuine concern. “They’re not fighting, are they? I can barely handle two boys. You have three.”

Choza shook his head tiredly. “No, thankfully, they get along like a house on fire. It’s Sukea, the youngest. He’s just… acting out.”

Shikaku smirked. “Actually, Minato, you probably have more experience with this than us. He discovered the kids a prodigy. Being one yourself and having one on your team, you might be able to help with this one. I think Choza’s kid is either bored or lazy.”

“Shikaku…” Choza warned, but his teammate ignored him.

Minato blinked, then brightened. “Sukea? Oh! That’s Kakashi’s friend who looks a bit like Rin! I didn’t know he was a prodigy too!”

Choza blinked at the description, his mind involuntarily comparing Sukea’s appearance to that of the girl on Minato’s team. Now that Minato mentioned it, the resemblance was there—superficial, but undeniable.

That was a little tid-bit of information that just gave him more questions.

“That reminds me,” Choza said slowly, deciding to beat around the bush in hopes something useful falls out. “How’s Rin doing after that little training accident?”

“She’s doing great! Thankfully she’s completely forgiven Sukea since they were apparently friends in the kunoichi classes and she’s even using the injury as an opportunity to get a head start on learning healing jutsu,” Minato replied, his tone proud.

“Is she a prodigy too?” He prods.

“Not quite, but she is the best Kunoichi of her year.” Minato admits, “Sometimes I feel like she’s the only reason the boys haven’t gotten into anything worse than screaming matches with each other. But enough about my kids I don’t want to sound like I bragging when you're having problems with yours!” Minato insists.

Choza can’t help but consider, ‘Is Sukea copying his peers?’ He did notice the boy somehow shared the same impossible enthusiasm as Guy when they were together. This is something he should probably bring up with Inoichi when he gets here…

Choza hesitated, then decided there was no harm in airing his most recent frustration since Minato was aware of a connection with their students, even if he only thought they were friends. “Lately, Sukea’s started being late to practice. I’m worried it’s becoming a pattern. A few times even completely skipping training. Apparently, he went to train with Kakashi instead...”

Minato winced in sympathy at hearing one of his students started being late but then really apologetic when he mentioned skipping to train with Kakashi. “Skipping to train with Kakashi? I’m so sorry about that! I’ll talk to him if you want?”

Choza shook his head, sighing. “No need. I had technically been encouraging them to train together since they work so well together. It’s more the suddenness I have an issue with. But thanks for the offer, Minato.”

Minato smiled apologetically. “I could give you a heads-up next time I suggest individual or clan training for Kakashi, if that helps? Maybe even do another group training session to see if that changes anything?”

“That … might actually help. Thanks, Minato,” Choza said, relieved.

Minato gave a sunny smile in response.

Chapter Text

“Get up. Our teams are training together today.” Kakashi’s voice was as flat as ever, though there was a spark of eagerness behind his eyes. He’d been looking forward to this ever since their senseis announced another joint training session.

Sukea groaned dramatically, rolling over before finally sitting up. His reluctance was written all over his face, though it was mostly for show. Deep down, he didn’t mind the idea of training with Kakashi’s team—it was a good distraction. Still, he couldn’t resist making Kakashi’s morning a little harder.

As they left, Sukea walked just a step ahead, steering them toward Guy’s neighbourhood.

Kakashi came to an abrupt stop, his expression tightening. “We’re not going that way.”

“Why not?” Sukea asked, feigning innocence. “This way’s faster.”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed, sharp with suspicion. “You know why.”

Sukea gave a lazy shrug. “Guy’s harmless. And you’re going to see him at training anyway.”

“At training,” Kakashi snapped. “Not before, with one of his ridiculous challenges to race me.” His tone was resolute, but Sukea could only smirk. The poor kid didn’t yet realize how much fun those races would become someday.

They stood there in a ridiculous standoff, bickering like an old married couple. Sukea, delighted, let the argument drag on for a few minutes, but Kakashi eventually gave in with a frustrated sigh. “Fine. Your way.”

Sukea quirked an eyebrow at the sudden surrender, immediately suspicious, but the reason became obvious when they passed Guy’s oddly quiet house.

Guy had already left for training.

Tch. Clever brat.

Just as Sukea was about to accept his defeat, the front door opened, and none other than Might Duy stepped out, looking ready for his own morning plans. Inspiration struck. “Good morning, Guy’s dad!” Sukea called cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting.

Before Duy could properly respond, Kakashi shot him a panicked glare, grabbed Sukea’s arm, and started hauling him toward the training grounds at full speed. “You’re unbelievable,” Kakashi muttered, all but dragging him along.

Sukea, thoroughly entertained, craned his neck back to shout, “Goodbye, Guy’s dad! I’m off to training today!” over his shoulder.

Duy, ever the enthusiastic father, waved heartily in the distance.

—

Despite Sukea’s antics, they still arrived on time—though not with Kakashi’s preferred 15-minute buffer. When they reached the training grounds, most of the group was already there: both sensei, Rin, Genma, and, of course, Guy. Genma glanced up as they approached.

“You’re here on time,” Genma drawled, flipping a senbon between his fingers. “Think we’ll get a second miracle and have Obito show up on time?”

Ignoring Kakashi’s questioning glance, Sukea glanced at the sun, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Let me see… What day is it?”

Genma raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Wednesday?”

“Hmm.” Sukea tapped his chin before confidently replying. “Obito will be about… 15 minutes late due to helping his grandmother grocery shop.”

The comment was dismissed as a joke until, 15 minutes later, Obito came sprinting toward the training grounds, panting heavily and clearly out of breath. A half-eaten candy stuck out of his mouth as he stumbled to a stop in front of them.

“Sorry I’m late!” Obito gasped. “Granny needed help with her groceries. She gave me a candy to thank me, though!”

There was a brief, stunned silence before Genma let out a disbelieving laugh. “No way. He actually called it.”

“Who called what?” Obito asked confused.

“It was fairly impressive. My teammate Sukea guessed that you would be 15 minutes late because it is Wednesday.” Guy exclaimed. “I’ll have to train really hard to be able to gain that kind of intuition!”

“Uh, Guy. I don’t think it’s intuition. I think Sukea’s just been following Obito around when he’s been late to our own training.” Genma tries to gently explain.

“Wait, have you been stalking me?!” Obito demanded, his voice rising.

All eyes turned to Sukea, even Kakashi looking vaguely concerned.

“No,” Sukea said flatly, crossing his arms. “I just see you around when I’m doing other things. It’s not my fault you don’t notice me. Unless…” He leaned forward slightly, his tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t follow you, Obito? You seem awfully nervous about the idea.”

Obito’s face turned beet red. “What?! No! There’s nothing suspicious going on!” His voice cracked as he threw up his hands, clearly flustered.

“Boys!” Minato cut in, raising his voice just enough to regain control. “We’re here to train together. That means no fighting. Okay?”

A half-hearted chorus of “Okay” followed.

Sukea, still watching Obito, leaned slightly toward Kakashi and murmured, “Ask him if he gave Minato-sensei his grandmother’s recommendation slip.”

Kakashi gave him a sidelong glance. “Why don’t you ask?”

“It’ll sound less suspicious coming from you.” Sukea’s tone was light but pointed.

Kakashi exhaled sharply but, after a pause, turned to Obito.

“Did you remember to give Minato-sensei your grandmother’s recommendation slip?”

Obito flinched. Then, with clear reluctance, he slowly pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket.

“Uh… Minato-sensei… my grandmother wanted me to give this to you.” He hesitated. “You don’t have to use it or anything. I think you’re a really good teacher.”

Minato took the slip with an easy smile—then his expression melted into pure relief as he read it.

“I appreciate your confidence with my skill, Obito,” Minato said lightly, before his voice turned serious. “But we should still discuss with your grandmother if there’s anything I should be doing differently. It’s not fair to deprive you of resources that are openly available to you.”

Meanwhile, Kakashi turned back to Sukea with an unreadable expression.

“I’m going to question you about how you knew later.”

Sukea just smiled innocently.

—

Choza clapped his hands together drawing all of the children’s attention. “Well, we should actually start training. Now, hands up—who here can climb trees?” A majority of hands went up. “Without using your hands, with chakra control?” he clarified.

Most hands dropped immediately, leaving only Kakashi’s and Sukea’s raised. Obito squinted at them, suspicion written all over his face.

“You’re lying!” Obito pointed accusingly at Sukea. “Okay, I believe know-it-all Kakashi, but you’re just a baby who’s scared of blood!”

Genma winced, already gesturing frantically for Obito to stop, but the damage was done. Rin scolded Obito for being rude, while Kakashi bristled like he’d been personally insulted.

Sukea didn’t need defending.

Sukea marched straight up to Obito, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at the taller boy. He briefly lamented the fact that the Hatake growth spurt—the one that would eventually close the height gap between them—hadn’t kicked in yet. For now, he had to look up at him.

Obito, emboldened, shifted his stance, trying to loom over him. A mistake.

Sukea leaned in just enough to make him sweat, angling his head so that no one else could see his expression or hear what he said next. His lips pulled back into a grin—too wide, just a bit too sharp, revealing a flash of pointed puppy teeth.

“You know, Uchiha-kun,” he said softly, voice almost pleasant, almost friendly—but not quite. “You really ought to be more careful about who you’re insulting. I may not like blood, but I can do much worse to you without spilling a single drop.”

Obito froze, his breath hitching.

Sukea held the moment just long enough to watch him swallow hard before straightening up, the predatory edge vanishing like it had never been there. In the next instant, he was all easygoing charm, grinning in a way that was almost too friendly.

“Oh, and by the way,” he added, voice suddenly bright and cheerful—which somehow made it worse—“don’t call me a baby. I’m older than Kakashi, and if you keep mouthing off, he’ll happily kick your ass for insulting him, too.”

“What did I just say about fighting?” Minato’s voice came down like a thunderclap, and the sheer authority in his tone made Sukea’s stomach flip as though he were back under the Hokage’s stern gaze. He quickly tamped down the urge to bow and apologize. It would be a little much since Minato was still just a young jounin sensei.

Minato gave them both a sharp look, but he didn’t push the matter. Sukea’s remorseful expression must have been enough because Minato sighed and continued calmly. “Let’s refocus. Sukea, Kakashi, since you two know how to tree climb, how about you demonstrate for the others. Everyone else, pay close attention.”

Sukea casually unfolded the bandana on his forehead protector, tying it over his wig in a way that looked like he was brushing his hair out of his eyes but was just a precaution to hold it in place. Then, he joined Kakashi at the base of the nearest tree. With minimal effort, the two began scaling it vertically as Minato and Choza both explained how controlled chakra allowed them to stick to the surface. The group below stared in wide-eyed amazement.

When the two were high enough to be out of earshot, Kakashi glanced sideways. “Should I be concerned about why you know too much about Obito?”

Sukea shot him a flat look. “I’ve known Obito for years in my own time. I know a perfectly normal amount about him with that in mind.”

Kakashi didn’t look convinced.

Sukea sighed, tilting his head. “For one, I lived through years of Obito being late. You just get a feel for it after a while. Second, I happened to run into him and his grandmother while they were out shopping.” He shrugged, completely nonchalant. “We had a nice little chat. Very normal. Opened up a can of worms. Turns out that Obito had never told his grandmother when training was or delivered that recommendation slip from his grandmother to Minato about discussing Obito’s training.”

Kakashi’s brow furrowed slightly. “And you had me ask him about the slip because…?”

Sukea blinked, then scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I may have been dressed a bit more… casually than he’s used to when this happened.”

Kakashi just stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose. “They thought you were me…”

Sukea shrugged. “It’s my face too. I’ve had it longer.”

Kakashi’s expression barely shifted, but there was something deadpan in his silence before he responded, “Technically, we’re the exact same age. And I’ve been using it more in this time.”

Sukea gave him another flat look. “I’m not arguing semantics.”

Kakashi opened his mouth, no doubt to debate the point further, but Minato’s voice called up from below before he could. “Okay boys! Make a line on the tree and come back down!”

Kakashi obediently marked his spot and walked back down with perfect chakra control, while Sukea climbed a bit higher before making his mark. Without warning, he leapt from the tree, twisting in midair and landing smoothly, a small burst of chakra softening the impact.

Minato and Choza froze for a moment before Minato quickly recovered. “And, uh, that’s one way to break your fall with chakra... but you should probably start practising from lower heights first,” he added, glancing at the stunned group of students.

—

Minato motioned for Kakashi and Sukea to join him as Choza took over the group practising tree climbing.

“Since you two are ahead of your peers, I’m going to work on something a little more advanced with you,” Minato said, his voice calm and encouraging. “I know Kakashi has a lightning-release nature, so I went looking for resources to adapt some training for him. Lightning’s a rare nature, so it wasn’t easy.” He turned to Sukea. “What about you, Sukea? What’s your nature release? I’m fairly well versed in the others so I should still be able to help you, regardless.”

“Lightning release,” Sukea answered simply.

Minato blinked. Then he smiled—strained, just slightly. “Oh… Lightning too?”

Sukea bit back a laugh. He could practically see Minato’s thoughts racing. One kid with a lightning affinity was already outside his comfort zone—now he had two?

Taking pity, Sukea chuckled and shook his head. “I’m lying. You’re way too easy to read, sensei.” He lied. Then, flashing a grin, he continued, “Actually, I have an earth nature.”

“That's not a very nice thing to lie about.” Minato tried to admonish despite his relief being palpable. “If I trained you in the wrong affinity it could cause troubles.”

Sukea barely kept from snorting at that.

In his first timeline, Minato had never actually chakra-tested the team. He'd followed Jiraiya’s more freeform training style and just assumed Kakashi had an earth affinity, likely based on general knowledge on the Hatake clan, which had a history of earth and lightning users. It wasn’t until much later, after Kakashi had already started dabbling in earth release and was developing a second affinity, that he’d bluntly admitted Minato had been wrong. Seems having an actual training plan this time had stopped that little mix-up.

Minato gestured for them to sit in a loose circle. “Now,” he began, “we’re going to work on the building blocks of jutsu creation. I could just teach you techniques, but if you understand the principles behind them, you’ll be able to create your own eventually. For example, I’m working on something that combines chakra manipulation with an elemental release,” he explained, a spark of excitement entering his tone. “It’s a jutsu I’m developing from scratch.”

Gathering chakra into his palm, he formed a swirl of wind-natured energy. Tiny motes of air flickered and spun lazily above his hand, dancing with controlled precision. It was still clearly early in development but facets of the Rasengan it will become already visible. Minato looked so proud of the simple display, and Kakashi’s quiet awe made Minato beam.

Minato decided to start with Sukea first, given that he was more familiar with earth nature than lightning.

Minato then reached into his bag and pulled out a stack of scrolls—some neatly printed, others filled with his own handwritten notes. Unrolling a few, he squinted at the diagrams, his lips moving slightly as he skimmed the texts, searching for the right one.

Minato guided Sukea through a meditation exercise, instructing him to attune himself to the earth. He occasionally glanced at a scroll to double-check his explanations, though he seemed confident in his knowledge.

Sukea, of course, had long since mastered earth release—just not in this body. He deliberately made a few mistakes, mimicking ones he remembered Sakura making during her training with Tsunade. His actual childhood missteps had been fewer and had faded from memory over time.

Minato, satisfied that Sukea had a handle on the basics, turned to Kakashi and plucked another scroll from his pile. "This is a bit advanced," he admitted, unrolling it so they could read together, "but it was the best resource I could find on short notice. It should give us a starting point."

Sukea recognized the foreign script and intricate diagrams on the scroll instantly. It was Kumo-originated. Probably stolen from an opponent during a battle. Regardless Sukea remembered struggling through those exact exercises. Sukea was sure he had probably still owned the scroll too.

Kakashi nodded seriously, while Sukea fought the urge to laugh at Minato’s earnest but slightly amateurish fumbling with approaching how to train a nature he’s not well versed in. It struck him how young Minato seemed. He was younger now than Sukea’s own students had been when he last saw them.

Minato turned to them expectantly. “Let’s start simple. Try channelling your chakra like the scroll describes.”

Kakashi, ever the perfectionist, immediately attempted to follow the instructions exactly. A faint crackle of static flickered over his fingers before fizzling out. His brow furrowed in frustration.

Sukea knew exactly why it wasn’t working. The instructions were incomplete. Kumo didn’t put detailed instructions in their scrolls for this exact reason—to prevent enemies from replicating their techniques just by acquiring one of their scrolls. Luckily, the scroll at least outlined the essentials of how lightning chakra should flow through the body so he didn’t blow out a chakra point while trying to figure it out so it was still a very valuable resource.

Sukea let earth chakra hum beneath his skin. He hadn’t just lied to spare Minato’s feelings—appearing to have an earth nature would also protect him from what he knew was coming next.

Kakashi tried again, and there was another wave of static before a sharp spark jumped from his palm and struck Minato, the closest non-grounded body.

Minato yelped, jerking back.

Kakashi froze. “Ah.”

Minato shook out his hand, wincing as a static tingle crawled up his arm. “Okay,” he said, voice forcibly even, “so that was… progress.”

Sukea barely swallowed his laughter.

Minato, ever patient, offered pointers where he could, drawing from his understanding of other elements. Sukea mostly listened while he meditated, watching Kakashi’s form. Kakashi’s chakra stabilized for a brief moment—before another sharp spark arced and jolted Minato again.

Undeterred, Minato continued, offering advice from a slightly safer distance. But after the fourth accidental shock, he took a strategic retreat, pulling out another scroll and beginning to tinker with his own wind jutsu prototype. “Just—keep at it,” he said, rubbing his wrist. “I’m supervising. From over here.”

Sukea shot an amused glance at Kakashi. The other boy just looked frustrated, already setting his jaw in determination.

Now that Minato was distracted, Sukea leaned over slightly. “The scroll’s missing pieces,” he murmured. “You need to follow it a bit more loosely.”

Kakashi’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “And you’re telling me this now?”

Sukea shrugged. “Minato was watching us too closely earlier.”

Kakashi gave him a long, expectant stare. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Sukea mirrors the look back.

“You obviously know what’s wrong. Tell me how to fix it.” The boy huffs in frustration.

Sukea hesitated before sighing. “I can’t give you a direct answer.”

Kakashi’s unimpressed look deepened.

“The missing parts involve Kumo-exclusive chakra channelling techniques,” Sukea explained seriously. “But—I can give you hints for a workaround I developed… Well, that you will develop.”

Kakashi huffed, still skeptical.

Sukea held up a hand, letting a controlled current of lightning chakra flicker over his palm. He reached out and lightly tapped Kakashi’s wrist, sending a faint static charge through his fingers. “Right now, you’re just moving chakra around and changing it into electricity. But electricity isn’t like fire or wind. It moves like water—it seeks the easiest path. But unlike water, it doesn’t always flow where you want it to. It’s like an out-of-control dog—it’ll bite if you don’t direct it properly.”

Kakashi frowned in thought, watching his fingers and presumably feeling the current running through him.

Sukea let the current flicker out, then leaned back. “So, don’t do it like that.”

Kakashi’s brow twitched. “That’s not helpful.”

“I don’t have to be, I’m not your sensei,” Sukea said innocently eye-smiling at him. “You’ve already had more help than I did. You’ll figure it out.”

Kakashi shot him a glare but went back to concentrating, this time looking closely at his fingers.

—

Sukea looks around. He’s bored. Kakashi is working on his chakra, still sparking like a little thunderstorm, Minato has gotten absorbed in his research and everyone else is either very carefully scrabbling up trees or being blasted off as they try to compete on who can climb higher. So far Rin has gotten the highest. Carefully inching up the tree.

Sukea sighed.

He used to see so much of Rin in Sakura. Now, in turn, after watching Sakura grow up to be much older than Rin got to be, he’s starting to see so much of Sakura in Rin. The determination, the quiet pride in her own progress and the way she carried herself despite her unexpected injury from Sukea. Rin’s face had healed well—he wasn’t sure how much of that was her own medical ninjutsu and how much was simply time passing. Either way, she wore her usual patient smile, watching the boys with an amused but steady gaze from a branch on the tree.

A sharp voice drew his gaze back down.

“Hey, Obito, if you cry to Rin, do you think she’ll hold your hand while you try again?” He hears Genma taunt as Obito was making a fuss after blasting himself off the base of the tree again.

Seems Genma has finally landed on a target that his pot-stirring could work on.

Obito whipped around, face red. “Shut up, Genma!”

A thought crossed Sukea’s mind. Would Genma’s ‘joke’ actually work, though?

Curiosity got the better of him.

Humming softly to himself, he tested his voice, adjusting the tone and pitch. It took a moment to find the right balance, but once satisfied, he slipped around Choza—who was, yet again, patiently explaining to Guy that the goal was to climb the tree, not tear chunks out of it.

Moving carefully, Sukea crept up behind Obito, who was still too busy fuming at Genma to notice. He shot a quick gesture to Genma, signalling for silence, then positioned himself just behind Obito on the tree trunk.

“I need you to close your eyes and relax, Obito,” he murmured, deliberately softening his voice—raising it just enough to mimic Rin’s gentler tone.

Sure, he could have just used a henge, but he wasn’t made of chakra. He’s got a child body and reserves to match and with his plan, he really doesn’t want to miscalculate how much he has.

His target’s reaction was immediate.

Obito’s breath hitched slightly. His face went red, but—more importantly—his eyes fluttered shut.

Leaning down carefully, Sukea reached for Obito’s hand and gave it a gentle tug, turning him towards the tree. “Just follow my voice, okay? I’m going to help you so walk forward. I’ve got you.”

The boy nodded, then, without hesitation, took a step forward.

Sukea bit back a laugh. That actually worked?

Just as the boy was about to step foot on the tree, he crooned, “I want you to just focus on your chakra and use about half the chakra you were using before okay? I’ll hold you up if it’s not enough." He reassured.

Obito hesitated for a split second before obeying, shifting his chakra flow. He immediately started to slip, but Sukea steadied him, using his own chakra to keep the boy from tumbling.

“Good boy!” Sukea encouraged, suppressing his grin. “Now, very slowly, add just a little chakra until it feels like it’s sticking. Too much, and I’ll go down with you. We don’t want that do we?”

He was having fun—far more than he probably should have been. It felt exactly like training his nin-dogs, except instead of pushing them up a tree in an undignified manner, he was pulling. Had they even been born yet? They must still be puppies, at the earliest.

Regardless, he’s still not sure why he had been told he couldn’t use this method of training with his students when he’d been a jounin sensei. Something about it being demoralising? He doesn’t really know or care. Right now, he’s not a sensei. No one could stop him. And besides, it was working.

He tugged Obito’s hand gently leading him further up the tree. They made it about halfway up before Obito finally peeked.

It took him a few moments to realise that it was not in fact Rin holding him up, but Sukea and when it clicked, the boy froze, his entire body stiffening.

“YOU—”

The realization hit all at once, and with it, his chakra control shattered.

Sukea had just enough time to grab him properly before Obito’s feet lost their grip, “Careful. We really are pretty high up and I really am holding you so you won’t fall.” He says in the same soft tone he’d been using.

“Stop that! That’s weird!” The boy wiggles in his grip barely even trying to get his footing back onto the tree.

“Stop what? This?” Sukea loosened his grip slightly, letting Obito slip a little.

Obito shrieked, clawing at Sukea’s arms. “No! Not that!”

The sting in his arms made it less fun, so Sukea steadied him again. “Stick your feet to the tree,” he instructed blandly in his more normal tone. “I won’t actually drop you. I got you this far up didn’t I?”

The boy sniffles as his feet slip a few times before getting a grip like instructed and they take a few more steps.

“Almost there,” Sukea murmured, his voice still soft, just a little teasing but less like Rin. The boy was starting to cry and he didn’t feel like pushing his buttons so high up the tree. Geez he forgot Obito was a cry-baby.

Obito shot him a watery glare before scowling in determination, and gritting his teeth as he pushed forward, his steps growing steadier, his chakra flow finally getting used to the motion.

Sukea resisted the urge to ruffle his hair like a good dog. Maybe later.

They climbed a few more steps, inching higher. Rin had paused near the top, watching them curiously. When Obito glanced up and saw her waiting, he tried to shove Sukea away, insisting he could do the rest himself.

“There you go,” Sukea said, letting go completely as Obito took his first independent steps up the trunk. “Now you’re getting it.”

Obito didn’t say anything, too focused on keeping himself upright, but there was a triumphant spark in his eyes.

Then—

“Awww, look at that!” Genma called up, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Rin didn’t even have to hold your hand for you! Guess anyone will do, huh?”

Obito instantly lost control.

With a strangled yelp, he slipped—

—and plummeted straight back down.

Sukea winced.

Choza-sensei expanded his body just in time to catch him.

—

As training wrapped up, Choza declared. "Good work everyone! Time to get something good to eat, you all deserve it!"

Minato brightened up with a suggestion. "We should get Ichiraku Ramen," he offered. "An old teammate of mine runs the stall—he retired from being a ninja, so he knows exactly how a ninja needs to eat after burning so much energy.”

Choza nodded in agreement. "I’ve heard good things about it. Ramen sounds good."

The group started gathering their things. Kakashi, still a little static-y from his training, kept his distance, sending occasional sparks at anyone who got too close. Rin had taken it upon herself to thank Sukea for helping Obito by healing the scratches on his upper arms, despite Obito’s clear and overwhelming embarrassment.

"It was really nice of you," she told Sukea, her voice warm. "You helped him figure out his chakra control a little better."

Obito made a strangled noise. "I would’ve figured it out myself!" he insisted.

"Of course you would have," Rin agreed, the kind of gentle agreement that left absolutely no room for argument.

Guy, always eager to cheer up his friends, clapped Obito on the back. "You shouldn’t be embarrassed!" he said earnestly. "I’d probably mix them up too, since they look so similar!"

Obito turned, scandalized. "They do not!"

"They kind of do," Genma interjected from the side, looking far too entertained.

Obito whirled on him. “Rin is wonderful and kind and warm—he’s weird and scary!”

Sukea gasped, feigning offence. Then, fighting dirty, he turned to Rin, putting on his best wide-eyed, wounded look. “Am I scary, Rin?” he asked, voice small, pitiful.

Rin’s reaction was instant. “No! Of course not!” she said, aghast. Then she spun on Obito, hands on her hips. “How could you say that, Obito?! He looks like he could be my little brother! In fact—” She grabbed Sukea and pulled him into a firm hug, as if shielding him. “I am making him my unofficial little brother! So you can’t be mean to him anymore!”

Sukea’s stomach flipped.

It was such a simple, childish thing to say—something he wouldn’t have thought twice about in any other circumstance—but it caught him completely off guard. He barely kept his expression neutral, even as his pulse skipped.

Over Rin’s shoulder, he shot a pleading look at Kakashi, silently begging for help.

Kakashi just blinked at him, utterly unmoved, before another stray spark jumped from his skin. Sukea immediately thought better of getting him involved.

The walk to Ichiraku was lively, the group chatting and teasing as they made their way through the village. By the time they reached the little ramen stall, Minato and the stall owner, Teuchi, were already chatting like the old friends they were, Minato slipping into the first seat with the ease of familiarity.

The rest of them clambered onto stools, jostling for space. Sukea watched in mild amusement as Kakashi wedged himself right next to Minato—choosing the closest thing to a corner he could find. He only realized why when he noticed the brief scuffle among the kids over the seats next to him.

Oh. Right.

The intrigue over what was under Kakashi’s mask was still new and exciting.

Sukea found himself pushed to the end of their group sandwiched in by Choza sensei. At least it meant he wouldn’t be collateral damage to Kakashi’s lingering static.

Speaking of—Kakashi finally lost most of the excess charge crackling through him, after discharging it into his unfortunate neighbours. That was the price they paid for trying to be nosy.

When the food arrived, Sukea was gracious enough to draw attention away from Kakashi’s corner, giving the boy more opportunities to stuff his face in the small windows available. Kakashi was good at eating quickly, but he was still just seven, and this was probably the biggest group he’d ever had to eat around.

Sukea didn’t really eat around such large groups until he was a chuunin. He’s sure Choza incidentally got a peek at one point due to being on Sukea’s other side, but the man kind of already had an idea what was under there by virtue of being Sukea’s sensei so it’s an acceptable loss.

When they were getting ready to leave, Sukea happened to glance back at the counter and saw Teuchi quietly sliding a small bag to Kakashi.

Kakashi accepted it with the ease of familiarity, tucking it under his arm without a word.

Sukea didn’t need to ask to know what it was.

It was Kakashi’s customary take-away serving—Teuchi would often sneak it to Kakashi with quiet instructions to savour it somewhere he didn't feel rushed.

That was just the kind of person Teuchi was.

Back at home, Kakashi set the bag on the counter and pulled out two small containers.

Sukea frowned slightly. “Two?”

Kakashi pushed the second one toward him. “Teuchi noticed you kept drawing attention away for me,” he said simply. “Told me to share with my ‘busy little helper.’”

Sukea blinked.

Belatedly, he realized he’d barely even tasted his food earlier—too busy running interference, and making sure people weren’t looking when they weren’t supposed to, like when he was teasing his own face to his students.

Ramen had never been his favourite meal.

But this?

This salty broth, this quiet kindness—this simple act of looking out for each other—this was why he kept coming back to Ichiraku for all those years even after Minato and Kushina weren’t around to drag him there.

Chapter Text

Minato took a slow, steadying breath as he approached the gates of the Uchiha compound.

The small slip of paper in his hand was crumpled and worn, the ink slightly smudged from weeks of being stuffed in a pre-teen’s pocket.

He hesitated just for a moment, then stepped forward, presenting the note to one of the Uchiha police officers stationed at the gate.

The officer took it, eyes flicking over the battered paper with a distinct disapproving frown before turning his gaze back to Minato.

He said nothing—but he didn’t have to.

Minato could feel the judgment in the silence.

Still, the officer simply nodded, turned on his heel, and gestured for Minato to follow him into the compound.

—

The compound was quieter than expected, its traditional buildings felt… closed off. Private in a way that made Minato acutely aware of how much of an outsider he was here.

They eventually stopped in front of one of the houses. The officer rapped firmly on the door, waiting until it slid open to reveal an older Uchiha woman standing in the entryway.

“You have a guest, ma’am,” the officer announced, voice neutral. Then, with an almost pointed air, he added, “Though it seems the visit is rather late for a genin training plan.”

Minato winced internally.

Yep. There’s the judgment.

The woman barely reacted.

She gave only a small nod, her expression calm, as though she’d expected it. “Thank you. I was expecting him—despite the lateness.” She stepped aside in clear invitation.

The officer simply inclined his head, offering a polite farewell before turning sharply on his heel and heading back toward the gate.

Minato hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping inside.

—

The house was just as traditional as the rest of the compound—wooden floors, paper screens, and a lingering scent of old incense. It practically radiated old Uchiha traditionalist and he couldn’t really imagine someone like Obito actually living here.

"This way," the woman said, leading him down the hall.

She guided him to a sitting room centred around a low table, a teapot and several cups already set out.

She lowered herself onto the floor with deliberate elegance, gesturing to the teapot. “I was just having a cup of tea when you arrived,” she said lightly, pouring herself another. She nodded toward the set. “Help yourself.”

Minato followed her lead, kneeling at the table, carefully pouring himself a cup.

When he glanced up, he found her watching him intently—not unkindly, but with a sharp, assessing gaze.

Like she was testing him.

Or waiting to see what he would do next.

Minato cleared his throat, setting his cup down.

“I’m Minato Namikaze,” he introduced himself, offering a polite bow. “Obito’s jōnin sensei.”

The woman inclined her head slightly but remained silent, still watching.

“I, uh…” Minato hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry it took so long to meet with you. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure how to handle clan matters since Obito’s the only one on my team where it’s applicable.”

He sighed, glancing away briefly. “I just assumed—well, I didn’t realize I should follow up when I didn’t receive an invitation to discuss his training, so…” He caught himself rambling and quickly refocused. “You’re Obito’s grandmother, correct?”

“I am,” she confirmed after a pause. Her eyes narrowed—not in hostility, but in quiet scrutiny.

“Since you have clan children on your team, you really should educate yourself a bit better,” she remarked. “That Hatake boy, at least, had the respect to follow Uchiha decorum appropriately when I met him.”

Minato flushed slightly at the criticism.

He’s trying, he swears.

It’s just that Obito wasn’t very Uchiha-like, and it had fallen lower on his priority list. He didn’t even know where to start when it came to Uchiha etiquette.

But then his mind caught onto something else she’d said.

“Wait—you met Kakashi?”

“Correct,” she confirmed, taking a slow sip of her tea. A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. “It was quite the coincidence, wasn’t it? That we just happened to run into that Hatake boy a mere fifteen minutes before training—despite that never happening before.”

Minato frowned, thinking back.

Had Kakashi ever been less than fifteen minutes early to training? The only time that came to mind was the same day Kakashi had asked if Obito had given him the recommendation slip.

Before he could dwell on that, Obito’s grandmother sighed softly, setting her teacup down.

“I invited you here to discuss Obito’s training,” she reminded him, her tone even. “I’d like to get a head start before my grandson returns from his errands.”

Minato sat up a little straighter, schooling his expression into something more professional.

Right. Business first.

“I should also apologize,” she continued. “Obito has his own ideas of what it means to do the right thing. He never told me he was late to training.” She exhaled, a touch exasperated. “I only realized it after the Hatake boy ran into us and told me. I suspect Obito thought that if I knew, I would stop asking him to run errands for me, and he didn’t want that.”

“Why?” Minato asked, genuinely curious.

She sighed again, softer this time, as if fond despite herself.

“Because I raised him too well,” she said wryly. “He worries about me, my sister and a few of our friends who I would get to help babysit him when he was younger. He thinks we shouldn’t have to carry groceries or handle small tasks alone since he’s realized we are ageing, and the village… isn’t as kind to those who can no longer ‘pull their weight.’”

She took another sip of tea. “It’s his way of showing he cares—but he forgets that training is also important.”

That… sounded exactly like something Obito would do.

“As for the recommendation slip,” she continued, “he likely didn’t give it to you because he didn’t want to trouble me or my sister with clan training. And, if I had to guess, he also wanted to keep up with his genin training as usual—so he could spend more time with his team.”

Minato hesitated before responding. “Well, I—uh—appreciate his faith in my abilities as a teacher.” He offered a small, sheepish smile. “I’ve been doing my best. I actually plan structured lessons with a colleague who received a genin team around the same time I did. Right now, I’m focusing on chakra control exercises with the team.”

Obito’s grandmother hummed. “The Hatake boy mentioned that he gets self-paced training time.” Her voice was casual, but Minato could hear the unspoken question beneath it: So why isn’t my grandson getting special training time?

“I’ve actually had Kakashi on my team for about a year now,” Minato admitted, choosing his words carefully. “And Obito and Kakashi… well, they tend to clash a little whenever we cover topics Kakashi has already mastered. Obito can be a bit—” he hesitated, then settled on, “—slower than his teammates in some areas, and the gap in skill, especially with Kakashi being so far ahead, has caused some tension.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ve admittedly been assigning Kakashi to self-paced training while I focus more directly on Obito and Rin. It lets me tailor lessons to their level without distractions.”

She frowns.

“My grandson isn’t slow,” she said, tone clipped. “He’s easily distracted. He always has been, but it became worse after he and Rin ended up in the same academy class.”

Minato blinked, “Rin? But she’s the one who usually steps in to help him.”

“She’s a lovely girl,” she reassured, her expression softening slightly. “Kind, patient… I can see why Obito was drawn to her.” But then she hesitated, choosing her next words carefully. “But Obito is an Uchiha, and if he becomes too attached to her, it could be a problem. Especially if she keeps trying to solve all his problems.”

Minato frowned. “That seems a little dramatic.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line before she said, bluntly, “Normally, it wouldn’t be a concern. But Rin is civilian-born, and we are about to send these children to war. The likelihood of her becoming a casualty is high—she will be one of the least trained among them.”

Minato didn’t flinch, but the weight of her words settled heavily in his chest. No teacher ever intended to lose a student. But he had been Obito’s age when the Second Shinobi War raged, and he had seen firsthand how quickly young shinobi—barely older than his team—were cut down. Rin’s role as a medic-nin should offer her some protection. Tsunade had established strict rules to keep medics out of unnecessary danger.

But war didn’t care about rules.

The woman let the silence stretch, allowing her words to take root before continuing, “Uchiha do not survive losing their precious people well—especially if they lack the proper support and unfortunately my grandson hasn’t exactly gained the favour of the clan at large.”

Minato exhaled slowly. He knew what she was saying, but hearing it spelled out so plainly made his stomach twist.

“So… what do you suggest I do?” he asked.

Her expression eased, just slightly, as if pleased that he was at least willing to listen. “Schedule regular clan training days for Obito, either with me or my sister,” she said. “He needs more structured guidance in Uchiha techniques, even if he resists it.”

Minato nodded. He had tried to be mindful of Obito’s relationship with his clan—how much he pushed back against it and how much he still wanted to be accepted by them, even if he’d never admit it. But the idea of structured training with willing mentors… could be good for him.

She continued, “And find someone to personally tutor Rin. Not all the time—just occasionally. That way, there are days where training is only Obito and Kakashi.”

Minato frowned slightly, but she held up a hand before he could object. “The goal isn’t to cut Rin off completely,” she clarified. “Rin is one of his closest friends, and I have no intention of severing that bond. But Obito needs to form more connections outside of her. If he has a broader support system, he won’t place the weight of his world on just one person.”

That… made sense. Obito was fiercely attached to Rin. It wasn’t a flaw in itself, but Minato could easily imagine the devastation if something happened to her—if she was injured, taken, or worse.

She studied him for a moment, then added, “I may also start requesting genin assistance for the errands Obito typically runs for me. Perhaps ask some of my friends to do the same. If he sees others stepping in, it might ease his sense of responsibility.” A pause. “It would help if you took on more missions with your team. He needs to see that he can contribute without sacrificing his training.”

Minato hummed thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck. He had been hoping to hold off on missions until the entire team mastered water walking, but she spoke with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what her grandson needed. And if it helped curb Obito’s chronic lateness, it might be worth it.

“I’ll think on it,” he said at last, nodding. “You’ve given me a lot to consider.”

Her lips curved slightly, satisfied. “Good.”

—

It was Saturday and Sukea stretched his arms over his head with a lazy sigh, standing in the small, secluded training grounds at the Hatake compound, already regretting not fighting harder against being dragged out here on his day off.

But Kakashi had insisted.

So here they were.

Kakashi knelt a few feet away, the Kumo scroll that Minato had acquired unrolled in front of him. His sharp eyes flicked over the foreign script and diagrams, committing them to memory with that single-minded focus of his. Every so often, he would glance at Sukea expectantly, as if waiting for him to crack and just tell him what he was missing.

It wasn’t happening.

Sukea had no interest in getting either of them accused of being Kumo spies, even if it would save Kakashi some frustration. There were more eyes on them lately—Whether it was the Hokage or Danzo keeping tabs was unclear, but Sukea had noticed the increased scrutiny. He avoided them when he could. Years of ANBU experience made it easy—made it natural. He was only seen when he wanted to be seen.

Still, if he had to be out here, he would have liked at least one consolation.

“So,” he drawled, shifting his weight onto one leg. “Have you signed the Hatake summoning contract yet?”

Kakashi barely looked up. “Yeah.”

Sukea perked up slightly. “And?”

“Hasn’t worked yet. Dad’s wolves won’t follow me. I’m waiting for a new litter.”

Sukea exhaled, disappointed. A fresh batch of puppies would have made this whole ordeal a lot more tolerable. He must have been older than he thought when that tiny, wrinkly Pakkun first joined his pack… Shouldn’t be long now. Maybe shortly after he became a chūnin, then.

For now, all he had was Kakashi being Kakashi—honestly, not so different from a pup himself sometimes.

Then a sharp bzzt cut through the air.

Kakashi had started to crackle faintly, static flickering over his fingers in small, harmless sparks. Every time he moved too sharply, the electricity snapped out unpredictably, arcing toward the ground before fizzling away.

Sukea smirked. “With all the training you’ve probably had while we’ve been benched, I thought you’d be better at that by now.”

Kakashi’s only response was to flick a crackling spark at him in retaliation.

Sukea dodged it with an easy sidestep, but his amusement faded when Kakashi admitted, somewhat begrudgingly, “Team 7’s started going on missions again. I haven’t had as much time to train.”

That got Sukea’s attention.

Team 7 was back on missions while his team was still stuck in endless drills? Choza-sensei had been insistent that they needed a "solid base to work off of" before picking up assignments, as if D-rank missions required some profound tactical foundation. It was killing him. Even the dullest, most mind-numbing mission would be better than another day of basic exercises.

His basics feel very polished at this point, and then another spark nearly hit him, although not intentionally, Kakashi was trying to cycle his chakra again.

Sukea figured that was a problem to deal with later.

Keeping half an eye on Kakashi, Sukea picked up the scroll the boy had been using and skimmed over it. Sukea had owned the same scroll in his previous life, but it had been mostly sentimental. By the time he could possibly decipher it, he had already found better resources.

Looking at it now, with fresh eyes, he realized something: most of the jutsu listed were ones he had picked up from watching Kumo ninja with his Sharingan anyway.

Most of them were genin- to chunin-level techniques. Some of the ones he didn’t know were less about complexity and more about practicality—no skilled opponent would waste their time with something so basic unless they had mastered it to a terrifying degree.

Still, he was bored. Might as well find something new to try.

Current Transfer jutsu.

A simple jutsu. He was a little surprised he hadn’t learned it already.

All it did was channel an electrical charge into a held weapon. It was likely meant for minor enhancements, something useful in a quick skirmish but unlikely to hold up in a real fight against someone of Kakashi’s future calibre, which is probably why he never saw it. It was, at best, the Lightning Release equivalent of bringing a senbon to a sword fight.

Speaking of senbon.

Sukea pulled one from his pouch, rolling the thin metal between his fingers. It seemed safe enough to practice on. Worst case, he destroyed a single needle—an acceptable loss.

He focused, carefully following the steps outlined in the scroll. Of course, as he always reminded Kakashi, Kumo scrolls had deliberate gaps in their instructions to prevent outright jutsu theft.

But Sukea was a genius. He could fill in the blanks.

Or so he thought.

The moment he activated the jutsu, lightning flickered up the senbon, crackling along the metal—only for the charge to try to leap toward Kakashi.

Right. The boy was acting like a human lightning rod.

Sukea barely managed to flood his chakra system with earth energy before anything could happen, grounding himself just in time. The senbon, however, felt brittle in his grip, as if the charge had warped the metal.

Sukea frowned.

Yeah. Maybe he should do something about the walking electrical hazard before one of them got actually electrocuted.

"Alright, stop," he said, already reaching for Kakashi’s wrist before another wayward spark could bite at his skin.

Kakashi blinked at him, clearly confused. "What? I was just—"

"We’re changing lessons," Sukea cut in, already moving to sit cross-legged on the ground and dragging Kakashi down with him. "You need to learn how to ground yourself before you electrocute both of us. We’re doing Earth Release training instead."

Kakashi frowned, resistant. "Why? We aren’t earth-natured."

Sukea exhaled through his nose. "Because you are somehow a walking electrical hazard, and no one in the Leaf seems to know how to train you properly.”

Kakashi bristled at that.

“Down, boy. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Sukea continued, undeterred. “Minato never actually chakra-tested me in my time and assumed I had Earth Release just because I was a Hatake. Ironically, stopping him from training you wrong didn’t work out how I thought—because now he’s just training you wrong in a different way.”

Kakashi scowled. “Then you should just train me the right way.”

“No.” Sukea eye-smiled at him before having an idea. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I teach you how to build Earth Release as a second affinity so I won’t fear for my life the next time there’s a thunderstorm since I know it works. In exchange, you let me step in as you next time you have a mission.”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “That wouldn’t be practical. You still have your own team training.”

Sukea just stared at him. A long, slow, incredulous stare.

Then, very deliberately, Sukea pointed between them—between their, albeit currently masked, identical faces.

Kakashi frowned slightly, but Sukea saw the realization creeping in.

“You stand in for me,” Sukea spelled out, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience. “Think of it as infiltration practice, genius. You’re the one who suggested I’d never been seen around the village because we were sharing an identity—now we can prove it works both ways.”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue.

—

So, the rest of their training shifted.

Instead of crackling electricity and sparks snapping dangerously close to exposed skin, the afternoon became one of slow, steady breathing. Meditation. The feel of the sun warming their backs as they pressed their chakra into the earth beneath them, grounding themselves.

they breathed.

It was the kind of training that required stillness, something he knew Kakashi struggled with despite how he acted. It was against their natural chakra nature.

And sure enough—

Crumble

Sukea cracked an eye open just in time to see the top of Kakashi’s head vanish beneath the ground. A beat passed before a single silver spike of hair reemerged, then an entire scowling face as Kakashi clawed his way back up, covered in dirt and looking more annoyed than anything.

Sukea hummed, thoughtful.

“Alright, I’m teaching you Headhunter Jutsu, I would feel better about you doing that on purpose,” he announced, standing and dusting himself off. “I’m not climbing down there every time you lose focus.”

Kakashi shot him a flat look, brushing the dirt from his sleeves. “You haven’t climbed down once.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Kakashi muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue.

So, the lesson shifted again. Sukea talked him through the technique, correcting his stance when needed. By the time Kakashi could successfully sink and re-emerge without incident, the afternoon had stretched long, shadows growing longer around them.

It wasn’t what they had set out to do, but Sukea figured it was the right call.

And besides—

Sitting in the sun hadn’t been so bad.

The warmth of it soaked into his skin, the earth cool beneath his palms. The air smelled of overturned earth and Kakashi was no longer actively trying to electrocute himself. Just a quiet afternoon.

And, Sukea had some plans for Monday.

Chapter Text

By the time they finally decided to wrap up training, Sukea wasn’t sure he had the energy to cook when they got home. And judging by the way Kakashi stumbled after him, sluggishly brushing dirt off himself, he wasn’t up for it either. His chakra was probably running far lower than usual from working with an unfamiliar nature for the first time.

Sukea gave him a considering look. He probably won’t argue much if I—

“Well,” he said casually, “since you’ve apparently been hiding mission pay, let’s get some Ichiraku.”

Kakashi gave him a slow, tired blink, like his brain had to reboot just to process the words. He seemed to weigh his options for a few seconds before letting out a reluctant sigh.

“Fine.”

Probably too exhausted to complain.

Sukea, already pleased with his victory, reached into his pouch and pulled out a small container of purple paint. If they were heading into the village, it was probably best not to have two Kakashi wandering around too often. He tugged his mask down, uncapped the paint, and had just dipped his fingers inside when a thought struck him.

He glanced at Kakashi.

Paused.

Then smirked.

“You know…” Sukea drawled, rubbing the paint between his fingers, “Since you’ll be playing me on Monday, now’s the perfect time to practice.”

Kakashi gave him the flattest, most unfiltered no he’d ever seen. Which—fair. The kid barely looked like he had the energy to stand, let alone act.

Sukea grinned wider but didn’t push it. Instead, he gestured for him to come closer. “Alright, alright. But at least let me show you how I do it so you don’t mess it up.”

“It’s just purple drawn on your eyelids and cheeks. It’s not complicated.” Kakashi huffed.

Sukea gasped, theatric and wounded. “It’s very carefully drawn purple,” he corrected, dragging out the words obnoxiously. “There’s a technique to it.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes but dropped down cross-legged anyway, watching as Sukea got comfortable and started applying the paint with slow, deliberate movements.

“The shape matters,” Sukea explained, tracing soft, rounded markings around his eyes and down his cheeks, following the imagined line of an old scar. “Shinobi can use small, visual changes like these in undercover work—things that don’t require chakra. Skin-toned paint is common. You can make scars disappear, shift your features just enough to avoid recognition. The way I draw my eyes helps soften them and draws people’s attention to them rather than the rest of my face.”

Kakashi hummed, sharp gaze tracking every movement.

Sukea checked his reflection in the metal lid of the paint container, tilting his head slightly as he examined his work.

“Using coloured paint can be risky,” he said, smoothing out the edges of the markings with his thumb. “I took the chance because it makes the change more drastic—harder for people to connect Kakashi to Sukea. But if you don’t do your research first, it can cause problems. That’s why it’s mostly just ANBU who use it on deep undercover missions—they know what they’re doing.”

Kakashi perks up in interest. “So you were ANBU?”

Sukea grinned innocently. “Irrelevant.” Then, with a quick swipe, he smeared the leftover paint from his fingers onto a small patch of exposed skin on Kakashi's masked face.

The first rule of ANBU was not talking about ANBU.

Kakashi recoiled, momentarily distracted as he tried to rub it off, only succeeding in smearing it further. Sukea hummed quietly to himself as he waited for the paint to dry on both their faces. Once it had set, he reached over, peeled the hardened paint from Kakashi's face, and revealed the strip of colour. “Fun fact. This shade’s harmless here in Konoha, but in Suna? Different story. Puppetmasters in the Kazekage’s family wear this colour.” His smirk turned wry. “Probably a bad idea for Rin to ever go to Suna. Y’know, besides the war.”

He didn’t linger on the remark and instead continued to get ready and pulled out his wig. It was a mess—probably from being shoved into his pocket all day—but after a few frustrated attempts to smooth it out, he secured it with his hitai-ate, adjusting the band until most of the silver strands were hidden.

He looked at Kakashi expectantly. “So how’s it look?”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes, then reached out and tucked away a stray hair Sukea had missed.

—

Looking presentable enough, they set off toward the main village, weaving through the quieter backstreets until they merged with the busier thoroughfares. The familiar scent of grilled skewers and simmering broths filled the air, and Sukea was already thinking about what he’d order when—

“Sukea! Kakashi!”

Sukea barely had time to react before a blur of green came bounding toward them, full of vibrating energy.

Guy.

Sukea stuffed his hands into his pockets and smiled to bear the brunt of the incoming hurricane of enthusiasm that he knew Kakashi was too tired for.

Guy’s face was flushed, likely from whatever gruelling training he’d just finished, sweat clinging to his temples. “My rival and my teammate together! What great youthful occasion prompted this?”

“Nothing special,” Sukea answered with easy casualness. “Just ran into each other after training. Figured we’d grab dinner at Ichiraku.”

Before Guy could respond, a deep, booming laugh interrupted.

“Well, if you two haven’t eaten yet, why not join us?” Duy clapped a firm hand on Guy’s shoulder, beaming at them both. “We always prepare a large meal after training. It would be far more youthful than takeout, wouldn’t it?”

Guy gasped, eyes practically glowing. “Yes! Please, you must come!”

Sukea flicked a glance at Kakashi, watching the younger boy’s visible reluctance war against his exhaustion. He wasn’t exactly the most social person, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to turn down a free home-cooked meal.

Sukea smirked. “Well, hard to argue with that. Lead the way.”

—

The Might home was warm and inviting, the air thick with the rich aroma of spices. Even before Duy announced what was for dinner, Sukea could tell just by the scent.

Curry.

A slow-cooked one, judging by how deep and fragrant the smell was. It had probably been simmering for hours while they trained, growing richer with time. He could pick out the layers of spice if he’d tried.

Duy beamed as he stepped inside, already rolling up his sleeves. “Make yourselves at home! I need to check on dinner.”

With that, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Guy to take charge.

Guy grinned, practically vibrating with energy. “Come on, sit! We’ll eat soon and refuel from all that youthful training done today!”

He ushered them toward a low table in the centre of the room. The space was simple but lived in—well-loved. The kind of home where warmth lingered in every corner. A few mismatched cushions surrounded the table, and Guy eagerly gestured for them to sit. Sukea and Kakashi settled down as their host hurried off to grab extra bowls, his enthusiasm unwavering.

Sukea glanced at Kakashi, who still looked drained from training—but at least now, there was the promise of food.

Their two hosts returned quickly, arms laden with dishes. In perfect tandem, Duy and Guy moved with practised ease, serving generous portions of steaming curry over rice. The second Sukea caught the scent up close, he knew—

This recipe is familiar.

Guy had tried making it countless times over the years. Sukea remembered watching him, stirring with deep concentration, sometimes lamenting that it never quite tasted like his dad’s.

Well. Now Sukea finally got to put that to the test.

He picked up his chopsticks, scooping up a bite. The moment it hit his tongue, the flavours melted together—warm spice, slow-cooked depth, a hint of sweetness.

Not quite the same as the dish he was used to.

But close.

Close enough to know exactly what Guy had been trying for all those years.

Sukea quietly savoured the moment. Across the table, Kakashi hesitated, his chopsticks hovering just above his bowl. He was waiting—waiting for a moment when everyone’s attention would shift so he could discreetly pull his mask down for a bite.

Unfortunately for him, Guy had taken this dinner as the prime opportunity to study his eternal rival, and he was not letting up.

“So, Kakashi, how did you develop such incredible speed? Have you always been this fast, or was there a secret training regimen involved? You must! Do you do finger push-ups? I have so many thoughts on muscle development and—”

Kakashi exhaled sharply through his nose, chopsticks lowering slightly. Sukea watched in mild amusement, debating whether to step in with a distraction.

Then, Duy turned to them, voice warm and expectant. “So, how are you enjoying the food, boys?”

“You haven’t eaten much, my dear rival,” Guy added, his tone a mix of concern and encouragement. “Surely you need lots of food to grow to become even bigger and stronger!”

Kakashi exhaled sharply through his nose.

Sukea had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

For all of Guy’s passionate observations and declarations of rivalry, it had apparently never once occurred to him that Kakashi had a mask, let alone that it might be an obstacle at times like this.

Sukea wasn’t even surprised.

Honestly, he had realized stupidly late in their rivalry that Guy probably wouldn’t even notice if he took off his mask in front of him. Correction—he knew Guy wouldn’t notice. There had been at least three challenges over the years where Sukea had removed his own mask mid-competition, only to realize later that Guy had never reacted.

Sukea considered enlightening Kakashi to this fact later, but for now, he threw the poor guy a bone.

“Wow, Kakashi, it must be really hard eating around that mask,” he mused, deliberately casual.

At that exact moment, Guy froze.

Because that was when he realized—

Guy looked absolutely devastated. “I—I didn’t even realize—I was keeping you from eating this whole time—!”

He slapped a hand to his forehead as if the sheer weight of his mistake was too much to bear. “This is unforgivable! I have hindered your recovery after training—I have robbed you of youthful sustenance!”

Sukea stuffed a spoonful of curry into his mouth, trying to silence the sarcastic response threatening to escape.

And then—

“I have an idea!” Duy suddenly announced, slamming his bowl down with a firm determination. “Let’s have a group challenge! We’ll eat blindfolded!”

Sukea nearly choked on his curry.

Kakashi, on instinct, recoiled at the word ‘challenge’.

“Why?” Kakashi asked flatly.

Duy smiled, unwavering. “To test our hand-eye coordination, of course! And to truly experience the taste of the food with no distractions!”

Sukea knew what Duy was doing.

He was trying to make Kakashi feel more comfortable. It was thoughtful. Sweet, even.

But what made it hilarious was that—

Guy had suggested this exact same thing years ago, back when he and Sukea had been in the weird, tentative early stage of their rivalry.

“Sounds like a great idea!” Sukea grinned, barely holding back a laugh as he slipped his headband down over his eyes.

—

Sukea was warm and full in the way only a home-cooked meal could accomplish. The weight of a good dinner settled into his limbs, the lingering spice of curry still on his tongue. Across the table, Kakashi had eaten quickly, finishing long before the rest of them. And with nothing left to occupy him—well.

The warmth of the room, the satisfaction of a full stomach, and the sheer exhaustion from training had done the rest.

Kakashi had started nodding off before anyone even noticed.

Sukea caught it first—the subtle change in his breathing, the way his posture softened just slightly. He peeked before the others finished their ridiculous blindfolded meal challenge and reached over, tugging Kakashi’s mask back up under the guise of nudging him awake. By the time everyone else pulled off their blindfolds, Kakashi’s face was safely hidden again, his head tilted just enough to pass as merely drowsy rather than outright asleep.

Sukea settled back, satisfied with his work, only to be immediately roped into yet another challenge.

Duy, ever full of energy, had barely finished his meal before throwing down the gauntlet: a table-clearing competition.

With speed on his side, Sukea had an early lead, whisking dishes away in a blur. But Guy had the home advantage—he knew exactly where everything belonged and packed the leftovers with an efficiency honed by years of routine. It was a close race, each of them determined, battling for the title of Ultimate Dish Clearing Champion.

And Kakashi?

Kakashi was barely awake.

His arms were folded, his chin tilted downward, and every now and then, his head would dip before he jerked it back up at the last second. He was trying—really trying—to stay conscious, but at this point, it was obvious he was losing the battle.

Sukea eyed him, considering. Did he even have enough chakra left to haul Kakashi home?

It didn’t really matter. He was already deciding that he had to, already preparing to offer to take him home when—

“Guy,” Duy proclaimed, “why don’t you carry your rival home? It looks like he had a very youthful day.”

Kakashi’s head snapped up, eyes widening in alarm. “What? No, I can—”

“Fear not, my youthful rival!” Guy beamed, already stepping forward. “I shall carry you home!”

“No, you won’t,” Kakashi deadpanned.

But he was so tired that his resistance was more of a token effort than anything real, and Guy—clearly taking the lack of immediate struggle as permission—actually followed through.

Kakashi made an irritated noise as he was unceremoniously hoisted up, but his attempts at fighting back were pitiful at best. Sukea, fighting very hard not to laugh, waved goodbye with zero intention of stepping in to save him.

Kakashi shot him a look—the kind that promised retribution.

But then Guy enthusiastically bounded off, and Kakashi was too exhausted to argue.

Sukea stretched lazily, about to follow them out when—

“Sukea,” Duy said, turning back to the kitchen, “why don’t you stay and help me with the dishes?”

Sukea blinked. He could have said no, could have made some excuse, but… something about the way Duy asked made him hesitate.

And just like that, he found himself alone in the warm, curry-scented kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a cloth in hand to help dry dishes.

For a moment, the only sounds were the soft clink of ceramic and the quiet rush of water. The kind of silence that settled after a lively evening—comfortable, easy.

Then Duy spoke.

“How have you been doing, Sukea?”

The question was simple, but his tone was soft. Gentle in a way that caught Sukea off guard.

He kept his expression neutral, reaching for something normal, something expected. “Training’s boring. I wish we were starting missions already.”

Duy hummed, rinsing off a bowl. “I suppose, in the kind of environment you’re in, you would be eager to grow up and get out there.” He handed the bowl to Sukea and picked up another dish, voice unhurried. “Your sensei, however, is making sure you’re all fully equipped before moving to the next stage of your journey.”

Sukea didn’t respond, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at a wet spot.

Duy continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

“Guy tells me he enjoys training with you.” His tone was casual, warm. “Says you make things interesting. Keep him on his toes.”

Sukea snorted, smirking. “I suppose Guy’s challenges give me a reason to even turn up to training at this point.”

Duy chuckled. “I’m glad to hear you also have fun with them.”

A pause.

Then—

“You know,” Duy continued, voice light, “you and Kakashi are welcome here anytime. If you ever need anything. My son enjoys both of your company. Also I think it would be nice to see you more often.”

He set a plate aside, instead of handing it to Sukea to dry then glanced at Sukea with a warm, knowing look.

“Not just at your father’s grave.”

It took him a second—two, maybe—to process what Duy was implying.

His mind scrambled for denial, a cover, something sharp-edged to deflect. His pulse surged with instinct. They were in the middle of the village, in someone’s home—he couldn’t exactly eliminate him to shut him up.

But before he could even open his mouth, before he could conjure an excuse, Duy moved.

Soapy hands—rough with years of work, but gentle—reached out, tucking a stray strand of silver back beneath Sukea’s hitai-ate.

Sukea froze.

He’d let his guard down. He’d made a stupid, amateur mistake.

Duy just smiled.

A kind, understanding smile, with no judgment behind it.

“We live in a ninja village,” he said gently, “and everyone has something to hide, unfortunately, parentage is a very common one.”

—

Sukea stumbled home, feeling... a little lost.

The evening had been fun—good food, lively conversation, and plenty of laughter—but that last exchange with Duy had completely thrown him.

Duy knew. Or at least, he thought he knew.

The whole interaction had been such a disaster he didn’t even know where to begin unpacking it.

It hadn’t been an accusation. There had been no sharpness, no suspicion in Duy’s words—just that quiet, deliberate kindness, like he genuinely wanted to help.

And then, somehow, the conversation had shifted.

Duy had hesitated, something almost careful in his expression before he’d asked, gently:

"Does Kakashi know? About your bonds of brotherhood?"

At first, Sukea had stared.

His brain scrambled to piece together what Duy was actually asking—because what kind of question—?

And then the wording clicked. The soft, hesitant way Duy had spoken, like he was gently stepping around a delicate family secret.

And Sukea had realized, with dawning horror, that Duy—earnest, well-meaning Duy—had somehow concluded that he and Kakashi were half-siblings.

Sukea had been so flat-footed by the assumption that, before he could even think of correcting it, his mouth had already moved to confirm, “Yeah, Kakashi knows.”

Which... wasn’t a lie?

Trying to lighten the air from whatever this is, Sukea tried to joke "He’s my little brother. We live together, so it would be weird if he didn’t."

Which was also… technically true.

Duy had beamed, nodding along.

"Ah! True, we ran into you when Guy went to challenge his rival the other day! Such a strong, youthful brotherly bond—!"

And then—

Duy sniffled.

He actually sniffled.

Sukea had stood there, completely overwhelmed by the sheer force of Duy’s genuine and heartfelt sincerity, as the man clapped a firm, slightly pruney hand on his shoulder and earnestly told him to go home and check on his brother.

Sukea had nodded, trying to will away the heat rising to his face, unsure why hearing it phrased like that felt so weird. It wasn’t like he’d never joked about it himself—he constantly referred to Kakashi as his little brother in private just to rile him up.

But hearing it said seriously—with such genuine warmth—was... different.

He muttered a quick thank you for dinner, then escaped as fast as possible.

And now, as he neared home, he could still feel the lingering awkwardness in his chest.

Duy knows something now.

Sukea exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. At least he wouldn’t have to actually face Guy at training on Monday. Small mercies.

Chapter Text

Kakashi felt bare.

Uncomfortable. Exposed.

The world smelled too much without his mask filtering the air, and he had to actively stop himself from rubbing his eyes where the paint made them feel stiff.

He bit absently down on the scarf wrapped around his neck, worrying the fabric between his teeth as he skulked through the village. His mask usually stopped him from doing it in public, but now, there was nothing between him and the bad habit. He told himself it was just to ease the dull ache of the tooth that had been bothering him all morning, but really, the pressure was grounding.

Still, he had a mission to focus on.

And that was exactly what this was. A mission.

Sukea had framed it as one.

Told him to try infiltrating team Choza for the day. See if he could keep up, and maybe even convince Choza-sensei to finally start letting his team also take on real missions.

So Kakashi marched in like he belonged there, shoulders squared, posture steady.

Genma was the first to arrive after him.

The older boy gave him a long, slow once-over, assessing him in a way that made Kakashi second-guess himself for half a second. But he steeled his resolve—confidence is key, Sukea had emphasized. Just act like you’re supposed to be there, and people will believe it.

Then—

“Ah-ha! A most youthful morning to you all!”

Kakashi barely had time to brace before Guy burst into the clearing, eyes immediately zeroing in on him.

“Sukea! My ever-burning comrade-in-arms! Let us engage in a brief spar to ignite the flames of our passion for training!”

Kakashi almost recoiled.

No. Absolutely not.

His first instinct was to shut it down immediately. Say no. Walk away. Escape.

But then—

He remembered.

He wasn’t Kakashi right now.

He was Sukea.

And Sukea… pretended to be nicer than that.

So, clenching his teeth into what he hoped was a smile, Kakashi forced himself to soften the refusal.

“Not right now. Training’s going to start soon.”

He kept his voice carefully neutral, lifting it into that slightly higher pitch Sukea used around others. He’d been practising the day before.

For a moment, Guy faltered.

His face flickered—almost surprised, almost devastated—before he quickly recovered.

“Ah! You are most diligent in your discipline today! How admirable!”

He clapped Kakashi firmly on the shoulder, nodding sagely.

“Very well! We shall not allow our youthful flames to disrupt team training! Another time, then!”

Kakashi exhaled. Crisis averted.

Or so he thought.

Because Genma was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

Kakashi had no idea what was supposed to be weird about any of this.

He’d done everything exactly as Sukea had instructed. He was even late!

…Well, five minutes early.

But that was late for him, and it still grated on his nerves.

He didn’t have long to dwell on it, though, because Choza-sensei arrived next.

The man’s sharp gaze flicked over the gathered team—then landed squarely on Kakashi.

There was a moment of hesitation.

Kakashi resisted the urge to stiffen, trying to figure out if he had done something to specifically draw the sensei’s attention.

Was it his expression?

He never had to think about what his face was doing. The mask made it easy—neutral, blank, unreadable. But now? Now, he was hyper-aware of every muscle, every twitch.

He caught himself chewing absently on the cloth at his neck and quickly spat it out. Was he not smiling enough? He tried to fix his face into something friendlier.

Whatever had made Choza pause, he didn’t comment on it. The man clapped his hands together, preparing to start their drills.

Kakashi let out a slow breath.

Good. The hardest part is over with. Now all I have to do is—

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"A word, Sukea."

Choza didn’t wait for permission. His grip was firm but not forceful as he steered Kakashi away from the others, out of earshot.

Kakashi forced himself to stay calm, running through possible reasons why Choza might be pulling him aside. Did he slip up already? No—impossible. He’d done everything the way Sukea had told him to.

He even smiled.

"Are you feeling alright?" Choza asked, watching him carefully.

Kakashi blinked. What?

"Of course," he answered smoothly. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Choza studied him for a long moment, his gaze weighing something heavier than just concern.

"You seem a little… off. And you’re here earlier than usual.” the man added, studying him with quiet scrutiny.

That quiet scrutiny sent alarm bells ringing.

Kakashi hesitated. Then, throwing caution to the wind, he forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile—

“Just eager to train with my team today!” he said in that saccharine sweet tone Sukea used to weasel out of trouble, hoping it would be enough. His face hurt from smiling. How does Sukea do this so much?

But Choza’s expression flattened into disappointment.

"I didn’t think you two would try to pull this on me," he finally said, voice too calm. "But Kakashi—where is Sukea?"

Kakashi froze, the expression dropping from his face.

Then immediately flushed, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. Of course he’d have to try harder to fool Sukea’s teacher.

Exhaling, defeated, Kakashi bluntly admitted, “He’s with Team 7. He wanted to go on a mission.”

There was a pause.

Then—Choza sighed.

Without a word, he reached out and gave Kakashi a gentle pat on the head.

"Thank you for being honest," Choza said, voice kind but firm. "I hope you enjoy training with us today, but don’t do this again—or I might actually have to tell Minato to read up on his students’ updated files."

Kakashi wondered if they would be practising nature releases in training today so he could let the earth just swallow him whole.

—

Sukea knew he’d thrown Kakashi to the dogs this morning.

It’s pretty much how he taught his genin—sink or swim. He wasn’t going to hold the kid’s hand the whole way.

Besides, failing in a controlled setting builds character.

Sure, they looked alike, but Kakashi still carried himself just a little too stiffly and smiled like it physically hurt when he forced it. It was a small mercy that Sukea didn’t actually need the kid to mimic him perfectly—just distract Chōza long enough for Sukea to scope out the current state of missions in this time.

He was getting a little antsy being sedentary for so long. He’d been tied to the village as Hokage and just as he was about to get his freedom, he suddenly has the life of a village-bound genin. If he knew what he was working with, he might even be able to get his team onto a few missions without waiting for Chōza-sensei’s approval.

He plans to just slip right into team 7 as Kakashi but Sukea is a little shocked to note that Team 7 is already slightly different to Sukea’s timeline.

His first clue came when—

“Why can’t I team up with Rin?” Obito groaned, dragging his feet like a sulking child.

Minato, ever patient, didn’t even sigh. “We’re rotating partners on these small D-rank missions so you get to know the strengths and weaknesses of your teammates better.” His voice was calm, like he had explained this a hundred times before. “It’s important for when we start riskier missions. You’ve worked with Rin a lot while you were in the Academy, and I’ve spent a lot of time working one-on-one with Kakashi so we need to learn to work with everyone else, okay?”

Sukea frowned slightly. That’s different.

In his own timeline, Minato had mostly let the team dynamic sort itself out. Even hinged his bell test on them figuring out teamwork themselves. It wasn’t bad—it was just standard. Most jōnin teachers let their squads form their own rhythm. But here, he was actively reshuffling them and… focusing on team building?

That was interesting.

Minato handed the pouting Uchiha a mission scroll like a peace offering.

Obito still looked like he wanted to argue—until he saw what mission he was assigned.

A grocery run.

For one of his grannies.

Sukea nearly laughed at how fast Obito’s complaints died as the boy grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him along without hesitation.

“Fine! Whatever! Just hurry up, Bakashi!”

—

The woman wasn’t the same one Sukea had met before, but it hardly mattered.

Obito latched onto her immediately, falling into step beside her like she hung the moon and stars. She didn’t even need to call him over—just tilted her head slightly, and he was there, an eager shadow at her side, peppering her with rapid-fire questions before she’d even finished stepping out the door.

Kakashi, meanwhile, must have done a mission with her before. She didn’t bother with introductions, just greeted him with a brisk, “Hatake-kun.” before Obito stole her attention again.

“So where are we going? Are we getting extra stuff? Are you making something special?” He prattled off.

“Shush.” She chided, amused. “You’ll find out after your next clan training session.”

Obito huffed but backed down, his curiosity momentarily subdued.

That’s another new thing, Obito has clan training?

Sukea followed at a careful distance as they started toward the market. The mission was simple—carry her groceries, and keep her company. That was all. And yet, the way Obito zeroed in on the task, how he kept close to her side, how his shoulders squared as they walked…

It felt like a guard mission.

Protective, Sukea realized. Obito was being protective.

Not in an obvious way—no glaring at passersby or posturing like some bodyguard, but his attention was sharper, his movements more deliberate. And, apparently, he had an exact plan for where they were going.

Sukea noticed when they passed several shops that had what they needed, yet Obito didn’t even glance at them. Instead, he led them deeper into the market district.

“Why aren’t we stopping?” Sukea eventually asked after the third store.

Obito barely spared him a glance. “I thought I told you last time, Bakashi. Those stores don’t serve Uchiha.”

His tone was flat. Unbothered. Like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Like it wasn’t something that should have raised an alarm.

Sukea blinked, momentarily thrown. He’d known that by the time Naruto was born, the village had turned against the Uchiha—but he hadn’t realized the exclusion had started this early.

Then again… Sukea immediately started tallying up his own list—shops he refused to go to, vendors who treated him like an extension of his father, blamed him for the war and a few he’d seen refuse service to Naruto in the past… future? Whatever. Regardless, many of them no longer existed by the time Sukea was Hokage. That kind of… exclusivity quickly lost a lot of merchants any clientele even more so after Naruto became the obvious next choice for Hokage and actively squashed those kinds of business practices.

Sukea exhaled quietly through his nose, trying to smooth his expression. Things were like how they used to be, and he needed to remind himself of that.

So he followed Obito’s lead. Because even if the kid was a bit of an oddball in his family, he is still an Uchiha and was the more experienced one in this mission. And Sukea… Sukea started mentally updating his list.

The shopping itself was uneventful, though it took them trekking halfway across Konoha to specific stores—no wonder Obito was always late. By the time they finished, Obito’s ‘Granny’ pressed a piece of candy into each of their hands in thanks.

Sukea tried to refuse. She very firmly insisted.

He begrudgingly stuffed it into his pocket, resolving to deal with it later.

—

Back at the training grounds, Minato was engaged in conversation with Rin, who had clearly wrapped up their mission long before Sukea and Obito. The moment the two arrived, Rin and Minato snapped to attention, as if they had been waiting for them.

Sukea wasted no time, immediately grabbing the mission scroll and filling out the details, just like his younger self always insisted on doing. With a quick glance at his teammates, he squared his shoulders and adopted the eager stance of a child desperate to prove himself.

“I can take the mission scrolls to the desk and grab our next assignments, Sensei,” he said, holding out his hand with a slight, almost too serious for his age arrogance. “We slowed down the schedule, and it’ll be faster if just one of us goes. I’m the fastest.”

It was a new suggestion for Kakashi to make at this age, but not an outlandish one. The kid always tried to take on extra responsibilities to prove how much more ‘mature’ he was than his teammates. Sukea was just… nudging that instinct a little earlier than expected.

More importantly, he needed access to the mission desk. If he could go alone, it would make the next part of his personal scouting mission even easier.

Minato gave him a slightly curious look, no doubt noting the sudden enthusiasm, but he ultimately seemed grateful to not have to drag three genin up to the mission desk himself.

“That would be very helpful, Kakashi. Thank you!” Minato beamed, handing over the completed scroll without a second thought.

Sukea took it with a firm nod, turned on his heel, and ran off.

Mission success.

—

The moment Sukea arrived at the mission assignment desk, he focused—not just on submitting team Minato’s mission scrolls, but on how the system worked.

Konoha’s method for mission distribution had shifted over time, adapting to different needs and oversight levels. In peacetime, strict checks ensured teams only took assignments they were authorized for.

But during war?

There were gaps.

And those gaps? He just needed to test which ones were still open.

He stepped up to the desk, sliding over the completed mission scrolls. The shinobi behind the counter barely glanced at them before accepting them. When Sukea casually requested two new assignments, they didn’t even check the ledger to confirm whether his team had clearance.

Why would they?

They already had the mission scrolls in hand. That meant his team obviously had permission, right?

Sukea flicked a glance at the shinobi on duty helping other teams, quietly cataloguing who actually followed protocol. Some checked the books, as they were supposed to. But many relied purely on assumption.

He made note of who did what and tucked that information away.

Then, with a fresh set of assignments in hand, he returned to the team, holding them up proudly.

Minato praised him for a job well done, and Sukea flushed a little—people didn’t really praise him for such small things anymore.

Minato barely glanced at the scrolls before making a decision.

"We should swap teams again before heading out."

—

Their next mission?

A D-rank war mission.

Unlike regular D-ranks, these weren’t requests from civilians. These were assignments issued directly by the village to help ease the burden of the war outside their walls.

This time, he was paired with Rin and sent to the hospital to assist with incoming injured shinobi from the frontlines.

Sukea hated hospitals.

Even though he wasn’t there as a patient, the sterile smell, the hushed tension, the quiet groans of pain from behind closed doors—it all put him on edge. But he sucked it up and forced himself into mission mode.

Since Rin was their team’s medic, he let her take the lead.

Or, at least, tried to.

The moment the nurses realized Rin could use any healing jutsu, she was practically abducted. Never mind that she was still learning—her presence was immediately claimed.

Sukea attempted to stay close, but the best he could do was run errands. Fetching supplies. Carrying messages. Small, simple tasks to keep things moving.

He had some field medic training—basic stitching, bandaging—but he didn’t offer it.

Not with the looks some of the older shinobi gave him.

Blame.

They recognized him.

Whispers followed him through the hallways, low and bitter.

"He should be on the frontlines."

"Should be making up for this war his father started."

Sukea ignored them.

Or tried to.

The nurses, at least, had tact. None suggested he should directly help with the injured like some of the other genin on similar missions.

And—thankfully—none of the older shinobi said anything loud enough for Rin to hear.

—

“You could have been a little nicer about telling them our time was up, Kakashi.”

No he couldn’t. The nurses are vicious, but admitting that would be a sign of weakness so instead Sukea shrugged. “That would have taken longer. Also, I’m pretty sure those nurses would keep you forever if no one objected.”

Rin made a small sound of protest but didn’t argue. She knew he was right.

She looked exhausted, shoulders slumped under the weight of all the chakra she had spent healing.

They were waiting at the training grounds for Minato and Obito, and whatever those two had been up to was clearly taking longer than expected.

Eventually, they ran over—late.

Minato looked harried, a bit out of breath, and Sukea was fairly confident he was late for something with Kushina. His suspicions were confirmed when their teacher rushed out in one breath—

“Okay, I need one of you to take these to the mission desk for me, I have something urgent to get to.”

Minato’s eyes drifted to Sukea after noticing how tired Rin was but Obito perked up immediately, looking expectantly at Minato. Eager to prove himself, too.

Their sensei hesitated—but only for a moment.

Whatever he was late for must have been important because he checked the time, winced, and then thrust the scroll into Obito’s hands without a second thought.

“Okay, Obito, your turn! And don’t forget to fill out our scroll before you hand it in!”

With that, Minato dismissed them and sprinted off, Rin then also excused herself because she needed to go rest properly.

That left just Sukea and Obito.

Obito held out his hand expectantly to Sukea. “Mission scroll.”

Sukea shook his head. “Still working on it.”

Obito scowled but didn’t push—yet.

They sat together in near silence, working.

Sukea could have finished his report easily. He had long since cracked the code on how to fill them out with minimal effort.

But instead, he waited.

And watched.

Obito was struggling.

His grip on the pen tightened with every frustrated scribble. The forms weren’t hard, but they were worded weirdly, packed with redundant bureaucratic nonsense.

And now that Sukea thought about it… when would Obito have even filled one in before?

Minato had handled it for their first mission.
Kakashi usually took charge of them for any mission he was on.
Rin probably tried to take turns, but she hadn’t been on a mission with Obito yet.

Which meant…

Obito had no idea what he was doing.

He couldn’t outright help. Obito would take it as an insult.

But what if…?

Sukea let out a deliberately put-upon sigh.

“Obito, if you’re going to take so long, at least be useful. I’m going to use you as a sounding board for my report.”

Obito glared but didn’t object.

Sukea took that as permission.

“So, you know the main mission report section? The part where we just recount what happened?” He let his voice dip into casual suggestion. “I was thinking of just writing their own mission request back to them, then adding anything that deviated, to save time.”

He said it pointedly.

Clearly.

Obito’s pen stilled.

Then, Sukea let out another exaggerated sigh. “And what’s with the wording of these questions? If they wanted to know if we encountered another team and what they did, they should just say that.”

He could see the gears turning in Obito’s head.

Then—furious scribbling.

Sukea smirked internally.

When Obito’s pen stilled again, Sukea huffed dramatically.

“And the next question? I’m pretty sure this could just be a yes or no answer. I saw Sensei do that once when he was in a hurry.”

Obito’s smirk of triumph was almost immediate. He rerolled his finished scroll and held out his hand again, waiting for Sukea’s.

Sukea tucked it protectively against himself.

“Still working on it.”

Obito frowned. “Minato-sensei said I had to take the scrolls to the mission desk.”

Sukea hummed as if considering. Then, casually, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the candy from Obito’s granny, holding it out.

“Tell Minato that you took both scrolls. I’ll hand mine in when I’m done.”

Obito gawked. “Are you blackmailing me?!”

Sukea tilted his head. “Actually, I’m bribing you. Blackmail would be if I said, ‘Do it, or I’ll tell Sensei you had no idea how to fill out a mission scroll.’”

Flat tone. No smirk. No teasing inflection.

Kakashi hadn’t learned yet how to pull his punches. Or how to make them hit harder with a smile.

Obito flushed, he’s not sure if it was from anger or embarrassment and it didn’t seem to matter because the kid then snatched the candy, muttering about stupid Bakashi jerks, before storming off with one scroll clutched tightly in his hands.

Sukea stretched lazily, suppressing a smirk.

He couldn’t believe that actually worked.

Tucking his own scroll into his bag, he dismissed any thought of turning it in today.

He had other plans.

Right now, he was far more interested in seeing just how badly Kakashi had failed at pretending to be him.

—

Sukea arrived home to the sight of Kakashi nervously chewing on the edge of his mask.

He’d showered and changed out of Sukea’s training clothes, but the fabric at the corner of his around-the-house mask was visibly frayed from where he’d been gnawing on it.

Sukea should probably tell him to stop.

That was probably how he’d lost half his puppy teeth as a kid—getting them caught in the tough ninja fabric.

…Maa, he turned out fine. The teeth grew back, he grew out of the habit—mostly. It was probably a normal beast clan thing.

Probably.

But that wasn’t his main focus.

Sukea leaned against the doorway, arms crossing loosely.

“So,” he drawled, just a little teasing, “how was training?”

Kakashi pouted. “I failed.”

“How badly?”

His younger self looked surprised at how unsurprised he sounded before scowling and grumbling, “Choza-sensei figured it out immediately and said if he catches us swapping again, he’s going to tell Minato.”

Sukea shrugged, unconcerned.

“Then don’t get caught next time.”

Kakashi huffed but nodded, like that was actually reasonable advice.

“Anything else happen?” He probed further. He knew he could probably request an actual mission report out of the kid but that wasn’t a healthy dynamic to add into their home.

The boy tilted his head, thoughtful. “Genma kept giving me weird looks?”

Now that was interesting.

Genma wasn’t stupid. A little too relaxed at times, maybe, but sharp when it counted. If he was looking at Kakashi funny, it meant he’d noticed something.

Still, after a quick casual interrogation, Sukea determined although the weaknesses he’s picked out played a factor in rousing some suspicion, the biggest giveaway had probably been his punctuality.

Because to Kakashi, showing up five minutes early was the same as being late.

Of all the things.

Sukea groaned, ruffling his own hair in frustration, before begrudgingly deciding to start showing up on time sometimes—just to make what Kakashi did look a little less suspicious.

—

The following day, Sukea resigned himself to an unfortunate fate—standing at their training ground, arms crossed, waiting.

Early.

And the moment Genma arrived, the kid immediately shot him a look of deep, unwavering suspicion.

Sukea pretended not to notice.

“Morning,” he greeted, casual as anything.

Genma squinted, eyes narrowing as if trying to peer into his very soul.

“…You’re never here before me.” A slow pause. “This is the second day it’s happened.” His stare intensified. “You’re up to something.”

Sukea put on his best innocent face. “Me? Never.”

Genma huffed, clearly not buying it, but before he could press further—

A thunderous yell split the air.

“Sukea! My ever-burning comrade-in-arms!”

Guy came barreling onto the scene, mid-sprint, arms pumping, eyes blazing with the fire of youth.

“You’re early again! I believe this time there should be enough time for a quick spar to get our blood pumping! Do you accept my challenge?!”

Sukea grinned. Perfect distraction.

“Of course,” he said immediately, barely bracing himself before Guy launched into a flying roundhouse kick. He ducked, weaving away as their usual playful scuffle ensued—quick footwork, exaggerated attacks, laughter bubbling between blows.

This time, Sukea won.

Guy dropped into a crouch, hands braced on his knees, panting.

“I must endeavour to work harder!” he declared, determined despite his exhaustion. “Not only have I lost our challenge, but I was the last to arrive!”

He lamented the fact as though it were some great personal tragedy.

Genma, despite himself, looked a little less suspicious.

But he still wasn’t dropping it.

Genma crossed his arms, eyes narrowing again. “I’m not letting you brush me off. Spill it.”

Sukea blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Spill what?”

“The reason you’re actually here on time.” Genma’s stare sharpened. “You’re never on time. You’re clearly up to something.”

Sukea sighed, feigning offence. “You make it sound like I’m late all the time.”

“You are.”

Guy, despite still catching his breath, nodded far too enthusiastically.

“Yes! You are the last to arrive almost every time! I tried to challenge myself to ensure you came to training on time, but somehow you have bested me even in this endeavour!”

…Okay. Fair. But still.

It was clear Genma wasn’t letting this go. And honestly? Sukea really didn’t want them playing amateur detective and stumbling into some variation of the complex disaster that is his relation to Kakashi. So, he shifted tactics—throwing them a bone.

With a sigh—just enough exasperation to make it believable—Sukea let his shoulders drop, as if worn down by their persistence. Then, flashing them both an easygoing grin, he relented.

“Fine. I’m trying to be a good boy because I’m working on a plan to get us assigned real missions.”

Genma crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Chōza-sensei said we’d start missions when he thinks we’re ready.”

Sukea grinned, sensing weakness. “Didn’t peg you for a goody-two-shoes, Genma.”

A deliberate jab—one he knew would land.

Genma might act tough, but at his core, he was a rule-follower. Sure, he pushed boundaries—susceptible to peer pressure like any kid—but this was a guy who ended up on the Hokage Guard and occasionally ANBU. That kind of job didn’t go to just anyone.

Not that Sukea could judge. He was a rule-follower too. He just knew the rules well enough to know where he could bend them to fit his needs.

Predictably, Genma bristled.

“If you’ve got some big plan, then what is it?!”

Sukea smirked.

“If you and Guy are willing to stay after training,” he said, slow and deliberate, “I’ll show you.”

—

The moment Chōza-sensei laid eyes on Sukea that morning, his gaze narrowed.

Then, without preamble, he grabbed Sukea by the shoulder and dragged him aside.

Sukea barely had time to groan before the interrogation started.

“Are you actually you today?” Chōza asked, arms crossed, his voice thick with scepticism.

Sukea blinked. “…What?”

Chōza sighed, clearly exasperated. “Don’t play dumb.” His sharp gaze raked over him, assessing.

Ah.

So this was his life now.

Apparently, showing up on time twice was so wildly out of character that his own teacher thought he was still possibly Kakashi in disguise.

Like he would pull the same trick twice.

Sukea rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It’s me.”

Chōza frowned, unconvinced. “Prove it.”

Sukea huffed. “What do you want? A full biography? My favourite food? A detailed retelling of that time Guy challenged me to an eating competition and why we can never go back to that restaurant?”

Chōza’s expression flattened. “So it is you.”

Sukea smirked. “Told you.”

Rather than looking relieved, Chōza pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. Then, his gaze turned sharp.

“You skipped team training.”

Sukea shrugged. “Technically, I attended a team—”

“You let your brother impersonate you and skipped OUR training,” Chōza corrected, his tone unimpressed. “That’s immature, irresponsible, and part of why I think you still need to be in training.”

Sukea scoffed. Him? Immature? Please.

But before he could fire back, Chōza turned away. “Go warm up. You’re not weaselling out of training again.”

And that was that.

The session went on as normal—drills, spars, and by the end of it, as was customary, Chōza provided a post-training lunch before heading off, leaving them to their own devices.

Which meant—

It was time.

Sukea zeroed in on his teammates.

“Well?” he asked, spreading his hands expectantly. “You guys ready for a mission?”

Genma hesitated.

His ingrained sense of responsibility warred with his curiosity.

Meanwhile, Guy—predictably—was already clenching a fist with absolute resolve.

“If it will push our youthful progress forward, then of course!”

Genma let out a sharp breath, then scowled. “Fine,” he muttered. “But this better not be something stupid.”

Sukea smirked.

“Oh,” he said, already pulling a mission scroll from his pocket, “I promise—this is very serious business.”

—

Sukea led them to the mission office, it was a little busy so they stood to one side.

Genma leaned against the wall, watching carefully as another team entered the mission office. They stepped up to the desk, requested a mission, and—since they didn’t already have a scroll—the chunin on duty checked the ledger.

And, of course, it didn’t help that today’s desk was manned by one of the sterner chunin, the kind that actually bothered to check if a team had permission.

Genma shot Sukea a wary look, silently asking: ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

Sukea simply grinned.

They waited.

Eventually, the shift changed, and the sterner chunin was replaced with one significantly more lax. That’s when Sukea struck.

He strolled up to the desk, Team 7’s previous mission scroll in hand, and handed it over.

And, as expected, the chunin barely even looked at it.

Then, when Sukea requested a new mission, they unthinkingly handed him one.

He turned, walking back to where Genma and Guy were waiting, grinning triumphantly.

Genma gave him an incredulous look.

Sukea, radiating confidence, handed off the scroll. “See? If you already have a mission scroll, they just assume you’re cleared for another one. No questions asked.”

Then, before they could grill him on where he even got the first scroll from, Sukea led them off to actually do the mission.

It went well.

More than well.

In fact, once Guy caught on, he and Sukea started to get… a little competitive.

And when Guy and Sukea got competitive, it meant mission after mission was completed at high speed, fueled by stubborn determination and youthful vigor.

By the time they were finally wrapping up, Sukea even graciously showed them how to fill in the mission debriefs—Mostly so they could do them for him in the future.

—

Apparently, someone had started recognizing them.

And one of the stickler ninja had checked the mission records—And realized that they weren’t actually authorized to take on missions yet.

…They soon found themselves in the Hokage’s office.

The air in the Hokage’s office was thick with tension.

Genma looked mortified.

Even Guy—who usually had an unwavering fire in his eyes—seemed slightly cowed.

Sukea?

Well.

Maybe he felt a little guilty.

But he’d stuffed that down beneath a very neutral expression, arms crossed as he studied the Third Hokage, who puffed on his pipe in a way that absolutely was meant to intimidate them. Sukea certainly didn’t miss that smell…

Choza, standing stiffly beside them, seemed torn between distress and sheer disbelief.

“Why?” Their sensei pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. How?”

He could throw Obito under the cart for not actually taking back the mission scrolls he should have, but abandoning a comrade would make him scum so he stayed quiet.

The Hokage let the question hang in the air for a long moment before realising he’s not getting an answer and instead shifting, reaching for a nearby in-tray.

He pulled out a small stack of mission scrolls and set them on the desk in front of him.

“Can you explain what these are?”

Sukea glanced at them. “Mission scrolls.”

“Correct.” The Hokage exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Mission scrolls. Completed by your team, too.”

A pause.

“The funny thing is, though, I don’t recall Team 23 applying to start receiving missions yet.”

Sukea shrugged. “That’s because sensei hasn’t applied.”

“They aren’t ready yet,” Choza cut in, firm and unwavering.

The Hokage hummed, levelling them all with a heavy gaze. “And what do you boys have to say about this?”

Genma, stiff beside him, looked like he might throw up on the spot.

Guy shifted his weight, visibly gearing up for one of his usual impassioned speeches about youth and determination.

Sukea, deciding to cut that off before it got out of hand, stepped forward instead.

He tilted his head, meeting the Hokage’s gaze with the diplomacy of far too many years of being forced to wear the hat himself.

“Technically,” Sukea said smoothly, hands folded neatly behind his back, “we haven’t done anything wrong.”

The Third Hokage raised an eyebrow.

A lesser man might have wilted under that gaze.

Sukea was not a lesser man.

“We’re in wartime,” he continued, tone measured. “And the Ninja Handbook explicitly mandates that all shinobi who are able must take on missions to lighten the burden on their comrades.”

He let that hang in the air for a beat before adding, “Your permission is a courtesy, not a requirement.”

Silence.

Genma went pale. His eyes flicked between Sukea and the Hokage like he was watching someone light a fuse on an explosive tag.

Even Guy—loud, enthusiastic, unshakable Guy—was stunned into silence.

Chōza opened his mouth, then closed it again. His expression was a mix of exasperation and shock.

And to Sukea’s quiet amusement, even the Hokage himself looked taken aback. Just for a brief moment.

He really shouldn’t be.

Kakashi had quoted the rulebook all the time. Why wouldn’t he?

This particular clause—the one he’d just cited—was still in effect in this timeframe. The Founders had never written it out when the village was formed, assuming the Academy system would prevent unprepared children from becoming ninja in the first place.

They hadn’t accounted for the gradual lowering of graduation ages.

Hiruzen had largely ignored the rule in practice, allowing mission assignments to be handled through team applications, which was mostly just a village filing system, but he’d never officially removed it.

Tsunade, however, had done a full overhaul of the system while she was in office and had gotten rid of it entirely but Sukea still knew all versions of the rulebook inside and out.

Then, slowly, the Hokage leaned back in his chair, regarding Sukea with a considering look.

Sukea refused to break rank. His expression remained blank, neutral, unreadable.

Then, after a long pause, Hiruzen finally turned his gaze to Chōza.

Without a word, he picked up one of the mission scrolls from his desk and handed it over.

“I’m not sure about you,” the Hokage mused, “but I think they’re ready.”

Chōza—stubborn as ever—grumbled under his breath before reluctantly unrolling the scroll.

His sharp eyes scanned over Sukea’s scribbly-but-efficient handwriting. The debrief was concise, accurate, and even included a notation from the chūnin supervisor about how the requester had praised their speed and efficiency.

Chōza’s expression twitched.

Then he flipped through the other scrolls. All from the short few hours they’d gone undetected.

His frown deepened.

Sukea resisted the urge to grin.

Finally, Chōza sighed, rubbing at his temple before muttering:

“…Fine. It seems that I can’t actually stop you from taking on missions.”

Sukea internally cheered.

“But,” Chōza added, voice firm, “I’m ensuring you stick to D-ranks while we’re following my training plan—and until I think you’re mature enough for C-ranks. Got it?”

He had a foot in the door. Sukea had won.

Chapter Text

Sukea stared at the mission scroll in his hands, rereading it just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

Nope.

It was exactly as bad as he thought.

Mission desk duty.

Across from him, Genma practically vibrated with excitement. “Wow. I can’t believe they trust us with this! That’s a huge responsibility, right?”

Sukea exhaled slowly through his nose. He knew exactly what this was.

This wasn’t about trust.

This was about punishment.

After his little stunt to supersede Choza sensei to get a mission, someone must have decided they needed more eyes on him. So now, instead of being out on a real mission, he was stuck here, buried under the most mind-numbing work Konoha had to offer at its central hub.

And to make it worse—

“Oi! No more challenges, you two!” one of the clerks barked, pointing directly at Sukea and Guy.

Guy groaned in protest, still mid-arm wrestle with him. “But we’re just—”

“No!” the clerk snapped. “You’re distracting everyone! We’re splitting you up—Sukea, Genma, you’re on inbound scroll sorting duty. Guy, you’re on delivery runs to the archives. Move!”

Sukea sighed as Guy was herded off, still looking like he might protest before ultimately jogging off to his new task at the glare of the clerk.

And that’s how he found himself elbow-deep in the tedious world of mission filing.

—

It was awful.

The work was simple—mind-numbingly simple. Sort the completed mission scrolls into their proper categories, update the records, and make sure everything was accounted for.

Chūnin clerks bustled around them, keeping an eye on their work while occasionally throwing Sukea particularly suspicious glances.

Sukea ignored them.

Genma, on the other hand, still looked a little starry-eyed at being “trusted” with what was normally a D-rank job for chūnin. His enthusiasm hadn’t faded in the slightest, and now he was giving Sukea an impressed look.

“Huh,” he said, watching as Sukea skimmed through a scroll, signed the ledger beside him, and tossed it into one of the labelled boxes with practised efficiency.

Three separate chūnin had already tried to “catch” him doing something wrong—only to turn red-faced when they double-checked his work and found it flawless.

He was already faster than some of the full-time clerks.

“You’re actually really good at this, Sukea.” Genma praised.

Sukea didn’t even look up.

“Genma,” he said, voice flat, “I hate this so much. I’m getting this done quickly so I can leave quickly. If I ever become a desk ninja, I want you to take a senbon and jam it in me right here.”

He lifted a hand and tapped a precise spot on his neck—one he knew would be instantly fatal, probably painless and situated in most people’s blind-spot.

Only after the words left his mouth did he realize he probably shouldn’t be joking like that to this young, bright-eyed, genin Genma.

But instead of looking disturbed, Genma just blinked. Then, very seriously, asked:

“Would you prefer poison on the tip, or just a clean kill?”

Sukea finally looked up, narrowing his eyes and reevaluating how much of himself he was allowed to be.

“Surprise me.”

Genma grinned.

—

“Sukea! Since you’ve finished sorting that section, take this box of documents up to the Hokage for approval.”

Finally. A break from paperwork hell.

Sukea grabbed the box and slipped out into the hallway, weaving through the familiar corridors of the Hokage Tower.

The building never really changed other than fresh coats of paint since it was built in the Founding era.

He had just reached the Hokage’s office when the door swung open—

—and Danzo Shimura stepped out.

Sukea barely stopped himself from stiffening.

The man didn’t even glance at him, brushing past like he was nothing more than background noise.

And that was good. That was how it should be.

Sukea designed his appearance to be nondescript. Just another faceless shinobi, barely worth acknowledging but he made sure he was known enough to those who matter that if something happened to him, people would notice.

Still, his hands clenched involuntarily around the box.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to take out the threat.

He forced himself to relax, watching as Danzo disappeared down the hall.

Not yet. He had to be smarter about it and find an opportunity and the middle of a war wasn’t it, the vacuum of power could change the tides for the worst. Besides, even if he wanted to—and no matter how much better the world would be if he did—he couldn’t cover it up that quickly. He’s not going to throw his current life away so stupidly.

Then, before the office door could fully close from the man’s exit, Sukea slipped inside.

—

“More work, Hokage-sama.” Sukea cheerfully announced.

Hiruzen almost jumped. Sukea had practically materialized out of thin air, fresh paperwork in hand.

The man’s gaze flicked up, sharp—then softened when he recognized who it was. And, more importantly, tried not to grimace at the size of the stack Sukea was holding.

The man exhaled, long-suffering. “Just put them over there.”

Sukea beamed brighter.

“Oh, I can’t do that.” His voice was cheerful, almost sweet. “The head chuunin at the front desk wants them done now.”

Technically, he might have been stretching the truth about their urgency. But the Hokage deserved this minor inconvenience.

For approving his team to take this mission type.

For giving Danzo a seat at his table.

For prioritising whatever document the Warhawk had left half-unrolled at Hiruzen’s side, the faint scrawl of ink visible just beneath the man’s fingers—

Sukea’s eyes flicked to it.

A ROOT transfer request.

More ANBU funneled into Danzo’s grasp.

His expression didn’t change. His smile stayed pleasant.

As he stepped forward, he dumped the stack of documents directly on top of it. Burying it so it will likely never see the light of day again.

—

Team Minato stood in a loose formation, watching as their teacher prepared their next lesson. Today, Minato had decided to focus on summoning animals.

“We’re going to start taking C-ranks outside of the village soon, so I want to familiarise you with some of my summons since they can help me pass messages along or assist you in the event we get separated out there.” he informs holding up a scroll.

With a casual, practised motion, Minato bit his thumb, swiped the blood across the seal, and pressed his palm to the ground.

A puff of smoke exploded outward.

When it cleared, a small toad sat in front of them.

Obito and Rin had clearly not expected that.

“A toad?” Obito blurted, staring.

Rin tilted her head. “Oh. I thought you’d summon something… fluffier?”

Minato chuckled. “There are many different kinds of summons,” he explained patiently. “I just happened to sign a contract with the toads. This one was actually passed down to me by my Sensei.”

Obito’s eyes widened in alarm, “I don’t want it! Kakashi can have this!” Obito insisted as if Minato was demanding one of them had to take it next, Rin nodded, watching as the little toad gave an unimpressed croak.

“None of you have to sign with my summons if you don’t want to and you certainly can’t make Kakashi sign one.” Minato admonished, “Not only is that mean but I’m pretty sure he already has one and not many summons are okay with a person signing more than one contract.”

Meanwhile, Kakashi had stayed silent.

Until Minato turned to him.

“I am correct in you having a summoning contract, right?”

Kakashi blinked, momentarily thrown. “Uh… yeah.”

He had mentioned to his sensei that he was planning on using his families summoning scroll when he had freshly became his first student. He’d wanted help and Minato had explained the mechanics, made it sound very simple and then given him a speech about teamwork and forming bonds with his summons.

It hadn't mattered. His father’s hounds had rejected him. The contract hadn’t been passed down properly, and without their approval, he couldn’t summon them.

Minato’s smile warmed. “Would you mind demonstrating? It would be a good idea to know what summons you have in case we need the help on a mission.”

That was a problem.

Kakashi’s stomach twisted, but his face remained impassive.

Yes, he had the scroll. No, he hadn’t actually managed to summon anything yet.

But there was no way he was admitting that. Not in front of Obito.

Without a word, he dug into his pack, pulling out the old, well-worn summoning scroll.

He unrolled it, quickly checking his name. Still there. That was a good sign—it meant they would likely give him another chance to still make an agreement.

He glanced at Minato. Then at his teammates.

It would work this time.

He was stronger now. More skilled. He just had to try harder.

He broke the skin on his thumb with a kunai, let the blood well, and then pressed his palm firmly against the scroll.

The seal activated.

A sharp burst of chakra. A puff of smoke.

Kakashi braced himself.

The smoke cleared—

—and there, sitting in front of him, was a tiny, grumpy-looking puppy.

The pup blinked. Once. Then narrowed its eyes like it was judging him.

Obito made a strangled noise like he was holding in laughter. “Pfft—”

Rin clasped her hands together. “Aww!”

—

Sukea was tired.

He’d thought retirement would free him from the soul-crushing responsibility of paperwork. But somehow, he’d ended up roped back in. Worse, he’d taken far too much amusement in outperforming the chūnin assigned to the mission desk, which—predictably—ensured that his name got added to the roster for regular assistance. He was pretty sure that would’ve happened even if he’d purposely done a terrible job with how a few scrolls had been added to a mission out tray labeled with his team’s number when they arrived.

Still, at least the day was over.

On his way home, he picked up a new novel, eager to unwind on the couch with something that wasn’t another mission report.

And that’s exactly what he was doing when Kakashi returned.

The sound of the door opening barely registered as Sukea flipped a page. He didn’t look up—not at first.

Then his gaze caught on the small bundle cradled in Kakashi’s arms.

Something small. Something warm. Something alive.

Sukea’s focus sharpened. His book snapped shut. Excitement sparked in his chest as he surged forward, eyes locked onto the tiny creature nestled in the folds of Kakashi’s uniform.

The bundle shifted—

—revealing a tiny, wrinkled puppy.

Short legs kicked feebly. Dark, blinking eyes peered up at them, and Sukea could already see the beginnings of the grumpy, jowly expression that would one day become all too familiar.

His face lit up.

“Pakkun!”

Kakashi gave a slow nod, swaying just slightly on his feet. His chakra signature—usually sharp and steady—flickered weakly at the edges.

“I summoned him,” Kakashi explained, clearly proud of himself. “But he’s still too little, so I’ve been feeding him chakra to help build his reserves.”

Sukea squinted.

“…Are you about to pass out?”

Kakashi, as if deeply insulted by the very idea, immediately straightened his spine.

“No.”

His voice was steady.

His hands, however, were trembling.

Which meant yes.

“Gimme.” he made grabby hands towards Pakkun.

Kakashi hesitated.

For all of half a second.

Then his entire body wobbled, and without another word, he dumped the tiny pug straight into Sukea’s waiting arms.

Sukea barely managed to catch Pakkun before Kakashi’s knees nearly gave out. The kid swayed where he stood, posture going rigid with sheer stubbornness. His breathing was short and uneven—like he was trying to pretend he wasn’t one deep inhale away from faceplanting onto the floor.

The joy of holding a puppy washed away most of Sukea’s fatigue.

But looking down at Kakashi…

Yeah. His job for the day wasn’t over yet.

Actually… this might explain why Sukea didn’t really remember when he first got Pakkun.

This exact moment. Right here… He’s got the next few days off so it’s not like anyone would notice if he passed out from chakra exhaustion for the next few days and Pakkun is too little to have formed any memories with specifics. He’d once asked the pug and he sheepishly admitted that he just remembered that he’d fed him so much chakra on his first summoning that he had a nap and wanted to stay with him forever.

Sukea sighed, shifting Pakkun into the crook of one arm before dragging Kakashi toward the couch—where his new novel now had to wait.

Settling in, he ran a hand through Pakkun’s puppy-soft fur, testing a small trickle of chakra, before determining that Kakashi had given him enough. The fact that the small amount even worked though confirms that he still counts as the pup's summoner too… good to know.

Then his focus shifted to the pale, chakra-drained child beside him—whining slightly as the mask of stubbornness slipped now that he was safe at home, and the full consequences of dumping all his chakra into a tiny, greedy puppy caught up with him.

It was a bit of a long shot, but Sukea pressed a palm against Kakashi’s shoulder, trying to push chakra out—an awkward, uneven transfer, nowhere near the smooth precision of an actual medic-nin and the fact that they had identical chakra is probably the only reason it even does something.

For a moment, Sukea thought it was working very well.

He could feel Kakashi’s chakra stabilizing, could already imagine getting the kid back on his feet—

—and then he felt his own chakra start to dip.

His vision wavered slightly at the edges, the way it did when he stood up too fast after skipping a meal.

…Oh.

Right.

He forgot that he didn’t actually have that much chakra to begin with either.

Pakkun made a tiny, sleepy noise, shifting his weight so he could nestle comfortably into Sukea’s stomach.

Kakashi hummed, no longer chakra-sick from the small boost of chakra he’s been given but still equally exhausted, copying the pup—flopping over with an unceremonious thump and letting his head rest against Sukea’s shoulder.

A heavy silence settled over them, warm and drowsy.

Neither of them moved for a long time.

And if their now mild chakra exhaustion turned into an impromptu nap session with a tiny, wrinkled pug sprawled across both of them…

Well.

No one was around to see it, anyway.

—

While Sukea was reaping the punishment of his own stupidity, aka regular mission desk duty, he watched as Kakashi and Team 7 started dipping their toes into real shinobi work, even handing them the scrolls himself some days.

C-rank missions. Patrols beyond Konoha’s safe borders. Overnight stays in unfamiliar terrain.

Sukea could survive being a lone wolf. He had done so for years. But the Hatake were a pack clan at their core. He hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to Kakashi’s quiet presence at home until it was missing.

They could pass notes through Pakkun, but the pug was still small, and long-distance messaging drained them all too much for it to be anything but an emergency.

At first, he ignored the empty space.

He busied himself.

He followed Guy home after missions, and started accepting Duy’s dinner invitations more often.

But even Duy began receiving more frequent missions, vanishing for longer periods.

“Dad’s been away a lot more lately,” Guy mused between bites of curry. Guy had insisted on cooking for the two of them. It tasted more like the version Sukea was used to—missing that something of Duy’s curry but still tasting like home.

“He said he’s busy protecting what’s important to him, and that we should be focusing on getting strong enough to do the same…” Guy declared determinedly like he was trying to convince them both.

Sukea just hummed.

Because this—this was the first whisper of war creeping into the village proper.

The signs were subtle but steady.

Shinobi coming and going with increasing urgency. The mission roster filling up faster than ever. Soon, more injuries will start to trickle in. Scrapes. Minor burns. A few broken bones.

…Not that they ever got any hospital missions to see it up close. Strangely of all the busy work they had, that was not one included.

But Sukea had lived through enough wars to know it wouldn’t stay that way.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

He was basically off-duty. Retired.

No one knew the second part, of course. But it was technically true.

He’d done his part. Survived a war—multiple wars, even. It wasn’t really his responsibility to dive headfirst into another.

He knew how this one ended.

And yet—

The itch never quite went away.

The restless energy in his limbs. The keen awareness of mission schedules. The way his fingers twitched whenever he caught sight of a freshly inked scroll being handed off to a departing shinobi.

His team?

Still training. Still stuck on D-ranks.

Not that he minded. Not really.

There was something to be said for simple missions.

The rhythm of it. The predictability.

He and Guy turned many of them into challenges to occupy each other, pushing each other to be better—even dragging Genma along when they could.

He could do without the mission desk shifts, though.

He’d done his time as Hokage. He knew the ins and outs of mission distribution better than most.

And now—

It gave him a front-row seat to the shifting tides of war.

—

Sukea didn’t remember every mission Team 7 had ever gone on. That would be ridiculous—too many years had passed, and without the Sharingan back then, most of those memories had blurred together. But he could estimate when they should be returning based on mission parameters, details Kakashi had mentioned before leaving, or sometimes a quick note from Pakkun.

Lately, he’d gotten into the habit of ducking out early from his own missions or training, making his way to the village gates whenever he knew they were due back.

He told himself it was just to check for delays. To confirm his mental timelines were accurate.

This time, as he waited, a curtain of red suddenly blocked his vision.

Sukea blinked.

His gaze trailed up the obstruction, following the vivid strands of hair until he saw an upside-down face peering down at him—stubborn, grinning and looming right over him.

“Hey! Kid! You’re waiting for Minato’s team too, right? I’ve seen you waiting before, ya know.”

Kushina Uzumaki was… actually quite tall.

It was one of the many traits he was surprised Naruto hadn’t inherited, and suddenly being faced with it again made his hackles raise just a little. Especially since he was still getting used to people being so much taller than him again.

She didn’t even wait for an answer before getting out of his face and plopping herself down beside him, arms crossed with finality.

“We’re practically waiting for the same people, yeah? It’s stupid to wait separately, ya know.”

She was smiling at him. And it was so much like Naruto’s—so obliviously warm and curious—that it helped him relax. The lack of looming also helped.

To be fair, he hadn’t liked her much at this age. Whether it had been jealousy about her ‘stealing’ Minato or just so many of her loud brash behaviours screaming ‘potential enemy’ to his Hatake instincts, they’d had a bit of a bumpy start.

“I’m Kushina Uzumaki!” she said, all energy and confidence.

“I’m Sukea.” He smiled back, polite, practised—Rin-like. This time he would have a better start.

—

Kushina, Sukea was quick to remember, was not one to sit still.

One moment, she was watching the road for Minato’s return, and the next—she was digging through her pouch with a huff, pulling out a scroll and unfurling it with a flick of her fingers.

Or at least—trying to.

The end of it unravelled faster than she expected, slapping against Sukea’s leg before flopping uselessly onto the ground.

She didn’t even flinch. Just clicked her tongue and pulled it back toward her.

Sukea, who had been minding his own business until that moment, finally looked over.

“…What are you doing?”

Kushina’s face quickly morphed from frustrated concentration to a sunny smile at him before tipping the scroll toward him.

“Oh!” she chirped. “I’m trying to teach pretty-boy—uh, I mean, Minato—some seals from Uzushio.”

Sukea raised an eyebrow. “Pretty-boy?”

Kushina waved him off. “Anyway.”

She leaned over the scroll, pulling out a pen and scribbling out some kind of seal formula. “He’s been learning sealing from his teacher, and he let me borrow some of his study material, so I wanted to pay him back.”

She made a face, crossing her arms. “Thing is, he says I’m not a very good teacher.”

Sukea almost smiled at that.

“So I thought—maybe if I draw them out? Or make diagrams? It might help.” She tapped the paper. “He’s a bit of an egghead, like that shy student of his, so he probably learns better with visual stuff.”

Then, more quietly—

“Too bad I didn’t bring many scrolls with me when I moved here as a kid. I’d memorised them so I thought bringing them was too much effort.”

Sukea had forgotten that she was an immigrant and whatever she’d brought with her was probably some of the last remains of Uzushio.

He wanted to ask. But should he?

She didn’t let him even attempt because she suddenly brightened again, “So I guess I have to remake them myself! Wait! Most of these are academy seals! You can help me make sure they are understandable! Here—lemme show ya!”

She scooted closer, dragging the scroll between them, already launching into an animated explanation.

Minato had never quite had the time to teach him sealing techniques, what with handling 3 students, then 2 grieving students, then the responsibilities of being Hokage and by the time Sukea had warmed up to Kushina in his first life, she hadn’t exactly been in a place to teach him, either. What with him grieving most of team 7 and her being pregnant and in hiding. Books can only get you so far, especially with how secretive fuinjutsu specialists are about their techniques, she was practically handing him a gift.

She spoke quickly, eagerly, gesturing at the inked symbols. Unfortunately, she also explained things exactly like Naruto did—lots of feeling words, vague descriptions accompanied with hand gestures.

“This shape helps it do the thingy. You’ll know it when you see it!” she insisted.

“The energy just feels like—fwoom! Ya know?”

No.

No, he didn’t know, Sukea was pretty sure that wasn’t a real term. It’s a wonder Minato will ever learn anything from her. Most of what he could understand contradicted everything he’d tried to teach himself about sealing through books, but even then he could be wrong since the only person who could ever tell Sukea about what he was doing wrong with a seal was Jiraiya who just wrinkled his nose at his attempts with a comment of ‘I wouldn’t do it like that but I guess that works. More or less.’

Still—he listened to Kushina’s attempts. She really was trying hard.

And somehow, sometimes, some of what she rambled about almost made sense.

—

Sukea hears Obito’s voice first. Some perceived grievance about something that had happened on the mission most likely. Sukea probably hears it sooner than anyone else due to his Hatake hearing so he pretends not to for just a little bit longer, instead bracing himself for what he know is coming next.

Because he definitely couldn’t ignore Rin’s delighted cry of, “Sukea!”

She always spotted him first. Always lit up at the sight of him, eyes bright, grin wide, completely undeterred by exhaustion despite coming straight off a mission. And then, as always, she charged.

He barely has time to steady himself before her arms wrap around him, tight and full of boundless energy, even though she’s just returned from a mission.

Sukea endures it—because no amount of pleading looks toward Kakashi will save him, and because, sometimes, he’s just grateful to know she’s still alive when she crashes into him like this, all warmth and laughter and breathless excitement.

“My cute little brother!” she coos, squeezing the life out of him. “Seeing you waiting for us is the best part about getting home!”

Sukea ignored the usual burning glare from Obito. Even offering to give Obito a hug too hadn’t helped.

He didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because Rin suddenly gasped, pulling back just enough to seize his hands.

Her cheerful expression dropped into exasperation.

“Sukea.” Her tone had the weight of a mother scolding a reckless child.

He blinked at her, feigning innocence. “What?”

She turned his hands over examining them. His fingers were red and raw, irritated to the point of blistering. She let out a long-suffering sigh.

“How do you keep doing this to yourself?”

With the war going on around him, the thought of what happened coming to pass again sometimes won’t leave his head. Kakashi’s been gone and although he’s been dropping into the Might’s home to have dinner with them, he won’t subject them to his nightmares by staying the night, no matter how many times Duy offers. That does mean that there is no one around to stop him when THAT nightmare happens. He didn’t want Rin—or anyone else to worry.

“I was washing rice,” he said smoothly. “Didn’t realize the water was too hot.”

Rin gave him a flat look.

She sighed, shaking her head, before summoning the soft glow of healing chakra to her fingertips. The warmth seeped into his skin, soothing the burn, and mending the irritation.

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.

Sukea didn’t answer. He just smiled again, softer this time.

And ignored the way Kakashi kept watching him.

Chapter Text

Sukea squinted at the absolute tragedy that was child-Asuma’s atrocious handwriting, tilting the scroll toward the dim light in the hopes that changing the angle would somehow make the scrawl more legible. It didn’t.

He sighed through his nose, rubbing at his temple, already feeling the onset of a headache.

“Hey, Sukea.” Genma’s voice was laced with amusement. “Your little not-so-secret admirer is here.”

Sukea barely glanced up from his suffering before following Genma’s nod toward the entrance—where Rin and Kakashi were waiting near the mission return desk.

Rin perked up the moment she caught his eye, waving brightly.

Sukea absently waved back before levelling Genma with a flat look. “I think it barely even registers to Rin that I’m a boy, let alone that she has secret feelings for me.”

Genma let out a long-suffering sigh. “Not Rin. Kakashi.”

Sukea blinked. Then he blinked again.

Genma shook his head, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “You, Guy, and Kakashi have the most dysfunctional rivalry triangle I’ve ever seen. Have you really not noticed him coming here to personally deliver his team’s mission scrolls just to glare at you until you finish your shift?”

Sukea huffed out a quick laugh, playing it off. “Kakashi and Guy are rivals. I just like the occasional challenge,” he said, rolling up Asuma’s scroll and setting it aside for later. “And Kakashi isn’t glaring at me. That’s just his face.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “I heard he has a pug face under that mask, so, you know. It’s probably just unfortunate bone structure.”

Genma snorted, shaking his head. “No wonder he glares at you. It’s like you and Guy enjoy playing with knives and calling it a challenge.”

But the comment did its job—Genma moved on, returning to sorting through his own stack of reports, and Sukea was grateful for it. Because while Genma was wrong about why Kakashi fixated on him… he wasn’t exactly wrong about the fact that he did.

Sukea couldn’t pinpoint when he’d first noticed, but Kakashi had started watching him like a mission target.

And it wasn’t just here at the mission desk.

Their apartment wasn’t big. They ended up in each other’s space more often than not. Sukea didn’t mind—he was used to cramped barracks and shared quarters—but whenever Sukea went to the bathroom at home, Kakashi almost hovered outside.

At first, he chalked it up to them having similar bodies that run on similar clocks but it kept happening and it was less like the kid waiting his turn and more like the pack whenever he left a room too long.

And then there was the futon.

Sukea had spent good mission pay on a futon. Not because he minded Kakashi crawling into his bed, but they were probably too old for it by civilian standards. He’d set it up neatly in the room, thinking it would give Kakashi his own space.

The futon had been a waste of money.

Kakashi still climbed into Sukea’s bed, quiet and stubborn, always curling up on the outer edge and caging Sukea in. After a few nights of failed attempts at change, Sukea gave up. He shoved the futon under the bed to gather dust.

It wasn’t that different from when the pack stayed over, anyway. Pakkun already claimed the occasional night—what was one more body in the inevitable future dog pile?

But that still didn’t explain why.

Sukea hadn’t been like this. Not even after… Well. Not after anything that should have made him crave company. If anything, he’d been the opposite—too independent, too used to pushing people away. It took effort to earn his trust. Guy had worked the hardest for the longest, and even that had taken years.

But Kakashi wasn’t exactly following in his footsteps.

Sukea had assumed his younger self would continue to reject Guy’s rivalry until life ground him down enough to accept it. But lately, Kakashi had actually started talking to Guy. Not friendly conversations—Sukea wouldn’t call it that yet—but they talked. About training. About their teams. Maybe do the occasional challenge. And sometimes, Kakashi would glance at Sukea, as if checking to make sure he was doing it right.

Like Pakkun, when learning a new command.

And it wasn’t just with Guy.

Kakashi was still prickly with his team but… less so. He tolerated Rin’s fussing more than Sukea remembered. Though maybe that was because Rin had redirected most of her efforts toward fussing over Sukea these days.

And Kakashi and Obito still fought. But it wasn’t as sharp. Not as constant. Maybe it was Minato’s new rotation style giving them time to cool off. Or maybe it was something else.

Because Sukea noticed Kakashi listening more. Watching. Trying.

Mimicking him?

It made Sukea wonder. Maybe these were good changes. Maybe, if Kakashi kept this up, he’d be a little less like Sukea—less like the person who had ruined his life by blindly following orders and not caring about his teammates until it was too late.

And if putting up with Kakashi’s strange new clinginess was the price for that?

Sukea could live with it.

He’d survived Tenzo sticking to him like glue, figuring out how to be his own person. He’d survived Guy’s complete lack of boundaries at various points in their lives. He’d technically survived his three genin students and their different attention requirements, he could survive this too.

And honestly… Kakashi was sweet in his own quiet way. Offering to wash the rice when they cooked together. Sitting and reading with him after training. Suggesting Pakkun stay summoned around the apartment while the pug was still learning to tell them apart.

Besides, Team 7 had a mission lined up soon. One he remembered was important. They’d be out of the village again before long and Sukea would be left here waiting...
—

Chōza sighed, rubbing his temple as he slumped forward onto the table. His third bowl sat empty and pushed aside debating if he should have a fourth. Across from him, Inoichi and Shikaku exchanged concerned glances.

“I don’t know what to do with this kid,” Chōza finally grumbled, dragging a hand down his face. “He’s driving me insane.”

“The kid meaning Sukea?” Shikaku asked lazily, propping his chin in his palm.

Chōza shot him a flat look. “Who else?”

Shikaku hummed, clearly unsurprised. “What’d he do this time?”

Chōza leaned back with a groan. “What hasn’t he done? I had an actual, structured training plan in place, and he’s done everything in his power to derail it.” He raised a hand and started ticking off fingers. “He skips training half the time. When he does show up, he’s late and acts like he was there all along. He keeps egging Guy on with these ridiculous ‘challenges.’ He’s sharp—picks things up quickly—but if something doesn’t challenge him, he just walks off! I’ve been throwing him at every complex D-rank he’s authorized for…” Chōza exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple. “Even those aren’t distracting him enough. If I don’t keep him busy, I’m worried he’ll pull another stunt like that mission desk mess!”

Shikaku smirked. “Ah. So he’s being his usual troublesome self.”

Chōza huffed. “You have no idea.”

Just thinking about it gave him a fresh wave of frustration. The fact that Sukea had somehow gotten his team unauthorized missions had been enough to give him a stress headache for days. Shikaku had been the one to figure out the loophole they'd used—thank Kami for Shikaku even though he’d only done it as part of a security overview—but how Sukea had actually gotten his hands on the mission scroll had remained a mystery.

Until their last meeting with Minato.

They’d been swapping notes on their teams’ progress when Minato—bright-eyed and proud—had shared how responsible his students were. How they could handle running missions to the mission desk alone. How Kakashi volunteered the most.

Chōza had felt like screaming in frustration at this revelation.

Because, of course, that was how Sukea had done it! The kid played Minato like a fiddle! Chōza had been this close to telling Minato the truth, that his rule-abiding golden boy had a gremlin of a brother whose intelligence was more like an explosive tag with unknown detonation conditions. But he’d bitten his tongue. Trust was hard to rebuild once broken and he needed as much trust as he could get with Sukea.

Instead, he’d pulled Minato aside and offered a strong suggestion. Maybe Minato shouldn’t be so trusting. Maybe he should start using a buddy system for mission errands. Just to be sure. To teach them accountability for their teammates.

And to be extra sure that Sukea wouldn’t try anything again, he’d made sure his team was regularly assigned to mission desk duty.

Now, everyone who manned the desk knew them on sight and knew not to give them a C-rank.

.
.
.

Shikaku hummed, a thoughtful sound. “…You know, maybe you should just tell them why they really can’t go on out-of-village missions. This seems like a lot of effort and it probably feels like you’re teasing them with some unwinnable prize.”

Chōza frowned. Hard. “No way.”

He shut the idea down immediately. “If my team knew the only reason we haven’t been assigned outside the village is because I’m handling the handover of our parents' titles and am not allowed to leave in case I’m suddenly needed, Sukea would probably pull some kind of reckless scheme like finding some other jōnin to take them out himself!”

Shikaku raised an eyebrow, but it was Inoichi who chimed in, a slow, curious tilt to his head. “You think so? Why’s he so adamant about missions outside the village, anyway?”

Chōza hesitated. “I… don’t actually know?”

Both men stared at him.

“You never asked?” Inoichi asked incredulously.

Chōza shrugged. “I just figured it was genius boredom or that he just enjoyed delaying my carefully laid out schedules.”

Shikaku rolled his eyes.

Inoichi shook his head. “Maybe if he was a seasoned jounin, I’d agree but he’s a young genin who’s probably only been out on a few missions with Minato while pretending to be his brother.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “If I had to guess—he’s seeing his brother going on missions and feels left behind.”

Chōza frowned. “You think so?”

“Think about it. Team Minato has been going on a lot of missions lately, and those two boys are attached at the hip when they aren’t training or on missions. I think I’ve even seen Sukea hanging around waiting with Kushina for team 7 at the gate. That’s bound to sting.”

That… actually made sense.

And now that Chōza was thinking about it, he had also noticed that his students had started having team dinners together at Guy’s when their respective family members were away on missions… They all probably feel like they are being left behind.

“…Maybe I should tell them about our mission limitations,” Chōza admitted, scratching the back of his head. It wasn’t like they didn’t know something was going on, but maybe the details—maybe the truth—would help.

Shikaku leaned in, resting his arms on the table as his gaze flicked around the room, as if ensuring no one else would overhear. “Speaking of missions. Off the record—Team Minato got sent on a pretty important one. They went with a few teams of chūnin. It was only supposed to be a week, but word came back this morning that there have been delays. It’s starting to look like two, maybe even three extra weeks before they come back.”

Chōza’s brow furrowed deeper. That explained a lot. If Kakashi was away longer than expected, it made sense why Sukea was acting out. The kid was only eight—nearly nine, but still. It was a long time to be left behind.

Still, the timing nagged at him. Something important was soon—wait! Sukea’s nearly nine!

Choza straightened up in a panic, “Sukea and Kakashi’s birthdays are soon!"

There was a beat of silence.

Then, beside him, Inoichi gasped. "Oh no!"

"If it is," Shikaku grimaced, lazily stretching his arms behind his head, "you’re probably gonna need a bigger distraction to occupy him."

—

Sukea was restless.

Pacing-the-village-like-a-trapped-animal restless.

Kakashi was still away on his mission. He knows it will be a while until he returns because he distinctly remembers how much Minato beat himself up for forgetting his birthday due to this mission most of his birthdays after.

He threw himself into everything to fill the void. More visits to his father’s grave. More solo training. More spars with Gai when he did turn up to team training, pushing himself to exhaustion just to feel something close to progress.

It wasn’t enough.

His team noticed.

Chōza-sensei definitely noticed.

Training had been long, but not tiring enough. Never tiring enough. His body still had strength to spare. His feet still itched to move, to get beyond the suffocating press of the village walls.

He hadn’t gone to dinner with the Mights since Kakashi left. Duy would pry, he’s too caring for his own good, and Sukea wasn’t in the mood for another heartfelt speech about how "protecting the home is just as important as protecting the village."

So he kept moving.

Until—

“Sukea.”

Chōza’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Sukea paused mid-step, glancing over. His sensei stood nearby, watching him with a look that said he wasn’t here for small talk.

Chōza had been calling him aside for more and more ‘words’ lately. None of the D-rank missions were scratching the itch anymore, and they both knew it.

Sukea sighed, stepping closer. “Yeah?”

Chōza hesitated, as though weighing his words. Then—

“Would you be interested in attending a council meeting with me?”

Sukea blinked.

Of all the things he expected, that hadn’t even been on the list.

“…Why?” he asked bluntly.

Chōza crossed his arms, exhaling slowly.

“To help you understand what I’m trying to navigate. I have to confess,” he admitted, “your team’s performance has nothing to do with why we’ve been stuck in the village for so long.”

Sukea’s brow furrowed.

Chōza continued, “I’m stepping into my father’s role as head of the Akimichi clan soon. While I prepare, our team’s been kept close, more tied to the village than others.”

Sukea’s eyes twitched.

They were stuck on D-ranks because of clan politics?!

Chōza pressed on, undeterred. “I’m about to start attending council meetings, and I thought it would be a good learning opportunity for you to come with me. Since you seem a bit restless with just the missions I can give you access to.”

Sukea huffed in exasperation. “So you think this will distract me, Sensei?”

Chōza, ever patient, offered gently, “I think it will give you something meaningful to focus on.”

Same thing.

Chōza’s expression softened. “Since Kakashi hasn’t been in the village, no one should object to you stepping in as the Hatake representative. And it would be good for at least one of you to start getting involved with village politics.”

That gave Sukea pause.

“Wait—” He narrowed his eyes. “What does Kakashi being gone have to do with anything?”

“If the clan heir isn’t present, a representative can step in,” Chōza explained patiently.

Sukea raised a brow. “Are you assuming Kakashi is the heir?”

Chōza hesitated.

“The Hatake clan isn’t big enough to need an heir,” Sukea pointed out flatly. “We don’t have a formal structure like the bigger clans. Even if we were playing by those rules, I’d technically be the heir, since I’m the eldest.”

Chōza blinked, caught off-guard. Maybe even a little embarrassed.

But Sukea wasn’t done.

“And more importantly—why would you want to bring me to that meeting?” His voice was dry, but his meaning was clear. “Half the people in that room still blame the Hatake for starting this war. And you, a brand new clan head, would be walking in with me at your side? That’s how you want to make your first impression?”

Chōza didn’t even blink. “You’re being overdramatic.”

Sukea snorted.

“Besides,” Chōza continued, clapping a broad hand on his shoulder, “I’ll have the entire Akimichi clan at my back. And the rest of Ino-Shika-Chō, too.”

There was something steady in his voice, something solid, like the weight of unshakable loyalty. The kind of certainty that came from a life lived with the assurance of always having someone to catch you if you fell.

Sukea tilted his head, considering.

Chōza was powerful—respected. But maybe a little naive.

A noble clan head could afford to be.

He probably only ever heard whispers about Sakumo in formal settings, spoken carefully, with softened edges, or filtered through the safe lens of a political opinion. He probably didn’t know what it was like to stand beneath the weight of a name reduced to a stain. To hear the offhand comments, the cutting remarks. The subtle, sharp reminders that Hatake meant disgrace. That no matter how many missions you took, how many scars you earned, you had to claw your way back toward respect on your own merit and this man wasn’t even letting him do that!

He knew this would be an incredibly bad idea.

And, despite himself—

If he was going to be trapped in the village, it wasn’t like he had anything better going on.

He could spare some time to give his sensei a reality check.

—

Chōza had asked him to meet up before the council meeting.

Sukea showed up on time—the real start time, not the fake half-hour even earlier time Chōza had given him. His sensei seemed proud of his little trick to ‘curb his lateness’. Sukea liked him enough to play along and not turn up even later out of spite.

Chōza was already there, waiting with his father and at least two generations of Ino-Shika-Chō.

Sukea exhaled through his nose. He should’ve expected as much.

Chōza’s face lit up when he saw him. “This is my student, Sukea!” he announced—before promptly grabbing Sukea under the arms and lifting him off the ground like an unruly puppy.

“Put me down,” Sukea complained.

Chōza only beamed and jostled him, like a proud parent showing off an impressive toddler.

Sukea scowled, resisting the urge to squirm or bite. He hated being this small right now. This wasn’t the first time people had just picked him up like this. He and Kakashi had the same problem—light, compact, and apparently fair game for manhandling. The clock was ticking for when he’d be too big for anyone other than Guy to even try.

A low chuckle caught his attention. When he glanced over, Shikaku and Inoichi were watching him, amusement clear in their expressions.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Inoichi greeted. “Chōza speaks about you a lot.”

Sukea snubbed his nose at the Yamanaka. Most of Choza’s bad decisions stemmed from the man. He just knew it.

An older Nara woman—probably Shikaku’s mother—was watching him with scrutiny.

It reminded him of Shikamaru when Sukea hadn’t finished his reports on time.

“Are you sure you want to bring him in with you?” she asked, addressing Chōza.

Chōza puffed up, clearly prepared to defend his decision. “Of course I’m sure! I was probably the same age when I was brought along to my first council meeting to observe, and Sukea is a very bright young boy who could learn a lot from it.”

Sukea wiggled, still held aloft. “If it helps, ma’am, I’m pretty sure this is a bad idea too. But I think Sensei can learn a lot from it.” he intones as seriously as his position would let him.

She clucked her tongue, muttering something about him being a troublesome smart aleck.

Before anyone else could respond, an older blonde man—who Sukea assumed was Inoichi’s father—cleared his throat.

“Enough showing off your pet student! We need to decide where we stand on this before any of us step into that meeting,” the man said, voice gruff. “And frankly, I’m not sure I’m comfortable backing someone from the clan that kicked off this war. Especially when the one who did it was weak-minded enough to not even stick around long enough to actually fight in it.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

Sukea felt, more than saw, Inoichi tense beside him.

He, on the other hand, barely blinked.

He’d heard worse.

He’d had years to think about what happened with his father’s mission—years to decide how he felt about it. A part of him was almost tempted to also give Chōza an I told you so look, but now wasn’t the time.

Instead, he held the Yamanaka man’s gaze, working through the best way to de-escalate this. He had been forced into politics as the Hokage, and though this was different, it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. He could probably handle it.

And then he remembered.

They all saw him as an eight-year-old.

He shouldn’t be expected to handle this.

So instead, he decided to throw fuel on the fire—just say the quiet part out loud. Like most eight-year-olds would.

“So, I bet you think me and Kakashi should be out on the frontlines to make up for it, right?” he asked, spitting out the words that had lurked in his childhood, sharp and biting.

The man looked aghast. “I never—”

“—Said that out loud?” Sukea finished smoothly. He tilted his head, watching the man carefully. “But guess where Kakashi is right now? Out on the frontlines. Making up for it.” He let the words hang before flashing a too-cheerful smile. “I’d probably be out there too if Sensei let me. It’s a good thing I hide my Hatake identity around the village, otherwise, I’m sure more people would have an issue with me still doing D-ranks and not being out there ‘making up’ for what my father did.”

The fingers beneath his arms finally loosened, and he was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

He landed lightly on the ground, already preparing to glare at Chōza for the abrupt drop.

But his sensei looked pale.

“…Sensei?”

“I didn’t realise,” Chōza swallowed hard. “Sukea. Why didn’t you tell me that was happening to you?”

Sukea blinked.

“I did,” he said, confused. “I told you it was a bad idea to bring me to a council meeting.”

His teacher opened his mouth—then closed it again, expression twisting.

Then, without warning, he reached down and pulled Sukea into a hug.

Sukea stiffened.

He wasn’t necessarily bad with physical affection, he’d gotten much more used to it with Rin’s greetings but the suddenness of it—combined with the why of it—left him thrown.

The other adults were murmuring amongst themselves, their voices overlapping too much for him to catch anything useful. He’s pretty sure he heard Inoichi yelling at his dad. But Choza was suffocating him, so it wasn’t like he could focus anyway.

By the time he was released, a decision had apparently been made.

Ino-Shika-Chō had come to a consensus.

They would back the Hatake clan. Or at least try to push back against how much of the blame was being put on the remaining clan.

But it was definitely too soon to take Sukea to the council meeting today.

Sukea was confused, but he thinks he won?

—

The clock was ticking. Kakashi should be home soon.

Still, should he plan something to celebrate? He does have the benefit of foresight of knowing exactly when Kakashi should be home. Did Kakashi even want to celebrate?

Sukea didn’t think so.

In the end, Sukea settled on something small. No celebration, no fuss. Just comfort. He made their favourite meal—eggplant miso soup—and had it ready by the time the boy got home.

Kakashi arrived close to dinner, silent and on autopilot, dropping his mission pack at the door to be sorted through later. Sukea caught a glimpse of him as he moved—caught the way the oversized chūnin flak jacket hung too loose on his small frame, confirming what Sukea already knew.

Then the sharp lingering scent of blood hit him.

It clung to the new flak jacket. Sukea wrinkled his nose, already adamant it was getting washed or replaced as soon as practical. He wrestled it off Kakashi with minimal resistance, tossing it unceremoniously aside.

He barely remembered the mission itself—only that it had gone wrong. A misranked mission, they’d been out for weeks, an ambush, enemy shinobi cutting down a jōnin and an entire team of chūnin before the rest of them could regroup. It had probably been the first time Rin and Obito had even seen death so up close. And Kakashi—he hadn’t frozen. That was why, in the aftermath, one of the surviving jōnin from another team had stripped a bloody vest off a fallen shinobi and put it on him, to ensure the older chuunin would follow him. The youngest, the steadiest, and he was the only one left standing with the skills necessary to get their group to the objective.

Sukea didn’t remember much of the return to Konoha. Just that the mission had been successful and he was Konoha’s youngest Chuunin at eight.

Kakashi didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t say a word. Barely even reacted to the food in front of him. He just ate, methodical, movements slow but precise. His bowl was empty within minutes. Then he rose, washed it out, and disappeared into their shared room.

Sukea let him go.

Sukea entered their bedroom a short while later to find Kakashi already curled up on his side of the bed, staring blankly at nothing. Not yet asleep.

Sukea climbed into bed after him, forcing himself not to react when Kakashi shifted closer—Not quite clinging, but almost.

The post-mission smells still clung to Kakashi’s hair, his skin, and the fabric of his uniform that he still hadn’t removed. Metallic. Earthy. Too familiar.

Sukea forced himself to ignore how his mind screamed the smell must be coming from him and he was unclean. He wasn’t going to end up in the bathroom over something this minor. Not today, and like the boy across from him knew what he was thinking, he reached for his hands and held them. Sukea then realised the kid was inspecting them. There was nothing to see this time. He thankfully hadn’t had an episode recently and the boy eventually let go satisfied.

They both lay there in silence, too tired to sleep, too drained to do anything else.

Sukea exhaled softly. “Congratulations, Konoha’s youngest chūnin at eight,” he murmured gently reaching over and patting the boy’s hair. His voice barely broke the quiet. The clock on the bedside table ticked over to midnight.

He hesitated, then added, just as quietly, “Happy ninth birthday, Kakashi.”

The boy looked stunned before he buried his head into Sukea’s shoulder and mumbled something that might have been “You too.”

Chapter Text

Sukea eased out of bed slowly, carefully. Kakashi barely stirred, exhaustion weighing him down, but Sukea knew from experience that any sudden movements could change that.

Minato was usually generous with time off after major missions, and Sukea had no doubt that if left undisturbed, Kakashi would sleep right through his… no, ‘their’ birthday.

Sukea wasn’t particularly keen on celebrating his own, but he supposes it was also happening.

Nine. That was how old his body was. But he was much older than that—he barely wanted to think about it. Beneath his nine-year-old appearance, he had already outlived his father. Already outlived Minato, both now and when he’d sacrificed himself for the village. And now, stuck in this too-small body, he couldn’t even go out for a drink to forget about it. Not only was he physically nine, but he also had no one he trusted to watch his back in such a vulnerable state.

He exhaled slowly.

Maybe he could do something nice for the kid.

He was still mulling over what exactly that might be when his gaze landed on the discarded flak jacket—the one he’d pulled off Kakashi when he stumbled in the night before. The sight of it made something in his chest tighten.

Kakashi was a chūnin now. The youngest at eight. One last achievement before turning nine—the age when most kids were only just starting to think about joining the academy.

Too small for every rank he climbed, always reaching the next milestone before his body had caught up. His first properly fitting uniform had been his ANBU gear—custom-tailored, since the uniform had been non-negotiable. He had eventually grown into a jōnin vest when he rejoined the standard corps, but before that? His years as a genin, chūnin, and early jōnin had blurred together. The only real difference had been a note in his records and the increasing freedom he’d been given to lead and make decisions on missions with Minato.

Sukea chewed absently on his mask, an idea slowly taking shape.

Maybe he did know what he was going to do today.

—

Kakashi woke slowly, the weight of exhaustion pressing him into the mattress. He could barely remember getting home. There had been food—hot, waiting for him, like when Dad used to be home after the academy

His stomach gave a vague protest. Right. Food.

He dragged himself up, feet heavy, and shuffled into the kitchen. He stopped mid-step at the sight of Sukea sprawled across the couch, book in hand, flipping pages with slow, deliberate movements. He didn’t even glance up.

“Leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry,” Sukea muttered.

Kakashi nodded, his gaze lingering, checking. Just making sure. There was a quiet, almost guilty relief that settled in his chest. Still here. Still safe.

He made his way toward the kitchen before hearing the familiar soft patter of paws trailing after him.

Pakkun.

The little pug stood at his heels, gazing up with big, hopeful eyes.

Before he could question it, Sukea’s voice drifted from the couch—casual, but pointed.

“Don’t believe whatever he says,” he called. “I already fed him after he got back from telling my team I couldn’t go to training because I was busy.”

Kakashi paused, hand halfway to opening the fridge. “Busy with what?”

Sukea very deliberately turned a page. “Our birthday, genius.”

Oh.

…Right.

“I wasn’t gonna beg!” Pakkun cut in with a loud, indignant whine. “I was just… gonna show mission boss the cool vest you got me?” The pug finished lamely.

Kakashi blinked, then really looked at Pakkun. Sure enough, the pug was wearing a tiny chūnin vest. It was adorable. And, admittedly, very dignified.

Then Pakkun’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “If you share a little of whatever you’re getting, I can show you where village boss hid the one meant for—”

He didn’t get to finish. Sukea scooped him up mid-sentence, pressing the pug firmly against his chest.

“I admire the hustle, Pakkun,” he said dryly, “but no bribing him. That’s just as bad as begging. Let him eat in peace. And stop calling me ‘village boss.’ I’m going out on missions eventually.”

Kakashi shook his head, hiding a faint smile as he turned back to the fridge. The argument was familiar by now. Pakkun had struggled to tell them apart when they’d first started training him—apparently, they naturally smelled too similar, which had confused the little pug endlessly. His solution had been simple but stubborn: Kakashi, who still carried the faint scent of faraway places, was the mission boss. Sukea, who hadn’t yet gone far enough to pick up anything new, was village boss. No amount of correction seemed to shake it, much to Sukea’s displeasure.

The soft clatter of a pan filled the quiet as Kakashi warmed up some food, listening to Sukea’s half-hearted debate with Pakkun. The domesticity of it settled in his chest, quiet and unexpected.

“What’s with the vest, anyway?” he asked, stirring the food.

There was a pause—long enough that Kakashi looked up.

Sukea’s gaze flickered to him, then away. He set Pakkun down and disappeared into the other room, returning moments later with something folded in his hands.

He laid it on the table.

A chūnin vest. Human-sized.

"Birthday gift," Sukea muttered.

Kakashi frowned. “I already have a chūnin vest. That’s literally how they promoted me.”

Sukea rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and it doesn’t fit. They don’t usually make them in our size, so I went as you and got it resized instead of going to training." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "There was leftover fabric. They let me keep it, so I used it to make Pakkun his own vest too."

Kakashi didn’t respond to that.

Because… yeah.

It didn’t fit.

Not properly. It had been humiliating, running around in a vest that drooped around his knees, heavy and oversized like a kid playing dress-up in his superior’s uniform. Most seamstresses didn’t like altering military gear for children—it was awkward, and some outright refused, as if ignoring the issue would make it go away. And yet, in the next breath, they’d blame his family for the war that required him to wear it in the first place.

So, as always, Kakashi had planned to just deal with it. Maybe go without and just loudly declare his rank whenever necessary.

But Sukea… had gone through the trouble.

Kakashi stepped closer and picked up the vest. His fingers ghosted over the reinforced fabric. Sukea had even added loops for his sword belt.

It was perfect.

Guilt pooled low in Kakashi’s chest. He’d been so focused on Sukea just still being here when he got home that he hadn’t thought to get him anything.

His voice came quieter, almost reluctant. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Sukea scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m old. I don’t need anything. Besides, you were on a mission. I don’t expect anything, especially not the first year you’ve suddenly had a twin.”

Kakashi didn’t know what to say to that.

Sukea smirked, already digging through a familiar-looking bag—the one that had arrived with him.

“Just let me get a photo of you wearing it,” he said, pulling out a camera.

Kakashi sighed.

Then, despite himself—

With a shake of his head, and maybe the ghost of a smile, he picked up the vest and shrugged it on.

It fit perfectly.

—

"I'm not listening to a bossy eight-year-old just because he got a new vest!" Obito complained, arms crossed in defiance.

"I outrank you. Also, I’m nine. Not eight," Kakashi said flatly.

Obito scoffed. "Oh, excuse me, that makes all the difference." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

Minato, already sensing this would escalate into something disastrous, quickly intervened. "Kakashi, stop rounding your age up," he said, voice weary. Then, turning to Obito, "And you—Kakashi only gives orders in an emergency. Outside of that, he’s just your teammate as usual. Try to get along."

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not rounding my age up, Sensei. I turned nine last week.”

Minato froze.

Rin, who’d been watching with mild amusement, suddenly jerked upright. Her eyes went wide, alarm dawning across her face.

"Kakashi—!" she gasped, horror lacing her voice. "We were still on that mission last week! Don’t tell me you turned nine while all of that was happening and didn’t say anything?!"

“I didn’t?” Kakashi leaned slightly away from her, as if sensing imminent danger. “It was the day we got back. The day we were home recovering.”

Silence.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto him in disbelief.

Kakashi stared back blankly, like he truly didn’t understand why this was a big deal.

Minato looked stricken, guilt flooding his expression. “Oh, Kakashi, I—”

"It's fine," Kakashi cut in with a shrug. "It's just a day."

Rin looked personally offended by that statement.

“It’s your birthday!” she burst out. “That’s not just a day! We should have celebrated—we should have—” She floundered, hands gesturing wildly, almost helplessly grasping for the right words.

Obito was staring at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “You can’t just age without telling us!”

Kakashi exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his temple like they were the ones being unreasonable. “Guys, really, it’s—”

“Oh, no,” Obito cut in, suddenly far too serious. “You don’t get to just brush this off.”

Rin nodded, eyes gleaming with newfound determination. “We’re fixing this.”

Minato, guilt-ridden, clearly agreed.

Kakashi blinked.

Suddenly, he was very concerned.

—

Team Chōza had just wrapped up training when they wandered into town, debating where to have lunch. They’d nearly settled on a quiet place tucked off the main street when a commotion near Ichiraku caught their attention.

“No, no, absolutely not!—” Kakashi’s heels dug into the dirt, his voice sharp with protest. But Rin had a firm grip on his arm, and Obito was pushing from behind, like a man on a mission.

“We’re getting ramen!” Rin declared triumphantly. “You already turned down all our other good ideas and we’ve already invited Kushina. It's too late. She’s on her way!”

“Just do it, Kakashi! It’s not going to kill you!” Obito chimed in, entirely unfazed by the way Kakashi resisted like they were dragging him to an execution.

Chōza approached, curiosity piqued. He nodded in greeting to Minato, who stood off to the side, hands in his pockets, watching the struggle unfold with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and guilt.

“Something wrong?” Chōza asked, tilting his head toward the chaos.

Minato chuckled, though it was a bit strained. “No, no. Everything’s fine. Just… a belated birthday celebration. We missed Kakashi’s actual day and are trying to make up for it.”

As if on cue, Kakashi twisted sharply, slipping free of Rin’s hold in a single practiced movement. In an instant, he darted behind Sukea, pressing against his back like he’d just found the ultimate safe zone.

Sukea blinked back at the kid now using him as a human shield.

“…What?”

Kakashi didn’t answer. He was too busy watching his teammates like they might lunge at any second.

Chōza’s brow rose, his gaze shifting between them. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he turned back to Minato.

“Actually… do you mind if we join you?" He nodded toward Sukea. "This one played hooky on his own birthday last week, so I don’t think the rest of his team even knows it even happened.”

The effect was immediate.

"WHAT?!"

Guy practically vibrated with energy, fists clenched with righteous indignation. “Not only my rival but also my youthful teammate?! We must celebrate both of your youthful existences at once!”

Sukea groaned. He didn’t even try to shake off Guy’s enthusiastic grip when the other boy clapped both hands onto his shoulders, staring at him with wide, betrayed eyes.

“Sensei! I trusted you!” Sukea complained to Chōza, who looked entirely too pleased with himself.

Behind him, Kakashi tensed. Sukea could feel him preparing to bolt, but Genma moved smoothly, stepping into his path with a grin that was far too smug.

Minato’s face lit up, visibly relieved. “Oh! Celebrating two birthdays together sounds like fun. We don’t mind at all.”

Rin’s eyes sparkled as she looked between the two boys. "It’s so cool that you two have birthdays so close together! You could be like twins or something!"

Sukea immediately tried to shut that down. “It’s not that special. Lots of people share birthdays, especially in September. It happens in waves, you know? A bunch of babies tend to be born around the same time—if you go back nine months, that puts us at the Rinne Festival and New Year’s, so statistically—”

Two large hands clamped firmly over his mouth.

Sukea blinked, looking between Minato and Chōza, surprised they even let him get that far. Both of whom wore the weary expressions of men who had just narrowly prevented disaster.

“How about we all just… um, go get that ramen?” Minato suggested, his smile just a little bit strained.

—

“Alright! Where’s the birthday boy?!”

The curtains of the ramen stand flapped violently as Kushina barreled inside, before zeroing in on Kakashi, grinning as she stomped right up to him, hands on her hips. “Happy belated birthday, kiddo!”

Kakashi barely had time to react before she reached out to ruffle his hair. He recoiled instantly, with a warning growl. “Quit it!”

Kushina barked a laugh, entirely unfazed. “Aw, don’t be so grumpy!”

She only then seemed to take in the number of people crammed into the stand. Her head tilted, curiosity flashing across her face. “Wait… this is more people than I was expecting.”

Rin, still bouncing with excitement, clapped her hands together. “Oh! That’s because it’s Sukea’s birthday too! We ran into his team on the way here!”

Kushina’s gaze flicked to Sukea. She sized him up for half a second, then grinned. “Oh wow! It’s almost like you two are tw—”

"NO!"

Minato and Chōza both cut her off in perfect unison. Their eyes flicked toward Sukea, cautious, as if wary of some unseen disaster.

Kushina squinted at them, confused.

Before she could press the issue, Obito, still slurping down his ramen, perked up. "That reminds me—what even happens during New Year's and the Rinne Festival for Kakashi’s birthday to be so common?"

Silence.

Sukea, halfway through lifting his chopsticks, paused. He considered, briefly, pulling out the book he’d recently acquired, to extricate himself from the impending conversational disaster with a different problem. The actual book was much softer than what the cover implied. He eventually decided against it. He’d done enough damage today.

Genma looked like he was having way too much fun trying to stifle his giggles at how uncomfortable their teachers looked.

Rin, seemingly far enough along in her medical studies to have put the pieces together, opened her mouth—only for Minato to cut in sharply, his voice a little too firm.

"That’s not a conversation to have in a restaurant," he said, shooting Teuchi an apologetic look.

And just like that, the topic was decisively shut down.

Thankfully, the group was so caught up in the chaos that no one noticed Kakashi taking full advantage of the distraction, and quickly downing his whole bowl of ‘special birthday ramen’.

By the time they finally left the ramen stand, Sukea—grinning far too brightly—cheerfully thanked their sensei for the birthday party they didn’t want.

Minato sighed.

Unfortunately, the evening wasn’t over yet.

Before either of the Hatake boys could make a clean getaway, Guy cornered them, his eyes burning with righteous enthusiasm.

“Kakashi! Sukea! You must come to my house for dinner tonight!”

"We really don’t—" Kakashi started.

"I insist!” Guy declared, utterly unfazed.

And that was how they found themselves at the Maito residence an hour later, seated at the table as Guy, with great gusto, informed his father, “It was both of their birthdays last week, so I invited them to have dinner with us!”

Duy, smiling warmly, readily agreed. He was already used to one or both Hatake boys showing up for meals, so he took it in stride. But as he set down a plate in front of them, he blinked in mild surprise.

"I didn’t realize your birthdays were so close together," he mused.

Then, the real consequences of Sukea’s own actions hit.

Kakashi shrugged and, in that same serious tone he always used when parroting things back, repeated, "It’s because of the Rinne Festival and New Year’s."

Sukea nearly leaped across the table to stop the kid, but it was too late. Why would Kakashi repeat that?! And then, to Sukea’s horror, it dawned on him—Kakashi probably didn’t even understand the implication. He’d just remembered Sukea saying it to justify their ages being so close while avoiding the dreaded ‘twin’ conversation.

Right. Sukea had learned about all of that when Kushina got pregnant, gotten overly curious, and read way too much on the topic. And then, subsequently, he couldn’t look her or Sensei in the eye for a week.

…Does he need to give Kakashi the talk? It’s not like he ever actually used the information much outside of reading about it.

Panic flared in his chest, and hopefully before anyone could actually process Kakashi’s words, Sukea loudly changed the subject.

"Not only was it Kakashi’s birthday recently but he just got a field promotion and became Konoha’s youngest Chūnin!" he announced almost desperately. "Being a Chunin at eight is going to be a hard record to beat."

Guy gasped, fists clenched in determination as he thankfully took the bait. "Then I will train even harder to catch up to Kakashi! Maybe even become a Jonin before him!"

Duy, however, had a complicated look on his face as he congratulated Kakashi. Then, glancing between the boys, he added, “It is a noble achievement, but a rank doesn’t just determine how strong you are. It can also dictate how much of yourself the village can ask for, so you should consider what you want out of your future rather than climbing the ranks to prove that you are strong.”

Sukea hesitated, attention sharpening.

Duy smiled, but it was softer, more thoughtful than usual. “I actually turned down a promotion recently,” he admitted. “It would’ve sent me on longer, farther missions—missions that would have kept me away from my precious people more than I would’ve liked. I wish you luck, Kakashi.”

Sukea blinked. Despite Guy adamantly declaring that his father was the strongest person he knew, Sukea had always wondered how Duy had still been a Genin. He had even seen that prowess firsthand during the few training sessions Guy had dragged him to in hopes of ‘igniting Sukea’s spirit’ in hopes of having Sukea turn up to team training more.

Sukea had heard of a few ‘eternal genin’—those who had stayed at the lowest rank not out of inability, but out of some personal conviction. Even Naruto technically fit into that category, using his Genin status to dodge tasks he wasn’t technically authorized for and limit the complexity of his assigned responsibilities until Sukea decided to hand the hat to him and promote the first Genin Hokage.

Looking at Duy now, Sukea realized he was probably in that category—choosing to stay close to his son and village rather than advancing for the sake of advancement.

Sukea couldn’t really understand the sentiment himself.

But then again, he didn’t have to.

A village takes all sorts of ninja to function.

Guy looked a little deflated. He probably didn’t understand it either, but Duy didn’t dwell on it and smoothly changed the topic instead.

“So! How did your birthdays go?”

Kakashi, still picking at his food, answered first in his usual clipped manner. “Didn’t do much. Mostly rested after my mission. Sukea made Pakkun a Chūnin vest, though.”

Neither of them was about to mention Sukea also getting Kakashi’s flak jacket resized since that had required him to technically impersonate another ninja. That was a secret best kept between them. Still, both gifts had been well-used, a clear sign of Kakashi’s appreciation, even if he wasn’t the type to say it outright.

Duy, thankfully, saw through Kakashi’s report-like statement and took it for what it was—a good day. He nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds wonderful! And what about you, Sukea?”

Kakashi stiffened slightly. “Didn’t have time to do anything for him. I was on a mission.”

Guy gasped, a hand to his chest. “If I had known, I would have done something for you, Sukea!”

Sukea, entirely unfazed, waved him off. “It’s fine. I bought myself some new books and spent most of the day reading.” What kind of books—probably not their business.

Guy, predictably, latched onto the wrong thing. “Then I will strive to be more attentive next year! I shall celebrate your birth with a rousing reading session!”

The words slipped out before Sukea could stop them. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Duy laughed. “Perhaps just a nice meal together like this one would suffice, Guy.”

Chapter Text

Now that Sukea fully understood the politics keeping him stuck on D-ranks within the village, he eagerly awaited the official announcement of his sensei’s ascension to head of his clan. He had never cared much for ceremony, but after years in office, while most of his students’ cohort took the reins of their clans, he had developed a keen eye for the signs when he knew what to look for.

He heard and saw plenty he probably shouldn’t while helping around the mission desk—whether from general gossip or as an occasional messenger ferrying documents for the Hokage’s approval. And from everything he’d gathered, the appointment of a new Akimichi clan head was only days away. Still, knowing it was imminent did little to temper his impatience.

By the time Chōza-sensei finally made it official, Sukea had already been prepared. A neatly wrapped gift had been waiting in his bag for days, ready for the perfect moment.

Chōza had accepted it with an expression caught somewhere between exasperation and begrudging fondness—partly touched by the gesture, partly resigned at how eager Sukea had been.

Because they both knew this wasn’t just about pride in his sensei’s accomplishment.

It was about the mission clearance that came with it.

—

Their next training session was quiet at first. The team was scattered across the field, working through drills. But despite the focus, they all kept casting glances toward Chōza, waiting.

It wasn’t subtle.

When Chōza finally called them over at the end of practice, every muscle in their bodies seemed to still as they waited for the man to announce their next mission assignment.

“I’ve put in a request for our first C-rank mission,” Chōza announced, calm and straightforward.

For a moment, there was silence.

And then—

“Finally!” Genma’s arms shot into the sky, his voice heavy with relief. “If I had to speed paint one more fence or carry another stack of useless packages in a race with these two competitive idiots, I might’ve lost it!”

Chōza quirked an eyebrow at the dramatics but didn’t bother to pause. “This mission involves delivering a package to an outpost on the border near the Land of Waves.”

Genma’s excitement deflated almost instantly. His arms dropped back to his sides with a heavy sigh. “Please don’t make me race to Wave…”

“Yosh!” Guy’s voice boomed with enthusiasm, drowning out Genma’s suffering. He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, barely containing the energy brimming under his skin. “Near Wave? That’s where my father is stationed on a scouting mission! We might even get to see him! What a wonderful twist of fate!”

Chōza allowed a faint smile but kept the tone measured. “Be ready at the gates by tomorrow morning. Sharp.” His gaze flicked to Sukea. “And don’t be late.”

Before Sukea could retort, Guy declared, “I shall ensure his punctuality with all the burning energy of my youth! And if I fail—!” He thrust his fist to the sky, eyes blazing. “I vow to do 10,000 push-ups as penance!”

Sukea raised an eyebrow. “Is that a punishment or just your morning workout?”

Guy ignored the remark, turning to the team with fresh determination.

“I challenge you both!” Pointing obnoxiously at them, “To having the best-packed supplies for our first mission! Let us see who can embody the most youthful preparedness!”

Genma groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Guy, it’s just a delivery mission. Packing isn’t a competition. Why does everything have to be some challenge with you?”

But Sukea only chuckled, leaning back on his heels as though he could settle in for the show. “You say that, but now I’m curious. What exactly does youthful preparedness even look like?”

Genma shot him a look that screamed betrayal. “Don’t encourage him.”

But the damage was done.

Guy’s face practically glowed with anticipation.

Sukea didn’t miss the muttered grumble that came from Genma’s side. “I bet they rushed to do all the clan-head stuff just to get us out of here. Leave enough D-ranks for the other poor Genin stuck behind so Guy doesn’t do them all during his challenges...”

Sukea’s grin widened, but before he could add anything, Guy clapped Genma on the back with enough force to make him stumble a step forward.

“Ah, Genma! Ever insightful! That just means we’ve proven ourselves as a team! Ready to conquer greater challenges with the fires of youth!”

He turned on his heel, thrusting his arm toward the village market with all the grandeur of a war general leading his troops into battle.

“Onward, my teammates! To the shops! Let us prepare for this mission with all the zeal and vigor that youth can offer!”

Genma groaned again, dragging his hand over his face like a man already regretting every decision that led him to this moment.

Sukea only snorted, falling into step behind Guy, curiosity piqued.

He had to see how far Guy would take this.

—

Kakashi stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as he watched Sukea meticulously pack his mission bag. There was an almost ANBU-like efficiency to it—the way each item was compactly arranged for maximum versatility. It ranged from every kunai having a precise, easily accessible place, to even each ration bar being packed with careful intent.

Kakashi wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

Sukea, oblivious to the scrutiny, moved with practiced ease, his expression unusually focused. Kakashi’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

“…What are you doing?”

Sukea blinked, as if only just realizing he wasn’t alone. “Oh,” he said brightly, “Packing! Got a C-rank mission. Guy made it a competition to have the best-packed bag. I forgot how expensive sealing scrolls were during this war, and it’s a little too late to see if Kushina could teach me, so I’m doing it the old-fashioned way. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow. Sukea usually knew his mission schedule down to the hour, thanks to both living through it once already and working at the mission desk. But this was the first Kakashi had heard of it.

Sukea, still focused on his work, added, “Just a package delivery to an outpost near Wave.”

Kakashi frowned slightly. “How long will you be gone?”

Sukea hummed, tilting his head in thought. “Probably back late tomorrow night, maybe early the next morning if things take longer than expected. Wave isn’t far, and we’re a full team of shinobi—plus, we have Guy.” His lips quirked in amusement. “So we’ll probably be moving at a full sprint the whole way there.”

Kakashi nodded. The mission was in the complete opposite direction of the fighting, low risk, and no need for energy conservation. It should be fine.

Still.

Kakashi lingered in the doorway even after Sukea finished organising his mission bag. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Usually, he was the one heading out on missions while Sukea stayed behind.

Not the other way around.

Sukea noticed.

He smirked, “Try to be good while I’m gone,” he teased.

Kakashi didn’t so much as blink. “Don’t die.”

Sukea snorted, shaking his head. “Come on, Kakashi. I know I might not look it right now, but I was a very strong ninja. Nothing short of an absolute disaster is going to take me down.”

Kakashi didn’t respond right away. He just studied Sukea for a long moment, unreadable as ever.

Then, finally, he muttered, “Still. Be careful. This is still technically your first C-rank mission.”

Sukea’s smirk softened into a more reassuring smile. “Yeah, yeah. I will.” He added with an eye roll, “It’s not like I’m cursed to have every first C-rank go horribly wrong.”

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and set it near the window, ready for the morning.

Completely unaware of the small knot of unease settling in Kakashi’s stomach.

—

The sun had barely begun to rise when they set off, Choza-sensei leading the way with his large frame moving steadily and deliberately. The sealed package was securely tucked into his pack. The team moved in a loose formation around him, their pace steady as they leapt across dense forest branches and rocky paths toward the border near Wave.

The first few hours of travel passed uneventfully. Guy’s enthusiasm remained unrelenting, his voice cutting through the otherwise tranquil morning as he challenged his teammates to various contests. Whether it was racing to the next tree or seeing who could jump the farthest over a stream, he made sure none of them had a moment’s peace. Genma groaned often but begrudgingly joined in more than once, their enthusiasm was infectious.

By the time they reached the final stretch before their designated meeting point, even Genma was in relatively high spirits. “I’m not saying I’m cut out for this courier nonsense,” he muttered to Sukea as they trekked along the edge of a river they were following, “but at least we haven’t run into any trouble.”

“You really shouldn’t say that,” Sukea replied, his voice light, though his eyes were sharp, scanning the terrain ahead. “That’s practically inviting disaster.”

Genma scoffed. “It’s a C-rank mission, miles away from any real combat. What’s the worst that could—”

A thunderous crash echoed through the forest, drowning out the rest of his sentence. The ground trembled violently, nearly throwing them off balance. The noise was deafening, as though the forest itself was being torn apart.

“What was that?!” Genma shouted, his voice laced with panic as he struggled to regain his footing.

Before anyone could respond, a thick column of smoke began to rise in the direction of the outpost. Choza’s body tensed, his eyes narrowing as he took in the ominous sight. Without hesitation, he slung his pack more securely over his shoulder and turned to his team.

“Stay here and wait,” he ordered, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “I’ll take the package to the destination and scout out what’s happened. Do not move unless I give the signal.”

The three Genin could only nod as Choza took off toward the outpost, his large frame disappearing into the dense foliage. They climbed into a nearby tree, settling into a lookout position as they waited. Time passed, the unease growing thick between them.

Sukea kept his eyes on the horizon, but something about the smoke caught his attention. It seemed… wrong. Too light? A faint breeze carried it closer, but when he sniffed the air, the acrid smell of burning didn't greet him, instead it was damp. That solidified it for him. This wasn’t smoke. It was… fog?

A chill ran down his spine. It was eerily reminiscent of his encounter with Zabuza, his last C-rank in Wave.

And what a disastrous first C-rank mission that was.

The more he looked, the more the mist felt unnatural, the thought solidified when he noticed chakra seemed to be infused with some of it.

Wait, didn’t Guy’s team have a run-in with the seven swordsmen, too?

His stomach clenched. The years had dulled the details, and back then, he hadn’t paid much attention to Guy or his team, too wrapped up in his own struggles. But now, that nagging uncertainty gnawed at him. It wasn’t their first mission… was it? That would be horrendous luck.

Think, Sukea. Think. What do you remember?

It was a mission that had overlapped with one of Guy’s father’s. Guy’s team came face-to-face with the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, and then Duy had opened all Eight Gates to ensure Guy and his team could escape, taking down four of the seven in the process at the cost of his own life.

Guy had mentioned his father was on a mission nearby…

The fog thickened, creeping closer, and Sukea felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He wasn’t a natural powerhouse like his students. His strength lay in strategy and precision, not overwhelming force. In his adult body, he could take out one or two of the Swordsmen, maybe three if he pushed himself to his limits—but not all seven, and certainly not while protecting his teammates. They are still genin and a liability.

His mind raced as he tried to piece together a plan. They could run, but that would mean abandoning the mission and directly disobeying Choza. Staying put felt like a death sentence, but abandoning Choza, a comrade, was unthinkable. His team was inexperienced and no match for this level of enemy.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Be ready for anything.”

At this point, the fog had become very dense around them, swallowing their surroundings. Suddenly, a chilling voice rang out, cutting through the oppressive silence. “Oh, look at this! Konohagakure has sent us three little gifts to sharpen my blade on!”

Before Sukea could react, something sliced through the tree they were perched in. He pushed his teammates down, narrowly avoiding the blade that struck just above their heads.

“Run!” Sukea barked, and the three shinobi scattered through the trees, the sound of laughter and footfalls pursuing them.

They were being chased.

Sukea’s mind raced, weaving through the branches as they tried to shake off their pursuers. But every time they made a break for freedom, figures seemed to materialize from the mist, blocking their way. The fog pressed in around them, thick and suffocating, turning the forest into a maze of shifting shadows.

It was clear they were being herded—whether by design or for the sheer amusement of their pursuers, Sukea couldn’t tell.

Desperation surged in Sukea’s chest as the chase continued; every direction seemed the same.

Finally, they broke into a clearing—but it was no escape. The group found themselves backed into a corner, hemmed in by thick trees and a sheer cliff face.

Sukea’s hand instinctively went to his fishing bag, his fingers brushing the familiar grip of his tanto. He drew the blade with a swift motion, its cold steel gleaming in the dim light.

Three figures emerged from the mist, their forms only half-visible, but their presence unmistakable. The sound of mocking laughter echoed from the fog, hinting that there were more than just the three that had stepped into view.

“Sukea, what are you doing?!” Genma hissed, his voice sharp with alarm. “You can’t take them!”

Before he could answer, one of the swordsmen lunged.

Sukea met the attack head-on, deflecting the massive blade with his tanto. The force rattled through his arm, but he held firm, twisting away just in time to dodge another brutal swing. The swordsman pressed forward, taking more aggressive, sweeping strikes, trying to overwhelm him. Sukea dodged and parried, each movement precise as he tried to lead his opponent away from the others, even with his back still to a wall.

The swordsman grew impatient, frustration clear in the way his swings became sloppier but no less powerful. With a final, reckless blow, he swung wide. Sukea ducked at the last second. The blade missed—by inches—but the sheer force behind it drove the weapon deep into the rockface.

Seizing the moment, Sukea surged forward, slashing at his opponent. The swordsman cursed and wrenched back, barely avoiding the strike. His grip twitched on his weapon before he sneered and abandoned it entirely—freeing it would take too long, and he wasn’t about to lose a limb to some brat with a knife.

The swordsman sneered, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Looks like the brat’s got some bite,” he growled, glancing over his shoulder at his comrades. “Don’t just stand there! Give me a hand.”

His request was met with laughter. “What, can’t handle a kid yourself?” one of them jeered. Still, a second swordsman stepped forward, the mist swirling ominously around his imposing frame. It was clear they underestimated Sukea, assuming him to be nothing more than a desperate Genin out of his depth.

Guy’s face hardened, determination blazing in his eyes. Chakra erupted around him in a visible aura as he opened the first of the Eight Gates, his voice sharp and resolute. “I’ll take the disarmed one!” Without waiting for direction, he leapt into the fray, his speed and strength amplified.

Sukea barely had time to acknowledge him before redirecting his attention. Another swordsman was closing in fast, their blade a blur of steel as it sought to cleave through him. Sukea deflected the strike with his tanto, the force of the blow reverberating up his arm. Genma, perched behind them, unleashed poisoned senbon into the fog, his sharp eyes scanning for movement as he aimed desperately for what he could to keep any more enemies away.

A sudden burst of light flared in the sky—Choza’s signal. Relief was fleeting as Sukea realized their precarious position. The fight was far from over, and the enemy still surrounded them. Sukea exhaled sharply, channeling his chakra into a fireball and launching into the air in response, their emergency signal since most of his team had a fire nature, hoping to guide their sensei or reinforcements to their location.

He then eyed his opponents and breathed out a second fireball. The flames roared through the fog, scattering the immediate threat and briefly thinning the oppressive veil. The swordsmen regrouped quickly, their laughter carrying an edge of bloodlust. They were toying with their prey, relishing in their struggle.

Gritting his teeth, Sukea tightened his grip on his tanto. They were outmatched and outnumbered, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. His focus was singular: keep his team alive and weaken the enemy however he could. They survived in his original timeline, but he doesn’t know the details of how and isn’t willing to just rely on that tacit knowledge.

He darted and weaved through the chaos, his movements swift and deliberate. A fleeting thought crossed his mind—to risk using the Chidori. But he knew better; without the Sharingan to guide him, it was a dangerous gamble, as likely to harm an ally as an enemy.

His blade clashed with another, and Sukea moved instinctively to block an attack aimed at one of his teammates. His smaller frame worked against him, and the force of the impact sent a jarring pain through his arms. Chakra-enhanced muscle couldn’t fully make up for the difference, and his chakra reserves were dwindling—but he couldn’t stop.

A desperate idea sparked in Sukea’s mind.

His hands tightened around his tanto’s worn hilt. The blade was dulling, the edge nicked from too many clashes, but he had no time for hesitation. He needed an opening—fast. If he couldn’t rely on Chidori, maybe something similar would work.

With a sharp breath, he forced lightning chakra into the blade, his focus sharp.

The Kumo scroll had made it look easy—channeling electricity into steel, sharpening a blade with raw chakra, making each strike cut deeper, faster, deadlier. It should’ve been simple.

It wasn’t.

The lightning felt more manageable than his Chidori, but Sukea hadn’t perfected the technique, and the backlash hit him like a bolt of lightning.

He made a mistake.

Electricity surged through him, muscles locking in place as his grip tightened uncontrollably around the hilt. He couldn’t release it, even if he wanted to. Static burned against his skin, his hair standing on end as the air hummed with raw energy.

But his opponent was caught in the same storm.

The swordsman stiffened, his body convulsing in response to the shock, momentarily paralyzed.

Through the ringing in his ears, Sukea caught a muttered curse—something about the White Fang.

He didn’t have time to think about it. With a burst of willpower, he swung his tanto wide, the electricity crackling from the blade as he drove it into the stunned enemy’s chest.

The moment of triumph was short-lived as a second enemy was sneaking up on Guy. Sukea pivoted, barely managing to intercept the blow. Metal met metal—

SHATTER.

The tanto splintered, shards of steel flying as the last flickers of electricity surged through the broken weapon and into his opponent. But it wasn’t enough to stop them. And in the same instant, agony.

A blade meant for Guy struck Sukea instead. It sank deep into his shoulder, searing pain ripping through him as his knees buckled, his body screaming in protest.

He bit down on his lip, refusing to cry out. He wouldn’t give in. Not here. Not now.

Before he could crumple completely, a strong hand caught him. Genma.

His grip was tight, urgent.

Then—a flash of silver.

A senbon, driven straight into the stunned swordsman’s neck.

The enemy barely had time to choke before Genma was hauling Sukea backward, dragging him toward the cover of a jagged alcove in the rocky cliffs.

“You’re done,” Genma snapped, shoving him down against the stone. “Stay here before you get yourself killed!”

Sukea tried to protest, but his breath came in ragged gasps. His vision swam, and his body refused to cooperate.

Genma braced himself in front of him, a handful of senbon at the ready. Guy, too, stood firm, his body surrounded by an aura of heat as he appeared to unlock another gate, his energy flaring with fierce intensity.

Through half-lidded eyes, Sukea saw the unmistakable figure of Duy burst onto the scene. His presence was overwhelming, and Sukea barely had time to register how many swordsmen finally revealed themselves from the mist.

As Sukea’s consciousness faded, a flicker of hope remained. They had taken out two of their number. Perhaps it would be enough to tip the scales. His final thought was of his teammates and the unyielding resolve in Duy’s eyes.

Let it be enough.

Chapter Text

Sukea woke slowly, dragged from the depths of unconsciousness by the persistent, dull ache spreading through his body.

He noticed it first in his arms, but as he grew more conscious, he noticed it more and more throughout the rest of his body.

Thankfully, the pain was almost distant, softened into a bearable throb by the heavy haze of painkillers clouding his thoughts. There was a deeper kind of exhaustion, too—Chakra exhaustion, his mind supplied numbly.

It took several long moments for him to notice anything beyond the aches, and when he did, there was a firm pressure—warm, solid—wrapped around his fingers.

He blinked sluggishly, his vision swimming before sharpening just enough to make out the figure sitting beside him.

A shadow clone? No, wait. Kakashi.

The kid looked exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes nearly bled seamlessly into his dark mask as he sat so rigidly by his bedside.

Sukea swallowed. His throat was dry, his mind a sluggish tangle trying to piece together what had happened.

His first attempt at speech was a rasp, a barely audible. “What—?” Still, Kakashi understood.

“Your team was attacked,” Kakashi said quietly. His voice was steady, but the slight tightening of his grip betrayed the worry underneath. “You’re now in the hospital recovering.”

Sukea frowned, trying to remember. He was on a mission? He thinks he was in the Land of Waves… Protecting his students against—Zabuza? No, that wasn’t right. Only some of that felt right.

Before he could even untangle that mess, Kakashi continued, “I got called in as next of kin and as the closest match for an emergency blood transfusion since you’d lost so much… If I didn’t think your team already suspected something since you arrived without your wig, they certainly know you’re a Hatake now.”

His wig?

Sukea tried to reach up to his head to check, but he discovered that his arms were locked up to the armpit with casts. He looked at them in confusion.

“You have hairline fractures along both arms,” Kakashi filled in. “Lightning burns and lacerations too… You’ve been unconscious for just over a week from your chakra exhaustion. The medics say it should hopefully take just over a month to heal, but you had the worst injuries of everyone who came back.”

Sukea nearly groaned at being told how long it would take to heal.

Unless the injury was life-threatening or they needed you back on the battlefield now, the medics wouldn’t waste chakra on healing it faster. They had to conserve what they had.

No one was going to spend precious resources on a genin who shattered both arms and got himself sliced up trying to block sword strikes from men twice his size instead of dodging like a sensible person.

Then, it hit him.

The mission! The Seven Swordsmen!

He’d been trying to stop—

“Duy?” he rasped.

Kakashi hesitated just long enough for Sukea’s stomach to sink.

“He was declared KIA,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I don’t know much, your team aren’t talking about it.” Kakashi reported, voice carefully neutral. “But… They didn’t bring a body home.”

Sukea exhaled shakily.

Duy had still felt the need to open all eight gates. Had burned himself out in one final, blinding flare of power—to make an opening. To get them out like he had last time.

And Sukea…

Sukea had failed.

He forced down the thick, cloying feeling rising in his throat. “My team?” he croaked.

“Mostly just exhausted. They’ve barely left your side all week,” Kakashi murmured. “But, of course, you wake up the moment they step out.”

Sukea swallowed hard. “Where?”

Another pause. Then—

“…The memorial stone.”

Sukea’s breath hitched.

“They wanted to wait until you were awake, but you were taking too long, they had to carve Duy’s name today,” Kakashi murmured. “The carver couldn’t wait any longer.”

Sukea’s fingers twitched against the casts.

“We need to go,” Sukea announced.

Kakashi looked at him in confusion.

Sukea turned his head more firmly toward him, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. “Now! Get me out of this hospital. I want to be there for Duy. I need to be there for my team. ‘We’ need to be there for Guy!” he insists.

For a moment, Kakashi just stared at him. Stunned.

Then, wordlessly, he moved.

He helped Sukea sit up, steadying him as the world tilted violently to the side.

Sukea was adamant that he would go as the Sukea Duy knew him as, and with the face Guy was probably most familiar with.

They worked quickly, Kakashi pulling a spare uniform from his pack to replace his hospital gown and helping him as best he could around the casts and shoulder injury Sukea didn’t notice until they moved it. Kakashi also applied the face paint for him, just like they’d practised, and when it became clear that the wig wasn’t making a return appearance, he helped Sukea shove his silver hair under his forehead protector’s bandana.

Then came the fun part.

Sukea instructed Kakashi on the best way to remove the tubes keeping him tethered to the hospital bed—how to best disconnect them in a way that would set off the least alarms and leave the least marks. Thankfully, Kakashi didn’t question why he was so good at this and just followed the directions diligently.

And then, they managed to sneak out.

—

By the time they reached the memorial stone, Sukea’s head was swimming. Every step felt heavier than the last, his body screaming at him to stop, to sit, to breathe—but he pushed through it, refusing to be a total deadweight. Kakashi was already bearing the brunt of his weight, his arm wrapped around Sukea’s waist to keep him upright as they made their slow, stubborn way through the village.

The moment the memorial came into view, a familiar voice cut across the clearing.

“Sukea?! What are you doing here?!” Chōza-sensei cried, the sharpness in his tone undercut by the unmistakable thread of worry.

Nearby, Genma let out a surprised laugh. “Perfect timing. We were just finishing up.”

Sukea grit his teeth, breath catching as he struggled to stay upright. Still, he managed a crooked, weary smile. “Sorry I’m late… I guess it’s just habit at this point.”

He barely had time to brace himself before Guy collided with them, arms thrown wide, crushing both Sukea and Kakashi into a hug that knocked the breath from his lungs—not just from the impact, but from the weight of it. Guy said nothing, only sobbed into Kakashi’s shoulder. Not the performative, overly dramatic tears Sukea was used to seeing from him in moments of passion or pride, but real, trembling sobs that seemed to shudder through his entire frame.

Genma stepped in quickly, looping an arm under Sukea’s other side and gently easing him out of Guy’s grip before the boy could accidentally do more damage than comfort. Sukea didn’t fight it—but honestly, if he thought being squeezed half to death would help Guy feel a little better, he might’ve let him.

Guy had always been the strong one between them. It was rare—almost unheard of—to see him break. The last time Sukea remembered something even close was when Neji died or when Guy was trying to put his life back together after failing to imitate his father’s sacrifice, and his ongoing frustrations with his new limitations became too much. Even then, Guy had hidden most of it behind closed doors, behind resilience, smiles, and impossible optimism.

But now… now Guy’s world had crumbled. It was the first time it had fallen apart, and he was still building his resilient strength.

Sukea’s gaze drifted to the newly carved name on the memorial stone, the one that hit like a blow to the chest.

Might Duy.

Seeing it made it real. His throat burned. His chest ached—not from injury, but from something deeper. He leaned into Genma’s steadying grip and closed his eyes with a shaky exhale.

He had failed.

And now…

Now he had a reason to visit the memorial stone again.

—

Kakashi looked bewildered, still caught in Guy’s arms. He probably held him because there was nothing else to do—because it was all he could do—and for a moment, Sukea wished he’d had the foresight in his first life to offer that same silent comfort. Just… be there. Be a rival, yes, but a friend too.

Eventually, Guy’s sobs quieted, but the stillness that followed was almost worse. That empty, hollow kind of exhaustion that came when there was simply nothing left to cry out.

Sukea recognised it far too well.

He wanted to speak—something comforting, something useful. Anything. But nothing felt like it would be enough. He had failed at stopping this.

Then his legs trembled beneath him. The walk from the hospital had drained him more than he expected, and though he wanted to stand tall, to show he could at least do this much, the truth was obvious. He was barely holding himself up. Genma, silently, bore more of his weight with each passing moment.

“Sukea,” Chōza said gently, “I know you tried so hard to be here, but I think it’s time we get you back to the hospital.”

Sukea tried to escape the moment the sentence left his teacher's lips.

It wasn’t a plan—it was a reflex. His instincts flared the second he heard hospital, and he clumsily tried to slip out of Genma’s grip, intent on making a break for it.

But his body wasn’t playing along. Fatigue made his movements sluggish. His knees buckled. Genma sighed and caught him before he could faceplant, the older boy lifting him like a particularly stubborn puppy.

Sukea groaned in defeat. “I don’t want to go back to the hospital!”

Time for Plan B.

He then slumped in Genma’s arms, going limp and wide-eyed, letting his voice take on a pitiful, whimpering tone. “Can’t I just go home instead…?”

The performance was shameless—Pakkun-worthy, even—but Chōza wasn’t swayed. He crouched to meet Sukea’s eyes, voice calm but firm.

“Sukea, you were seriously injured. I’d really prefer you to stay in the hospital, just until the medics are sure you’re okay.”

There was kindness in his voice, but also something Sukea hated. Pity. Like he was fragile. Like he was actually a child. Like he wasn’t a shinobi at all.

“I am fine,” Sukea muttered, bristling. “I’ll heal better at home. I’ll rest. I promise.”

Chōza raised a brow. “And who exactly is going to keep an eye on you? It’s just you and Kakashi at home and he’s still on active duty.”

“I’ll help!” Guy interjected suddenly, stepping forward with a desperate plea. “I’ll stay with them! Now that Sukea’s awake, I’ll make sure he gets proper rest! I’ll—I'll challenge myself to take the best care of him I can!”

There was something too eager in the offer. Something desperate. A need to do something—anything—to help.

“Guy…” Chōza sighed, rubbing his temples. “It’s not that simple.”

“If you make me go back to the hospital, I will break out again!” Sukea declared.

“You what?!” Chōza sputtered.

Genma shrugged, still holding his struggling teammate. “Honestly, sensei? Maybe just let Guy babysit him. Keeps them both busy. And at least this way, we know Guy won’t be taking turns with Kakashi sleeping in the hospital chair whenever the kid ducks out on a mission.”

"I only had two missions and I was back in less than 24 hours." Kakashi pouted, missing the point.

Chōza blinked, clearly considering the logistics—and the headache.

He looked between them. At Sukea’s pleading expression. At Guy, so clearly needing something—anything—to hold onto. At Genma and Kakashi, both looking like they just wanted the argument over so they could go home and sleep for a week for different reasons.

Finally, Chōza let out a slow breath.

“…Alright,” he relented. “I’ll go back and officially sign your discharge papers, Sukea. I’ll also pick up any medication that you have been prescribed.” His tone sharpened slightly. “But if your condition worsens, you will go back to the hospital. No arguments.”

“No arguments,” Sukea agreed instantly, a blatant lie. He didn’t even feel guilty about it. He hated hospitals. Noisy. Crowded. No privacy.

Genma grunted, adjusting Sukea in his arms. “So… which way’s home?”

There was a beat.

Sukea hesitated. His head still felt like it was packed with cotton, and he wasn’t entirely confident he wouldn’t try to lead them down a street that didn’t exist yet.

“…Get Kakashi to lead,” he mumbled at last.

“I know the way too!” Guy declared. “Kakashi! I challenge you to find the most direct route home!”

Kakashi didn’t respond.

He just turned and started walking.

—

Genma carried Sukea—much more calmly compared to their frantic dash back from Wave—into what was apparently Kakashi and Sukea’s apartment.

It didn’t look like a home for two kids. Stark. Minimal. More like the quarters of a single, middle-aged career shinobi.

“So, uh. Where should I put him?” Genma asked, shifting Sukea slightly in his arms.

“You should also rest, rival,” Guy added, nudging the younger boy. “Didn’t you just come back from a mission this morning?”

Genma silently agreed—Kakashi looked like he was about to keel over.

Kakashi hesitated, clearly reluctant to admit it, but at Guy’s pointed look, he finally muttered, “Our room’s this way,” and turned, motioning for Genma to follow.

If he’d had a hand free, Genma would’ve given a mocking salute. Instead, he settled for a dry nod and trailed after the younger Hatake, careful not to jostle Sukea too much.

The room matched the rest of the apartment: bare walls, a sparse layout, a single adult-sized bed.
Very single shinobi vibes. The only personal touches were two framed photos sitting on the bedside table—one of both Team 7 and Team 23, reassuring him that they hadn’t accidentally broken into a stranger’s place—and a modest shelf of books. Most were standard shinobi texts, though a few smaller, brightly colored volumes were crammed in awkwardly among them, their covers hidden.

Kakashi didn’t say another word. He just dropped onto the bed, curled onto his side, and shut his eyes like someone who’d been holding it together for far too long.

Genma looks at Sukea questioningly, but the boy just blandly states, “Just put me down. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

He did as asked, lowering the boy gently onto the unoccupied side of the mattress. Kami, those boys are small on the bed.

Sukea started to shift, pulling off his bandana with some effort. The silver hair underneath spilt free—still something Genma hadn’t quite adjusted to—but even Genma can tell he’s struggling with the full casts restricting a lot of movement. When Sukea fumbled trying to pull the mask around his neck up over his nose, Genma stepped in to help.

A growl from the boy had him quickly letting go and nearly counting his fingers as Genma became acutely aware of how Hatake teeth bore a striking resemblance to Inuzuka teeth.

He kept that observation to himself, however. The last thing he needed was to actually get mauled for making beast clan comparisons.

Thankfully, he’d gotten the mask up and over Sukea’s nose, because he wasn’t willing to go back for a round two.

Sukea reluctantly asks. “Can you get the paint off, too? Around my eyes.”

Genma approaches much more carefully and is shocked to find peels off.

And wow, he really did look just like Kakashi

Genma had overheard the medics arguing not long after Sukea was brought in—something about wasting time checking if Kakashi was a suitable blood donor when they were identical twins. He hadn’t paid it much mind then, too preoccupied with pacing the halls, waiting to hear if the medics could patch his teammate back together after the kid had left half his blood somewhere between here and Wave as Genma’d carried the kid home.

When they’d finally been allowed in, Kakashi rushed in, pulling a thin hospital blanket up over Sukea’s nose before glaring at them all like he dared them to comment on it. Genma had almost rolled his eyes. Really?

He could see half of Kakashi’s face. He usually sees the other half of Sukea’s. The whole picture wasn’t exactly a hard puzzle.

And yet, Kakashi had stood there, rigid and almost distressed, fussing over a kid who barely even looked like the teammate Genma had known since graduation.

Genma could have pushed the issue, but it wasn’t the time. Not with Guy sniffling at his side. Not with the weight of his first kill still pressing against his chest, guided by Sukea’s dumb words—“If I ever become a desk ninja, I want you to take a senbon and jam it in me right here.”—echoing in his head as he’d done just that to the enemy, ensuring the kid had many more years to complain about it.

So he’d sat down. Shut up. Let Kakashi be a stickler about his and his brother’s faces, even if there was no mystery to it anymore.

But now with Sukea awake and dressed in what he presumes are his brother’s training clothes Genma would probably have a hard time telling them apart. Especially with them so close together.

Was that why Sukea dressed like he did? Was it a twin thing? A Hatake thing? A clan thing?

Genma’s articulate way of asking was gesturing vaguely towards Sukea’s face. “What’s with the, uh—?”

Sukea gasped, mock-offended. “Genma! That is so rude to ask! You are in our home, and both Kakashi and I are shy.”

The faux-delicate tone would’ve been more convincing if Genma hadn’t felt like the boy was mocking him.

Genma rolled his eyes. “Right. Should’ve known better than to expect a straight answer.”

Genma left, knowing he wasn’t going to get a better answer and checked on Guy.

“Need anything before I leave?” Genma prodded the green-clad boy.

Guy shook his head, beaming. “No thank you! I packed very thoroughly for our prior mission. Still have everything I need! I would even dare say I should have won our challenge!”

“Wait. Have you seriously still been living out of that?” Genma asked, eyeing the slightly overstuffed backpack Guy had been dragging around since Wave.

“Of course!” Guy beamed. “I managed to fit an entire week’s worth of jumpsuits in there! They fold up really well—very efficient. Washable, wrinkle-resistant! I rinse them in the sink, hang them up, and they’re ready to wear again by morning. You can borrow one if you’d like!”

Genma recoiled slightly. “I’d rather not.”

He decided to leave Guy to be Sukea and Kakashi’s problem now, even though Guy was supposed to be the one caring for them.

—

Sukea was so grateful when Genma finally left. He’s so embarrassed! He’d growled at Genma when the boy was just a little too close to his face! He’s usually really good at hiding instincts like those!

But everything hurt. Muscles throbbed. Bones ached. The deep kind of ache that was making it hard to act ‘normal’. He wanted to crawl back into old habits—lick his wounds alone, without witnesses or concern

The pain had become unbearable in a way that surprised him.

He was good at hiding pain—used to be, anyway—He hated how soft he’d gotten.

Being Hokage, being out of active service for so long, had dulled him. Blunted his edge. The pain didn’t roll off him the way it used to. Had made him weak. He could feel it in the way he wasn’t used to the pain anymore.

But he also hates sitting around, he starts to overthink when left alone too long. Duy still went through with opening the 8 gates. Was there anything Sukea could have done? He got himself into this state trying to pick the enemy off to even the numbers, but that didn’t seem to be enough… Did Guy blame him?

After a few minutes of realising he was spiralling and stewing in the weight of his own discomfort, Sukea hauled himself upright and shuffled out of the bedroom with slow, stiff steps, casts awkward and heavy at his sides.

He found Guy in the living room, comfortably planted on the floor with his mission pack beside him, halfway through sorting through the contents… Why are there so many jumpsuits?

Guy looked up at the sound of footsteps. His face lit up.

“Oh! Rival! I thought I suggested you rest?”

Sukea’s heart clenched at being called that again, and he almost felt bad as he raised his casts. “Sorry Guy. Wrong Hatake.”

Guy froze, confusion flickering across his expression. His eyes squinted slightly, and then widened in realisation. “OH! My youthful teammate! A thousand apologies! I didn’t realise it was you!”

“It’s fine, Guy.” Sukea offered a tired smile. “It happens. Would probably happen more if I didn’t make a point of looking different while on duty.”

Guy tilted his head. “I haven’t… mixed you up before, have I?”

“Maa… you have,” Sukea admitted, “We were doing it on purpose, though. Kakashi and I would rotate who attended class, or who would go on missions. We stopped doing it as much when I started to attend the academy as Sukea rather than just continuing to share our life.” A lie, but the Easiest way he could explain that they both were Kakashi, technically, but not adding too much detail.

Guy reeled back in horror. “WHAT?!”

“Shhh!” Sukea hissed, glancing toward the bedroom. “Kakashi’s sleeping.”

“Would that mean you’re BOTH my rivals?” Guy whisper-shouted but still looked so conflicted.

“No.” Sukea shook his head, firm but gentle. “Kakashi’s your rival. We share enough things, and you’re good for him.”

Besides, Sukea would never be able to have the same kind of rivalry he had with Guy. Not that he could ever explain that to him. Sukea… he’d changed too much. He was older, stronger and more skilled from decades of practice. Any rivalry now would just be pretend, and Sukea had too much respect for Guy to give him anything less than genuine. It was easier to just leave that part of their relationship alone and have fun playing with him occasionally… If he even wanted to keep doing that.

Guy stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, expression thoughtful.

“I don’t need to be your rival,” Guy said finally. “To challenge you, I mean.”

Then he beamed—full, radiant Guy-smile—and thrust a fist toward him. “We’re teammates! Brothers in battle! Kakashi’s my rival who will help me grow stronger, and you’re my teammate, and we’ll always have each other's backs!”

Sukea stared at the offered fist.

“Brothers in battle,” he echoed softly, stunned by how easily Guy had just made room for him in his heart. No hesitation. Does he not blame him?

After a pause, Sukea lifted one heavy cast and tapped it gently against Guy’s knuckles.

Something in his chest loosened.

Even if he still felt like he didn’t deserve it.

—

Chōza strode down the hospital corridor, a carefully packed bag of medications cradled in his arms. He tried not to grimace as he glanced over the labels—an assortment of painkillers, salves, antibiotics, and gods-knew-what-else. His head spun just trying to keep track of them all.

The medic had done her best to explain them, but halfway through, he’d wondered if he should ask Shikaku to clarify. His teammate was better with this sort of thing, and Chōza was fairly certain half these medicines were produced by the Nara anyway.

Still, he had one more errand before he could leave. He had just signed Sukea out and was on his way to collect any of his student's remaining possessions. Not that there was much left—between the chaos of the mission and the rush to get his team home alive, no one had thought to retrieve Sukea’s wig or the pieces of his shattered sword. It was just whatever he’d had on him and gifts brought during his stay.

But when he stepped into the hospital room, it wasn’t empty.

Danzo Shimura stood by the now-vacant bed.

Chōza stilled, his shoulders tensing, but he kept his voice level. “Did you need something with my student, Councilman?”

Danzo turned at the sound, his expression composed as ever. “I heard about the… unfortunate incident during your mission. I came to check if the boy was alright.” His eyes swept over the empty bed before returning to Chōza. “I wasn’t even aware Sakumo had another son. But I heard he fended off several enemies on his own. Impressive, considering the circumstances.”

He paused, just long enough to let the words linger.

“A shame,” Danzo added, “that we only received intelligence about the Seven Swordsmen’s movements after your team had already left.”

Chōza bit back a grimace. The unease in his gut only deepened.

“Thank you for your concern,” he replied carefully, “but what happened out there was more than just ‘a shame.’ They’re lucky to have made it back alive. One nearly died. Another…” His arms tightened around the bag of medication. “Another lost his father.”

Danzo tilted his head, expression composed. “Ah. Might Duy, wasn’t it? The casualty.” His lips pressed into a thin imitation of sympathy—one that never touched his eyes. “A waste. He may have had potential… if he hadn’t prioritised his son over the village.”

Chōza inhaled sharply through his nose. The words stung, but it was the flat, dismissive tone that made his blood begin to simmer.

“Guy is part of the village and the potential he had,” he said, quiet and even, “was enough to bring his son—and the rest of my team—home alive.”

The silence that followed was thick and tense.

Danzo didn’t flinch. “I suppose so,” he murmured. “Two of your students even eliminated enemies before he arrived. Quite valuable assets.”

Chōza’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t reduce them to assets,” he snapped. “They were lucky. One well-placed strike was all it took this time. But luck won’t protect them forever. They’re still children. Don’t forget that.”

Chōza wasn’t known for confrontations. He was a mediator. A peacemaker among those who know him. But he’d heard enough whispered stories about Danzo to know when someone needed to be told no.

And he had had enough.

Choza straightened, shoulders broadening, expression hard. “If you came to check on my student, I’ll have you know he’s already been discharged. Now, if that’s all you needed, I think it’s time you left.”

Danzo paused, studying him. A flicker passed behind his gaze, calculating. Then he gave a short, clipped breath through his nose and swept past Chōza without another word.

No farewell. No backwards glance.

Chōza stood frozen until the footsteps faded down the corridor.

He didn’t trust Danzo. Not for a second.

He’d heard the rumours from other clan heads—about promising branch members funnelled into Danzo’s “elite” training programs, straight into what they assumed was ANBU… and then never seen again.

The Akimichi were rarely targeted. Too distinct. Too hard to disappear.

But Sukea…

Chōza’s grip on the medicine bag tightened.

He’d been anxious enough about handling the medications alone—afraid of making a mistake, of forgetting something important. But after that encounter, his mind was spinning, and a new worry plagued him:

Danzo has his eyes on Sukea.

That fear sent him straight to the Nara compound.

It wasn’t just about the medications anymore—he needed to talk. And he needed someone who knew how to play the game.

By the time he found Shikaku and explained what had happened, his voice was tight, low with unease. Shikaku had gone very still. His eyes sharpened, calculating in that quiet way he had.

But he hadn’t panicked. He almost looked like he was on a mission with how serious he looked.

Finally, Shikaku nodded once, thoughtfully, and said, “I have a plan. We would need to bring Sukea to the next council meeting, though.”

Chōza had recoiled at the idea.

Sukea wasn’t in any shape for that—not with his injuries. It felt like throwing an injured pup into a pit of wolves.

But Shikaku had a plan.

And as much as Chōza didn’t like it, he trusted his teammate and knew better than to ignore his friend when he had that calculating look in his eyes.

“If Sukea attends a council meeting as the Hatake representative, it will hopefully get Danzo to back off,” Shikaku had explained, “It tells Danzō that he can’t absorb Sukea into whatever agenda he has, since he’s technically a clan heir, and if we play this right, we can maybe even gain support to push back against what’s happening to the Hatake boys. Show some of the other clans on just how far they’ve been willing to go to ‘bring honour back to their clan.’ Maybe even sway enough opinions to stop treating them like disposable attack dogs or scapegoats for Sakumo.”

Chōza had felt so conflicted.

He hated the idea of parading an injured boy into a political warzone, but the truth was, Kakashi and his team were being sent on out-of-village missions at an alarming rate into an actual warzone, far more than other Genin squads their age. If Chōza didn’t have his clan connections, he had a strong feeling Sukea would be in the same position.

Hell, Sukea seemed to expect it with how antsy he’d been getting about his lack of ‘real’ missions, despite completing one of the largest amounts of D-ranks compared to others his rank, he still thought it wasn’t enough.

Even now, Chōza had a sneaking suspicion Kakashi was already lined up for another mission. The boy had already been slipping in and out of the hospital only days after donating blood to save his brother—and somehow, he was still trying to take care of Sukea at home.

Chōza ran a hand down his face, weariness pressing in.

He didn’t like this plan.

But he trusted Shikaku.

And if it meant keeping Sukea out of Danzo’s reach—and maybe changing things for the Hatake brothers—then Chōza would play this political game.

No matter how much it turned his stomach.

Shikaku, as always, had taken control. Even helping with his original problem as he scribbled out simple, precise instructions for the medications—what to give, when, and how—and shoved the paper into Chōza’s hand.

Chōza nodded and left, the bag of medicine tucked securely under his arm, and made for the Hatake apartment.

He knocked.

The door swung open to reveal a tired, disgruntled Kakashi.

Yep. Definitely Kakashi. Chōza’s eyes flicked to the arms—no casts.

Kakashi barely said a word, stepping back to let him in and marching wordlessly toward the kitchen.

Chōza followed… then blinked.

There was food. Everywhere.

“…They’re having a competition,” Kakashi said dryly, “on who can eat without using their hands.”

Sukea had a spoon wedged between his toes and was currently attempting to lift a dumpling into his mouth with alarming precision.

Guy was trying to copy him.

With much less success.

Choza is already in pain, looking at how the kids are able to pretzel themselves to eat like that.

Yeah, he’s grateful for Shikaku’s written instructions because he’s sure he would have forgotten them again after the absolute whiplash his student’s antics are putting him through.

Chapter Text

They’d finally unfolded the futon that had been sitting under their bed, gathering dust. The one Sukea had initially bought for either him or Kakashi to use so they could finally stop sharing.

When they offered it to Guy, he looked almost horrified at the suggestion. He’d fumbled through a tangle of polite refusals, insisting he’d be perfectly fine using his mission sleeping bag on the floor instead.

It had been almost tempting for Sukea to use this moment to finally guilt Kakashi out of his habit of sleeping beside him every night. To maybe point out that no, Guy wasn’t taking an occupied bed, and actually, his aloof rival had been the one sharing by choice, but instead Sukea had only sighed and admitted, reluctantly, that the futon already took up most of the floor, and that Guy’s sleeping bag simply would not fit.

Kakashi, for his part, had remained quiet—still tired even after the nap. Apparently, he’d kept up with missions and training while spending every free moment with Sukea in the hospital.

It made Sukea hesitate to change anything too suddenly.

—

Sukea woke to a dull throb in his shoulder—and the now-familiar weight of another body pressed against his side.

He blinked blearily down at Kakashi, tucked in close, his breath slow and even against Sukea’s sleeve.

For a long moment, Sukea just watched him, a bittersweet ache settling somewhere deep. Kakashi still had a long, brutal road ahead of him, and Sukea could do nothing but sit at the edges of it, offering suggestions or advice.

...He should get up so he doesn't wake the other boy. There are still a few hours before the kid needs to get up, and he remembers how much he used to need every second of it.

Everything still ached, but it was manageable now. He’d grown used to the pain, learned to grit his teeth and move through it. That didn’t mean he liked it. Didn’t mean he didn’t still feel the pull—to vanish alone into the quiet places of his grief and old ghosts, to heal where no one could see.

But no. He was better than that now.

He turned toward the place where he'd once kept all his trust—the person who, more than likely, needed him too right now.

Carefully—painfully—he slipped out of bed, biting back a groan. Kakashi didn’t stir. Good. He needed sleep. From the looks of him, he hadn’t had much lately.

Sukea crouched beside the lump of blankets on the futon. He was about to nudge it with his foot when he heard a small, half-formed whimper come from it.

“...Father…”

Guilt at not being able to stop Duy suddenly smothered him anew.

He almost changed his mind about waking Guy to go run off to the memorial stone alone instead, but the boy blinked awake on his own, wild-haired and bleary-eyed. Before Guy could speak, Sukea quickly clamped a hand over his mouth so as to not wake the other occupant of the room.

“I need help getting my medication,” he whispered, to justify his looming. “Come with me. Quietly.”

Still half-asleep but already nodding, Guy followed without question. The apartment was silent, wrapped in pre-dawn dark.

In the living room, Sukea picked out a few of the medicine bottles Chōza had left out the night before, ignoring the comically detailed instructions the man brought with him. Sukea had rolled his eyes at them. He didn’t need all of these. He’d survived worse with nothing but a roll of bandages and a half-empty field kit.

“Just give me these ones for now.” he muttered, passing over the ones he knew he’d get yelled at the most for skipping—plus a painkiller to take the edge off.

Guy helpfully uncapped the bottles and handed over each pill one at a time, even offering him water when Sukea made no move to fetch it himself.

Sukea tolerated it—barely, and resisted the urge to snap at someone getting so close to his face. Carefully reminded himself: this is Guy. And though it would be deeply satisfying to cause him minor problems—maybe bite him a little, just to even the score for what this boy’s future self put Sukea through during his own recovery—no, Sukea was going to behave.

Guy had just lost his father after all, and it was Sukea’s fault.

“Write a note for Kakashi,” Sukea muttered after Guy finally recapped the last bottle. “Tell him we’re going out. I don’t want him panicking.”

“Out?” Guy blinked. “Why? You’re not cleared for training.”

“We’re not training,” Sukea said flatly. “We’re just going out. I go out most mornings. Today, you’re coming with me.” He’s taking Guy with him to a place he rarely takes others. They are officially teammates now, and he wants to be able to do better for him and will try in his own way.

Guy still looked confused, but he nodded. He scrawled a quick note and left it on the table. When he turned around, Sukea was already halfway out the window.

“Wait—hey!” Guy hissed, but Sukea was already gone, and Guy scrambled after him without protest, more bewildered by the minute.

They walked in silence through the early morning village, the streets empty and dimly lit with the sun barely peeking over the horizon.

Sukea led without explanation. It felt strange, bringing someone with him. He was used to slipping out alone. If he met anyone, it was Duy. That ache of losing both the man and that ritual tightened in his chest.

Guy’s pace faltered as they reached the cemetery gates, but he didn’t speak. Just followed.

Sukea led them through rows of graves until he came to a familiar one. It sat in a quieter section, overgrown and unkempt. The name carved in crooked, uncertain strokes—his own clumsy handiwork.

There were weeds around the base, long enough to stir guilt in Sukea’s chest. Obito had probably assumed Sukea would take care of it now. And with Team 7’s current schedule, it was probably a reasonable assumption.

He crouched with a quiet grunt and began pulling weeds, slow and stubborn.

Guy stood behind him in silence, uncertain.

Then he knelt down too, brushing dirt from the headstone. “Sakumo,” he read softly. “This is your and Kakashi’s dad, right?”

Sukea nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “I visit him before training most mornings.”

Guy was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Wait—is this where you go when you’re late?”

“Yes,” Sukea admits, trying to distract himself by tugging out a stubborn weed. “Though I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go around telling people. The only other person who knows—” His voice caught. “Knew—was your father.”

Guy’s hands stilled.

Sukea swallowed. The moment was here. The one he’d dragged himself out of bed for. He exhaled and the words spilt out before he could second-guess them.

“I’m sorry, Guy. I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t know—if I’d fought harder, or stayed conscious longer, maybe I could have—”

“Stop,” Guy said, voice low but steady. He reached out, taking Sukea’s hands—not rough, but firm—and pulled them away from the patch of grass he’d started attacking aimlessly.

Sukea looked at him. Guy had seemed okay yesterday, but he knew him too well. He buried things. Just like Sukea did.

“Don’t say it like that,” Guy continued, conviction steady beneath the softness. “Like it was your fault. It’s not.”

Sukea didn’t answer. Didn’t look away either. Just waited—braced. Still unsure how it wasn’t his fault.

Guy let out a breath, his shoulders slumping. “I still can’t believe he’s gone… I keep pretending he’s just on a long mission.”

He let go of Sukea’s hands and sat back on his heels. “But I keep thinking about it. About how he’s not coming back. How you got hurt but kept fighting. You took down one of the enemy yourself. How Genma got another. But me?” He laughed once, short and bitter. “I barely did anything. You got hurt protecting me. I didn’t even see it coming.”

Sukea frowned, brow furrowed, but Guy kept going.

“My dad still had to come and save us.” His voice wavered, thickening at the edges. “He died saving us. Because I wasn’t strong enough to protect myself. Because I wasn’t strong enough to protect any of you.”

Guy’s hands balled into fists on his knees. “So when you say maybe you could’ve done more—when you act like you’re the one who failed—I want to punch you.”

Sukea opened his mouth to speak, but Guy shook his head, jaw tight.

“I envy how hard you fought,” he said. “And I… I just want to be strong enough that next time, I can protect the people I care about. Like he did. Like you did.”

He scrubbed at his face, frustrated and flushed, blinking hard against the tears that had snuck up on him. “I want to make him proud. I want to make all of you proud. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. So no—it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

Silence fell between them again.

It was probably the most serious Sukea had ever seen the younger Guy, but he couldn’t let him blame himself either.

Sukea finally let out a breath. “I won’t say it’s my fault if you don’t say it’s yours,” he murmured. “I do believe you’ll get stronger. But you need to understand something—”

He glanced over, meeting Guy’s eyes.

“I didn’t get hurt because of you,” he said quietly. “Like you said, we are brothers in battle. While I was fighting, I already trusted you to have my back. It’s how I fought so hard. I got hurt because I put myself there to have your back too.”

Guy looked startled, eyes wide.

Sukea managed a tired, crooked smile and reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Once we’re done here… do you want to come to the memorial stone with me and ask your father? I find doing that makes me feel better.”

Guy stared at him, eyes wide and wet. He nodded, wordless, a little choked.

—

The apartment was still and quiet when Sukea and Guy hauled themselves back through the window. The note Guy had scribbled for Kakashi was gone, replaced on the table by another in Kakashi’s own messy scrawl.

Sukea picks it up and reads it: ‘On a mission with Team 7. Back tomorrow. Get better quickly.’
It was signed, naturally, with a henohenomoheji.

Sukea is starting to see a future where differentiating forms signed by him and Kakashi will be a desk ninja’s worst nightmare. Oh well, not his problem.

Sukea straightened. “Looks like it’s just you and me tonight,” he said, tossing the note back onto the table. “Kakashi’s off on a mission.”

Guy, who seemed to have bounced back after their quiet morning in the cemetery, perked up instantly. “Maybe we should invite Genma over and have a team sleepover! Just Team 23!”

Sukea turns to discuss the plan further when a knock rattled the door.

Opening the door, he found Chōza-sensei standing on the other side, broad-shouldered and looking slightly too formal for a casual visit.

“I was on my way to a council meeting,” Chōza began, his tone oddly careful, “and thought I’d stop by. Just to check in. Since I was passing through.”

Sukea leaned against the doorframe, unconvinced. “Well, I’m still alive,” he said dryly. “Guy has been doing an okay job at keeping me that way.”

Chōza gave him a once-over, mouth tightening like he was still debating something. “You’re looking… better,” he offered, then added a little too casually, “Actually, why don’t you come with me? To the meeting. It’s mostly sitting. It won’t aggravate your injuries. And it might be good for you. Change of pace. Get out of the apartment. Give Guy a break.”

Sukea narrowed his eyes. That was a quick pivot. Yesterday, Chōza had acted like he would keel over and die just for leaving his hospital bed early. Now he wanted to take him out to a formal clan gathering? Something was off.

Guy, as oblivious to subtext as ever, beamed from where he was still halfway out of his flak vest. “Oh! I didn’t even think about you being part of a clan! You should totally go. I can do some solo training and grab Genma on the way back.”

Sukea glanced between the two of them—his enthusiastic teammate and his oddly insistent teacher—and weighed his options. It seemed like today’s choice was either to get dragged around by Guy or to get dragged around by Chōza.

At least one of those didn’t involve running.

“…Fine,” he muttered, already regretting it.

—

The meeting hall was nearly unchanged from how Sukea remembered it from being Hokage in his time.

The faces were different—most of the clan heads he’d worked with in his prime were still young or weren’t even born yet—but the formations were the same. Clans clustered by longstanding alliances, old friendships and shared goals. The Uchiha on one side, the Hyūga on another, with smaller but still powerful clans dotting the space in patterns shaped more by history than reason.

Speaking of Uchiha, Sukea spotted her before she reached them.

Mikoto Uchiha moved gracefully towards them, her poise more commanding than half the heads of clan. She wasn't here just to accompany her husband. Everyone knew Fugaku had married into the position and threw his weight around to prove he belonged. Mikoto, on the other hand, was the real diplomat—sharp as a kunai beneath her silks, with eyes that missed nothing.

She stopped in front of him, her gaze sharp with curiosity. “I’m surprised to see you here, Kakashi. I thought Team 7 was out on a mission. And how did you get so injured? I didn’t hear about any major injuries on any recent missions.”

Sukea sighed inwardly. Of course she’d noticed him. Of course she’d keep an eye on Team 7. Obito was one of the few Uchiha on a mixed team, and Mikoto was too clever to let her cousin be misused without some oversight, even if he was practically a sacrificial lamb.

“I’m not Kakashi,” Sukea admitted, a thread of irritation slipping through despite his best effort. He glanced sideways at Chōza, silently blaming him for the whole mess. “He is on a mission. Like you said.”

Mikoto tilted her head, brows rising slightly. “Then who—?”

“Sukea is actually my student,” Chōza chimed in hastily, stepping forward as if to shield him from scrutiny. “I’m not sure how much you’ve heard, but we recently had a mission that... didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Sukea shifted his weight, reluctantly pulling himself into a proper introduction. “Sukea Hatake,” he offered, dipping his head just enough to be polite. “I’m Kakashi’s older brother.”

“Sukea...” she repeated softly. “That name sounds familiar.” A breath passed. Then her mouth curled into a small smile of recognition. “Ah. Kushina mentioned you once, I think. Maybe Obito, too. They never said you were a Hatake, though.”

“That’s because they don’t know,” Sukea said bluntly. He shifted back a half-step, keenly aware of how many people still milled around them. “And I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t usually appear in public like this—I prefer my anonymity.”

There was a pause. Then Mikoto smiled, slow and knowing. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said smoothly.

He didn’t trust her for a second.

Mikoto wasn’t a gossip. She was something far more dangerous—strategic. She wouldn’t tell Kushina or anyone on Team 7 directly unless she could get something out of it. But his name would likely trickle through the clan heads soon enough, most likely as a bargaining chip bartered amongst them.

“Get well soon,” Mikoto added, her tone soft with unprecedented warmth, before she turned and returned to the Uchiha's section.

Speaking of seating, where was he supposed to go?

Sukea’s gaze drifted to the Inuzuka section to a space that was once marked for the Hatake. It was gone, as though no one expected a Hatake to claim it again.

It was fair. The Hatake weren’t much of a clan anymore. The old alliances had thinned or broken somewhere between Kakashi’s birth and his father’s death—not just out of shame, but attrition. Too few numbers for far too long. The Hatake were practically a defunct clan.

Tsume Inuzuka and her dog Kuromaru were currently sprawled across where the Hatake used to sit without apology, her eyebrow arching slightly when she caught sight of Sukea.

Chōza, for his part, didn’t steer Sukea toward the old clan spot either. Instead, he guided him toward where Inoichi and Shikaku were already seated. Both men looked up and greeted him with easy familiarity, Shikaku already shuffling over to make room.

“Sit here,” he said, patting the bench beside him.

The placement was... pointed. Right next to the Ino-Shika-Cho. They also seemed too ready and eager, not the spur-of-the-moment gesture Choza’s offer had been sold as.

People were watching him. That much was clear. He is clearly injured, sitting in full view beside some of the most politically entrenched clan heads in the village. His sensei hadn’t even given him the option to wear his usual ‘civilian’ appearance, so he very much looked like a Hatake, but he hadn’t expected to be paraded quite this much.

Too late to back out now.

As Sukea settled into the bench, Shikaku leaned closer, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. “What did Mikoto want?”

“She noticed I wasn’t Kakashi,” Sukea muttered. “She’s clearly been keeping tabs on Team 7’s mission roster and knew he was supposed to be on a mission.”

“Why would she…?” Shikaku paused. His brow furrowed. “Right. Forgot one of theirs was on his team… Though I doubt she even needs to keep track of Team 7’s roster. I managed to see it while updating Minato’s jonin roster, and it’s an easy guess to just assume Team 7 is on a mission lately. It’s worse than the average jounin’s schedule.”

Sukea shot him a sidelong look. “Do I need to remind you of the general population’s stance again? Kakashi goes out on missions, and the village shuts up about how he should be doing more because they can already see him doing it.”

Shikaku frowned. “He’s already doing a lot, and it doesn’t feel like it’s accomplishing anything. I think there could be a better way since it just feels like Team 7 is being thrown into unnecessary danger.”

Sukea resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course the kid was being thrown into danger. They were in a war. There were only so many ‘safe’ missions, and Minato was even there to make sure they didn’t die in a stupid way.

Cruel from the outside, maybe. But every mission brought Kakashi closer to being a strong jōnin, to have his own reputation to lean on. And if the timeline played out like it had before, closer to the Kannabi Bridge—the mission that would help end the war their father had apparently helped ignite.

Just being on the mission helped give a clean finish to a messy legacy. Any further discraces after the event had nothing to do with the clan as a whole. And maybe this time, Sukea could even fix the ending. Plan ahead. Save Obito. Save Rin. He’d had years to think about what went wrong. He had much more foresight due to his constant regrets, nightmares, and what-ifs he’s planned out than he ever did with Duy.

“He’s good at them.” Sukea said finally, with a shrug that ended the discussion.

It wasn’t the answer Shikaku seemed to be fishing for based on the displeased look on his face, but whatever counterpoint the Nara had in mind was cut off by the meeting actually starting and all ‘personal conversations’ being put on hold.

He’s not really sure what the Nara was pushing for… Convince him to have an issue with Kakashi’s mission schedule? Sukea knows it’s gruelling, but he survived it. He has more important things to focus on.

Chapter Text

The meeting itself was everything Sukea remembered, and hated, from every soul-crushing council session he’d endured as Hokage. They were dry and infuriatingly procedural. Reports. Vote counts. Debate over logistical trivia that felt, even now, disconnected from the actual shinobi dying in the field. He was half-sure some of the debates were still unresolved by the time he wore the hat himself.

Now, however, he had the advantage of being nine years old.

No one looked to him for input. No one expected him to offer commentary on trade routes or troop reallocations. He didn’t have to speak. He just had to be here to keep Choza happy.

And so he sat silently, head bowed, listening more out of habit than interest. His father’s name wasn’t mentioned. Not directly. Clan matters were reserved for private conversations after the council adjourned. The Hatake clan being blamed for potentially starting the war didn’t concern the price of eggs in Konoha—except, perhaps, in the roundabout way that war had made all imports more expensive.

That didn’t matter. Sukea didn’t speak, didn’t interject. Frankly, he doesn’t want to risk changing too much about the future if he can help it. None of this concerned him. And if his head drooped a few times during the more tedious stretches—well. No one dared call him on it. He was young and healing.

When the meeting finally adjourned, the clan heads began to break off into loose clusters of conversation. This, Sukea knew, was where the real negotiations happened.

Sukea remained seated and still, pulling from the Nara playbook. He pretended to sleep. He felt someone pat his head as the Ino-Shika-Cho got up to join the discussions going on around the room.

Through the veil of lowered lashes, he watched Chōza and his teammates make their way through the crowd. His sensei moved with deliberate calm, offering quiet greetings and firm nods. They weren't the only new clan heads. Several other younger heads walked the floor—some freshly promoted after the war claimed their elders, like the Inuzuka, others given the role early, elevated by their clans so they could refuse high-risk missions without losing face or risk ending their main lineage in a border scuffle, like the Hyuuga.

Sukea found the second tactic distasteful. Cowardly, even. He hadn’t been allowed to refuse missions, he was always considered too important in the field. He probably could have tried to throw his weight around as the last living heir of his clan, but that would probably just build further resentment against his clan. Even as a child never wanted to be a figurehead. But he had wanted his honour back.

A gentle nudge at his shoulder cut through his thoughts.

“I’ve been on the same team as Shikaku for a decade,” Chōza murmured, crouching beside the bench, having made his way back up. “I know fake sleep when I see it. Come walk with me a bit. You’ve been sitting too long.”

Sukea cracked one eye open, narrowed in mild annoyance, but huffed and stood without complaint. He hoped Chōza really just wanted him to stretch his legs, maybe point out a few faces Sukea should know, then let him duck out.

No such luck.

As they walked, it became clear that Chōza had a destination in mind. A very specific one.

Hiruzen stood in quiet conversation with Orochimaru and Danzo. He’d nearly forgotten Orochimaru was still considered a loyal shinobi at this point in time. A potential candidate for the Hokage hat, even. The sight made Sukea’s stomach twist.

Danzo leaned in to say something low to the snake Sannin, and Orochimaru slipped away, bowing slightly as he disappeared into the crowd soon after.

There was something too smooth in the interaction with the warhawk, and Sukea had a sinking feeling that Danzo’s talons were already in the Sanin.

—

Hiruzen turned as they approached, his gaze drifting from Chōza to Sukea, lingering for a heartbeat on the casts wrapped around the boy’s arms. Guilt flickered briefly behind his eyes—gone in an instant, replaced by that calm, composed warmth he always wore. Not quite old enough yet to be grandfatherly, but still a figure the village trusted.

“Hatake Sukea,” the Hokage greeted with a gentle nod. “Good to see you up and about. I hope you and your team are recovering well.”

Beside him, Sukea felt Chōza tense, clearly expecting a smart-mouthed remark.

And honestly? He was tempted. Chōza had brought him here unprompted, after all.

But Sukea could play the game too.

He bowed politely. “Thank you, Hokage-sama.” Then added with a cheerful squint, “Can’t say that was how I expected our first C-rank to go. I’m glad to have come back alive.”

“I hear you handled yourself well on your mission,” Danzo cut in smoothly. The way Danzo’s single visible eye raked over him made Sukea’s skin crawl—sharp, calculating, hungry. The look of a butcher sizing up a side of meat. It was a look he knew too well, the kind that meant he was probably being considered useful, expendable, or both.

Hiruzen, either oblivious or pretending to be, smiled mildly. “Oh—have you been properly introduced to Shimura Danzo?” he asked, as if the war hawk hadn’t already slithered into the conversation.

Sukea inclined his head, his voice level. “Only by reputation.” Which was true—he made a point of avoiding the man whenever possible since arriving in this time.

Danzo returned the gesture, stiff and perfunctory. “Your mission report, where I first heard of you, was an interesting read.” His tone then tried for sympathetic, missed the mark by a mile. “A shame we can’t inform the village how well you performed, given the… sensitive nature of it.”

Sukea blinked. “Sensitive?” This was the first time he had heard about it.

Hiruzen stepped in, tone apologetic. “We planned to brief your team later today. Duy’s death—and the nature of his technique—are being classified. It’s… dangerous. We don’t want others trying to replicate it.”

That made Sukea pause. Classified?

He’d always assumed Guy’s silence about his father’s death was just grief. But now that he thought about it… No one in Konoha ever mentioned details. Just that Duy, the eternal genin, had died pointlessly protecting some fellow genin. No mention of the Seven Swordsmen.

And the only reason he knew about them was from the way Mist-nin reacted to Guy during diplomatic trips after the war—his father had become a ghost story. A cautionary tale about underestimating an opponent.

So why the cover-up? It had to be more than just a desire to hide a dangerous technique like they were claiming.

Testing the waters, Sukea pushes back. “Why classify it? Guy told me it’s a hard move. I doubt anyone could copy it very easily.”

Danzo didn’t hesitate. “He was already a rogue element. Should never have learned that technique. He wasn’t even using it to its full potential. The risk of others attempting it outweighs any benefit. It’s better forgotten.”

Sukea frowned. Danzo, the great warhawk, is concerned about a technique's safety over retribution after an unprovoked attack? Suspicion bloomed.

He pushed again, feigning curiosity. “What about the Swordsmen? A major power from a neutral village attacking Leaf shinobi—that seems like a declaration of war. Is Kiri involved now?”

Chōza twitched beside him. “Sukea—” he hissed, warning.

Hiruzen’s smile thinned.

“We don’t want to incite panic,” Danzo said flatly. “This appears to be… an isolated incident.”

That confirmed it. A cover-up—and Danzo was involved, or benefiting.

Danzo’s eye narrowed. “You speak too freely. Why are you even here, boy?”

“I brought him,” Chōza interjected firmly. “As the eldest Hatake, he’s effectively the clan heir. He has a right to be informed.”

Sukea froze.

What?

Choza had pushed about having him think about becoming a clan heir, sure, but Sukea had never agreed to anything! Retirement and this new life had been his freedom from those kinds of responsibilities!

He almost denied it—almost—until he caught Danzo’s stare.

If Sukea refuted Choza’s claim now, it would paint him as directionless, vulnerable. A tool without purpose. A new target for Danzo to swoop up now that he’s on the man’s radar.

Sukea clenched his jaw. It could almost seem like a grin under his mask.

“Chōza-sensei’s helping me explore options!” he said, trying to sound precocious and like he didn’t want to bite his teacher for putting him in this situation. “I already keep an eye on my brother and my team—shouldn’t be too different, right?”

Vague. Noncommittal. Hopefully, enough to discourage Danzo without promising anything.

Danzo huffed in displeasure, but said nothing,

Sukea wasn’t about to risk pushing his luck any further. He faked a wince, claimed his arms were aching, they kind of were, but he put on a Pakkun worthy act of it being even worse, leaning heavily into Chōza until the man had no choice but to excuse them and steer them away from the Hokage.

As they walked, Sukea heard Hiruzen chuckle softly, nudging Danzo with an easy, almost fond motion.

“Don’t be so hard on him,” he told Danzo, almost fond and misreading Danzo’s dissatisfaction. “Sukea is just as bright as his brother, even if he hides it, almost reminds me of Sakumo in that regard. He makes a good point now and then, too. I really ought to close that loophole he found in the ninja handbook... don’t need more shinobi sneaking missions behind my back.”

Sukea tuned it out. He had bigger problems.

—

They moved slowly through the crowd, weaving between conversations, aiming for the way out when they passed a circle where Shikaku was speaking with Fugaku Uchiha.

And judging by Fugaku’s stance—rigid shoulders, sharp chin, arms crossed tightly—he was deep in posturing an opinion.

“—the Hatake boy is doing what’s expected, given his father’s disgrace,” Fugaku was saying, catching their attention. “As for Obito, the Uchiha are strong. If he can’t handle the pressure, he’s barely worth the name. Perhaps the strain will force his Sharingan to awaken. At this rate, even Itachi, who’s only three, will unlock it before he does.”

Mikoto’s eyes flicked toward them before they could walk past unnoticed, her expression unreadable for a heartbeat. Then her features softened with that effortless poise she always carried, a calm grace that belied the tension in the circle.

“Sukea,” she called, lifting a hand in greeting. “Since it’s your little brother’s team we’re discussing, what’s your take on it?”

The invitation was deliberate, waving him closer and ensuring he couldn't escape yet.

Fugaku turned at once, eyes narrowing at Sukea and scoffing sharply. “Little Brother? I didn’t even know there were two of you.”

Fugaku drew his eyes up and down Sukea judgmentally. And Sukea, though rarely vain, was all too aware of how battered he looked—he was dragged here far more injured than he would normally tolerate for such a public appearance.

“Frankly,” Fugaku sneered, “you’re probably of no use anyway. A shinobi who gets himself injured that badly isn’t much of one, is he?”

Sukea took the unprompted vitriol, he’d forgotten how prickly Fugaku was, always attacking before his opponent had a chance to even decide to betray him. Sukea was used to it, unfortunately. Fugaku had a very good reason not to like or trust him in most of his interactions with Fugaku in his past.

Mikoto’s eyes snapped to her husband with a look of disappointment.

Chōza stepped in too, his voice calm, but edged with authority “Sukea’s injuries weren’t due to a lack of skill. He was hurt on a classified mission. One that was badly mis-ranked.”

“And his team’s cleared more D-ranks than most do in a year since they’ve had to stay in the village due to Choza’s clan duties.” Shikaku added nonchalantly, “He works just as hard as his brother—even if his anonymity means his effort doesn’t reflect anything publicly for his clan.”

Fugaku’s eyes narrowed, bristling at being chastised. “At least I’m not using other clans to beg favours on my behalf,” he muttered, coldly. “I still stand by the idea that Team 7’s mission load is fine.”

And with that, he turned sharply and strode away.

Sukea frowned, brows furrowing at that last comment. He turned to Mikoto, who at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“What favours was he talking about?” he asked, warily.

"The one Shikaku came to us to discuss just as you came past." She sighed. “Sorry I put you through that. I thought we’d prefer hearing the request from the apparent source. Shikaku’s been trying to convince us that Team 7 should be assigned fewer missions and was suggesting we could pull Obito for more clan training.”

His eyes shot to Shikaku, feeling betrayed. First, Chōza had announced Sukea was training as a future clan head in front of the Hokage—and now Shikaku was trying to negotiate behind his back with other clans?

Frustration was bubbling up. It’s bad enough he’s hurt! It’s bad enough that he can’t even choose his own missions, and now he finds out more and more restrictions are being placed around him! What if they actually managed to get Kakashi taken off of an important mission?! It could mess up the timeline too much and alter the outcome of the war!

What if they changed everything?

Sukea swallowed hard and fought to steady his breath.

“I doubt it matters much to your husband, Uchiha-sama,” he said tightly, voice clipped with restrained anger. “But for the record, I never asked for his assistance. Please disregard whatever claims they made and tell Fugaku that if there's a matter regarding the Hatake, it should come from me directly.”

He bowed sharply. “Now, please excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, and not even bothering with using his injuries as an excuse this time he turned on his heel and walked away—leaving Chōza and Shikaku behind in the swelling murmur of the council hall.

He didn’t look back.

—

He stepped outside the meeting hall. The air was cool, still, and the courtyard empty.

He had been followed out by Choza.

So Sukea finally let out what had been bubbling up.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, voice low and seething. “Clan heir? That’s not your call to make. I never agreed to that. The Hatake aren’t even a clan anymore!”

Chōza at least had the decency to look chastised. But before he could get proper answers, Shikaku appeared from the shadows, calm as ever.

“Sorry about that,” the Nara said mildly. “But I thought it best to do so now. Declaring you a clan heir gives you protection.”

Of course. Sukea’s eyes narrowed. Now that he thought about it, all of this reeked of a setup. Shikaku was probably the one who orchestrated all of it. He hated it when a Nara went rogue with a pet project plan, he especially hated being the target.

“What kind of protection does being a glorified figurehead of nothing get me?” Sukea bit back, starting to finally understand the frustration Tsunade had about clan expectations that he'd managed to avoid in his first life.

Shikaku sighed, muttering, “So troublesome…” Then he leaned in slightly, his voice quiet but firm. “I didn’t want to worry you, but Danzo’s taken an interest in you. After your mission… after he realised Kakashi isn’t the only Hatake left, you became a target. Naming you heir makes you too public, too high-profile for him to touch.”

Sukea blinked, caught off guard. Then he let out a bitter laugh.

“I already knew Danzo collects kids for his little underground army. Why do you think I stayed hidden? I’ve been dodging him longer than you’ve been paying attention—and now you’ve just decided to just overrule my hard work because you just noticed him and thought you knew better?”

That caught them both off guard.

“You knew you were a target?” Shikaku asked, voice low.

“…Army?” Chōza echoed, visibly alarmed.

…They didn’t even know about ROOT and were trying to make plans around him?

Sukea’s not normally quick to anger, but he is sore, exhausted, and bleeding patience fast, and these men just put him right in a position he hadn’t wanted to be in because of misguided ‘good intentions.’ He hated being treated like a child!

He exploded, and a growl rumbled from deep in his chest. “You didn’t even have all the information before trying to make decisions for me?! If you’re going to insist the Hatake are a clan, then treat us like one! Don’t make choices for me like I’m a kid too stupid to be trusted with his own life!”

The words left him harsher than he intended, but he fully meant them.

Then—

“There you are, Hatake! I was looking for you!” barked a new voice. “Hey, Nara! I don’t know what’s happening, but like the kid said, keep your big stupid opinions out of other people’s clan affairs!”

A clawed hand clapped down on Sukea’s good shoulder.

He blinked, then spotted the large form of Kuromaru starting to stand guard between him and his sensei’s teammate.

That meant beside him was… Tsume?

He was caught off guard by the warmth in her presence. Not gentle—never gentle—but solid.

“This is so troublesome…” Shikaku sighed, exasperated. “This doesn’t concern you, Tsume.”

“No, I think it does,” she shot back, her eyes sharp. “See, a little birdy told me the Hatake were a little bigger than they’ve been presenting themselves as. Which means…” she grinned, wide and predatory, “Our treaty with them might’ve been dissolved unfairly.”

She shrugged, not bothering to hide the bite in her voice. “So, any problem you have with them becomes a problem with us.”

Sukea turned to stare at her, wide-eyed.

Us?

Tsume kept going. “Besides, it takes a lot to make a Hatake growl. They try so damn hard to play nice, pass for tame. So if this one’s growling now?” She nudged him with her elbow. “Yeah. That’s definitely my business.”

Sukea flushed, caught between embarrassment and bewilderment.

Any treaty between their clans had ended before Sakumo passed, so Sukea doesn’t actually have any memories of when it was in effect, especially since his father already started distancing himself from everyone when the village turned on him, regardless of loyalties. Sukea himself has always had a… tentative relationship with the Inuzuka. They got along but were never close.

The Hatake were a beast clan too, and he has a lot of the instincts of a beast clan, but his hodge-podge summoning pack was as wild as he got. Even now, some of his clan traits are probably only slipping out more due to his proximity to another Hatake. Even if that Hatake was... himself.

The Tsume of his time had teased him for it more than once when their teams had to work together. Called him a domesticated mutt in a wolf's pelt. But it had never been cruel, just... blunt.

And now—

She was being protective. Oddly so for her usually brash attitude.

He blinked up at her, wary.

Why?

His nose twitched.

Hana. Her daughter. She’d been born during the war, hadn’t she?

Sukea turned his head slightly, casual, subtle—

Okay, not subtle. The sniff was obvious.

He blinked again, a little shocked that he was right. She’s pregnant.

So that’s why she was being protective. Hormones. Territory. Pack instincts. He could practically feel them rolling off her now that he was paying attention.

Tsume stared him down. A silent threat: ‘Say anything and I’ll have your throat for breakfast.’

He nodded once, an unspoken ‘got it. ’ His face schooled back into something neutral, even as his thoughts reeled.

It wasn’t public knowledge yet. That much was clear with how she also smelled fresh from a mission.

“I’m taking him with me, Nara,” Tsume declared, smug now, her hand still resting comfortably on Sukea’s shoulder like he was already part of her pack. “I’ll return him when I feel like it.”

Shikaku stared at her, long and slow. “He’s not a stray, Tsume. You can’t just take him. We’re having an important conversation.”

“Not anymore,” she said, baring her teeth in a grin, then scruffing Sukea by the back of his shirt and carrying him off.

—

Tsume marched through the village with Sukea in tow, dragging him by the collar like a disobedient pup. He scowled but didn’t resist. At this point, he was—unfortunately—getting used to being manhandled. Besides, he needed time away from his sensei’s team to cool off. They’ve already started changing things, it’s not like he can make it any worse right now.

The Inuzuka compound loomed ahead, alive in a way the rest of Konoha rarely was—loud with barking, yelling, and the steady thump of paws on packed dirt. A few distant howls prickled at something old and buried in him, and he had to clamp down hard on the instinct to answer.

She didn’t steer him toward the main house, like someone would expect when they bring a guest into their compound. No, instead, she led him straight into one of the larger kennels—a veterinary wing, judging by the sharp scent of antiseptic and wet fur.

Inside, crates lined the walls, some with resting nin-dogs, others empty but scrubbed spotless. IV stands rattled slightly with movement. Shelves held plastic bottles, their caps chewed by bored patients. Inuzuka shinobi moved purposefully through the space—some in flak jackets, others in casual gear—dogs of all sizes trailing behind.

A few heads turned their way, noted Tsume, and then turned back. Nothing unusual here.

“Oi!” Tsume called lazily to a nearby medic. “Got a stray pup I picked up off the street. Think you can do something with him?”

Sukea blinked. “I what?”

The medic—short-cropped hair, crooked grin—strode over without missing a beat. “Looks terminal. Shame. Guess we’ll have to put him down.”

Sukea rolled his eyes.

The woman—medic or vet, he honestly couldn’t tell in here—laughed at her own joke before she gave him an actual once-over. “Healing all of this would take too much chakra, but I might be willing to sacrifice some. The cuts and burns can mend on their own. Fractures, though... the casts are aligned well. We can probably just accelerate the healing—should allow him to be more independent and greatly reduce recovery time.”

Sukea blinked. His arms… they would fix them?

Tsume folded her arms and grinned. “Sounds good to me, doc.”

The medic nodded, already walking off to prepare everything she needed for the procedure. Sukea stared after her, then glanced sidelong at Tsume.

“Why’d you step in?” he asked. “I didn’t need help.”

She shrugged, all nonchalance. “Relax. No secret plots. I just needed a word with you, but just couldn’t help myself from stepping in since you sounded distressed.”

He tilted his head, squinting. She was still much softer than the Tsume he spent time around as an adult. “Didn’t peg you as the maternal type.”

“Didn’t peg your clan for the type to hide twins either,” she shot back, smacking him upside the head.

He flinched. Right. From the outside, it probably looked like Sakumo had let their alliance die out of pride—too proud to admit he had two sons, even to allies.

Two people is usually the point when a clan stops being a clan. When Kakashi was born, his mother also died, and so they never shifted out of that limbo of not quite being a clan… but with their lie, there would have been three of them, just enough for a clan.

“Why’d you even do it?” Tsume asked, frowning. “The whole point of shinobi villages was so we didn’t have to worry about hiding our young.”

He hesitated, then offered the first lie he could think of… He hopes it’s not too cliche and he may have stolen some of it from one of the books he’d been reading recently, but he wanted to alleviate as much of the blame off his father. “It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t sure we’d both survive. It would have been so much heartbreak to reinstate the clan only for it to fall apart again so soon. And by the time he was sure... it was already too late to explain things without it looking like he didn’t trust the village. So we shared an identity. Then he died, and... well, that’s how we knew how to live. With just the two of us left, it didn’t make much difference, so we kept it up until it was too hard to hide on our own.”

Tsume groaned, running a hand through her wild hair. “You Hatake drive me insane. Lone wolves, the lot of you. First instinct is always to do it yourselves, like pride is more important than help. You had five damn years where you counted as a clan according to the treaty. Even kept your clan’s seat warm, not that you used it. We could've been helping more sooner!”

He looked away, guilt twisting behind his ribs. His father’s death was supposed to absolve him of his actions. Instead, Sukea was here, muddying the Hatake name and taking advantage of their reclusive nature to rewrite history, making it now look like they turned down help rather than it not being as openly available.

Then Tsume grinned, all teeth and mischief. “You know,” she said, giving her belly a light, casual pat, almost thoughtful. “Got a pup on the way. I need to start thinking about the future. You and I could draw up a new treaty. Hell, maybe toss a marriage contract in there for good measure. Wouldn’t have to argue over what counts as a clan if you just joined ours.”

Her tone danced just shy of serious.

Sukea blinked at her. Stared. Then grimaced. “Absolutely not. I’d prefer an alliance that’s actually worth more than the paper it’s written on.”

He didn’t bother listing the hundred other reasons why that was a terrible idea—or why it felt wrong on a level he shouldn’t have to put words to. Especially when he knows she’s just trying to rile him up.

Tsume snorted and yanked him into a rough noogie, ruffling his hair like he was a younger cousin mouthing off.

“You’ve got nerve,” she growled. “Especially after I generously offer my firstborn’s hand in marriage. ”

He tried swatting her away with an awkward swing, “Remind me again how your husband’s doing, Tsume?”

“I don’t have a husband,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Why would I buy the cow when I can get the milk for free?”

“Exactly,” Sukea shot back, trying not to blush. “Thanks for proving my point.” He wished he could scrub her saying that out of his head.

“Whatever,” she muttered good-naturedly, releasing him. “We’ll sort the details later. What I do want to know is what the hell I was interrupting before I double down against the Nara.”

Sukea sighed, “Chōza’s my sensei, so I suppose that comes with having the rest of the Ino-Shika-Chō poke their nose into my business. I think Shikaku means well, but today he went behind my back to try and ‘help’ without asking…”

Tsume’s eyes sharpened. “So he’s being a meddling bastard. Got it. I can get Kuromaru to bite him for you, if you want. Or just for fun. Honestly, I already figured something was up. Your clan’s been keeping its head down and nose buried in missions for years—then suddenly you pop up at a council meeting like like you’re being walked to the gallows? Nah. Too suspicious.”

“Yeah, well… wasn’t my idea,” Sukea muttered. “I’ll deal with it, though.”

Tsume gave a short nod, more approval than agreement, then reached over to ruffle his hair with a gentler touch than before. “Fair enough, pup. I recommend biting if they don’t learn. I find it usually helps when I’m sick of the other clan’s interference, sometimes. The second this pup starts showing, they’ll try pulling me from missions, say it’s ‘protocol.’ Probably slap some green chuunin on my tail in case I go into labour in the field.”

She bared her teeth in a grin—feral and unrepentant. “But we’re Inuzuka. Hardy stock. I’m not letting a little thing like pregnancy slow me down just because some prissy noble clan gets nervous.”

Sukea huffed a laugh. “You’re going to be a nightmare mother. Probably traumatise your whole team giving birth mid-mission if they don’t catch you.”

Tsume looked thrilled. “Damn right! That’s the Inuzuka way!”

Their banter cut off at the sound of footsteps—sharp, purposeful. The medic was finally returning, arms full of supplies and a smirk tugging at her mouth.

Tsume turned to Sukea with a grin that was far more familiar, like she was laughing at a joke he wasn't in on.

“You Hatake are supposed to be tough too, right?” she drawled. “I’m no medic—always liked tearing things open more than patching them up—but even I know this isn’t going to be pleasant. So brace yourself.”

She leaned in just a little, voice dropping with a grin. “And don’t expect me to hold your hand through it.”

Chapter Text

The medic looked over his arms once more before she began, “Since you’re young and probably not handling anything too sensitive, I’ll use the fun stuff to dull the pain—”

Her hand was already reaching for the sedatives.

“No.” Sukea’s voice came fast and sharper than he meant, but he couldn’t let his judgment be clouded in case he blurted information about the future.

She froze, blinking at him.

He scrambled for an explanation, heart kicking up. “I—just came off a mission that’s been classified.”

It wasn’t a lie. Duy’s death had been marked classified. The Hokage had confirmed it personally.

A grim kind of irony settled in his chest. Leave it to a tragedy to become the perfect excuse. But it would hold. A classified mission was enough to bar him from anything that might loosen his tongue.

The medic’s eyes softened. She simply nodded and slid the vial away without comment.

“Alright then. Local anaesthetic only. That’ll take the edge off, but you’ll be awake and still feel some of it.” She didn’t sugarcoat it.

“Understood.”

She began rearranging her tools, talking now more casually as she changed her plans. “Most Inuzuka come in with their partners,” she said, conversationally, “Feels a little weird not seeing a canine beside my rare human patient.”

“You Hatake use summons instead, yeah?” Tsume chimed in from the door, arms crossed as she leaned casually in the frame.

Sukea nodded.

The medic smiled. “Well, if you’ve got the chakra to spare, you should summon one. The companionship should help.”

Sukea considered it; he didn’t think Kakashi would be using the ninken on his current mission, so Sukea might be able to summon them. He’d even felt a shift in their shared contract recently, the familiar tug in his chakra that meant someone else from the pack had been called while he was unconscious.

Sukea reopened a still-healing cut on his hand with a fingernail and tugged on the connection, summoning the two closest and most recently summoned ones. It took more chakra to summon without the actual summoning scroll, since Kakashi had it, but his soul knew them so well that it was almost second nature. The chakra cost was worth it, and the familiar puff of smoke cleared fast.

Pakkun perked up instantly. “Village Boss!”

Sukea sighed. “We’re still doing that nickname? I literally just came back from a mission.”

“You don’t seem to be very good at them, you were very hurt.” Pakkun solemnly declares, much to Sukea’s exasperation.

He shot the pug a flat look. “Your bedside manner is garbage.”

Pakkun shrugged with his whole body.

Then Sukea turned to the second summon, a little slower, a little more cautious. “And who’s this?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know. “You’re not going to call me Village Boss, too, are you?”

Bull tilted his head in polite confusion.

See? Loyal. Trustworthy. Never a traitor.

“Oh! Right!” Pakkun piped up, as if suddenly remembering. “You were still unconscious when Mission Boss brought Bull to visit! Official introductions! This is Bull.”

Sukea knelt stiffly, letting the pup sniff his hand. Bull blinked once in quiet recognition, then gave his fingers a slow, deliberate lick.

Sukea bit the inside of his cheek. He was so small. Barely twice Pakkun’s size. It almost made his chest ache.

The medic gave a satisfied little clap. “Perfect! Emotional support and someone to growl at me if I do a bad job.” She joked before she leaned forward again, addressing the dogs in a low, serious voice. “Important mission, boys: make sure he doesn’t move.”

—

The medic’s chakra sank into fractured bone, knitting it back together with practised force. Sukea gritted his teeth into the lining of his mask in discomfort. He hunched forward, leaning harder into Bull’s short fur. The puppy in his lap didn’t move, only gave a soft, sympathetic whine. Pukkun was buried in his side, watching the healer work. The anaesthetic numbed it enough to cut some of the edge off, but it was still very unpleasant.

“Almost done,” the medic eventually muttered—not unkindly, just distracted, as her hands moved down his arm, glowing with focused intent.

Finally, the casts came off with the sharp slice of a chakra blade.

Then the smell hit before anything else—acrid antiseptic, week-old sweat, Healing injuries, and whatever else had been trapped in the cast. Tsume wrinkled her nose. Bull edged away slightly with a low whine.

Sukea couldn’t really blame them. Although they've probably all smelt worse on a battlefield, it didn’t mean anyone wanted to smell things like that at home, especially when all of them have enhanced senses of smell.

The medic said nothing. She simply pulled out a wet cloth and began scrubbing his arms clean with swift, efficient motions. She gently pushed away Bull and Pakkun’s attempts to lick his skin in comfort. His arms, once revealed, were red and mottled, marred by lightning burns that arched up the surface. The skin was also wrinkled from days of stewing in sweat and peppered with shallow blade nicks.

The medic didn’t linger. Once the worst was cleaned, she wrapped everything in fresh bandages—tight, neat, and sterile. Then she stepped back with a quiet exhale.

“That’s all I’m doing,” she said, dusting off her hands. “You’re clear to leave, or you can sleep off the procedure in one of the kennels if you like.”

Ignoring her attempt at another joke, Sukea flexed his wrist. The numbness from the anaesthetic was still wearing off, but he could move again. That was something. His eyes widened slightly as he tested the bend in his elbow.

He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed that. Just bending it.

He’d definitely need to retrain the joint. The disuse had already begun setting in.

Tsume snorted as she pushed off the wall and approached. “He might actually take you up on that,” she said dryly. “He’s got an ambush waiting outside.”

Sukea blinked and looked up, confused. “Ambush?”

She nodded toward the window. “Your sensei’s team showed up not long after we got here. They’ve just been loitering out front. I’ve got Kuromaru watching them—keeps them from getting any funny ideas about inviting themselves in.”

Sukea turned his face away from the door, jaw tight.

He knew they’d meant well at the council meeting but he still hasn’t really gotten over how they overstepped.

“Maybe I will take that nap,” he muttered. “I’m not ready to see them. Not yet.”

Tsume didn’t offer comfort. She just shrugged.

“Alright. I was gonna send a genin squad to chase them off anyway.”

“They’ll come back,” he pointed out.

And then—an idea.

“Actually, I’m postponing the nap,” Sukea said, already straightening up. “I think I have a better plan.”

—

The plan, as far as he was concerned, was brilliant in its simplicity.

He’d sneak out by blending into the chaos of an Inuzuka genin squad. They’d form a living distraction as he slipped into their ranks, suppressing his chakra signature and vanishing into the background. Bull will act as interference if he is somehow spotted.

Tsume looked wildly entertained as he explained it.

“You’re going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse,” she said, eyeing him critically.

“I’ll suppress my chakra. No one will even notice me.”

She gave him a long, assessing look—then turned on her heel without comment and disappeared into a back room.

When she came back, she was carrying an oversized jacket and a small black compact.

She dropped the jacket over his shoulders and flipped the hood up without ceremony. Then she grabbed his face.

“Hold still.”

“Wait—what—”

Warm fingers tugged down his mask and smeared red down his cheeks.

Sukea froze, stiff and bewildered. “Are these supposed to be Inuzuka markings?”

“Yup.”

“I’m not Inuzuka.”

Tsume just shrugged, dabbing more colour beneath his eyes. “Hatake are basically our brother pack. It’s fine.”

“That’s not—our canine traits come from completely different—” He stuttered.

“Don’t care,” she said cheerfully. “I’m the clan head and I say it’s fine.”

He opened his mouth to argue again, but saw the look she gave him and wisely decided against it.

By the time he finished tugging the jacket into place, Tsume had already assembled the noisiest, most excitable group of genin she could find, who were overjoyed to be part of a ‘stealth and extraction mission.’ They circled around Sukea like a protective wall of fur and bravado. Like he thought originally, he could barely be seen behind them. He barely needed the disguise.

“All right,” Tsume said. “Go when I give the signal.”

—

“I still can’t believe you two,” Inoichi snapped again. “I can never leave the two of you alone together!”

Shikaku sighed, arms crossed, as he leaned against the fence just outside the Inuzuka compound. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this. I messed up. I overstepped. If I’d done that to a clan head my age or older, it’d have sparked a political feud. Got it.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Inoichi spat. “I will tell Yoshino what you did, and she’ll never ask you on a date again because she’ll know what an idiot you are.”

That hit the mark.

Inoichi, satisfied, turned on Chōza next. “And you! How many times have I told you not to follow Shikaku’s half-baked plans without running them past me first? Haven’t you outgrown that?”

Chōza offered a sheepish shrug. “I was worried about my student. It sounded like a good plan at the time…” he trailed off, clearly unconvinced even by his own defence.

Inoichi looked like he might throttle them both. He’d joined them when they decided they should go apologise to Sukea, but he kept oscillating between chewing them out and standing in tense silence, like he was mad at himself for not somehow reading their minds and stepping in sooner.

Shikaku was just tired. He’d never really spoken at length with Chōza’s student. The kid was sharp—cunning, even if he tried to downplay it—and in hindsight, Shikaku really should’ve slowed down. He should’ve asked questions. Realised that someone else might know information he didn’t. Should’ve waited. Instead, he saw a problem, saw a way to fix it, and charged ahead and got them into this mess.

And now they couldn’t even fix it because the boy was tucked safely behind the Inuzuka—one of the few beast clans that kept good standing by producing loyal shinobi. Unfortunately, this caused different problems because the Inuzuka are always rogue elements both on the field and in clan politics. Beast clans were always unreasonable like that. Loyal, yes. But stubborn. Once they’d claimed a stance, they didn’t let go easily. Like their clan’s companion animal with a ball.

Eventually, the front gate creaked ope,n and Tsume herself sauntered out, flanked by her enormous ninken. The same one that growled every time they’d tried to approach the gate.

“You’re still here?” she asked, eyes narrowed. “I thought I told you—I’ll give him back when I feel like it.”

Choza took a step forward, hands raised. “Please, can I just talk to him? Just for a minute—”

“No,” Tsume said, and whistled.

The sound of barking filled the air.

Before any of them could react, the gates burst open and half a dozen Inuzuka genin came barreling out in a frenzy, howling, yipping and grinning wildly as they stormed the adults like a pack of wild dogs.

—-

The group of genin peeled out of the gates in a whirlwind of barks, growls, and exaggerated bravado at Tsume’s signal. A few going out of their way to snap at the clan heads, pushing them back from the Inuzuka gates.

Sukea ran in the middle of them, head down, with Bull at his heels. Pakkun was too well known by Choza and could’ve given them away. Barely a second glance was given to them with how well he blended in, even without hiding in their shadows like in his original plan.

When everyone was sufficiently distracted, he let himself melt out of their formation at a quiet side street.

He ducked into a bookstore first, half to disappear and not be associated with the barking happening a few streets over, half to unwind from the stress of today. He’s still hoping for the off-chance he might finally stumble across something that met his ludicrously high standards for an Icha Icha replacement.

He wandered for a while, taking in the feeling of moving freely again. Bull trotted loyally at his side—maybe the wrong breed for this impromptu-undercover disguise, but the only people who’d care had better things to do.

This was the first time he’s been more or less alone since he got back from that C-rank, and he wanted to enjoy it a little.

He picked up a book with a promising cover. Crouching down and showing it to Bull.

Bull looked unimpressed but having some hope Sukea flicked through the first few pages only to agree with the pup's assessment.

It was bland, the author was clearly writing about a topic they had no passion for and the protagonists had no redeeming qualities. He sighed and set it down.

He didn’t need more books. His collection was already growing out of control.

He spotted another title. Interesting cover. Slightly better blurb. Maybe… maybe just one more. He reached for it with cautious hope.

—

He eventually pulled himself away and decided he had one more important errand before he finally dragged himself home to collapse.

The ninja supply shop was quiet. Still dressed like an Inuzuka, no one gave him a second glance as he passed rows of kunai kits and ration packs as he made for the undercover missions and disguise section in the back.

Masks. Wigs. Makeup palettes. It’s nowhere near ANBU quality but he has to work with the tools he has access to.

He scanned the curtain of hair that showed off the wigs, fingers twitching to reach for a familiar shade of chestnut brown—the same colour as Rin’s hair. His Sukea wig had been that colour when he originally got it for an undercover mission.

He stared at the chestnut one for a long moment. It was the wrong colour. Well, right for Rin, wrong for Sukea.

The wig he'd worn as Sukea was something he’d had for years, and the colour had unfortunately faded over time. A change he could probably pinpoint from all the times he went out to show both Obito and Rin how the village was changing, with how Obito’s eye burned it into his memory, and a camera captured it for Rin.

After a lot of careful consideration, he eventually picked a lighter ash brown instead.
Rin was a bright chestnut, but he wasn’t trying to match Rin; he had to match Sukea, and this was as close as he was getting.

The new one was also a little longer, but he could cut it. Or say it grew. That’s what people did. They changed and grew.

He can’t keep leaning on his grief for a girl who’s still here and has a chance to live. Sukea was becoming his own person, he had to stop being her ghost.

—

Sukea climbed in through his bedroom window like he always did—only to immediately have to dodge a senbon.

“Whoa—! Easy!” he barked, pulling down his hood and tugging his mask back into place when he saw the culprits. “It’s me! What are you even doing in my house?”

“Sukea?!” Genma stared, hand still half-raised. “What the hell? How many disguises do you have?!”

“None of your business,” he muttered, kicking the window shut behind him. “Now, again—why are you in my house?”

“Don’t you remember?” Guy beamed from where he was adjusting the blankets across the futon that took up most of the floor. “I told you I was bringing Genma over. A sleepover! While my eternal rival is away, we shall forge new youthful memories together!”

Sukea blinked, exhausted. “Right. That. Well, I got healed, so I don’t really need you here any more…” Trying to hint that they leave.

Guy’s eyes darted to his arms. “Oh! You’re out of the casts! That’s amazing! Even more reason to celebrate!”

Sukea tries again. “The healing took a lot out of me—”

“Right!” Guy interrupted. “So you should rest until I finish dinner! I challenged myself to care for you, and I won’t back down until I feel like my job is done!”

And before Sukea could argue, Guy disappeared into the kitchen with a clatter of enthusiasm, dragging Genma with him.

Sukea groaned, falling face-first on his bed.

At least he didn’t have to cook. He would’ve probably just eaten rice and instant miso with the kind of day he just had.

—

Sukea just couldn’t rest. Despite the healing taking much more out of him than he thought, his mind just wouldn’t stop turning.

Shikaku had meant well—probably—but he’d meddled in a way that left Sukea shaken. It wasn’t just Danzo sniffing around. Sukea could deal with Danzo. Predictable threat. Workable. But Shikaku messing with mission schedules? That was dangerously unpredictable.

Maybe it was nothing. He didn’t even succeed. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything. But the seed was now planted. What if things changed too much?

The Kannabi Bridge mission had shaped so much about Konoha’s future. It ended the war. It silenced half the village’s whispers about Sakumo’s “mistake” when they could point to his son making up for it.

Sukea didn’t have the cleanest record in his original timeline, but he couldn’t even imagine living his life without that specific stain being scrubbed out. He would want to stop the bad, stop Obito’s death and ongoing manipulation that would nearly end the world as they know it, but thinking that far was getting too ahead of himself.

He was basically worrying about the butterfly effect. One of the books in his growing pile of rejected books had time travel as a theme, and he had realised quickly he hadn’t liked thinking about how something small and innocuous would cause an unintended effect down the line. He’d instantly rejected it from his active reading considerations. He knew things would likely never be the exact same as his first life, just due to his presence, but brushing against such a big change unnerved him. Shikaku had touched something he hadn’t thought to worry about.

Sukea exhaled slowly and reached for one of the books by his bed. Something light. Easy. Mindless. No time-travel. Definitely not. But unfortunately not Icha Icha—not with people in the house. Not worth the risk to the timeline.

The book he landed on wasn’t exactly highbrow literature. It didn’t have to be, and the characters bounced off each other in a way that kept his attention. It helped. A little. At least it dulled the noise in his head.

Then the door creaked open.

He didn’t startle—he recognised the footfalls. Genma.

“What are you reading?” Genma asked, already crossing the room.

Sukea didn’t react fast enough. His guard was down, and his arms were still a bit sluggish from disuse. Genma neatly plucked the book from his hands before he could stop him.

“Hey!” Sukea protested, sitting up as Genma flipped to the page he'd left open.

Genma scanned the text, then read a line aloud in disbelief as his eyebrows rose.

A beat.

“And you’re sure you’re not secretly a kunoichi?” Genma said dryly. “My ma reads this kind of schlock.”

Sukea flushed, heat crawling up his neck as he snatched the book back and hugged it to his chest like it needed protecting.

He could stomach being called a pervert—hell, he was used to that one. But comparing his taste in books to what a middle-aged kunoichi would read? That stung. Worse, he was entirely correct.

Genma had finally found a crack in his armour—and from the smirk settling on the other boy's face, he knew it.

Chapter Text

Genma shot Sukea a flat look—the kind that needed no words. This is your fault.

Sukea ignored it. If he was going to be stuck at a sleepover he hadn’t exactly agreed to, then he might as well find ways to amuse himself. And if that meant poking the bear… well. He’d weaponised Guy’s enthusiasm before. It wasn’t hard.

“—And that,” Guy was saying, chest puffed with pride, “is why a rival is essential to a ninja’s growth! Someone who pushes you beyond your limits! Who stands by your side in battle and spirit!”

This all started when Guy, in an overly earnest attempt to recreate the “classic sleepover experience,” asked what people usually did at these things. Genma, never one to waste a jab, had smirked and fired off a quick answer: “Talk about boys, braid each other’s hair, maybe share our favourite tragic romances.”

The jab had been aimed squarely at Sukea’s modest stack of well-worn paperbacks. And Sukea—tired, recovering, and in no mood to be subtle—had decided if Genma wanted to play that game, he was going to lose.

Which was how Sukea found himself cross-legged on the floor with his freshly purchased wig perched on a stand in front of him, carefully adjusting strands of brunette hair to make it wearable. So yes. The hair-braiding? Technically happening.

As for talking about boys, Guy had leapt at that too, launching into a full speech on the importance of eternal rivals and listing every boy they’d known since Academy days, trying to help Genma discover his own rival. That covered the dramatic romance portion.

“I’m still not making Raido my rival,” Genma muttered, eyes flicking to the ceiling as Guy circled back to the topic for the third time. “He just started kenjutsu anyway. Maybe you take him, Sukea? You surprised me last mission. Pulled out a sword like you knew what you were doing.”

Sukea didn’t look up from the wig. “Nope. I just don’t think I could have such passionate feelings about Raido.”

Genma groaned and let his head thud against the wall. Guy, however, nodded solemnly.

“That is true. A rivalry must be built on a foundation of mutual passion and purpose.”

“Besides,” Sukea added, glancing up, “I don’t even like kenjutsu.”

Genma’s brows rose. “You looked pretty damn comfortable with that sword.”

“I’m comfortable with a lot of things,” Sukea said blandly. “I only had that sword because Kakashi needed a sparring partner to train. The Hatake clan is descended from samurai, so I had to learn the basics.”

That—and the fact that he was a fully-grown adult who had passed ANBU requirements decades ago, but that wasn’t a detail they needed.

Genma’s grin sharpened. “Oh? You and Kakashi train in kenjutsu together? Does that mean you’re competing with Guy for rival status?”

“No!” Guy snapped, scandalised. He pointed at Genma like he’d insulted his honour. “Kakashi is my rival! Sukea agrees! They are brothers in blood and name, linked by sacred clan tradition!”

Sukea, too amused to let it go, gave a solemn nod. “He’s my little brother. He knows most of what I know. It wouldn’t be fun.”

Guy accepted that answer with a proud nod. But unfortunately, Genma’s offhand comment had triggered something. Because now Guy turned to Sukea, eyes burning bright.

“Then we must find you a rival of your own!” he declared. “Perhaps one of Kakashi’s teammates—then we can organise double rival challenges!”

Sukea sat up straighter, alarm prickling the edges of his calm. “I’m good. Really. I don’t need a rival.”

“Well,” Genma said, clearly enjoying himself now, “if it has to be one of Kakashi’s teammates, then you’re down to two options: Obito or Rin.”

Sukea turned his head and levelled the exact same look at Genma that Genma had given him earlier.

Genma grinned, victorious.

Guy, meanwhile, lit up. “Obito! Yes! He’s perpetually late—just like you! Full of untapped potential! I can already see the sparks of manly passion flying between you!”

Genma waved a hand lazily. “Nah, Rin’s the obvious choice. She likes him, for starters. They both took kunoichi training, so they could throw down over flower arrangements or something. Plus, she’s a medic-nin—might help him get less squeamish around blood—”

“I’m not squeamish—” Sukea tried to interject.

“—You’ve had time to improve, sure,” Genma cut in, tone maddeningly sincere. “But I still remember you freaking out over her bloody nose that one time. I’m just saying, I don’t want to risk a relapse.”

Sukea scowled. One time. One stupid moment, and everyone attributed one of his few weaknesses to a much broader problem.

But the debate carried on, bouncing from the ridiculous to the oddly reasonable and back again. No matter how passionate or absurd their arguments got, they couldn’t actually make Sukea pick a rival.

It was just words. Just dumb talk and good-natured teasing. The sleepover he hadn’t wanted was somehow—well. Tolerable.

Maybe even a little fun.

—

Sukea woke to a loud, almost-familiar sound. Instinct kicked in before thought—his eyes snapped to the sound, landing on the futon on the floor, body tensing, gaze scanning for the threat that had stirred him.

It was just Guy.

Already halfway through his morning stretches and grunting excitedly about training. Of course.

A groan followed, low and pained, drawing Sukea’s attention to the narrow strip of floor next to the futon and against the wall, where Genma lay.

Sukea could have warned him. Guy was a... dynamic sleeper.

But some lessons were better learned firsthand. Especially the lesson titled: “Don’t mock Sukea’s taste in romance novels when he controls who sleeps where.”

Suppressing a smirk, Sukea rose without a word and padded across the floor, slipping past Guy before the boy could rope him into pre-breakfast training. Let Genma fend for himself—he was a big boy. Sukea had other priorities, and all of them started with not doing push-ups at sunrise.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him with quiet finality.

He peeled off his shirt, taking his mask with it, then startled at the smear of red across his face. For a moment, adrenaline surged. Blood?

No. Tsume’s makeup.

Right. In the rush to hide his face from his teammates yesterday, he hadn’t washed it off. With a tired exhale, he scrubbed away the leftover red and replaced it with the cool, familiar lines of violet paint that curved over his eyes and along his cheeks. He’s running low… He should have bought more when he bought the wig.

Pushing that thought aside, he reached for his fresh shirt—then paused. His gaze caught on the bandages winding down both his arms.

He sighed and sat on the edge of the tub.

Might as well check the damage.

Most of it was superficial now. Lightning-burned skin and shallow cuts now, but his shoulder still throbbed faintly. A reminder of where he’d thrown himself in front of Guy. The blow hadn’t landed cleanly—his tanto had caught the worst of it, though it had shattered on impact. He figured most of the smaller cuts came from that: splinters of his own blade catching on skin and cloth.

Still, the sword had done its job.

The wound hadn’t gone deep. The collarbone had taken the brunt. Bruised, not broken.

Lucky. Or stupid. Maybe both.

He cleaned the wounds with practised efficiency, dabbing on fresh salve and rewrapping the bandages with steady fingers. Once done, he pulled on a loose long-sleeved shirt to hide the fresh dressing, then fitted the new wig over his hair.

He paused in front of the mirror, head tilting slightly as he studied the reflection. His eyes—coal-dark and unaltered since there was no need for contacts due to his lack of a Sharingan—were quiet, detached, almost clinical as he took himself in.

—

“Ah, Sukea! You look like yourself again,” Genma called from across the room, arms lifted above his head in a lazy stretch that half-mimicked Guy’s fervent morning routine. The contrast between them was almost comical—Guy a whirlwind of lunges and declarations, Genma a slow ripple of movement and barely concealed sarcasm.

Sukea paused in the doorway, one hand still resting on the frame.

For a moment, he considered correcting him.

This wasn’t really what he looked like. Genma knew that. They’d all watched him at work the night before, adjusting the strands of the wig, and Sukea had even pointed out the slight difference in colour when he tried sassing his team about leaving his old one behind on the mission they are no longer allowed to talk about.

How this new wig was a little more uniform in shade, intentionally coloured that way, rather than gradually ageing into it like his old one had, so he had to cover it up. A small change, barely noticeable to most, but for a shinobi, he thought every detail mattered. His team had grown quiet, suddenly realising he must’ve had his old wig for a while for it to show its age. Sukea didn’t like how quiet they got and had quickly changed the topic, reminding Guy that Genma hung around quite a few of the boys in the class. One of them would be a good rival, right?

Sukea wouldn’t say he missed the old wig. It was just a tool—one he had carried for a long time. Still, wearing something different felt odd, and he wasn’t sure how this was ‘looking like himself’

Instead, Sukea just grinned. “Yeah. Back to normal.”

—

Sukea was still technically on sick leave. He wouldn’t be allowed back on the roster until a medic-nin cleared him for duty. Guy, on the other hand, was still on bereavement leave. He wasn’t talking about it—not directly—but Sukea was willing to bet it wasn’t Guy’s idea to take the full duration.

Probably Inoichi’s doing, Sukea thought bitterly, keeping pace a few steps behind Genma as they strolled through the village. The Ino-Shika-Chō liked to meddle in each other’s business, and it seemed like they’d adopted Team Duy by extension. Whether Sukea wanted it or not.

Genma, lucky bastard, was the only one cleared to go back on missions.

Sukea hadn’t meant to be following Genma. Not exactly. Sukea’d been on his way to the memorial stone—but it just so happened that Genma was heading the same direction. And Guy, wherever he was going, had also seemed to be heading the same way.

Genma stopped, shooting them a suspicious look over his shoulder. “You two aren’t going to, like, follow me to my mission because you’re bored, are you?”

Sukea hadn’t planned on it.

…But now that it was an option.

“Are you that sick of us already, Genma?” he asked, adopting a wounded tone and clutching his chest with mock offence. “I thought we shared a night of youthful bonding.”

“Yeah, Genma!” Guy chimed in, somehow entirely sincere. “We have grown closer as teammates from our sleepover. And although we may not be able to help carry your burdens on this mission, we can help support you emotionally!”

Genma looked like he regretted every decision he had made that led him to this point, but he turned around and kept walking without kicking them out of his orbit. That was basically consent.

“It’s not even an exciting one! Most squads only need fill-ins for a day or two,” Genma groaned, dragging his feet. “It’s another day of mission desk duty…”

Sukea fought the urge to grimace in sympathy. It sounded like the mission desk had become their team’s version of the Tora the cat assignment—tedious, mind-numbing busywork meant to keep them from causing trouble.

He almost dreaded being put back on the mission roster if that’s what was awaiting him, until a realisation dawned on him.

Desk duty also came with access to mission rosters. Schedules. Assignments.

He may or may not be able to actually stop people from meddling and changing things in the timeline, but if he positioned himself carefully, he could monitor Kakashi’s missions—make sure he wasn’t reassigned or benched on important missions due to unforeseen changes in the timeline.

He hated desk duty. That hadn’t changed, but he could handle undercover missions, and he’d just given himself one.

They accompanied him all the way to the mission desk. The moment they stepped into the building, Sukea’s eyes flicked to the mission rosters posted behind the counter. Genma trudged forward to check in with the bored-looking chūnin stationed there, while Guy struck up a conversation with a passing courier about optimal shinobi stretching techniques.

Sukea, meanwhile, lingered just long enough to catch a glimpse of what he needed.

Team 7—Kakashi’s team—was scheduled to return today. The mission log was intact. No signs of reassignment. No sudden changes in team composition.

For now.

Sukea smiled as he leaned against the wall and cheerfully greeted every chūnin who passed, waving like they were old friends. All the while, his eyes scanned the paperwork with casual precision.

He lingered just long enough to be annoying before one of the staff finally snapped, pointing at both him and Guy with barely contained irritation.

“If neither of you has clearance to return to duty, then get out. You’re a menace to productivity.”

Sukea smiled brightly and allowed himself to be ushered out—mission accomplished.

Besides, he had somewhere important to be.

Team 7 was due back soon.

—

The gates of Konoha came into view, and with them, a familiar flash of red hair. Kushina was already waiting, bright and unmistakable. She quickly caught sight of him and beamed.

“Well, look who’s alive!” she called, waving him over. “Haven’t seen you in forever!”

Sukea jogged over, his expression smoothing automatically into a practised smile—only half a second too slow in remembering he had to use his whole face for it now, maskless as he was.

They slipped back into their usual rhythm with ease, falling into conversation while they waited for Team 7’s return. Sukea nodded toward the scroll poking out of her pouch. “How’s the sealing tutoring going with Minato?”

Kushina’s whole face lit up. She tugged the scroll free and unrolled it with a flourish, revealing a chaotic scrawl of seals, ink smudges, and a visible singe mark.

“I think I’ve finally figured something out! But if this doesn’t work, I swear pretty boy is utterly unteachable, y’know?”

She launched into a breathless explanation, gesturing wildly as she pointed out how she was going to try to teach Minato next time. And now, apparently, Sukea as well.

To his surprise, it actually started making sense.

Maybe Kushina was getting better at teaching. Or maybe Sukea’s mind was simply fluent now in the strange logic of people trying to explain things badly—thank you, Naruto. Whatever the reason, theory that had once seemed stubborn was finally clicking into place. He nodded along, genuinely interested—and learning more than he expected.

Then their impromptu lesson was cut short when a squeal cut through the air.

“Sukea!”

He barely had time to brace before Rin barreled into him, hugging tightly enough to jostle his still-healing shoulder. He suppressed a wince.

She pulled back to grab his hands without hesitation, warm and familiar and excited—until her brow furrowed.

Then, without warning, she yanked his sleeves up, staring in shock as she saw bandages and how far up they went.

“Rin—hey—” Sukea flinched, wincing as she peeled away the bandages.

“What did you do to yourself?!” she gasped the moment she saw some of the skin underneath.

“These are serious! Sukea, these are lightning burns!” Her fingers moved quickly, gentle but insistent, cataloguing his skin. “And cuts—and more burns—what happened?!”

Before he could get a word in, she shoved him down onto a low bench and dropped beside him, chakra already pooling in her hands. Warmth flooded into his skin as she pressed her palms over the worst burn on his forearm.

That’s when Sukea noticed the scowling presence looming just behind her.

Obito stood stiffly, arms crossed, a deep frown carved into his features. His gaze was locked on Rin’s hands cradling Sukea’s wrist, his whole body vibrating with poorly contained jealousy.

“Hold this—I need both hands free,” Rin snapped, and without ceremony, shoved Sukea’s injured hand into Obito’s startled grip.

Obito caught it on reflex, blinking down at the hand like she’d dropped an exploding tag into his hands instead of Sukea’s wrist. Obito’s ears burned red.

Rin returned to peeling away more bandages, hands glowing as she worked. Obito remained statue-still, holding Sukea’s hand like it might explode at any moment.

Sukea, resigned, shot Kakashi a long-suffering look over Rin’s bent head.

Kakashi shrugged, utterly unhelpful.

Minato coughed into his fist, looking like he was barely holding in laughter.

And Obito? Obito glared at Sukea’s hand. Then at Sukea. Then back at the hand. As though the entire situation was somehow his fault.

Sukea sighed inwardly. He could feel the jealousy radiating off the boy like heat. And frankly, he was getting tired of it—Obito’s endless sulking every time Rin showed affection to anyone else. It was childish, and no one would likely stop him because he was still young enough that people thought it was ‘cute and harmless’. Sukea was guilty of doing the same for Sakura when she was a genin, and unfortunately, he’d learnt that from Minato.

He’d have to take things into his own hands. So—fine. A lesson, give the boy a small taste of his own medicine to hopefully nudge him off this path.

He turned slightly, tilting his head just enough to let his bangs fall softly across his brow, lashes lowering ever so slightly. “Has anyone ever told you,” he said, voice light and teasing, “that your hands are quite soft for a shinobi?”

Obito short-circuited.

Then his face turned scarlet. He made a noise that might have been outrage, horror, or a dying bird. The second Rin lifted her hands off Sukea’s arm, Obito dropped it like it had burned him.

“I—I gotta go train!” he yelped, already halfway to the training field before anyone could blink.

Minato politely turned away, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

Kushina didn’t bother.

Rin groaned. “Honestly.” She turned to Kakashi, eyes narrowing. “Fine. You help me then.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes and crouched beside her, taking Sukea’s other arm with practised ease. “You really shouldn’t tease Obito like that,” he muttered under his breath. “People might get the wrong idea.”

This was his bad arm. And Kakashi knew it—handled it carefully, hands steady and sure. Their hands were the same. The same shape. The similar lightning scars were starting to form across both their knuckles from training their natural affinities.

Sukea rolled his eyes, entirely unrepentant. “If Obito’s allowed to be clingy, I should be too.”

Then, as if unable to help himself, he added with a smirk, “Would it help if I said you had nice hands, too?”

Kakashi didn’t dignify that with a response. He just shot him a flat stare that clearly translated to: ‘we have the same hands, idiot’—then pointedly turned to Rin. “His shoulder’s injured too.”

Rin’s expression immediately shifted to alarm. She practically tried to wrestle Sukea out of his shirt to inspect the damage.

Sukea shot Kakashi a pout—Rin would’ve noticed eventually, but that brat really didn’t need to report him for a joke.

—

Just as Rin finished smoothing the last traces of healing chakra over Sukea’s arms and shoulder, she leaned back, a crease between her brows and fire in her eyes.

“Now,” she began, voice calm and deadly as a senbon to the jugular, “you are going to explain exactly how—”

“MY RIVAL! YOU’RE BACK!”

A familiar booming voice cut through the air, interrupting Rin’s threat.

They all turned to see Guy sprinting toward the gate, a cloud of dust rising behind him. His face was lit with fierce determination, eyes alight with barely-contained excitement. He skidded to a stop just shy of crashing into Kakashi, fists clenched and radiating purpose.

“It is time!” Guy declared, pointing a dramatic finger directly at Kakashi. “You have returned, and now we must test our youth! To see how much we’ve both grown! A Challenge!”

Kakashi’s expression flattened in record time. His face practically screamed, Please not right now.

Rin stepped in quickly. “Not now, Guy! I’m in the middle of something here with Sukea!”

“Oh?” Guy’s head tilted. “Are you having a challenge with Sukea?! How splendid!” His eyes turned contemplative, serious. “I suppose Genma had some merit when he suggested you would be a worthy rival to our most youthful teammate… Although I still maintain the Uchiha boy would be the better match.”

“No! I— wait, what?” Rin turned toward Sukea, confused.

Sukea, meanwhile, went crimson.

It was one thing for them to speculate in private, but rivalry was serious business. Rivalry was practically sacred. You didn’t just declare a rivalry for someone else, and certainly not in public.

Absolutely not.

To make matters worse, Rin had just been giving him a look before Guy interrupted. The Look. The one that screamed: I’m about to dissect your behaviour, motivations, and poor self-preservation instincts until you either cry or improve. There was nothing playful in it either—just pure overachieving, exasperated medic-nin fury. And apparently, Sukea had absolutely no defences left against it; her seeing him like a little brother no longer exempted him from being scolded within an inch of his life.

He needed to leave. Immediately.

Sukea glanced down and realised his hand was still loosely clasped with Kakashi’s, so he made a snap decision.

Shunshin.

They vanished in a flicker of movement, reappearing on a nearby rooftop, high enough to be out of sight from the gates.

From below, Rin’s exasperated shout echoed up after them: “Sukea!”

Then, joyously: “A delightful challenge, my Rival!” came Guy’s voice, already echoing off the village walls like a war drum.

Sukea turned and gestured toward a rooftop path. “I have an idea for somewhere to train while we let Guy tire himself out.”

Kakashi’s eye narrowed with suspicion. “You usually encourage Guy’s challenges…”

Down below, Rin shouted again—louder this time and Kakashi’s eyebrows raised in response when Sukea almost started running to make his way to the supposed training spot.

“You’re running from Rin.” Kakashi accused.

“Of course not. I am a responsible clan heir,” Sukea replied, eyes fixed straight ahead, “and am certainly not fleeing a very talented medic-nin who could un-heal me and give a three-minute lecture while doing it.”

“The Hatake clan doesn’t have an heir,” Kakashi said dryly. “We’re too small.”

“Tell that to half the clan heads and the Hokage,” Sukea sighed. “While you’ve been gone, they’ve already decided that we are wrong, and I’m already experiencing inter-clan disputes.”

From down the street, Guy’s unmistakable voice rang out again, louder this time, closer: “RIVAL! YOUTH AWAITS!”

Sukea arched a brow. “Now, if you don’t come with me, I will leave you here to accept Guy’s challenge.”

That did it.

Without a word, Kakashi stepped closer to Sukea and followed him across the rooftops.

—

“You brought us to the Inuzuka compound?” Kakashi asked, eyeing the tall fences and sniffing warily at the scent of unfamiliar ninken on the breeze.

“Yep,” Sukea said, far too casually.

Kakashi didn’t look away. “Why?”

He didn’t get an answer. Not right away. Because a blur of fur and muscle came barreling out of the courtyard, barking joyfully. Kuromaru landed beside them in a practised skid, tail wagging, immediately circling them in excited loops. His large snout pressed eagerly into the crook behind Sukea’s knee before moving to Kakashi. The hound gave him a thorough inspection—nose pressed into boots, pants, and shin-guards—while Kakashi stood frozen, posture stiff and wary.

Then she arrived.

Tsume Inuzuka strode through the courtyard gate, letting it clang shut behind her. Her usual look—somewhere between predatory amusement and battlefield readiness—was firmly in place. Her eyes locked onto them with a focus that made both Hatake boys subtly straighten.

Kakashi took an instinctive half-step back. His shoulders drew tight.

Tsume stopped a few paces away and sniffed once, her brows lifting in open surprise. “Huh. No wonder you two kept the twin thing under wraps for so long.” She stepped in, squinting. “You smell almost identical. It’s uncanny.”

Kakashi’s hand twitched subtly toward his weapons pouch. Just a flicker. But Sukea saw.

Sukea stepped in automatically, his tone clipped and cool: “Down, boy.”

It was clipped, commanding—an echo of another lifetime or like the kid was Pakkun. Kakashi froze mid-motion, eyes flashing to meet his in a flicker of surprise.

“She already knows we’re twins,” Sukea added, more quietly now. “Most of the clan heads do. Blame Choza. Shikaku. Maybe Mikoto Uchiha had a hand in it, too. But it’s not like people recognise me on duty, anyway.”

“And you’ve got a treaty with us!” Tsume added brightly, flashing her teeth.

Kakashi blinked. “What? Since when?”

“Clan politics.” Sukea waved a hand dismissively, brushing the matter off like it wasn’t still giving him a headache. “Long story short: we’re under a reconciliation truce. The old one lapsed when our numbers dropped below three.”

Kakashi went still. “Three…?”

“Yup. Three Hatake. And since we were hiding that there were two of us, this makes up for lost time. It’s retroactive—from our birth to when the clan fell below three again.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It’s temporary. About five years.”

Just enough time to last until they hit their mid-teens—right around when Sukea had disappeared into ANBU the first time around. It might be good timing if he decides to use ANBU to slip into the shadows again in this lifetime, he muses to himself.

“Mm,” Tsume hummed, voice sly as her gaze drifted to Kakashi. “No reason the treaty has to expire in five years. I’m sure we could work something out…”

Before Kakashi could react, she reached up and ruffled his hair like he was one of her own pups. He recoiled with a quiet growl, shoulders bristling.

Sukea shot her a flat, warning look—silent but unmistakable: Back off. He’s mine, and I’m not letting you drag him into some political matchmaking scheme.

Tsume only smirked, utterly unrepentant. She folded her arms. “So? What brings you here? Don’t tell me this is a social call.”

Sukea gave a put-upon sigh. “Came to take advantage of our shiny new treaty. Thought I’d train here a bit. Introduce Kakashi.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not dodging your sensei again, are you?”

Before Sukea could answer, Kakashi deadpanned, “He’s running from my teammate. Rin.”

“And you’re running from one of mine,” Sukea shot back, glaring sideways. “So count yourself lucky I brought you, too.”

Tsume let out a barking laugh, Kuromaru echoing her with an amused woof.

“Alright, enough puppy fights,” she said, reaching out to grab them both by the back of their shirts and tugging them forward. “If this is a play date, then get your butts inside already.”

Chapter Text

Tsume hauled them to the far end of the Inuzuka compound, where the buildings gave way to an open field. The space stretched wide, bordered by treeline, and was alive with the sounds of barking, shouting, and the occasional burst of laughter. Everywhere, Inuzuka of all ages trained with their ninken.

Sukea saw the shift in Kakashi immediately—his posture straightened, gaze sharpening with interest. Training grounds always had that effect on him. Sukea couldn’t help but admit to himself that he was also excited.

Tsume strode through it all like she owned the place, and veered toward a particularly noisy pack of children with pups yapping at their heels, dipping in and out of the trees.

“Oi!” Tsume barked. “You lot! Got room for two more?”

They screeched to a halt. A few of the children blinked up at her, while the oldest—a sharp-eyed girl with her hair in a messy braid—narrowed her gaze at the two strangers behind Tsume. Sizing them up.

Kakashi deflated from his excitement about training and returned the other child’s critical look. Sukea merely tilted his head, the edges of his mouth quirking with faint amusement.

There was a long pause before the group of kids huddled together, whispering furiously—everyone nearby had enhanced hearing and could hear every word regardless.

“There’s two of them,” someone reasoned, “so if we put one on each team, it’ll still be even if they both suck at this game.”

“It’s not a game,” a serious child snapped. “It’s training.”

“They’re not Inuzuka,” another pointed out, voice uncertain. “And they don’t even have dogs.”

“They’re not totally useless,” a girl piped up—one Sukea recognised from the previous day. “One of them summoned a dog. Also, when we had a mission from Tsume to sneak past some guys, he was already gone by the time we got past our mission objective! I didn’t even see him leave!”

A few muttered in intrigue at that, though the girl reluctantly admitted she didn’t know which one of them was the one she helped, she just recognised them by smell.

Eventually, the children broke formation, the one who had first scrutinised them stepping forward with a firm nod. “Okay. They can join. One on each team.”

“How generous,” Sukea said with a dry smile. “What are we even doing anyway?”

“You came for a playdate, you get a playdate.” Tsume grinned wolfishly, and Sukea didn’t miss the glint in her eye—knows enough about looking underneath the underneath to see, she’s testing them. “Classic drill. Two teams. One team hides, one tracks. Points for stealth, coordination, and holding your target. No actual maiming.”

Kakashi looked unimpressed at the word ‘playdate’.

As the kids scrambled to sort themselves into teams, Sukea sauntered forward with exaggerated casualness—only to reach into Kakashi’s pouch and yank out a familiar scroll.

“Dibs on Pakkun,” he said, already flicking it open with practised ease. “We’re training stealth and evasion, after all.”

There was a puff of smoke, and the pug blinked up at him, ready for orders.

Sukea handed the scroll back to Kakashi, who accepted it silently, his expression sharpening. Whatever reservations he’d had evaporated seeing Sukea take this seriously. He summoned Bull beside him, posture shifting into something far more serious than a game of tag has any right to inspire.

Sukea approached the hiding team, which included some of the genin he’d hidden amongst when sneaking past Choza and the rest of the Ino-Shika-Cho.

That left Kakashi to be claimed by the tracking team.

“Make it entertaining,” Tsume said, then whistled sharply to signal the start of the round.

The kids scattered instantly.

Sukea glanced sidelong at his makeshift teammates before darting after them into the tree cover.

—

By the third round of the training exercise, it had become painfully obvious that letting the two Hatake end up on opposite teams had been a tactical mistake for the Inuzuka.

“I can’t even tell them apart half the time!” one of the older kids groaned, flopping onto the grass during their brief regroup. “Their scent trails keep overlapping—how are we supposed to track anything like this?! It’s a miracle we found him once!”

Kakashi remained silent, arms crossed, his eyes sharp with thought. He hadn’t liked that Sukea let himself get tagged in the first round—clearly on purpose, to keep the game moving—but that didn’t make losing to him any less irritating.

Their self-proclaimed team captain turned on Kakashi with mounting frustration. “Okay, new plan. Kakashi, you track him. You can probably tell the difference between your own scents.”

Kakashi hesitated. “My sense of smell’s better than the average shinobi,” he admitted, “but I don’t think it’s sharp enough for tracking.”

The Inuzuka gave him a look that could only be described as dumbfounded. “That’s because you’re not using chakra, genius. Even a puppy can do it. You just push chakra to your nose—like this—” they made a puffing sound “—and bam. Boosted sense of smell. Easy.”

It sounded suspiciously oversimplified.

Still, Kakashi wasn’t about to back down from a challenge. With a sigh, he lowered his mask just enough, concentrated, and inhaled deeply while focusing his chakra.

Pakkun’s scent was the easiest to pick out—faint and familiar and somewhere to the north. Then came something sharper, a little more east and downwind, edged with a kind of electric warmth that could only be Sukea. Kakashi focused, tried to isolate it and drew in another breath—

And immediately regretted it.

The scent flared too sharp, and vanished in a blink, replaced by a sudden, metallic tang. Then, something warm ran down his face. His mask felt sticky and suffocating.

Kakashi recoiled, cursing softly.

“Time out! Training accident!” someone yelled from across the field.

“Ashi! What did you do?!” someone else gasped. “Go get Tsume!”

“I’m fine,” Kakashi muttered, turning away from another Inuzuka trying to help. His voice was tight with annoyance—and embarrassment—as he realised that what he had just done was profoundly stupid, and blood had soaked through his mask. It clung uncomfortably to his face.

Sukea arrived moments later, slipping through the group with a quiet urgency that made the kids instinctively step aside. His expression was tight, and he immediately crouched beside Kakashi, hands already moving.

Without a word, he tugged Kakashi’s mask off, tilted his head forward to keep the blood from running into his throat, and held him in place as he scanned him for further injuries with quick, practised efficiency. It was the same methodical thoroughness Kakashi had felt Rin use on missions—calm, clinical, locking him down so he can’t run.

Sukea pressed a clean wad of bandage into his hands and helped him re-cover his face with it just as Tsume arrived, the kid who’d been sent for her trailing behind, clearly rattled.

“He’s over here! I didn’t mean to!” the kid blurted. “I didn’t know someone could sniff too hard!”

Tsume sighed and gave the kid a light cuff on the back of the head. “Lesson learned. Don’t teach clan techniques like an idiot.”

She crouched beside the Hatake boys, glancing between them.

“Don’t look so panicked,” she told Sukea with a short laugh. To Kakashi, it looked less like panic and more like hyper-focused mission mode, but some of the tension still eased from his posture at her words.

“He probably just popped a blood vessel,” she added, patting Kakashi on the head like he was one of her own. “Happens all the time with Inuzuka kids when they don’t focus their chakra correctly. Messy, but harmless.”

Kakashi groaned into the bandage.

—

Kakashi looked thoroughly miserable as they trudged through Tsume’s house, clutching a blood-stained wad of bandage to his nose.

“Hey,” Sukea said lightly, aiming for cheer, “you’re officially the first one between us to learn an Inuzuka technique. From an actual Inuzuka, no less.”

Kakashi shot him a wary side-eye over the bandage, but the corners of his eyes eased a little. A win.

Tsume huffed as she led them deeper into the house. “Neither of you should try that again until I train you properly.”

That made Sukea blink. She was willing to teach them? He hadn’t expected that. Back when he’d had the Sharingan, copying clan techniques—especially from allies—had always been heavily discouraged. Getting a direct invitation to learn from the Inuzuka felt like a rare kind of privilege.

“And you,” Tsume added, casting a look at Kakashi, “clean yourself up and leave the mask off until you stop leaking.”

Kakashi growled lowly in protest, still muffled through the bandage.

Sukea tilted his head sympathetically. “Want to be Sukea until we get home?” he offered. “Easier than holding a henge.”

There was a pause, then Kakashi gave a short, reluctant nod. Acceptable terms.

Tsume kicked open the bathroom door. “Don’t bleed on anything important.”

While Kakashi rinsed his face at the sink, Sukea rummaged through his pouch, frowning. “Forgot I’m almost out of paint. We’ll need to stop on the way back.”

“No need,” Tsume said, reaching over Kakashi without hesitation to open a cabinet. She dug around and pulled out a small tin nearly identical to Sukea’s. “Here.”

Sukea cracked the lid open. Inside, the paint was a deep crimson—nearly the same shade as the Inuzuka clan markings.

“Thanks,” he said slowly, uncertain. “But I usually go with purple.”

“I think you looked better in red,” Tsume insisted. “Besides, I don’t want it. Belonged to some guy I used to see—he thought he was actually sneaking in when he painted Inuzuka fangs on when he came around, and now he’s too embarrassed to come back after some of the girls saw him and teased him a little.”

She glanced between the two of them, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “And it’s not like either of you wears your clan’s symbol. You might as well benefit from mine.”

Then, with a smug little grin, she turned and left them to it.

Sukea snorted and shook his head, dismissing it as just her marking her territory.

Kakashi sneered. “Why would we wear the Hatake symbol? All it does is remind people of... him.”

They hadn’t talked about Sakumo. Not really. But the bitterness in Kakashi’s voice was thick, still sharp around the edges. Still raw.

Honestly, even when Sukea had come to terms with his own feelings, he’d never worn the clan crest either. After the Nine-Tails attack, most of his clan's possessions were gone. Recreating clan-wear for a nearly dead clan had felt like a waste of time. Too much effort. Too little point.

“With a clan as small as ours,” he said quietly, “he’s just the first one people think of…”

Kakashi gave a low grunt, dismissing the thought without arguing. But he didn’t deny it.

—

They dressed quickly, Sukea borrowing Kakashi’s spare outfit from his mission pack, Kakashi now in Sukea’s civilian clothes and wig. The last step was the paint.

Sukea pocketed the red and passed what little purple remained to Kakashi. He watched as his younger self applied it slowly, carefully. When Kakashi finally turned, face paint in place, seeking silent approval—

A fresh trickle of blood slid down from his nose.

Sukea’s heart stopped.

Brown hair. Purple paint. Blood.

No. No, it’s not her—it’s just Kakashi in disguise. He’s fine. Tsume said he was fine.

He stepped forward instantly, pressing a clean bandage to Kakashi’s face with gentle urgency. He didn’t let his hands shake despite the warm blood on his fingers and the cold flash of memory clawing at him..

Kakashi blinked up at him, confused. “You okay? You look pale.”

Sukea forced a smile. “Yeah. Think that’s just my complexion. Village-bound for too long.” He lifted his stained fingers. “Let me wash up.”

He washed his hands slowly. Mechanically. The water turned pale red as it spiralled down the drain. He stared. The diluted colour swirled, hypnotic.

‘It’s not coming off.’

The whisper in his head was cold. ‘You did this to her. Your hands will never—’

A knock broke the silence.

“You two done in there?” Tsume called. “Or should I send a search party?”

Sukea blinked, shaken loose from the spiral. He dried his hands with practised ease, composed himself, and opened the door.

Tsume gave him a quick once-over. “You look pale.”

Sukea lifted his eyes and forced them into an easy crescent, a practised smile forming beneath the comfort of the mask. He slipped back into routine like armour. “Just tired. Think we pushed a bit too hard. I should get Kakashi home to rest.”

He stepped past her, movements calm and measured. But Tsume didn’t follow right away. Her gaze lingered on him—sharp, assessing. She didn’t press, but she didn’t buy it either.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But don’t forget—we’re allies now. If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

Then her usual grin returned, quick and toothy. “Also, both of you are coming back for proper tracking drills. I don’t want to be blamed for giving either of you nosebleeds before you’re eighteen at least.”

Kakashi glanced over, brow furrowed in confusion at that comment, but Sukea barely reacted. He waved a hand, dismissive, already guiding Kakashi down the hall. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll come back.”

Behind them, Tsume didn’t say anything more. But Sukea could feel her gaze on his back the whole way out.

—

Kakashi’s nose was still bleeding on and off on the way home, and it was a smart move that he wasn’t wearing his mask.

Sukea was getting better at stomaching the sight of blood trickling down a face that wasn’t hers but felt close enough to rattle something in his chest.

“Shower,” Sukea ordered the second they got home.

Kakashi didn’t argue. He turned and disappeared down the hall without a word, which Sukea took as a small mercy.

A few minutes later, Kakashi emerged freshly scrubbed and slightly damp, his white hair already rebelling against the lingering weight of the water. He had two tissues sticking out of his nostrils and an annoyed look in his eye as he flopped onto the couch. Tugging absently at the loose mask around his neck, he muttered, “Think it’ll stop bleeding by tomorrow? I’ve got a mission.”

“If not,” Sukea offered hopefully, “I could just go in your place?”

“Choza said he’d tell Minato if he catches us switching again,” Kakashi muttered, voice nasal through the tissue.

“Sure,” Sukea said, flopping down beside him. “But that only matters if Choza catches us. And funny thing—he has no reason to see me right now. I’m on medical leave, remember?”

Kakashi narrowed his eyes.

Sukea continued, smug, “Besides, I’m basically recovered now. But you—well, you’ve got an injury.”

Kakashi frowned, thinking it over. He hated rule-breaking on principle—but technically, they weren’t breaking any rules. They were the same person. Besides, it was that or possibly bleeding through his mask in the middle of a mission.

Kakashi groaned but didn’t argue further.

Sukea beamed. “Excellent!” He shot off the couch and disappeared into their room, already pulling together a mission pack.

—

The next morning, Sukea was up early, dressed and ready for Kakashi’s mission. He’d just finished adjusting the hitai-ate and slipping on Kakashi’s chuunin vest, only to stop short.

Kakashi was also dressed and ready, wearing Sukea’s civilian outfit and slipping on his sandals.

“…Uh,” Sukea said, eyebrows rising. “Where are you going?”

“I’m seeing you off,” Kakashi replied without pause, as if that should’ve been obvious.

Sukea blinked. “Why?”

Kakashi looked at him like he was an idiot. “Because you’re me today, and I want to make sure you are actually on time to meet my team.”

Sukea rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to be late as Kakashi, but Sukea didn’t have the energy to argue, so he let the kid join him.

They stepped outside together and were met immediately by a bellowing voice.

“MY RIVAL! I stayed out all night looking for you for our challenge!”

Kakashi flinched.

Guy, wild-eyed and dramatic, sprinted toward them—and flew right past Kakashi to scoop Sukea into a crushing bear hug.

Sukea and Kakashi exchanged a look. Best not to explain the switch.

“Guy,” Sukea managed, still breathless, “I have a mission—”

“Then we shall race there!” Guy declared, eyes shining. “A challenge before your departure!”

Sukea relented with a faint smile. “Fine. But if I win, you go home and rest. You look like you need it.”

“And if I win,” Guy countered, pointing dramatically, “you must train with me when you return!”

“Deal.”

Kakashi stared at him like he’d just personally betrayed him. He might grumble at Guy’s antics, but that was still his rival.

—

Thanks to Guy’s challenge, they arrived early—so early that only Rin was there, perched on a low wall and rubbing sleep from her eyes. She glanced up, brightening when she saw them—until her expression twisted with alarm.

Kakashi’s nose was bleeding again.

“Oh my god, Sukea—are you okay?!” she gasped, jumping down and hurrying over.

Guy stopped mid-celebration from the race, blinking at the sight, then a thoughtful expression crossed his face. Without warning, he grabbed Sukea and yanked him behind a nearby wall with conspiratorial intensity.

“This is perfect!” he whispered. “We must see if leaving them alone together will ignite a spark of rivalry!”

Sukea frowned. “What?”

“Rin and Sukea! A perfect match of youthful passion and potential conflict! Genma said it! Perhaps she can help him overcome his weakness to blood! I must observe!”

Sukea leaned around the wall just in time to see Rin pressing a glowing fingertip up Kakashi’s nose. Kakashi flinched, recoiling with a muffled, nasally sound of protest.

“…I don’t think it’s working,” Sukea muttered.

Guy squinted, confused. “Why not?”

“Well, one, you can’t force people to be rivals. Two…” He gestured vaguely at himself. “You left the wrong one of us with Rin.”

Guy whipped back around, staring hard at Sukea. His mouth opened slowly. “Wait… you’re my youthful teammate? Then that means…” He gasped. “That’s my rival?!”

“Yeah. And if we could keep this from Sensei, that’d be great. Wearing masks and having bloody noses don’t mix well, so we swapped.” Sukea awkwardly admits.

Sukea can hear Rin trying to grill Kakashi on how he keeps getting injured. Kakashi’s muffled answers were growing more strained.

Guy paled. “What if Rin steals my rival?!”

Without hesitation, he charged back around the corner, grabbed a startled Kakashi by the arm, and began dragging him away from Rin like he was rescuing a hostage.

“It was fortuitous seeing you today, Rin, but I must return my youthful companion home and restore him to full health! Our team’s spirit depends on it!” he shouted over his shoulder, dragging a bewildered Kakashi in his wake.

Rin stood blinking in their wake, then turned to Sukea with an exasperated huff. “Seriously, how does he keep getting hurt? He should just tell me! You’re his friend, so you should know.”

They were shinobi. So Sukea defaulted to the line that usually ended conversations like this. “Rin, you need to stop asking. It’s classified.”

Sukea hates having to invoke them, preferring to just avoid any related topics and running like he had been so far since so much of his old life had been classified, and it was awkward when people realised it, but he’s hoping this will get her to finally drop her hang-up about Sukea getting hurt.

She doesn’t.

Rin paused, then tilted her head. “Why would Sukea be involved in something classified?”

Right. Civilian-born. She didn’t understand yet.

Sukea exhaled slowly, reluctant. He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he wanted her to stop even more.

“Rin,” he said again, voice sharper than he meant, “when someone says something’s classified, you don’t follow up. I can’t tell you. Sukea could get in trouble for an information leak.”

It came out clipped. Harsher than intended. But he didn’t walk it back.

After a moment, he sighed and beckoned her closer. What he was about to say definitely skirted the edge of what he was allowed to share—but maybe it would be enough.

She hesitated, then leaned in.

“This part’s not classified,” he murmured, “but it’s close. So keep it to yourself. Guy’s dad’s name appeared on the memorial stone not long after Sukea was injured.”

Her brow furrowed. “Only shinobi who die on missions get their names engraved, right?”

“Correct.”

“So… Guy’s dad died on a mission?”

Sukea met her gaze. “That’s classified,” he said again—gentler now. Hoping she’d understand what he was really saying. That even if they could talk about it… they wouldn’t.

Rin held his gaze for a long moment. Then quietly exhaled. “Oh.”

He didn’t deflect with a joke—Kakashi wouldn’t. Instead, he looked her square in the eye and said, his voice firm:

“Don’t treat either of them differently because of it. They don’t want pity.”

Rin nodded, solemn.

That was one of the things he’d always liked about her. She understood the weight of things. Pragmatism came naturally to Rin in ways it took Sakura time to grow into.

The quiet stretched between them until finally, she asked, more casually, “How late do you think Obito’ll be today?”

Sukea considered. He knew from experience it would be around twenty minutes, but Kakashi didn’t have that knowledge yet. So he just shrugged. “If he’s more than thirty minutes late, we leave without him.”

That made Rin snort, and the tension finally eased. When Minato arrived a few minutes later, chatting warmly with Rin, Sukea let the moment wash over him.

He used to find this part—the waiting—the most irritating. But now, watching Rin laugh and Minato smile like there wasn’t a war hanging over their heads, he let himself feel something else:

Gratitude.

They were all so young.

And for once, even if it was just a C-rank, he was looking forward to the mission.

—

The ankle-deep stream gurgled quietly as they moved through it. Sukea winced inwardly as Obito stomped through the water like a civilian, every step a noisy splash that echoed through the trees.

Seriously? We're supposed to be hiding scent trails, not broadcasting our location to every shinobi in a three-kilometre radius.

But then he remembered—he was Kakashi right now. He didn’t have to swallow the irritation, didn’t have to be the endlessly patient team captain or the diplomatic Hokage. So he let it slip, voice dry and cutting:

“Can’t you walk on the water? Quietly?”

Beside him, Rin startled. She glanced down at her own soaked legs, sheepish. With a little huff, she focused, stepped up onto the surface, arms out for balance, but barely made it three steps before her chakra control faltered and she splashed right back in.

“Sorry, Kakashi…” she muttered, rubbing her neck. “I’m used to focusing chakra in my hands. Still getting the hang of it with my feet.”

“It’s hard, okay?” Obito cut in before Sukea could comment again. “Takes a ton of focus, and we’ve barely practised! It’s not like we live in the Land of Water or anything!”

He shot a scowl at Sukea. “Not everyone picks stuff up like you, Bakashi. Some of us actually have to work at it.”

And then—

SPLASH.

Obito went down hard. He came up sputtering and swearing.

“That was your fault, Kakashi! Your stupid ripple tripped me!”

“Right,” Sukea drawled. “A ripple from me walking tripped you. Makes perfect sense.”

Obito glared. Rin sighed. And for a moment, Sukea felt a flicker of realisation. This was exactly how Minato had taught them most skills.

A few quick lessons on the theory in the village, then a bulk of the actual practical practice on missions like this one.

Up ahead, Minato turned around and noticed his other student’s distress. “Hang on,” he said, stepping lightly across the water’s surface toward Obito, who was now floundering indignantly. He reached down and gripped Obito under the arms.

Obito flailed. Minato tugged.

But Minato, built more for speed and agility, wasn’t exactly the pillar of strength at this age—and Obito, wet and scowling, was heavier than he looked.

There was a moment of near-success before gravity reclaimed its prize and Obito dropped back into the water with a splash that soaked them both.

Sukea stayed where he was, perfectly balanced on the surface, dry and watching.

Water dripped from Minato’s bangs as he seemed to be puzzling out how to fix this. Rin tried—and failed—not to giggle behind her hand. Obito was already yelling about betrayal and soggy equipment.

And standing there, Sukea felt something tighten in his chest. Not grief. Not regret.

Something quieter.

He remembered how he used to think Obito and Rin lagged behind because they didn’t try hard enough. Back then, he couldn’t imagine anyone needing more than a few tries. Later, in ANBU, he’d doubled down—there, effort didn’t matter. Results did. You either kept up or you were replaced.

When the Hokage tried to give him genin teams, he’d dismissed every candidate who didn’t meet his standards.

Then he had his own Team 7 forced on him.

He’d tried to teach them the way Minato had taught him: fast, hands-on, mission-based. But it hadn’t worked.

Naruto needed days—sometimes weeks—of failing before something finally clicked. Sasuke advanced steadily but grew frustrated anytime mastery didn’t come instantly. And Sakura—Sakura had kept up, but she’d left and flourished better elsewhere. With someone who taught her like a student, not a soldier.

Now, seeing it all again—seeing Rin wobble on top of the water and Obito trip over his own feet, while Minato awkwardly laughed—it was clearer than it had ever been.

…Shikaku might’ve had a point about the mission load. It was a miracle they survived as long as they did. Training had been an afterthought, wedged between one near-death experience and the next. He didn’t like how Shikaku had gone about voicing that opinion, but… he wasn’t completely wrong.

Chapter Text

To Sukea’s relief, the treehopping home wasn’t as rough as the waterwalking during the mission. Of course, hopping across solid objects was easier—more familiar—and just to be safe, they stuck to the lower branches.

When Rin misjudged her chakra mid-jump and slipped, Sukea was there instantly. He caught her wrist and hauled her back up without breaking stride. Minato didn’t even notice.

The moment the village gates came into view, Obito’s eyes lit up. He dropped from the trees and hit the ground running.

“Oh! I might actually make it in time for clan training with Grandma if I sprint!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Wait—clan training?” Sukea called, catching up with ease.

Obito scowled at him mid-run. “Geez, you’re such an ass. You don’t have to look so shocked every time I mention I train, Bakashi.”

And then he was gone, vanishing through the village gates without slowing down.

The gate guards startled at the blur of movement, hands twitching toward their weapons.

“He’s with us,” Sukea called, waving as he passed by. “All good.”

Minato and Rin were still catching up when Sukea spotted the small welcoming party just inside the gates—Kushina, Tsume with Kuromaru by her side, and Kakashi, still disguised as Sukea.

The moment Kakashi spotted him, he peeled away from the others and walked over quickly. “Tsume figured it out,” he muttered. “She knew I wasn’t you after, like, ten minutes. I didn’t know she was having puppies. Apparently, you did. But she let me stay anyway. Started teaching me how to enhance my sense of smell… and other things.”

He glanced around warily. “Can we please switch back soon? I want my mask back.”

Sukea raised a brow. Kakashi looked… off-kilter. A little pale.

“Wait. Puppies?” Sukea echoed, before the meaning clicked.

Oh.

Oh no.

Sukea froze.

THE TALK.

He’d meant to give Kakashi the talk earlier—had even made a mental checklist, complete with possible books he liked that probably wouldn’t scar him for life. And he’d… forgotten.

Before he could answer, Rin bounded up and, without hesitation, threw her arms around ‘Sukea’ in greeting.

Kakashi froze, stiff as a board, but didn’t push her away.

Sukea watched, something in his chest tightening as he noticed what he hadn’t seen before. Her arms weren’t just hugging—they were checking. Her hands moved with subtle efficiency across his ribs, shoulder, and forearm.

She was scanning for injuries.

Had she always done that?

And if so, how had he never noticed?

When satisfied, Rin pulled back, smiling up at Kakashi, then turned to Sukea. “Thanks for today,” she said warmly. “I’m heading to the hospital—if I’m lucky, I can still catch a shift.”

She waved and trotted off down the street, vanishing into the village bustle.

Sukea was still processing that when Kushina’s voice rang out like a bell across the square:

“PRETTYBOY!”

Minato flinched.

Tsume was beside Kushina, smirking.

Minato approached the pair with caution.

Kushina greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “Look who I ran into,” she said, nodding toward Tsume. “Turns out she needed to talk to you. Something clan-related for one of your students.”

Minato blinked. “I already asked Chōza to help coordinate clan training. He said everything was covered.”

Tsume snorted. “Choza’s from a noble clan. He knows jack-all about beast clans. I’m taking over Kakashi’s training.”

“…You’re what now?”

“There’s an old treaty between the Inuzuka and Hatake. I’m invoking it. You don’t get a say.” Tsume flashed her teeth.

Minato sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do I need to do?”

“Exactly what you’ve been doing,” she replied sweetly. “Absolutely nothing.”

Minato exhaled, clearly accepting his fate, and turned to Sukea. “Would you mind dropping the mission scroll off with—” He paused, glancing around. “Where did the rest of the team go?”

Sukea took pity on him. “They had other things to do. I can take Sukea with me,” he added, gesturing toward Kakashi.

Minato nodded, visibly relieved. “Perfect.” He handed off the scroll and turned back to face the women, already bracing for the conversation that was sure to follow.

—

Sukea and Kakashi ducked into a quiet alley and swapped quickly—Wig, mask, vest, and a few utility pouches. They moved with practised ease.

While Kakashi adjusted the fit of his chuunin vest, Sukea reapplied what little face paint he had left, then scribbled a barebones mission report on the mission scroll. He handed it off without fanfare.

Kakashi glanced at it. “This is barely a paragraph.”

“It was a scouting mission,” Sukea replied dryly. “Nothing ever happens on those. The highlight was watching your team flail around trying to water-walk.”

Kakashi groaned. “Seriously? We’ve had, like, two lessons. They still can’t do it?”

“Takes most people a week,” Sukea said, deadpan. “At this rate, they’ll get there—maybe after a few more missions.”

He tilted his head. “Speaking of which, when’s your next one?”

Kakashi frowned. “You don’t know?”

Sukea rolled his eyes. “How would I? I’m not back on active duty yet, so I haven’t seen anyone’s mission roster, let alone yours and no offence, but after a few decades, they all start to blur together.”

Kakashi gave him a flat look, but rattled off his assignments for the week anyway. Sukea listened carefully. Thankfully, Kakashi had the next morning free—just enough time for the Inuzuka training Tsume was likely planning. Still, as the list went on, Sukea noted how little downtime Kakashi actually had. Not enough for proper, focused instruction. Not enough for anything meaningful.

Sukea frowned. “Hmm.”

He was already half-turned away, hands beginning to form a string of seals.

“I’ve got a few things to take care of,” he said. “You can drop the scroll off, right? That whole ‘buddy system’ thing was just Chōza’s way of keeping me from poaching your team’s missions.”

Kakashi blinked. “Wait, wh—?”

With a soft puff of smoke, Sukea vanished, leaving Kakashi standing alone in the alleyway, scroll in hand.

—

Sukea headed straight for the merchant district. The Akimichi didn’t maintain a traditional clan compound—too many of them ran storefronts for that to be practical—so instead, their homes were scattered across the village in a loose, informal web. He paused in front of a modest house tucked between two bustling Akimichi-run businesses, the aroma of fried mochi and seasoned skewers wafting through the air.

He could feel Chōza’s chakra inside.

He didn’t knock.

The house was quiet, almost serene. If Chōza lived with anyone, they weren’t home. Sukea moved with practised ANBU precision, silent and undetected, until he reached the kitchen. There, Chōza stood at the sink, humming faintly as he dried dishes. The man nearly dropped a plate when he turned and spotted Sukea perched casually on the countertop.

“Sukea?! You—what are you doing here?”

“I want back on the mission roster,” Sukea said, skipping the preamble. He lifted his arms, sleeves tugged back to reveal his healed forearms—no casts, just pale, closed scars. “I’m recovered. Ahead of schedule.”

Chōza blinked at him, clearly thrown. “I… I didn’t think you wanted to stay on the team.”

“Where else would I go?” Sukea crossed his arms. “You’re my sensei.”

For a moment, Chōza looked like he might cry. Then, cautiously, he offered, “I thought maybe… the genin corps? Or with Tsume?”

Sukea raised a brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No!” Chōza looked genuinely pained. “I just—after everything—I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Sukea snorted. “Tsume’s training me, yeah, so you can stop with the clan politics lectures. But she’d make a terrible jōnin sensei, and I’ve grown rather fond of the team. Besides, not many people could survive Guy.”

That coaxed a tight, grateful smile from Chōza. But his expression soon darkened, guilt creeping in like a shadow. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “For the council meeting. For dragging you into all that. I didn’t realise how dangerous it was. I—Did Danzo do anything? Are you okay?”

The genuine worry in his voice gave Sukea pause. In the chaos afterwards, he’d forgotten just how abruptly he’d exposed that small bit of information and then vanished. Of course they were worried.

“Danzo hadn’t even looked at me before that meeting,” Sukea said, his voice measured. “Not once. Not while I’m dressed like this. I’d been keeping low—just enough to stay off his radar, not low enough that no one would notice if I disappeared. I saw things. Things I couldn’t act on. Too much plausible deniability. I was hoping to stay invisible.”

“And I ruined that,” Chōza said quietly, guilt twisting his features as he looked away.

Sukea exhaled. “So if anything happens now—if Danzo does something to me or someone I care about—you’re going to help fix it. Or I won’t forgive you.”

It wasn’t fair. Sukea knew it. But getting Chōza tangled in this mess was also the fastest way to ensure a clan head had his back. And he was going to need someone who could make noise if things went wrong.

Chōza met his eyes, gaze steady. “I swear.”

Then, more gently, Choza added, “Stay for dinner?”

Sukea tilted his head. “Trying to bribe me?”

“No,” Chōza said, smiling faintly. “Just—Akimichi tradition. We seal important decisions with a meal.”

Sukea stayed.

The food was good—rich and warm, filling in a way that had nothing to do with portion size and everything to do with comfort. He left that evening with a full belly, a container of leftovers to share with Kakashi, and his next mission shift already confirmed at the desk.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was a start.

—

Sukea was officially out of purple face paint.

Buying more had kept falling down the priority list. Now, he stood staring at the small tin of red in his hand, turning it over with faint indecision.

He and Kakashi had training with Tsume that morning.

She probably wouldn’t care if he showed up bare-faced in a mask. She’d seen him in one before, after all—and it was just training. Still, everything else was ready: gear packed, wig on, hitai-ate secured. The only thing missing was the paint.

He was still debating when Kakashi’s voice rang down the hall—sharp, impatient: “Hurry up already! I want to get some training in before my mission!”

With a sigh, Sukea popped the lid open, dipped his fingers in, and applied the red paint by muscle memory. He didn’t think too hard about the change. He never checked the mirror. Just closed the tin, slipped it away, and headed out the door.

—

That afternoon, Genma did a double-take when Sukea approached the mission desk.

“New face paint won’t help you sneak past me, you know,” he drawled, one brow arched.

“I’m not sneaking. Chōza cleared me—check the roster.” Sukea grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Besides, figured it was time for a change. I’ve been told red suits me.” He batted his lashes in mock elegance.

He still hadn’t seen what it looked like. Not properly. But Tsume had lit up when she saw it that morning, nodding in approval and teasing that he was finally showing his beast clan colours. Sukea hadn’t argued.

Maybe it was time.

His Sukea persona had always borrowed a little too much from Rin—She found the resemblance funny. Cute, even. But when he’d seen Kakashi wear it… He’d finally recognised it for what it was.

A tribute for a child’s tragic death… But Rin was alive. It felt like a bad omen.

And it was time to let it go.

He didn’t linger on the thought. Just eased into the routine of mission desk duty—checking scrolls, logging reports, assigning requests. The work was tedious, but comfortable. Familiar.

At least until late morning hit, and the mission desk exploded into chaos.

The calm was shattered under a wave of shinobi rushing in with returns, requests, and barely legible paperwork. Scrolls flew. Orders were shouted. Genma cursed under his breath as he dragged a stack of boxes in front of him like a barricade to avoid being volunteered for sorting duty.

Sukea, on the other hand, used the chaos.

When no one was watching too closely, he slipped a few scrolls out from behind the counter. Nothing technically restricted—just roster data he wasn’t supposed to access due to conflict of interest.

He checked Team 23 first—his team.

A rare smile tugged at his lips. Guy was scheduled to be cleared for duty by the end of the week. A proper mission was already lined up—not just another string of desk shifts. Good.

Then he looked up Team 7.

The smile faded.

So many missions. One a day, sometimes more. Mostly C-ranks. The occasional low-tier B. Escort duty. Supply runs. Patrols. Always low-risk. Always thankless.

He recognised some of them. He remembered slogging through them determinedly, never stopping to ask why it was always their team.

At the time, it hadn’t struck him as strange. But now, older and quieter, with less to prove, it was obvious.

They weren’t special.

No prestige. No strategy. Just missions everyone else passed over—and Minato, with all his kindness, didn’t say no because someone had to do them. Because Minato was a people pleaser. Because he thought these kids—his kids—could take it.

That’s how they’d ended up with Kanabi. That’s how the legend of Team 7 had grown.

Not from glory. From attrition.

The realisation hit bitter and cold.

On impulse, Sukea pulled a handful of those dull, thankless scrolls—missions he didn’t even remember completing, though he must have. In one smooth motion, he slipped them into Team 23’s slot instead, dated for just after Guy’s clearance.

If Shikaku wanted Team 7 to take fewer missions, someone had to shoulder the extra load.

And his team could handle it.

By the time anyone noticed, the paperwork would already be filed.

Task completed, Sukea drifted back to the desk and dropped into place beside Genma and his makeshift box fortress. His face was unreadable, and his movements were casual.

As if nothing at all had happened.

Chapter Text

Team 7’s mission schedule had finally eased, and Minato, ever the optimist, took it as the perfect opportunity to “go back to basics” in team training.

Kakashi wouldn’t have minded so much if Sukea had been around. But lately, his older self’s team had finally started getting missions of their own, and somehow their schedule always managed to clash with his. Whenever Kakashi had free time, Sukea was already out on a mission, much to Kakashi’s frustration.

Which was how Kakashi ended up standing at the edge of a quiet river, arms crossed, forced to watch Rin and Obito flail their way through water-walking.

Sure, they could stand on the surface, but the moment they had to move, to actually do anything while maintaining it… Everything fell apart. Their stances crumpled, their focus scattered, and their chakra control wobbled.

Minato was too focused on them to teach Kakashi something new!

Currently, they were “sparring.” It mostly looked like splashing at each other while half-tripping over their own feet. Kakashi resisted the urge to groan. He was pretty sure that if he tossed a pebble into the water near them, the ripple alone would knock one of them over.

Eventually, Minato called a break. He told them to rest while he ran to get lunch—half the team was soaked, after all—and asked Kakashi to keep an eye on things while he was gone.

Kakashi sat on the riverbank, arms still folded. He wasn’t sulking about wasting his day watching his teammates flail through chakra control drills. No, he was participating in “team bonding.” Minato’s words.

The second their teacher was out of sight, Rin and Obito ignored the break entirely and went right back out.

“Hey! Minato said to rest until he got back!” Kakashi called. “A good shinobi follows their superior’s orders!”

“He just wants someone to keep an eye on us while we train. You’re a chuunin, aren’t you?” Obito yelled back, grinning. “That means you watching should be good enough, Bakashi!”

Kakashi twitched. Calling them back now would be admitting that he wasn’t considered responsible enough to watch them properly.

So he let them.

It went poorly.

Rin lost her footing first. She let out a startled yelp and fell with a splash, sending a wave right into Obito. He overcorrected his stance too fast and plunged in after her.

Kakashi didn’t move at first. They’d fallen before. They’d be fine.

Then Rin surfaced, coughing, one arm floundering to maintain the water beneath her feet while the other gripped Obito’s jacket. His head lolled unnaturally. He wasn’t moving.

Something was wrong.

Kakashi was on his feet before the thought fully formed, sandals skimming across the surface like it was solid ground. Rin was half-sinking under Obito’s weight, her teeth clenched with the effort of keeping them both afloat.

“Take him!” she gasped. “My grip is slipping!”

Kakashi didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Obito under the arms and dragged him toward shore while Rin steadied herself behind them.

He turned back to help her, but she shouted, “It’s faster if you start treatment—just go!”

So Kakashi dropped to his knees beside Obito and followed her hoarse instructions from the water. Hands on his chest. Press. Count. Don’t panic. Just move.

He didn’t let himself think. He only acted.

Because keeping his teammates alive wasn’t optional. He was in charge. He couldn’t be a bad leader. Something had happened to Sukea’s team—something that had broken him—and Kakashi would not let that happen to his.

He yanked down his mask, tilted Obito’s head back—

Breathe.

He kept going until Obito jerked, coughing and sputtering up water. Rin reached them a moment later, dropping to her knees and rolling him onto his side, hands glowing green.

Kakashi sat back as she took over. Obito was fine. He’d be fine.

Kakashi grabbed his canteen, rinsed the pond water out of his mouth, and spat into the grass.

He had just pulled his mask back up when Obito groaned weakly, “Ugh… Rin… you saved me…”

“Actually,” Rin said with a far-too-innocent tone, “Kakashi pulled you out.”

Then, with a wicked little smile, she leaned closer and stage-whispered, “He even took off his mask to give you rescue breaths.”

Obito bolted upright—too fast. He wobbled. “WHAT?!”

“Please tell me you saw his face,” Rin begged.

“No!” Obito squawked. “Did you?!”

“Nope,” she said with a sigh. “He had it back on before I got a good look.”

Obito groaned and buried his face in his hands, cheeks turning crimson. “Unbelievable. He took my first kiss, and I didn’t even get to see his face!”

Expression blank, Kakashi turned away and stared stoically into the trees.

This is what they were focused on?

When Minato returned with lunch and a smile, none of them said a word about what happened. Kakashi’s soaked clothes were chalked up to a “water fight.” Minato, bless him, didn’t press.

They sat in the grass and ate like nothing had happened.

Obito refused to look at Kakashi. Rin kept smirking.

And Kakashi? Kakashi was cold, damp, and still had the faint taste of pond water in his mouth.

He shovelled food into his mouth like it might help wash it away.

Then it was back to training.

—

After lunch, training had rapidly gone downhill.

Obito spent the entire afternoon cycling between glaring daggers at Kakashi, blushing and pretending he didn’t exist. Rin had started acting oddly too—throwing Kakashi furtive glances, whispering to Obito, saying something that managed to break his focus. It never failed. Obito would stumble, Rin would catch him, and then he'd whip around to glare at Kakashi all over again, like it was somehow his fault.

By late afternoon, Kakashi's patience had worn paper-thin.

Obito, flailing about something Rin said, nearly pitched into the stream again. Rin caught him by the wrist just in time, sparing Minato from yet another waterlogged rescue. Minato didn’t even flinch; he looked like he'd long since given up trying to control the chaos. Kakashi stood off to the side with his arms crossed, watching it all with growing irritation.

He needed out. Immediately.

“Clan training,” Kakashi muttered, already tugging the straps of his gear tighter. “I’m heading out.”

Minato only nodded, either too polite or too exhausted, to question the abrupt departure. Kakashi had apparently stayed long enough to keep Minato happy.

Kakashi turned and left.

He was halfway to the Inuzuka compound, hoping Tsume might be free for a spar or lesson, when someone stepped into his path.

“Hatake.”

Kakashi halted.

The man was older, one eye hidden beneath a thick bandage, a cane in one hand. Kakashi recognised him—barely. A council member, maybe.

“You look better than when I last saw you,” the man said casually.

Kakashi narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

A pause. Then a thin smile. “Ah. My mistake. You must be Kakashi, then. I’m Council member Shimura Danzō. You and your brother look remarkably alike.”

Kakashi stayed still.

Danzō studied him, gaze sharp and assessing, the same way he’d noticed others who knew had started doing lately—probably comparing him to Sukea. Kakashi was getting used to it. And then:

“Tell me… do you both wear masks to look more like each other—or to look less like your father?”

The question struck hard and sudden, like a slap.

“Excuse me?!” His voice was tight, bristling with offence. He caught himself before it could tip into a growl—this man was a superior, after all.

“Ah, forgive me,” Danzō said smoothly, with the air of someone who wasn’t sorry at all. “It likely isn’t appropriate to comment on clan traditions. I only mean to say… I do hope your brother is recovering well. It would be a shame if he were to fall behind. The expectations on the Hatake are… significant. Especially after your father.”

Kakashi didn’t move, didn’t speak. But he felt cold, and a familiar weight of expectation settled on his chest.

Then Danzō’s tone shifted, sharper now. “And why aren’t you on a mission today?”

“We’re not assigned today. My team is training,” Kakashi replied, clipped.

“And you’re not training with them?”

“I’m ahead of them,” he said, without apology.

Danzō’s lone visible eye narrowed faintly. “Then your talents are being wasted.”

Kakashi gave no reaction.

“I’ve been working,” Danzō continued, voice slipping into something silkier, more calculated, “to ensure shinobi like you are not squandered. Gifted. Driven. You shouldn’t be weighed down by basic drills with green genin. I can offer you more—assignments befitting your ability.”

Kakashi tilted his head a fraction. “More?”

“Harder missions. Strategic ones. The kind that shift the tides of war and secure the village’s future,” Danzō said, tone low and deliberate. “Work that might even atone for your father… and the war he helped bring upon us.”

That struck deeper than it should have.

Kakashi didn’t answer immediately. The air seemed to still.

Danzō held his gaze, patient and pressing. Waiting for something. Approval. Obedience. A crack.

He wasn’t wrong.

Kakashi wasn’t like his teammates. He couldn’t afford to be. Not with the Hatake name trailing behind him. He had failed at keeping an eye on his team while they were training. They were already starting to act weird around him. What if they actually found out about his father? If he wanted to clean the stain his father had left behind, he had to do more—carry more.

He considered the offer.

Chapter Text

Sukea scrambled into his apartment window, finally home from his mission. Nearly everything was just as he’d left it. The floor swept clean, dishes dry and stacked, and the laundry folded. Both he and Kakashi were meticulous to a fault, so the cleanliness wasn’t what made him pause.

It was the air that did. Stale.

Like no one had been inside for days. Like how his apartment used to smell when he returned from a mission.

But Kakashi was supposed to still be in the village.

That’s when he spotted it: a note on the counter, propped under a pen. Short and hastily scribbled in familiar, messy handwriting.

‘Out on a mission.’ Signed with a henohenomoheji.

Sukea blinked, then frowned.

He picked up the paper and stared at it, flipping it over to check for more, then flipping it back. No details.

He had to pause and think—had he left that? But no, last time he went out, he’d told Kakashi in person.

So… this must be new. From Kakashi?

But that didn’t make sense. Team 7 wasn’t scheduled for anything this week—he’d made sure of it. Before leaving, he’d even reshuffled a few non-urgent missions to free up their time for actual training.

Shikaku had probably noticed. His sensei definitely had; most of those missions had ended up with them.

Neither had said a word.

Probably because they agreed—Team 7 could use the break. They had plenty of field experience, but their skill-based training was falling behind, especially their progress with basic, non-specialised chakra control.

Maybe something last-minute got assigned?

Still frowning, he set the note aside. Unease curled low in his chest, but he pushed it down. In wartime, schedules shifted constantly; if a team was free, they got work. Simple as that.

Either way, the fridge was empty, and the post-mission grocery run wasn’t going to do itself.

—

Sukea stood at a vegetable stall, turning two eggplants over in his hands as though one might reveal a hidden flaw. One had the better colour, the other a more uniform shape. He squinted at them, weighing function over form, when a familiar voice broke through his concentration.

“Sukea?”

He looked up—and blinked. “Rin?”

She was only a few steps away, hair damp, a small basket of groceries hooked over one arm. A little dishevelled—probably just back from the mission in Kakashi’s note, he thought. The paint on her cheeks had smudged with moisture, and for the first time, he noticed a thin scar running up her cheek, usually hidden beneath the pigment.

He stared a moment too long, caught off guard.

Rin had been civilian-born. He’d never really stopped to consider why she wore shinobi paint at all. He supposed it made sense. Civilians could be unkind about women with scars.

Her gaze flicked across his face in turn, lingering on the paint. The surprise in her eyes softened into something more wistful.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “You changed your paint.”

Sukea glanced aside, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, tinged with something bittersweet. “We don’t match anymore.”

That caught him off guard.

His throat tightened. “Yeah,” he said again, voice quieter this time. Then, trying to sound casual, he pulled his tin of paint from his pocket and offered it out, eyes not quite meeting hers. He gestured discreetly toward her cheek. “It’s not your colour, but… you’re missing a little.”

Her hand flew instinctively to her face. She winced, realising. “Ah.”

Waving him off, she began digging through her pouch, murmuring, “I’ve got mine somewhere, hang on…”

Her movements slowed. Then stopped. “I must’ve dropped it,” she groaned. “Probably when I was practising water-walking.”

With a soft sigh, she took the offered tin. “Thanks.”

Turning slightly, she used the polished edge of the stall’s awning to reapply the paint. When she faced him again, her hand lingered near her cheek, just shy of self-conscious. The red looked a little out of place, but fine.

Sukea gave her a small smile as he took the tin back. “Looks like we match again.”

That earned a warm, appreciative smile from Rin. It softened the tension in her shoulders, and for a moment, it almost felt normal. Familiar.

But even as she relaxed, something tugged at the back of his mind. If she was here, then maybe Kakashi was back, too?

He kept his tone light, casual. “It sucks losing gear on missions. My team once had to leave some of my stuff behind when they carried me back. Hopefully, it was just the paint you lost.” He offered a lopsided grin. “So… when did you get back?”

Rin blinked, then shook her head. “Oh—no, I dropped it in the pond near our training grounds while water-walking and practising my water affinity. Lost a couple of other things, too. We’ve been home, just training the last few days.” She gave a sheepish smile.

Sukea’s smile faltered. “…Even Kakashi?”

She hesitated, looking almost guilty. “He was there… at first. But he left for clan training instead. I think he got frustrated with us. Haven’t seen him since.”

His brow furrowed.

No mission? Then what was that note? Kakashi wouldn’t have written a false excuse. If he was just training, he would’ve said so. The Inuzuka wouldn’t take him on a mission without Sukea, not without waiting.

Sukea had never been given a solo mission before becoming a jōnin. It just didn’t happen.

Something didn’t add up.

Without a word, he set the eggplants gently on the stall and turned.

“Sukea?” Rin called, concerned. “Are you okay?”

He forced a smile over his shoulder, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I just need to check on something.”

And then he walked off—trying not to run—his heart pounding faster with every step.

—

This was Kakashi’s first mission without Team 7.

It was supposed to be a test. A routine assignment while Danzo pushed to have him reassigned. Nothing serious, supposedly. Just guard duty, Danzo had said, as if that explained everything.

On paper, it sounded dull: protect a sealed facility on the outskirts of the village. Kakashi had done missions like that before: stand at the perimeter, keep a low profile, watch for intruders. Easy enough.

But this wasn’t like those.

The facility was too quiet. Not the natural hush of a place tucked into the forest, but an eerie, manufactured stillness.

The other guards didn’t help. Silent, tight-lipped, eyes fixed forward. No one offered names. No one spoke when he saw them. Maybe a nod of acknowledgement when they passed. And then, nothing.

He had been brought in wordlessly, given a briefing so sparse it barely deserved the name. Danzo had only said, “Orochimaru is working on something important here. Something that could end the war. You’re here to ensure that work continues without interruption.”

So he followed orders. He kept his post at the reinforced door deep within the underground bunker. He checked the seals, monitored the corridor, and stayed alert.

Sometimes, the other guards entered the sealed chamber beyond his station. He never did. His clearance hadn’t been approved yet, not until the reassignment went through. He’d been told to wait.

One evening, one of them dropped something as they entered. It hit the floor with a soft flutter, and Kakashi stepped forward without thinking. A seal tag? One of the unlocking keys they used to access the chamber, he realised.

He picked it up. Meant to return it.

But when the guards came back, none of them looked at him. None of them stopped.

So he kept it. Just for now.

And he continued to guard the door..

—

The scrape of sandals broke the silence.

Kakashi straightened on instinct, shifting toward a defensive posture before he caught sight of the figure approaching: tall, pale, and unmistakable even in the gloom.

Orochimaru.

Kakashi expected him to walk past without comment, vanishing into the lab. Instead, the Sannin stopped and tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing with lazy, reptilian interest.

“What are you doing here, Hatake?” he asked, voice low and dry.

“Danzo assigned me,” Kakashi replied, tone clipped. “Guard duty. He said your work was… important.”

Orochimaru gave a soft hum, as if the word amused him. “It is,” he agreed. “But I thought you were on that brat Minato’s team.”

Kakashi bristled at the insult to his sensei, but kept his voice even. “I was. Danzo said missions like this serve the village better.”

Orochimaru stepped a little closer, not threateningly, just enough to study him.

“Ah,” he murmured, as though something had just fallen into place. His tone shifted, shaded now with something quieter… Disappointment? “You’re chasing after the village’s approval. Trying to redeem the Hatake name.”

The chuckle that followed was low and cold, devoid of joy.

“That’s a fool’s errand,” he continued, voice like a scalpel. “The village isn’t fair, Hatake. One mistake and they forget everything else you’ve done. Your father—”

“Don’t,” Kakashi said sharply, jaw clenched. “Don’t talk about him.”

But Orochimaru’s tone softened, unexpectedly sincere. “It’s not an insult. Sakumo Hatake was one of the few I respected. Brilliant. Capable. He might’ve made a fine Hokage—one of the only men I wouldn’t have opposed.”

Kakashi swallowed. Hard.

“I understood the choice he made,” Orochimaru continued. “If it had been one of my teammates…” He trailed off, gaze drifting somewhere distant. “Well. I might have done the same.”

Then the moment passed. His voice cooled again, returning to that unnerving calm.

“But Konoha doesn’t reward that kind of loyalty, not unless it fits their story. And you… What are you doing now? Trying to earn your way back into their good graces?” He gave a soft, mirthless laugh. “You’ll only tear yourself apart.”

Kakashi said nothing. The words sliced deeper than he’d admit.

“Honour?” Orochimaru shook his head. “It’s not something they give you. It’s something they take.”

Orochimaru’s smile was thin.“Like many others, I wanted to be Hokage once. I wanted the village’s respect. Their recognition. But Sarutobi-sensei began looking elsewhere… so I chose something else instead.”

Silence crept in.

Then, more quietly, he added, “If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. Choose something else. A person. A purpose. Protect that. Make it yours.”

That, more than anything, made Kakashi look up.

"What did you choose?" he asked.

Orochimaru simply smiled, lips curling like a snake, “I can’t tell you,” he said, voice silken. “And even if I could… you’re better off not knowing.”

He paused at the sealed doors ahead, one hand brushing the edge.

“If I were you,” he added, glancing over his shoulder, “I’d finish this mission and go back to your team. Those missions are important too.”

Then he turned, lab coat whispering as it moved, and slipped through the heavy doors without another word.

The hallway fell silent once again.

But something in Kakashi’s chest shifted—unsettled, uncertain.

He didn’t like being here.

He missed his team.

And more than anything, in that cold and soundless corridor, he wished Sukea was here.

—

Kakashi continued his guard duty over the next few days. Orochimaru never left the lab.

The other guards came and went, more frequently now that Orochimaru had taken up residence. They came bearing sealed trays or heavy crates—supplies, probably. Sometimes food. None of them stayed long. They never spoke, not to him or each other. Just in and out.

Each time they returned, they carried out with them a sharp, clinging odour: chemical, metallic, cold. It seeped into the hallway, curling into Kakashi’s nose and making him pull his mask higher.

It smelled like a hospital. Like bleach. Like death.

And still, Orochimaru didn’t emerge.

Kakashi told himself he was here for a reason. That this was important. That the sleep-deprived nights, the tasteless ration bars, the silence meant something. For the village. For duty. For honour.

But as the hours bled into days, that reasoning began to unravel. Orochimaru’s words echoed in the hollow quiet:

Choose something of your own. A person. A goal. Protect that.

But what was he protecting? A hallway? A door?

When Orochimaru finally emerged, he looked... hollow.

His skin, already pale, had taken on the waxy translucence of a corpse left too long in the sun. There was no triumph in his step. No satisfaction. Just the dragging weight of obsession. The stench came with him, clinging like smoke.

Kakashi straightened as he passed, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

There was none. Orochimaru didn’t even glance his way.

Kakashi probably looked just as bad. Dark circles under his eyes, stiff from sleeping sitting up, brain fogged by too many hours of vigilance. The other guards passed him rations now and then, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something warm.

When the hallway fell silent again, the reek still hung in the air like a warning.

Kakashi stared at the sealed lab door.

This was honour, wasn’t it? This was duty?

He didn’t know anymore.

He didn’t even know what he was guarding.

And that question—it had been building for days—finally cracked something open.

His instincts screamed Don’t.

He didn’t listen.

The seals on the door pulsed faintly.

He wasn’t cleared for entry.

He still had the release tag for the door. He’d picked it up days ago. Meant to return it. Never did.

It burned in his sleeve now.

A choice.

He pressed the tag to the seal.

A soft click. The lock disengaged. The door slid open.

The smell hit him like a wave.

Stronger now. Thicker. Burned into his throat. That sterile, chemical reek that hospitals could never quite wash away. But colder. More wrong.

The lights were dim and greenish, casting long shadows across rows of tanks. Machinery hummed with low, steady vibrations. Tubes snaked between consoles and containment chambers, pulsing with unreadable data. Blinking red. Steady green. No alarms.

And inside the nearest tank—

Kakashi’s breath caught.

A child.

Suspended in liquid, motionless, pale. Breathing tubes fed into his nose and throat. No scars. No bruises. Just small. Frail. Sleeping.

A boy?

Kakashi stepped closer, drawn in against his will. The child’s dark hair floated around him like ink in water. One hand twitched slightly, fingers curling.

Kakashi’s stomach turned.

This wasn’t research to end a war.

This was something else entirely.

Movement caught his eye. He turned.

More tanks. Dozens of them.

Children. Boys. Girls. All younger than him. Floating. Silent. Each one tagged only with a string of numbers etched into a metal plate bolted to the glass.

Kakashi backed away, bile rising in his throat.

What the hell was this place?

Then, behind him—Click.

He spun, hand dropping to his blade.

The door had closed.

He rushed back. Tried to push the door open. Shoved it. Pulled. Tried the override tag.

Nothing.

The lock had re-engaged… With him inside.

He stared at it, the creeping weight of realisation crawling down his spine like icewater.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

And someone was going to notice.

And they weren’t going to be pleased.

—

Sukea tore through the streets of Konoha, heart pounding, dread clawing at his throat with every step. Rin had said Kakashi might be at the Inuzuka compound for training. He held onto that hope like a lifeline.

But the moment he burst through the gates, that hope was shattered when there were no recent signs of him.

Tsume intercepted him before he could even call out, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as she took in his wild expression.

“What’s got you all wound up?” she asked, voice low with concern.

“Kakashi’s missing,” he gasped. “There was a note saying he was on a mission, but Team 7 wasn’t assigned anything. I ran into Rin; she thought he was with you.”

Tsume’s expression sharpened instantly. “We’ve got a few people free. They can help you look.”

He nodded, grateful even as doubt lingered in his chest. His scent was too close to Kakashi’s. It might throw off trackers unfamiliar with them. But he had no leads, and the worst possible scenarios had already begun unspooling in his mind.

Without hesitation, Sukea summoned Pakkun and Bull, explaining the urgency. “We’re looking for Kakashi. I need your noses on this.”

“On it, boss!” Pakkun gave a low bark of acknowledgement. Bull rumbled beside him.

The village was crowded, the trails muddled, but they didn’t let that stop them. Sniff by sniff, they combed the maze of Konoha’s alleys and rooftops, catching any faint traces of the boy they could.

They followed it until it slipped beyond the edge of the village, into the shadowed forests outside Konoha’s walls. They avoided the guards, sliding past unseen.

Then Bull stopped, nose twitching. Pakkun sniffed beside him and confirmed, “He came this way.”

Sukea’s heart sank.

He recognised where they were.

There were so many things he could never forget—memories burned into him from Obito’s Sharingan. And where the ninken were leading him now, clawed one of those memories to the surface: an old mission, to find a certain traitorous snake by searching one of their abandoned labs.

His eyes widened, dread turning his blood cold. Orochimaru’s lab wasn’t abandoned yet, and if Kakashi was here…

“Go back,” he ordered sharply. “Alert Tsume. Get her to alert Sensei, the rest of the Ino-Shika-Chō, and the Hokage. Everyone. Kakashi could be in serious danger, and I don’t want this to get buried.”

He rattled off the coordinates of where he knew their destination was and didn’t wait for confirmation. The ninken would do their part. He was already sprinting through the forest, knowing exactly where he had to go.

—

The masked guards emerged before he even reached the outer edge of the lab. They were silent, fast. Definitely ROOT. No hesitation in their attacks.

Sukea met them head-on, striking with surgical precision. Not to kill, dead men couldn’t testify. And he needed witnesses. Proof.

With a sharp twist, he disarmed one, knocked him unconscious, and ripped the mask away. There it was, a sealing mark, scrawled across the tongue. Yep, definitely one of Danzo’s.

Sukea didn’t slow. He surged forward.

Dropping into the bunker, there was no hesitation. He knew exactly where the lab was. Kushina had taught him more than enough to bypass the seals with much more ease than last time. His face paint worked as a quick and nasty seal ink in a pinch as he added some extra lines and disabled the seal for the first door and then again for the main lab. Then, he was in.

And it was worse than the version carved into his memory by Obito’s eye.

The lab wasn’t abandoned.

Rows of functioning tanks pulsed in a low, eerie hum. The green-blue liquid within them glowed dimly, casting sterile light across metal and concrete. Each tank held a child—small, motionless, suspended in liquid. Tubes fed into mouths. Wires ran across skin. No names. Just numbers, etched onto the sides.

He desperately ran his eyes over each of them, hoping not to find familiar white hair, but his eyes got stuck on a different familiar one, so much smaller than he’d ever seen.

“...Tenzo?” he whispered.

The boy inside the tank couldn’t be more than four or five. Pale. Fragile. A mop of long dark hair splayed around him.

Then something shifted nearby.

A figure crouched in the shadows—small, masked, kunai drawn.

“Kakashi?” he barked, stunned.

The boy emerged from the darkness, lowering his own blade, eyes wide.

“You shouldn’t be here—”

Sukea didn’t let him finish.

In a flash, he crossed the space, grabbed Kakashi by the collar, yanked the mask down, and pried open his mouth.

“Hey—HEY!” Kakashi yelped, swatting at him, confused and indignant, but Sukea exhaled in relief.

No seal on his tongue.

But relief turned quickly to fury. “What are you doing here?! I thought you were kidnapped! I thought—” he snapped, voice breaking before he could finish the thought.

Kakashi flinched. “I… Danzo gave me a mission. Guard duty. I didn’t know…” His voice faltered as he turned, staring at the tanks—at Tenzo—and paled. “I didn’t know it was this.”

Sukea gritted his teeth. Danzo. Of course.

He hadn’t anticipated that if the man couldn’t get to Sukea directly, he’d go after Kakashi instead.

He wanted to scream, to shake Kakashi for trusting him, for being here—but the boy already looked shaken enough. So instead, Sukea forced himself to breathe. He turned toward Tenzo’s tank.

The boy’s eyes were open now. Slowly blinking. Confused.

How long had he been aware in there?

Sukea’s throat clenched. He stepped forward, pressed a palm to the glass. “I’m sorry, Tenzo,” he murmured. “We’ll come back. I promise. We’ll get you out—”

Click.

The air shifted.

Footsteps echoed.

Sukea spun on instinct, kunai raised.

Orochimaru entered the room with slow, deliberate steps, gold eyes gleaming like a predator’s.

He stopped just inside the doorway, head tilting as if studying a disappointing test subject.

“Well,” he said, amusement curling his voice, “I suppose something like this was inevitable. When you leave a dog loose, it’s bound to dig up bones better off left untouched.”

His eyes slid over Kakashi, then Sukea. His smile looked strained.

“You really should’ve stayed at your post, Hatake. Now I can’t let either of you leave.”

He stepped forward.

Sukea shoved Kakashi behind him, kunai drawn. He just needed time. Reinforcements had to be close by now.

“Why?” he demanded, voice like steel drawn too thin as he stalled. “Why do this?”

“Orders,” Orochimaru said easily. “And for the greater good of the village.”

“Whose orders?”

There, hesitation. The flicker of something hidden.

“I can’t say,” Orochimaru replied, voice slipping into a breathy whisper. “But I’m sure you can guess. Now,” he added with a tilt of his head, “enough talk. You’re not going to stall your way out of this.”

But before he could move—

Boom.

The far wall exploded. He can in fact stall his way out of this.

A massive fist crashed through the rubble. Choza Akimichi is in full expansion, fury carved into every line of his face. Behind him, Shikaku and Inoichi, flanked by Inuzuka trackers and growling ninken. ANBU poured in.

And at the rear—

Hiruzen Sarutobi.

The Hokage’s eyes cut across the wreckage, locking onto Orochimaru with cold fury.

“What is this?” he asked, voice dangerously calm.

Orochimaru’s smile sharpened. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Sensei.”

His tongue flicked out, and Sukea caught a glimpse of something black inked on it. A seal?

Orochimaru locked eyes with Hiruzen. “You really should watch your allies more closely. They can hide in your weak points, and you have quite a few of those, sensei.”

Then—a flash of chakra. A seal ignited.

The floor ruptured.

A colossal serpent burst through, tearing tanks aside with its writhing coils. The children in them were thrown like rag dolls. The serpent’s body lashed through the space.

Orochimaru vanished into the chaos.

And the tank behind them—Tenzo’s tank—cracked.

Then shattered.

Fluid burst outwards, and the boy tumbled free.

“Tenzo!” Sukea shouted, instinct overriding thought.

But Kakashi was already moving, diving into the spray of chemicals and glass. He caught the boy mid-fall, hauling him clear of the wreckage, and collapsed to the floor with him in his arms.

The child wasn’t moving. Skin pale. No breath.

Sukea dropped to his knees, panic in his throat—but Kakashi didn’t freeze. He laid Tenzo out and began compressions, rhythm steady, counting under his breath like he was trained to do nothing else. Then, grimacing, he tugged down his mask and began breathing for him.

And then—

A cough. A splutter. The boy's chest hitched violently before he gasped, a wet, rattling sound, but alive.

“I got him,” Kakashi breathed, disbelief flickering in his voice. “Sukea… you said his name’s Tenzo?”

Sukea’s hands hovered, heart pounding. He glanced down at the boy, who was still barely conscious, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Gotta call the kid something, and Tenzo works.”

It was too early in the timeline for the child before them to actually be Tenzo Iburi; that boy was a subject taken much later, but Sukea couldn’t bring himself to call the kid in front of them anything else, even if it probably won’t have the same meaning this time around.

The ground trembled again.

Sukea moved to shield both boys, but suddenly something stronger wrapped around them. He looked up to see a flash of blond hair and a familiar blue gaze.

Minato.

He crouched over them, arm protective.

All around them, ANBU, Inuzuka and Ino-Shika-Chō tore through the chaos. Choza blocked the serpent’s coils with brute force. Medics rushed to the ruined tanks. Orochimaru was already gone.

And then—

Flash.

Sukea hadn’t felt that jolt in years—Sensei’s Hiraishin.

They were gone.

Chapter Text

“Got you,” Minato breathed, arms wrapping around all three boys. He reached for the Hiraishin seal to pull them home.

.
.
.

They landed hard on wood floors.

The Hiraishin Kunai Minato had given to Tsume when she told him his student was in danger was embedded in a wall. Minato glanced around quickly, figuring they were somewhere inside the Inuzuka compound, judging by the dog smell.

Minato dropped to his knees, checking over the boys he’d scooped up.

Sukea was the first to respond, blinking up at him with wide, stunned eyes. Slowly, carefully, he uncurled himself from around the other two, limbs stiff with tension.

Minato’s attention then fell to Kakashi—and froze.

There weren’t any obvious injuries, but something was off. He squinted, trying to figure it out.

Then it hit him.

The face.

Kakashi’s face wasn’t hidden behind his usual mask. It was bare—and shockingly familiar.

So familiar that Minato’s gaze flicked back to the boy beside him. Then back to Kakashi. Then again.

Same jawline. Same nose. Same eyes under that paint. Same mole!

Exactly like—

“You know, Sensei,” Sukea said dryly, breaking the silence, “a photo usually lasts longer.”

Minato startled. He’d been staring.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to—I just... Are you all okay?” he blurted, flustered and trying to shake the rising questions.

Kakashi gave a tight nod and tugged his mask back into place, not meeting his eyes. Sukea, meanwhile, had already turned his attention back to the child in his lap, shielding him with a protective curl of his body.

The little one was soaked through, trembling with every breath. His thin chest hitched like each inhale took effort.

Minato frowned. None of them were medics. They should probably get him looked at quickly.

The door burst open before he could say anything, and Tsume strode in, sharp eyes sweeping the room like a battlefield commander.

She made her way over in quick, heavy strides and crouched beside them.

Her gaze dropped to the boy in Sukea’s arms. “And who’s this little pup?”

“We found him,” Kakashi said quietly. “Sukea named him Tenzo.”

Tsume muttered, “Great, they named him… they’re already attached.”

Minato frowned. “You can’t just… name children and bring them home.”

His tone lacked conviction.

Sukea shrugged. “Had to call him something.”

Tsume blinked once, then nodded. “Alright.” She then stood with a soft grunt—slower than usual. Sukea narrowed his eyes at her.

“I just realised. You didn’t come in with the rest of the cavalry,” he commented, smug. “Finally admitting you’ve got limits, Tsume?”

She smacked him upside the head, dislodging a sliver of white hair from beneath what Minato realised, with a start, was a wig.

“Shut it, brat. If it gets bad enough, I’ll file a request to have you as my personal assistant, see how smug you feel then.” She snapped.

Minato frowned. Was Tsume sick? Minato feels like he’s missing some information, but judging by the easy banter, it mustn’t have been too bad, and these two were closer than he’d realised.

Tsume signalled to another Inuzuka, who stepped in and carefully lifted Tenzo from Sukea’s arms. Both Kakashi and Sukea tensed, but Tsume met their stares with a level, no-nonsense look.

“He’s just getting checked over,” she said. “He’ll be back. You two—bath. Now. You stink, and you’re dripping mystery fluid all through my compound. Move, or I’ll get the hose.”

She turned to Minato with a smirk, giving him a playful shove as she passed. “Thanks for getting them out, pretty boy. I’m rather fond of these two.”

Minato was left standing there, the weight of unanswered questions pressing in. His fingers twitched at his side. He needed to be certain about at least one thing.

Before they could get far, he reached out and pinched both boys.

They yelped. No poof.

Sukea blinked in disbelief before muttering. “We’re not shadow clones, Sensei.”

Tsume barked a laugh when she realised what Minato did. “That’s your first thought, Pretty-boy? Now I’m even more convinced Kushina just likes you for your looks!”

Minato flushed. “Right. I just... had to check? Wouldn’t put it past Kakashi to secretly learn how to clone himself for double missions.”

Kakashi rolled his eyes. Sukea smirked.

Minato sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. So… you two are…?”

“Twins,” Kakashi said petulantly, rubbing the spot Minato had grabbed.

Minato stared doubtfully. “I’ve known you since you were four. I think I’d know if you had a twin, Kakashi.”

The uncomfortable look that passed between them was not encouraging.

Minato’s stomach dropped. “Wait. How didn’t I know? The village would’ve told me. They might’ve even asked me to train both of you—”

“I’m very good at hiding, Sensei,” Sukea said blandly.

Minato opened his mouth for answers—

“Bath. Now,” Tsume cut in, herding them toward the door. “Seriously, Minato, I’ve got a compound full of shinobi with sensitive noses. You can interrogate later.”

Minato watched them go, stunned.

He’d never paid much attention to the social dynamics of the younger shinobi beyond his own students. He’d just earmarked Sukea as Rin and Kakashi’s friend and the kid Kushina had taken a shine to regarding teaching seals.

Minato let out a long breath, rubbing at his temples.

They’re twins! His student has a twin... And no one told him.

He had a lot of questions.

And even more feelings to sort through.

—

They were both shoved into a bathroom with a change of clothes from the Inuzuka hand-me-down pile—soft, worn, and smelling faintly of another pack. No time for complaints. They stripped, washed, and dressed in quick, efficient motions born of years of mission habits.

While he was waiting for Kakashi to finish digging through his pack for a fresh and clean mask, Sukea’s mind was already moving ahead. About what is next.

He’d long since thrown away the idea of avoiding butterfly effects. That ship had sailed the moment Danzō tried to take Kakashi.

Even if he wanted to “fix” the future, he wouldn’t know where to start. Would saving Obito be enough? Maybe stopping Danzō from orchestrating the Uchiha massacre? Or just stopping Danzō entirely? He has a feeling that man is at the centre of a lot of things, but what about Madara or the Akatsuki? He had no clue how those even became the problems they snowballed into. Those threats seemed to appear out of nowhere and grow like weeds.

One thing he did know: once Danzō realised he was under suspicion, he would start erasing evidence.

Sukea needed to act now.

“Kakashi,” Sukea said, voice low. “I need you to cover for me.”

Kakashi looked up from where he had finally succeeded in his task of a fresh mask, and before Kakashi could ask, Sukea pressed his hands into familiar seals. The Kage Bunshin no Jutsu always looked effortless when Naruto did it—but there was a reason it was forbidden.

The clone appeared with a soft poof, and with it went most of his chakra. The hollow drain left his lungs aching and his vision swimming.

The clone saluted lazily.

“Go,” Sukea rasped. “Get everything you can on Danzō before he starts covering his tracks.”

The clone flickered away.

The room swayed. Kakashi’s hand caught his elbow, steadying him until they both sank to the floor.

“Just tell them chasing after you burned through more energy than I thought, and I’m just tired from that.” Sukea reassured the boy.

He let his eyes fall shut for just a moment—then felt something. A faint warmth seeps into his arm.

He blinked.

Kakashi’s hand rested lightly against him, a careful stream of chakra flowing from the boy’s reserves into his.

“…You don’t have to do that,” Sukea murmured.

“I want to.” Kakashi’s brow furrowed with concentration. “This happened because of me… You are fixing something I broke.”

Sukea turned his head, meeting the kid’s focused gaze. Kakashi’s eyes dropped for a second before flicking back up, shoulders curling in just slightly. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“What do you mean?” Sukea asks gently.

“I did the wrong thing, didn’t I? Taking Danzō’s mission?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It felt wrong, and then you… You looked upset when you came for me. I took a bad mission…”

Sukea hadn’t been expecting that. He’d been ready to lecture about recklessness, not hear guilt first.

“You didn’t know,” Sukea said, exhaling. “I should’ve told you not to trust him. Never even crossed my mind he’d try with you… I guess because he only ever went after me when I didn’t have a team watching my back.”

Kakashi’s frown deepened. “Wait. Did this happen to you, too?”

“Not exactly. But it’s how I met Tenzo—just… not in a lab.” Sukea’s tone cooled. “Danzō wanted me to spy on the Third. I didn’t agree with his definition of ‘what’s best for the village.’ Honestly? Lord Third’s too forgiving. He’d probably let Danzō walk away from attempted assassination.”

He had in Sukea’s timeline. He gave Danzo far too much freedom to do what he wants… Naruto probably learned that mercy from him, for better or worse.

Kakashi was quiet for a moment. “Did he also promise you it would make up for… Father?”

“No. He didn’t have to.” Sukea drew in a steadying breath. Time to let a cat out of the bag. “I forgave our father a long time ago. Danzō just digs until he finds a weakness. That’s his trick. I learned to look underneath the underneath—figure out who benefits from me following an order, and decide if it’s worth fighting for.”

Kakashi’s gaze fell to his hands. “…Orochimaru talked to me. Right before I went into the lab. Said to give up on honour. That the village isn’t fair. That I should find something else to fight for.”

Sukea went still. Orochimaru approaching Kakashi was… troubling. But…

“He’s not wrong,” Sukea admitted. “I picked something else to fight for, too. Our father inspired some ideals. One stuck with me: ‘Those who break the rules are scum, but those who abandon their friends are worse than scum.’”

Kakashi tilted his head slightly. “…That sounds like something Obito would say.”

“A broken clock’s right twice a day,” Sukea muttered. “Some of the best lessons I learned came from idiots.”

Kakashi’s brow furrowed. “He was acting weird the last time I saw him. He and Rin kept whispering during training. Looking at me. Obito was glaring. It was… strange.”

Sukea’s mouth twitched. “Were they also following you around, trying to be sneaky?”

Kakashi gave a faint shrug. “I left for the mission with Danzō not long after that.”

Sukea’s grin returned, faint but sly. “It’s your face. They’re curious. No subtlety whatsoever.”

“They should stop,” Kakashi muttered.

“That’s actually how ‘Sukea’ started,” Sukea said. “People wouldn’t stop asking about my face, so I made it a game—show up as a field reporter obsessed with finding out what’s under Kakashi’s mask, then wear them out to make them reconsider if it’s worth it.”

Kakashi stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“It’s good stealth and genjutsu practice, I swear,” Sukea insisted. “Next time you’re with your team, I can make them believe I’ve got a personal vendetta about it. Tire them out a little.”

Kakashi sighed. “Do what you want. Just… make them stop being weird. And sit still. This is actually hard!” He nodded at his hands, still pressed to Sukea’s arm, working to transfer chakra.

Sukea let out a low, half-laugh. He didn’t pull away. If the kid wanted to waste chakra on him, fine. Good for character growth. Besides, Sukea had no room to judge; he’d spent years choosing to carry a literal chakra drain on his face for sentimental reasons.

The tension in the room eased, replaced by the slow trickle of chakra between them. Sukea shared a few of his best bait-and-switch tricks; Kakashi countered with some surprisingly sharp ideas. But his movements were beginning to slow, being weighed down by his own exhaustion.

He was nine. Fresh from a mission that could’ve broken a jōnin.

Sukea leaned back, eyelids heavy, letting him keep trying—until Tsume’s voice cut through the door, complaining they were taking too long.

She opened it to find them both sitting on the floor, Kakashi slouched against Sukea’s side and clearly running on fumes.

—

Tsume led them down a side hall, away from the bustle of the compound, to a small room where two narrow cots had been set up.

“Rest,” she ordered, with the kind of voice that made arguing seem like a bad life decision. “I’ll tell your sensei where you are so they don’t panic.”

Kakashi scanned the room instantly, corners, shadows, exits, before settling on the cot nearest the wall. Sukea stayed standing. He wasn’t ready to lie down. Not yet. Now that Kakashi had passed him some chakra, he was steady enough to keep watch.

Kakashi turned toward him with sudden focus. “You should sleep.”

Sukea’s mouth opened to argue, but Kakashi didn’t give him the chance. The boy simply got up and took him by the arm, steering him toward the cot with surprising firmness.

“Lie down.”

“Kakashi—”

“No,” Kakashi said, using the exact same bossy tone he wielded when trying to tell his teammates what to do in the field.

It wasn’t exactly enough to make Sukea obey, but it was enough to make him roll his eyes and sit anyway. The cot creaked under his weight—built for something between a child and a large dog—and he stretched out stiffly, arms crossed.

He was just finding a tolerable position when Kakashi climbed in beside him.

Sukea froze.

The kid had started his growth spurt—They both had. They absolutely did not fit. It was like Bull trying to curl into his lap even after he’d grown too big—loyalty that was equal parts cute and suffocating.

Still, Sukea didn’t push him away. The solid heat at his back was grounding. Kakashi’s breathing slowed, evening out against his shoulder.

A short nap wouldn’t hurt.

Sleep claimed him too—smothered, cramped, but with the comfort of knowing exactly where the kid was.

—

He didn’t get to sleep long, and the next thing he registered was the faint sound of a door sliding open. He kept still, breathing slow and even.

“—Thanks for grabbing Choza when you went back to help, prettyb—oh!” Tsume’s voice dropped into a chuckle. “That probably explains why those two still smell so similar.”

A heavier set of footsteps entered, bringing with them the sharp tang of lab chemicals. Then a low, tired laugh—Choza. “Yeah, I think I caught Kakashi sneaking into Sukea’s hospital bed when we had a long stay.”

“Should we move them? They don’t look comfortable,” Minato’s voice murmured.

“That’s a sure way to wake one of us up,” Sukea muttered under his breath, cracking open an eye to look at them, voice just above a whisper. “Though your talking wasn’t much better.”

Minato looked a little apologetic at waking Sukea.

“Sorry, pup. We were just checking on ya,” Tsume teased.

“Do you even know how worried I was for you, Sukea?” Chōza’s deep voice cut in. Relief flashed across his face as their eyes met—quickly replaced by frustration.

“You—” He closed the distance in three long strides, hauling Sukea into a bone-crushing hug before holding him at arm’s length. “Don’t you ever run headlong into danger like that again!” he hissed, the whisper sharp with anger and worry.

Sukea stayed stiff in his grip, meeting his gaze coolly. “Kakashi needed rescuing. That was more important.”

Chōza dragged a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. “I know he’s your—” He hesitated, flicking a glance to Minato. “—your friend. But that’s not—”

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it,” Minato interrupted gently. “I know they’re twins now.”

Chōza snorted—a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Now, he says. Minato, the fact that they’re twins barely scratches the surface of what these two have put me through. If you’d ever bothered to request updated files on your own students, you’d have known months ago.”

Minato blinked, stung by the edge in his tone.

Chōza’s face shifted to regret. “I—sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just… tired.”

“Yeah,” Sukea murmured, “it isn’t fair. But a lot of unfair things happen.” His gaze shifted toward Kakashi, noting how the noise had definitely woken him. “And if we’re being honest about what’s unfair—Kakashi, why don’t you tell him why you were at Orochimaru’s lab in the first place?”

Kakashi’s shoulders stiffened. He straightened, voice flat. “While Sukea was away on his last mission, Danzo approached me. Said I was wasting my potential on Team Seven. Offered me a solo mission—maybe more in the future. Claimed it would help rebuild the Hatake name.”

Sukea’s jaw tightened. He only felt a flicker of guilt for using Kakashi’s fresh wound as leverage, but he needed them to know how bad this was. “Danzo couldn’t get to me, so he went after Kakashi. Figured if there were two Hatake, one might be up for grabs.”

Chōza went pale.

Minato’s eyes narrowed. “Danzo doesn’t have the authority to assign missions without a jōnin sensei’s approval.”

“He does,” Chōza said grimly. “During wartime, the rules… bend. Any shinobi can accept missions directly if it’s deemed beneficial to the village. Sukea figured out the loophole months ago—he’d impersonate Kakashi to pull missions from the desk. Mostly D-ranks that kept Team 23 inside village limits.”

Minato’s brow furrowed—then rose sharply as the pieces clicked. “That’s why you pushed for the buddy system on my team!”

Chōza nodded sheepishly.

“And Danzo found out about the loophole when you introduced me at that council meeting,” Sukea added.

Chōza winced. “I remember.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact no one told me about Sukea,” Minato said, incredulous. “Especially if there was so much happening I didn't know about.”

Chōza grimaced. “Yeah… I probably shouldn’t have indulged them. But they both wanted to avoid the embarrassment of you realising you’d trained them both for years without noticing. I used keeping that secret as leverage to stop them from switching teams. Didn’t work. Kakashi mostly avoided my team. Sukea… well, he’d either sneak onto yours or vanish to train alone.”

Minato stared. “Wait—what? Sukea, you told me I hadn’t noticed because you were hiding!”

“…Technically true,” Sukea admitted with a grimace. “There are a lot of ways to hide. My plan was to be less noticeable. Easier to pass under the radar when no one’s looking for a second Hatake.”

He shot Chōza a look. “Unfortunately, my plan fell apart when Choza decided I needed to get involved in clan politics since I’m the eldest, which led to Danzo deciding Kakashi was the more accessible target.”

The air tightened between them.

“Well, something happened,” Sukea said quietly. “And I’m holding you to your promise.”

The room stilled.

“You’re right,” Chōza admitted. “But what can we even do?”

“I want to see the Hokage,” Sukea said, voice cold. “Now. The only other member of my clan was targeted by someone acting outside his authority. I want the Hokage to tell me, to my face, what he plans to do about it.”

“I’m coming too,” Tsume said immediately. “We’re doing this now!”

Kakashi started to rise, but Sukea’s look stopped him. The kid was still pale, chakra reserves running low after giving Sukea the better share. He looked ready to argue, but Tsume caught the look and stepped in.

“Tenzo’s looking better,” she said almost casually. “Kakashi, stay here and keep an eye on him. Prettyboy—” she tilted her head toward Minato “—we don’t really need you either. Stay and debrief with your student.”

Minato blinked, but Sukea recognised the move for what it was. Tsume knew as well as Sukea did that having the young jōnin join them could paint a target on his back. Without a clan to shield him, the political blowback from confronting the Hokage about Danzo could hurt him, no matter how justified his reasons are.

Kakashi and Minato hesitated, the urge to follow plain on their faces, but Tsume’s tone brooked no argument.

They stayed behind as the two clan heads and the reluctant Hatake heir walked out.

—

Hiruzen stood tall in his office, posture firm despite the exhaustion etched into the corners of his eyes. Around him, masked ANBU moved in coordinated precision, snapping to his rapid orders.

“Dispatch search parties immediately! He can’t have gotten far. Sweep the surrounding forests and every possible escape route. At the same time, keep a unit stationed here. There’s a risk he might try to return, either to destroy evidence or reclaim whatever research he left behind. Catalogue every document, every scrap of information. Extract any surviving children; I’ve already arranged temporary housing through the council. No one steps inside without my direct clearance.”

Sukea approached with quiet urgency, slipping past a pair of distracted chūnin. “Hokage-sama—”

“Later,” Hiruzen said, not even sparing him a glance. “Submit your report through the proper channels. I’ll read it when I have time.”

Before Hiruzen could brush him off again, Tsume barged forward with Kuromaru at her side, the ninken’s growl low and warning. She slammed both hands on the Hokage’s desk, scattering some of the neatly stacked documents.

“Kid said it’s urgent,” she snapped.

Behind her, Chōza Akimichi followed with more restraint, placing a calming hand on her shoulder before stepping forward with deliberate control.

“Lord Third,” he said, voice steady but heavy with weight, “you need to hear him. It’s about Councilman Danzō.”

That, finally, made Hiruzen pause. He turned slowly, gaze narrowing. “What about Danzō?”

Sukea didn’t waver. “Danzo put Kakashi in danger. Kakashi was assigned to guard that lab because Danzō requested the mission. He was trying to get Kakashi moved under his command without my permission.”

Hiruzen’s brow furrowed, lines deepening with tension. “That’s not—”

“Furthermore,” Sukea pressed, “I also saw a sealing mark on Orochimaru’s tongue. I’ve seen the same kind on shinobi under Danzō’s command, and on several guards at the lab.”

That made Hiruzen still, if only for a breath. His eyes narrowed, the flicker of hurt passing across them. But then his jaw set.

“If something like that were going on,” he said, voice slow but firm, “Orochimaru would have come to me.” He let out a quiet breath, gaze hardening. “This is Orochimaru finally showing his true colours. There is no excuse for what he did. Whatever loyalty he once had to this village is gone, Sukea. This… was a long time coming.”

Sukea’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not the point! Orochimaru practically admitted Danzō knew what was going on—at least what he was allowed to say.”

“That is conjecture,” Hiruzen snapped, his composure slipping just enough to show the strain. “I’ve known Danzō for decades. He would never—”

“He would,” Sukea said flatly. “And he could. Let me guess, has he already offered to ‘house’ or ‘train’ the surviving children?”

The clench of Hiruzen’s jaw was answer enough.

The silence stretched, brittle.

“I can’t remove a council member from power based on a mission request that may or may not be linked to this tragedy,” Hiruzen said finally, softening his tone toward sympathy.

“No,” Chōza agreed grimly, “but you can place him under investigation for unauthorised involvement with a clan and potentially being complicit in treason.”

Hiruzen exhaled slowly. “Doing so could destabilise the village. Danzo is the only one who can provide shelter and medical care discreetly. The hospitals are overwhelmed. Public knowledge of this will break morale.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tsume growled, stepping forward again. “We’ll take the kids. We’ll convert one of our kennels if we have to. Our medics can treat them.”

Hiruzen frowned. “With all due respect, Tsume—those are veterinarians.”

“They’re medics,” she shot back, “trained to treat ninken and shinobi alike in battlefield conditions. We can’t count on the hospital to treat the canine half of our teams in a crisis—so our medics are trained to treat both.”

Hiruzen hesitated. “I would feel more comfortable if ANBU medics assisted.”

“Fine,” she said. “Have them stationed on-site. But we take the children. Not Danzō.”

Chōza nodded. “The Akimichi, Nara, and Yamanaka clans can also provide mental health treatment, food, and medical supplies, so this doesn’t all fall on one clan. Now you don’t need Danzō at all.”

The silence dragged.

Finally, Hiruzen gave a tight nod. “Fine. I’ll ask him to step aside. Temporarily. While an investigation is conducted.” He turned to Sukea, expression guarded. “But I won’t condemn him without evidence. I need proof—written records, testimony, and Yamanaka verification of memories.”

Sukea held his gaze, the knot in his chest pulling tighter. This was damage control. The Hokage was already retreating into bureaucracy, building himself deniability. He didn’t want to believe him—not really.

But Tsume and Chōza had boxed him in, forced a compromise. It would have to be enough.

Sukea swallowed the rage threatening to rise and gave a sharp nod. “Fine.”

Because he wasn’t here to make Hiruzen see sense.

He was here to make Danzō back off.

Without waiting for dismissal, Sukea turned and walked away.

Chapter Text

Sukea had expected to sit in on the planning. He’d already had a few plans brewing in his head, but Tsume cut him down before he could voice a word.

“Go see your brother and Tenzo,” she said, jerking her chin toward one of the buildings in the Inuzuka compound. Her tone brooked no argument. “Leave this to us. You’ve already had a big day.”

Right… he’s nine. He kept forgetting.

For all the freedom and responsibility being a shinobi and a clan heir gave him, they still saw a child first. A prodigy, yes—probably already decided he was just as much a genius as Kakashi with how much he couldn't play dumb about—but still a boy. And what they had uncovered in that lab? That was dangerous, ugly, the kind of thing they would finally draw the line on a child being too involved in…

He thought about pushing back—he hated being idle, especially now, when the stakes were so high—but what would it change? Tsume and Chōza were seasoned clan heads. They didn’t need him, and insisting otherwise would be frankly suspicious at this point.

Chōza was already dispatching a hawk to Inoichi and Shikaku, the message concise, outlining the situation and suggesting the use of Inoichi’s Mind Transmission Technique to coordinate with the ANBU still at the lab. The ‘adults’ had it handled.

Sukea exhaled slowly. Fine. He supposed he’d done enough for now.

—

Tenzo was awake.

The moment Sukea stepped into view, Tenzo’s eyes snapped to him, locked in place with a startling intensity. Not wide-eyed terror. Not suspicion.

Focus.

If he hadn’t already spent years working alongside an older Tenzo, he might’ve found it unsettling. But instead it felt almost… steadying. Familiar. Like Tenzo was staring into his soul.

So it wasn’t just ROOT that made him that way. It was just Tenzo.

“Yo, Tenzo,” Sukea greeted, dropping into a crouch at the bedside.

Tenzo blinked once, slowly, then dipped his chin in the faintest nod. Eyes never wavered, as if committing Sukea’s face to memory.

Sukea turned his head toward Kakashi, who was seated uncertainly at the boy’s side.

“Anything to report?” Sukea asked, voice clipped, deliberate. Orders usually steadied Kakashi—something solid to anchor himself with. The kid looked wound as tight as ninja wire.

Kakashi’s spine straightened. “He woke not long before you came. Hasn’t said much. Got upset when I tried to leave and report, so I stayed.”

Only then did Sukea notice Tenzo’s hand clamped around Kakashi’s wrist, holding him in place. Kakashi hadn’t shaken him off.

“Good call,” Sukea hummed, praising Kakashi. Then, on a whim, he reached forward and smoothed a tangle out of Tenzo’s hair. The boy almost flinched from the touch—then went still, leaning ever so slightly into it. His grip on Kakashi’s wrist loosened but stayed.

Touch-starved, Sukea thought idly, his fingers lingering as they combed through coarse strands, smoothing them. Such a shame, he thought absently, that his Tenzo had cut it all short. Not that the man had ever been any good at looking after it—ends hacked jagged by kunai, rough and crooked. Sometimes Sukea suspected one of their squadmates had quietly stepped in to help him with it, because the big chop had only come later. After Itachi defected. After Team Ro disbanded. After Tenzo became a captain in his own right.

—

The clone crouched low in the shadows.

Ahead lay a concealed ROOT entrance—one the village had only uncovered years too late, with all evidence long gone. From how meticulously it had been scrubbed, and how many of the former ROOT operatives they’d been able to deprogram who were still just unable to talk about it, the tentative conclusion was that this had once been one of Danzō’s main hidden bases.

The clone waited, as still as possible, until at last a lone ROOT operative emerged.

He moved fast. He didn’t kill them, only knocked them unconscious, stripping their uniform and mask before donning the gear himself. It fit well enough to pass at a glance.

After hiding his victim away, he walked inside like he belonged.

The tunnels were narrow, plain, functional. He followed the routes described in old reports until he found a chamber that made his pulse quicken: an archive. Row upon row of scrolls and folders, sorted with the same meticulous care as the Hokage Tower’s, the air thick with the scent of dust and old paper.

He pulled a random stack of files from the shelf. Flipped one open.

Names. Dozens of them. Assessments scribbled in sharp, utilitarian script: Unstable. Loyal. Promising. Unfit. Each shinobi weighed, measured, sorted into cultivation… or removal.

And the removals—
Rumours planted like seeds of rot. Fatal “accidents.” Kill contracts slipped quietly to foreign villages. Every flaw pruned with surgical precision.

He skimmed further, and a pattern emerged. A similar record-keeping system was used in the Hokage Tower—a system he knew well. He was in the M section. Grim curiosity tugged at him. He reached for another file.

The name stopped him cold.

Might Duy.

His fingers froze on the paper. A red stamp slashed across the top: Rejected ROOT offer.

He read. Pulse hammering louder with each line.

Highly skilled. Wasting techniques better suited for service. Overdevoted to family. No motivation to progress. Potential danger if not under ROOT control.

And then, at the bottom, the words that hollowed him out:

Removal: Mission arranged. High-risk Mist contract secured. Flight risk. Weakness to family. Backup team added. Use them as bait.

Sukea stared. Read it again.

And again.

The words didn’t change.

It hadn’t been bad luck. It hadn’t been a mission gone wrong.

Danzō had arranged it. Deemed Duy a liability. And so he’d had him killed—deliberately. Forced his son to be there to ensure the man fought until his last breath.

The bile rose sharply in the clone’s throat. His hands shook, fists clenching until the folder crumpled in his grip.

But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

He forced his breath back under control.

If he dispelled now, all of this would vanish—the folder, the evidence—gone before an investigation could ever retrieve it. His word against Danzō’s.

He couldn’t even hide it under his uniform; a dispel would erase it there, too.

Exhaling slowly, he smoothed the crumpled page and slid it back into the folder. A subtle earth technique carved a shallow hollow in the wall. The folder slipped inside, sealed and recoverable.

He moved faster after that, pulling more stacks, tucking them into new hollows, anything that might serve as proof. He barely skimmed the contents, just hid what he could.

He was in the H section when chaos erupted.

Dozens of ROOT agents flooded the archive in a tide of motion. Cabinets groaned open, files passed hand-to-hand or burned to ash with fire jutsu. Danzō must have caught wind of suspicion—a failsafe cleanup was already underway.

The clone’s pulse thundered, but his body never faltered, slipping into their rhythm. ROOT hand signals mirrored ANBU’s closely enough, and he’d learned the subtle differences through deciphering his kohai’s signing, so when a sharp sign was flicked his way, he knew the response, accepting the “updated orders” without hesitation.

All the while, he kept working.

He snagged a handful of files that should contain any records of him and Kakashi if the filing system is what he thinks it is—proof that Danzō was targeting them. He couldn’t risk losing them. But where to hide them? Using Earth Jutsu again would only risk exposing the other caches.

His gaze swept the chaos until inspiration struck.

He dropped to a low cabinet, no one was watching, tugged the bottom drawer open, and slid the papers not inside but behind it, wedged in the narrow gap between the drawer and cabinet wall. It just barely closed. Crude, but hidden. Better than nothing, with the systematic removal of files happening around him.

He was already calculating escape, waiting for the next shift change—

When a hand clamped onto his shoulder.

Too late. The fact that he didn’t belong was noticed.

He didn’t turn. A blow slammed into his side—

And with a muted puff of chakra, the clone burst into smoke.

—

On the other side of the curtain came the sounds of frantic movement—the kennel being stripped and refitted into a medical ward. Supplies shuffled, space cleared, more children carried in with every passing moment.

The room was slowly filling, and Sukea realised with a strange twist in his chest that he was surrounded by children who, in his own timeline, were already long gone.

Eventually, the sound of familiar heavy steps, different from the more rushed ones coming in and out with children, caused Sukea to glance up automatically.

The large familiar frame of Choza ducked into the space, smiling when his eyes landed on them. “Guess they weren’t kidding when Tsume said you’d already gotten attached to one of them.”

“Do you need something?” Sukea asked blandly from where Tenzo was comparing his and Kakashi’s hands to his own.

“No, just checking in.” Chōza’s offered. “And I thought you’d want to be kept in the loop, since you seem… invested. Good news, we found some of Orochimaru’s lab notes—details on the origins of a few of the children. Some match missing infants from the civilian registry. A few match clan records, so most of them should have somewhere to go. We’re checking every lead. But…”

Sukea caught the hesitation, his tone turning flat. “Not all of them?”

“Exactly.” Chōza’s expression tightened. “Many files were destroyed when Orochimaru fled. We haven’t found a match for Tenzo yet.”

Kakashi leaned forward, tension sharp in his voice. “So what happens to him?”

A sinking weight in Sukea’s gut already told him.

Chōza winced. “If nothing turns up by the time he’s cleared for release, he’ll be enrolled in the academy with a stipend for independent living.”

Sukea’s mouth twisted at that. By the book. The bare minimum.

Technically, shinobi were considered adults—that was how he himself had been allowed to live alone so young. But the loophole it opened was obvious: fewer mouths in the orphanages, more bodies in the pipeline. It was the same excuse that had been used against Naruto when the orphanage decided he was “too old” to stay.

Fairness that wasn’t really fair at all.

And Tenzo… Tenzo was tiny. Barely five, if that.

“That’s not ideal, I know,” Chōza admitted, his tone soft. “But the Hokage won’t allow them at the orphanage, too many questions from civilians about where they came from. And Tsume can’t keep them indefinitely. If she houses them too long, some clans might accuse her of kekkei genkai theft if Orochimaru’s experiments are what we think they are. Still…” His gaze shifted between Sukea and Kakashi. “You two seem fond of him. Would it be too much to ask that you keep an eye on him as he adjusts?”

He looked at Tenzo—small, quiet and lost.

He was Sukea’s subordinate. Had been. But right now, Tenzo wasn’t that soldier. He was just a kid.

Sukea didn’t know how to care for kids.

But he did know how to make sure someone trained. How to make sure they ate, and slept, and didn’t bleed out in a field somewhere because no one had bothered to teach them better. He could do that much.

“I can keep an eye on him,” Sukea said quietly.

Kakashi sat a little straighter, like he’d just been handed a new mission.

Choza gave a satisfied nod. “That’s all I ask. We’ll still be monitoring all of them, considering the… circumstances. We don’t know if Orochimaru’s experiments actually succeeded or what effects it will have on them growing up. If you’d like, I could see if your apartment building has any more apartments available so he won’t be living too far away?”

Kakashi piped up, almost too quickly. “I think I heard one of our neighbours is moving out soon.”

Sukea was about to make a suggestion when movement drew his eye.

A child was being carried in with arms stained red, blood seeping through fresh bandages, skin torn and ragged. Another casualty of Orochimaru’s retreat.

Sukea barely registered the child consciously, but in that exact moment, his clone’s memories slammed into him.

His face went pale.

Sukea forced the flood back into the dark corners of his mind, shutting it away, but he wasn’t fast enough for it to go unnoticed.

“Sukea?” Kakashi’s voice was sharp, already at his side, hands catching his. Smaller hands gripped his sleeve.

When he finally looked up, Choza was watching him. Concern was etched into his expression, but he stayed back, letting Kakashi fuss.

“I’m fine,” Sukea said quickly, waving everyone off.

Chōza didn’t look convinced. His massive frame shifted subtly, positioning himself between Sukea and the newly arrived injured child, even though that wasn't what set him off. Just an unfortunate coincidence.

“Maybe it’s time you both head home and let everyone rest,” Chōza said at last, his voice careful, deliberate. “Kakashi, keep an eye on him. We’ll take care of Tenzo. Once the others stabilise, I’ll send word—you can come visit again then.”

Kakashi gave the barest nod, but Chōza’s gaze lingered on Sukea. After a pause, he added, hesitant but firm, “And you—when you can, talk to Inoichi. I spoke to him recently. He has… his own reasons for wanting Danzo stopped. He’ll gladly be the Yamanaka to take your statement for the case. He’s careful, thoughtful. He won’t push further than you allow. I know you don’t really trust him, but… do this for me.”

Sukea’s lips pressed into a thin line. He wasn’t unreasonable. With the Hokage demanding proof, working with a Yamanaka was inevitable. And Sukea had a sinking suspicion about Inoichi’s “personal investment.” Years from now, he couldn’t help but notice the number of ROOT members who were quietly slipped into the Yamanaka ranks without question when they were deprogramming them and reuniting them with any family they may have. The pieces weren’t difficult to put together, but Sukea wasn't entirely sure where Inoichi sat in that puzzle.

Regardless of that, the thought of baring even a fraction of himself to anyone left his stomach knotted. His being both a Yamanaka and from T&I just made it worse.

As if sensing his unease, Chōza went on, “The trial likely won’t be held until after the Chūnin Exams. They’re meant to boost morale, and with the war ongoing, the village won’t risk damaging its reputation with something so heavy at the same time. That gives you time. There’s no rush.”

That wasn’t the reassurance Chōza thought it was. Sukea exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flaring at the very idea of postponing the trial for a wartime Chunin Exam. They are small and mostly just performative to reassure the civilians that the shinobi protecting them are strong. What was the Hokage thinking? Delay long enough, and perhaps the problem would fade—probably. And what could he do about it? Unless he wanted to just take Danzo out himself and become a rogue, there weren’t many options but to wait.

His jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. He would speak with Inoichi. He had until the Chūnin Exams, after all.

Plenty of time, he thought bitterly.

—

Kakashi kept glancing at him as they walked home. Not quick, casual glances either, but the kind that lingered just long enough to be noticeable.

Sukea finally sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

The boy didn’t look convinced. His mouth tugged down under the mask.

Sukea tipped his head, softening his tone. “Really. My clone’s memories just caught up with me, that’s all. It was… a lot, all at once.”

Kakashi tilted his head, studying him. “What did you see that made you look like that?”

Sukea swallowed down the answer and instead forced a crooked smile. “Probably not the best place to talk about it, hm?” He waved a hand toward the street around them, bustling with shinobi and civilians alike. Before Kakashi could press further, he added, “Besides, we’ve got a more immediate problem.”

Kakashi blinked. “What?”

“There’s no food at the apartment,” Sukea said flatly. “We’ve both been away on missions, and the last time I tried to do a grocery run, I got sidetracked chasing after a certain someone.”

The boy’s shoulders hunched. “...Oh.”

The guilty look on his face twisted something in Sukea’s chest. He shook his head quickly, brushing it off. “Hey. Don’t. We can’t fix the past. What’s done is done.” He nudged Kakashi lightly in the shoulder, trying to ease the weight of it. “But we can fix the present. How about we get some ramen?”

That earned him a small nod.

“Ramen it is,” Sukea said, steering them down the street. Anything to keep the boy from looking at him like that.

Ichiraku’s warmth wrapped around them the moment they ducked under the curtain. Teuchi spotted them instantly, grinning as he called out that their usuals would be ready in a moment, before they even sat down.

Sukea let himself relax, if only slightly.

The curtain parted again, and in walked Minato and Kushina, laughter still caught on their breath. They looked utterly at ease, mid-conversation, only to pause when they spotted the boys at the counter.

Kushina lit up the moment she spotted them, and Sukea belatedly remembered that they were still regulars in this time.

“Ah, Sukea, Kakashi,” Minato greeted with an awkward smile as he slid onto a stool two seats down. “Didn’t expect to run into you here tonight. I thought you’d still be at the Inuzuka compound.”

Kakashi straightened slightly. “Chōza-sensei sent us home because Sukea looked like he was going to throw up—”

Sukea flushed crimson, reaching over to clamp a hand over the boy’s masked mouth in a desperate attempt to shut him up—the same way he always had to with Naruto’s loose tongue. He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Chōza assumed it was the blood that had gotten to him. Either way, Sukea wanted that rumour dead before it spread.

Minato raised an amused brow at the flustered scene, clearly pleased that—for once—he wasn’t the one having to stop Kakashi.

Kushina leaned across the counter with a grin, her voice bright and warm enough to break the tension. “Good thing you’re here then! Ramen fixes everything—it’s practically medicine, y’know!”

Her bright cheer left no space for awkward silence. She immediately bombarded him with questions about his sealing progress. Sukea shifted slightly, positioning himself to shield Kakashi from view as the boy began eating, and answered smoothly, “Actually, I used some of my face paint as ink for a counter-seal recently.”

That caught both Minato and Kushina immediately, drawing them into rapid-fire questions about stability, duration, and effectiveness.

Eventually, Kakashi tapped his shoulder to signal he was finished, and Sukea leaned back again, letting Kakashi into the conversation.

Minato, who started riding Kushina’s energy, slipped into proud chatter. “Rin and Obito have been doing really well in training! I can’t wait for—” He stopped short, remembering Kakashi was there, then corrected himself. “What I mean is, I have an announcement for Team 7 tomorrow at training.”

Kakashi glanced sideways at Sukea.

Sukea shrugged. “We probably won’t be needed at the Inuzuka compound tomorrow.”

Kakashi turned back to Minato, voice clipped but even. “I’ll be at training.”

—

They get home, and Sukea thinks he’s in the clear before Kakashi blocks the doorway to their bedroom. “So? What did your clone show you?” The boy asks sternly.

Sukea grimaces, hoping the boy would forget, but unfortunately, he had his teeth in this one.

“It’s not really something you need to worry about.” He tries to placate, but Kakashi just growls at him.

“I’m already worrying. If you can’t tell me about it, who can you tell? At least tell me what I should be looking out for. You already said Danzo was something you should have warned me about!” Kakashi nearly spat in frustration.

Sukea felt that frustration keenly—he remembered it and was reexperiencing it. Admittedly, he had been trying to protect Kakashi, but trying to figure out how much was hard. He was already a chuunin and had all these big adult expectations being arbitrarily applied to him. He is expected to take missions, but the specifics of why sometimes falling into the ‘I’ll tell you when you’re older’ category. It was a wonder the boy had taken so much of it with reluctant acceptance. But now… now he was starting to demand answers. And Sukea wasn’t making it easier with him pushing boundaries right in front of him.

With a long sigh, Sukea rubbed his face. “I have to preface what I’m about to say by telling you it involves that mission my team went on. The one that was classified. You can’t tell anyone you know. And… I want you to try not to treat Guy any differently afterwards.”

Kakashi looks surprised that Sukea is actually relenting. A war was written plainly on his face: part of him wanted to seize on the opening, but part of him resisted the thought of breaking rules drilled into him since childhood. Finally, seriousness settled across his expression.

“Guy is Guy,” Kakashi said firmly. “I don’t think anything would change that.”

A faint smile tugged at Sukea’s lips. He wished the boy’s words would always be true. But he forced himself back to the matter at hand. His voice sharpened. “Before I begin—what do you know about the mission?”

Kakashi recited, almost mechanically. “You went on your first C-rank with your team. You came back injured. Duy was there too. He died on the mission. No body could be retrieved.” His tone dipped slightly at the end, a subtle hesitation, like he was biting down on something unsaid.

“Anything else?” Sukea prompted gently.

Kakashi’s gaze slid aside. His voice was quieter when he answered. “Guy doesn’t talk about it. I overheard some villagers. Making fun of him. That Duy died on a C-rank. That he died protecting genin. That his death was pointless—that he should’ve been stronger. I even heard one say… that because there wasn’t a body, maybe he was alive, and defected in shame.”

So Danzo had already started planting rumours, and with the mission being classified, no one could refute them.

He drew in a slow breath. “The Seven Swordsmen of the Mist attacked us. S-rank shinobi that shouldn’t have been there.” Sukea stated, “Duy… died protecting us. He had learned how to open all Eight Inner Gates, but using it comes at the cost of eating away and killing the user… His body was unrecoverable because there was no body left.”

Kakashi’s eyes widened, shock flickering across his face.

Sukea’s voice shifted into the flat cadence of a report, not because he wanted to, but because it kept his emotions from bleeding through. “My clone found records. Danzo had tried to recruit Duy. When Duy refused, he planned that mission. It wasn’t chance. It was a setup. Danzo has been building his own military within Konoha, undermining the Hokage. His plans were uncovered too late in my time, and most of the records I saw had been long gone. There were so many names—shinobi deemed “unsuitable” by his standards. Anyone who strayed from his version of the Will of Fire was cast aside. Some were disgraced. Some vanished. Many died. A few defected. All of them, erased in one way or another.”

Sukea’s gaze lifted to Kakashi, heavy with the weight of truth. “All Danzo’s plan.”

“He shouldn’t be allowed to do that! The Hokage should stop him!” Kakashi cried, fists clenching.

Sukea inclined his head. “When we brought up what happened to you, that suspicion was enough to force Danzo to step down while it’s investigated.” Then his mouth tugged into a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “Good thing I sent the clone. I’ve got plenty more damning evidence to pile on.”

Kakashi let out a breath, shoulders loosening as the tension eased from his frame. For the moment, it looked like the problem had a solution.

But Sukea knew better than to relax. He carried the quiet thought to himself, the one he wouldn’t worry Kakashi about—that Hiruzen’s sentimentality for Danzo might still get in the way if they don’t play their cards right.

Chapter Text

Chōza had worked shoulder to shoulder with Tsume through the long hours of the night. By the time dawn crept over Konoha, the two of them were still hunched over scattered notes and grim reports, wrestling with the same impossible question: what to do with the children from Orochimaru’s lab.

Most were heartbreakingly frail. Their limbs trembled under their own weight, bones jutted through skin stretched too thin, and their muscles had wasted away from years suspended in fluid. For the medics, the first battle was simply keeping them alive—and even that felt like a war already half-lost. Some children had died the moment their tanks were broken, bodies too dependent on the solution to survive without it. All unnecessary removals were halted. The priority became stabilising the injured, or those whose containment had already failed during Orochimaru’s escape.

That left information-gathering, and the records they uncovered only darkened the picture. Orochimaru hadn’t just experimented on them. He had been trying to replicate the impossible: the First Hokage’s Wood Release.

Worse still, some of the children had entered the lab already sickly, sent away under the guise of “special treatment.” Their families had assumed them dead long ago. For these ones, the fluid had been the only thing keeping them alive; to move them now would be to kill them outright.

It was grim work. And then it became a nightmare.

Inoichi’s voice cut sharply into Chōza’s mind, taut with unease as he reported from the lab. “One of the medics is down. A child sprouted wooden spikes inside their tank. The records suggested they couldn’t survive outside the fluid… but they smashed it themselves. Even if they were healthy, the chakra exhaustion from that outburst would have killed them regardless.”

Chōza froze, blood running cold.

“We’ve seen hints of it in others,” Inoichi went on, voice grim. “Warn the medics. They’ll need to be ready.”

Within hours, the warning proved true. What looked at first like rashes hardened into wooden plating, pushing through a boy’s skin. Another child’s arms sprouted bark-like patches. A girl woke screaming as green shoots burst from her shoulders like seedlings clawing toward the sun.

This wasn’t the serene, controlled Wood Release they’d read about in academy texts. This was wild, parasitic, and consuming. Chōza immediately ordered chakra pills stockpiled from the Nara—more than one medic was already flagging, and some of their patients were also draining chakra to fuel the growth erupting from their bodies.

Chōza felt a flicker of relief that he had sent Sukea and Kakashi home when he did. They didn’t need to see this. He also sent word to his students: training was cancelled until further notice.

Meanwhile, the medics drowned in chaos. They darted from cot to cot, scrambling to catalogue symptoms, sorting children by severity, barely able to keep ahead of the crises. Reports piled up in Chōza’s hands, each heavier than the last.

The truth was undeniable—they had no idea how to save these children. No one in Konoha did. Was this the natural cost of Wood Release, or something twisted in Orochimaru’s design? The only people who might know were Orochimaru himself… or Tsunade, granddaughter of the First Hokage and the only medic still alive who has treated a Wood Release user. But Tsunade had vanished from the village long ago.

Dragging his hands over his face, Chōza let exhaustion roughen his voice. “What do we do?”

Tsume didn’t hesitate. She stood with arms crossed, eyes burning with resolve.

“We keep trying,” she said, sharp and steady. “That’s all there is. If I have to, I’ll send trackers after Orochimaru. Or Tsunade. Whoever might help. But until then, we don’t stop. We save as many of these kids as we can.”

—

Sukea rummaged through his small stash of belongings from the future, fingertips brushing over scrolls, his Icha Icha, and the odd trinket, until he landed on what he wanted: his camera.

He pulled it free with a faint hum of satisfaction. The model was old enough to pass unnoticed in this era—bulky, a little scuffed, nothing sleek or suspicious. Perfect for today’s plan.

Sliding in fresh film, he worked with the steady precision of a shinobi prepping tools before a mission. The quiet click of the case shutting felt satisfying.

Meandering into the living area, he found Kakashi finishing the last of his breakfast. The boy’s sharp gaze cut instantly to the camera, suspicion plain in the wary tilt of his eyes.

Sukea waved him off. “Don’t worry. It’s for later.” He sat across from the boy in front of his own breakfast. “What’s on your schedule today?”

Kakashi didn’t hesitate. “Team training. Maybe some drills on my own. Then I’ll come home.”

“Mm.” Sukea fished a folded stack of bills from his pocket and pressed it into Kakashi’s hand before the kid could protest.

Kakashi blinked down at the money. “…Why?”

“Because,” Sukea replied, firm but deceptively casual, “after training, you’re not coming straight home. You’re going out. Grab food—different stalls if you can. Do a few errands. Buy clothes, maybe. A size or two up wouldn’t hurt.” He nodded sagely. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later. And—” he leaned in, lowering his voice with conspiratorial mischief—“I’d wear a second mask today. Just in case.”

Kakashi’s gaze slid from the money to the camera, and Sukea could see the moment realisation struck. His brows pinched, shoulders tensing with the beginnings of refusal. But after a beat, he grumbled and shoved the bills into his pocket.

Kakashi muttered something under his breath about ‘stupid plans,’ rolling his eyes. Still, he detoured into their room, snagged a spare mask, tugged it on without hesitation, and stalked toward the door. Just as he left, he called back flatly, “I’m not a kid. I can pay for things myself.”

Sukea didn’t bother pointing out the obvious. That Kakashi had kept the money anyway. Honestly, he’d do the same. Probably spend it out of sheer spite. Which, of course, was exactly why Sukea had given it.

A grin tugged at his lips as he leaned back, satisfied. Today was going to be fun. For once, Kakashi would be forced to do something other than train, and Sukea would finally get the chance to unwind, too.

—

Left to his own devices after his morning routine, Sukea wandered toward the training grounds where Team Minato usually gathered. Sure enough, he found them assembled, and Minato’s voice carried across the clearing, warm and effortless as always.

“…And since you’ve all been doing so well lately, I signed you up for the Chūnin Exams!”

Rin gasped, hands clasped in delight. Obito nearly tripped over himself, fists pumping in the air as if they’d already passed. The two of them practically crackled with excitement, feeding off each other’s energy.

Kakashi, of course, stood apart. Arms crossed, expression cool, he gave a derisive little huff. “I’m already a Chūnin.” He puffed his chest out like the slightly-too-small flak jacket proved the point.

Minato only chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes, but only three-man squads can enter. You’ll need to participate so your teammates can qualify. Besides…” His smile softened, coaxing. “You were promoted on the battlefield. It wouldn’t hurt to take the standard exam. Think of it as an opportunity to show off.”

Kakashi scowled, pouting despite himself.

Sukea clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his laugh and lifted his camera instead. Click. The shutter froze the moment perfectly: Kakashi sulking, Rin’s eyes shining, Obito vibrating with joy, Minato negotiating patiently with his most stubborn student. A scene that couldn’t last, captured forever.

He lowered the camera slowly, chest tightening, and for a beat let himself just watch. They were so young.

And they’d grown. Their water-walking was sharper, steadier; Rin’s chakra control was precise, Obito’s balance more surefooted, their teamwork tighter. But what caught Sukea’s eye most was the way Rin and Obito’s gazes kept sneaking toward Kakashi, whispers and conspiratorial smiles passing between them.

Sukea smirked. Perfect. He barely needed to lure them into his plan—they were halfway there already.

When training wrapped up, he followed at a lazy distance, camera swinging from his neck. Sure enough, Obito pulled something from his bag: a camera of his own.

Sukea blinked. He’d known about the shrine of Rin photos, but seeing Obito use it for something else was new.

The pair scuttled after Kakashi, ducking behind walls and bushes, popping the lens out just long enough to snap a shot whenever he wasn’t looking. Their stealth wasn’t even bad.

Eventually, Sukea found the perfect moment to intercept and slipped into the same bush they were crouched in.

Obito nearly yelped, jerking so hard he almost dropped the camera, but Rin was quicker, her hand clamped over his mouth, steadying his fumbling grip.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed, eyes wide.

“Sorry,” Sukea whispered back, feigning innocence. “Didn’t realise this spot was taken. I was tailing my target and wasn’t paying attention.” He peeked past them just in time to see Kakashi turn the corner, then widened his eyes in exaggerated delight. “Wait. Are you trying to see Kakashi’s face too?!”

Obito’s eyes darted guiltily. “…Maybe?”

“I can help!” Sukea hissed, every bit the eager coconspirator. “I’ve been trying to catch a photo of Kakashi’s face for ages! I have a passion for photography, you see.” He held up his own camera as proof. “Capturing Kakashi’s elusive face is just one noble pursuit among many. I’m even thinking of becoming a field reporter someday.”

He said it with such conviction that neither of them suspected the truth—that he saw that face every day, both in the mirror and across the breakfast table.

“So,” he leaned closer, grin tilting sharp and conspiratorial, “what’s your plan?”

Obito straightened at once, puffing himself up with bravado. “We have a plan.”

“We’re… observing him while we make one,” Rin corrected, more hesitant.

Sukea’s grin turned sharp, conspiratorial. “If you’re open to suggestions, I have plenty~”

—

To Sukea’s surprise, Obito wasn’t half bad with a camera. For his age, his hand was steady enough, and his eye for framing was almost impressive. Almost. Sukea bit his tongue to keep from pointing out where those skills had probably come from. Hours of trailing Rin like a lovesick shadow, no doubt. He decided to save that jab for later, when they were looking through the photos. Especially since, judging by the way Obito angled the lens, at least half the shots weren’t focused on Kakashi at all.

Not that it mattered. Every single attempt Rin and Obito made to capture Kakashi’s unmasked face ended in spectacular failure.

The first chance came at a food stall. Kakashi ordered grilled eggplant, waiting patiently as it cooked. Just as he reached to tug down his mask, he turned his back on their hiding spot without hesitation, eating with the maddening composure of someone utterly unconcerned about being watched. It was exactly the kind of calm indifference Sukea had hoped for, and exactly the kind of thing that made his companions groan in unison.

The second attempt was even worse, or better depending on perspective. Kakashi wandered through a few more stalls, acting as though he had no idea they were following him. Yet every time they lined up a shot, something blocked the view. A wooden post. A drooping branch. A passerby arriving with uncanny timing. Kakashi slipped behind each obstacle as if the entire scene had been rehearsed.

Only twice did Sukea step in, “accidentally” ruining their angle with a cough or a subtle bump. The rest was pure Kakashi. Effortlessly elusive, dancing just out of reach of their increasingly desperate lens.

Eventually, Kakashi ducked into a clothing shop, exactly as Sukea had suggested earlier. From his vantage point, Sukea saw the moment Kakashi realised even the smallest size of genin gear was snug on him. His shoulders stiffened, his scowl deepened, and with obvious reluctance, he grabbed a few larger pieces before disappearing into a changing room.

That was when Rin and Obito lit up. Their eyes gleamed as they whispered, hatching a daring plan to sneak inside and snap a photo the moment Kakashi lowered his mask. Obito clutched the camera so tightly his hands shook, while Rin’s cheeks flushed with reckless anticipation.

Sukea smothered a laugh, already knowing how this would end.

The three of them crouched outside the stall, cameras poised, holding their breath as fabric rustled within. They waited—

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing?!” The shopkeeper’s furious voice rang out.

Rin froze, horror dawning as she realised exactly what it looked like. They were spying on someone changing. She bowed so fast she nearly toppled forward, grabbing both boys by their sleeves and dragging them along as she stammered frantic apologies. Obito, red-faced, clutched the camera protectively to his chest.

And that set the pattern. Every attempt, every single one, failed. Each disaster more ridiculous than the last.

Sukea could not help himself. He was having fun.

—

“I have an idea!” Sukea announced as the evening light began to fade. This would probably be one of their last chances today, and excitement sparked in his eyes. “I heard Kakashi knows mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. What if someone pretends they’ve drowned? He’ll have to help, and I’ll get a shot when he takes his mask off!”

He expected chaos—maybe Obito leaping up to defend Rin’s honour, yelling that she couldn’t do it, or both of them scrambling to shove some unlucky third party forward.

Instead, silence. Obito froze, his face going crimson. Rin’s lips pressed into a thin, uneasy line.

“Maybe not,” Rin said quickly. “We can’t… we can’t make him do that again. He didn’t come back to training for days after the last time.”

Sukea blinked. “Wait, again? What happened?”

“It’s nothing!” Obito blustered, hands waving wildly. “I already know Bakashi can do that without showing his face. We need a different plan!” His ears burned redder with every word.

Sukea turned the thought over, unsettled. Nothing like that had happened when he was Kakashi… but if he was right about what they meant, it explained a few things. Like how unflinchingly Kakashi had been prepared to drag Tenzo back from the edge, mask or not. He made a mental note: he’d be dragging the full story out of Kakashi later.

But before he could press for details, his gaze drifted past them. Kakashi had already wandered off—his small frame heading down a familiar path. The one that led to the memorial stone.

And just like that, Sukea’s amusement soured.

The game was over. He’d had his fun, but Kakashi deserved peace, even if he’d never ask for it. Sukea wasn’t about to shadow him now. Not after everything that had happened yesterday, and not after dropping something so heavy in Kakashi’s lap about the death of someone he’d only just, reluctantly, begun to let into his life. Trailing him now would feel cruel.

With a soft sigh, Sukea turned back to Rin and Obito, clapping his hands, more to shake himself free of the heavy mood than anything else. “Okay, okay. Different plan.” He began pacing, mind spinning. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought this far ahead. Mostly, he’d started this whole thing as a distraction for himself, too—something to pull his mind away from what his clone had uncovered in Danzo’s files.

Then it hit him. Files.

He stopped mid-step, face lighting up with inspiration. “Wait! I just remembered! There should be a photo of Kakashi without his mask in his ninja registration file!”

“So?” Obito frowned, clearly not following.

“So,” Sukea said dramatically, “what if we break into the archives to see it!”

He beamed at them innocently. Of course, his motives stretched further. If they managed to sneak inside, he could also quietly check for signs of tampering. See if Danzo had started pulling or altering records in the official archives. Maybe force ANBU to run an inventory, making it harder for Root to keep their secrets buried.

“Are you serious?” Rin hissed, glancing around as if ANBU might drop from the trees at the suggestion alone. “We’ll get in so much trouble.”

“Not if we don’t get caught,” Sukea said cheerfully.

—

“…And it should be this one!” Sukea declared triumphantly, yanking open yet another drawer and pulling free a file he already knew was wrong. He gave it the barest glance, frowned as though disappointed, and slid it back into place.

Obito groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You kind of suck at this. Don’t you work the mission desk? Shouldn’t you be better at finding files?”

Sukea flashed him a false smile, all apology on the surface. In truth, he hadn’t expected this charade to drag out so long. The ANBU response was slow—oddly slow. Which was fine. The more time he had to poke around, the more he confirmed what he already suspected: gaps in the archive. Too many. Too neat. Tampering. Danzō’s fingerprints were all over it.

Finally, Sukea felt it—the faintest flicker of chakra at the edge of his senses. An ANBU alert. Showtime.

“No, no, I swear I’ve got it this time,” he said lightly, wandering toward the proper section. “The archiving system here’s kind of confusing, but I think I’ve cracked it.”

He crouched beside the file drawer that actually held Kakashi’s registration record, slipping it open with practised care. He was careful, too, to make sure the one just behind it, labelled “Hatake Sukea”, stayed well out of sight. It also had him sans wig and paint.

Fingers steady, he drew the file partway out. A photo began to peek free: a tuft of white hair, pale skin, and just a hint of the eyes beneath. Obito and Rin both leaned in, breath held.

Then, just as the image was about to reveal Kakashi’s nose, he paused.

A heavy silence followed.

And then—

—

One masked ANBU had each genin by the scruff like misbehaving puppies, dragging them down the hall to the Hokage’s office. Obito squirmed, Rin wriggled, but Sukea didn’t bother struggling—there wasn’t much point.

Behind the desk, Hiruzen Sarutobi looked up from his paperwork, pipe resting idle between two fingers. The smell of tobacco smoke made Sukea’s nose wrinkle. Hiruzen’s eyes narrowed: not furious, but heavy with displeasure.

The ANBU dropped them unceremoniously. Sukea landed lightly on his feet and dusted off his sleeves as if nothing had happened. Rin and Obito hit the floor with less grace.

Silence stretched. Smoke curled faintly upward. Hiruzen simply watched, waiting.

Obito nearly cracked first, lips parting, but Sukea jabbed him sharply in the ribs. Rin fidgeted with her apron hem, hands twisting, though her chin stayed up.

The silence broke when the doors banged open.

“I came as fast as I could!” Minato blurted, half-breathless, bowing low. His words tumbled over each other. “I-I’m sorry! My students-they won’t do anything like this again, Lord Third!”

Chōza followed far less hurriedly, his footsteps heavy with resignation. His sigh told the whole story: this was not his first time being summoned here.

“What did he do this time?” Chōza asked flatly.

“Thank you for arriving so promptly,” Hiruzen tapped his pipe against the desk, a deliberate sound. “My ANBU found your students rummaging through the archives. But I would also like to know why.” His gaze slid from the frazzled jonin to the chastened genin. “Well?”

Obito wilted under the Hokage’s stare, shoulders curling inward. Rin managed better composure, chin raised like a proper medic.

Sukea bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning and pasted on a suitably contrite look.

At last, Rin stepped forward. Her voice was steady, though her hands trembled faintly. “We heard a person’s registration file has their photo in it. We just… wanted to see Kakashi’s face.”

The stern mask on Hiruzen’s face faltered into bafflement. Minato’s lips parted, stunned. His gaze darted toward Kakashi’s older double, who stood far too calm in the group.

Sukea nearly laughed but held it down, contrition painted across his expression. That was, until Minato’s eyes cut sharply toward him—blue, disappointed, cutting deeper than Hiruzen’s reprimand ever could. His expression became a little more real.

Hiruzen sighed, long and weary. “Tampering with records is a serious offence... At times, it can even be considered treason. Do not repeat this stunt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” Sukea answered crisply.

“Yes, sir,” Rin echoed.

Obito squeaked something strangled, but it counted.

“Good.” Hiruzen’s tone eased slightly. “Team 7, you’re dismissed. I need a word with the instigator.”

The three genin stiffened. Rin and Obito cast him pitying looks as they filed out. Minato hesitated, conflicted, but followed. The door shut, privacy seals shimmering into place.

Only Sukea, Chōza, and the Hokage remained.

The silence grew heavier. Then Hiruzen’s eyes fixed on him. “Why did you really push them into this?”

Sukea leaned back, loose and easy, a faint smile tugging his lips. “I was curious how far they’d go to see Kakashi’s face, Lord Third. But…” His expression sharpened. “While I was looking, I noticed too many gaps in the files. Strange omissions, especially around shinobi connected to Danzō.”

Hiruzen’s frown deepened, his reply measured—and too quick. “You likely just don’t know the system well enough. Regardless, the ANBU will run a full inventory. Any discrepancies will be addressed. What you should have done was file a report.”

“I work the mission desk,” Sukea countered blandly. “I know how long a report takes to reach the right desk. Let’s just say it isn’t fast.”

Chōza groaned, palm dragging down his face.

“Enough.” Hiruzen’s voice cut through, sharp with command. “Hatake—you are a clan heir. I expect better. That being said, the Chūnin Exams are approaching. Your team is already registered. With luck, you’ll be too busy preparing to cause more disruptions”

The words landed heavier than Sukea liked. His stomach knotted. Chūnin Exams? He had assumed Chōza’s team would skip this year—not with Danzō’s trial looming and so many plates already spinning. Besides, advancement was the last thing he wanted. It would only sharpen comparisons to Kakashi.

“With respect, Lord Third, I wasn’t intending to enter my team this year. We don’t have the time,” Chōza said firmly, confirming Sukea's assumption.

“I am aware we are all busy,” Hiruzen intoned, patience thinning. “But your student has already proven he can commandeer a squad, match Kakashi’s sharpness, and act on instinct like a leader. Yet instead of channelling that, he breaks into the archives for a prank. At first, I found his bending of rules amusing. But it is beginning to test my patience, and the Chunin exams often helps iron out a few wrinkles in discipline. I trust you will work something out.”

Dismissal was clear.

Chōza looked like he wanted to say something further, but wisely held his tongue. He bowed. “Yes, Lord Third.”

Sukea dipped his head as well, jaw tight, irritation curling his lips. He missed the safety of a mask.

—

Chōza sighed in defeat as the tower doors shut behind them. The sound carried the weight of a man who had spent the entire day drowning in problems, only to have more piled on top.

Sukea felt a pang of guilt. Yes, he’d managed to prove that Danzō had been tampering with evidence, but all he’d really done was toss another mess onto Chōza’s already full plate.

He was still considering how to fix it when Minato appeared, waiting just beyond the steps. The young jōnin’s expression hovered somewhere between concern and awkward uncertainty.

Sukea froze, but Chōza moved first. His heavy hand clamped onto Sukea’s shoulder, steering him forward with no chance of escape. The weight was unyielding, pressing him into a stiff bow.

“I’m so sorry about that, Minato,” Chōza said gravely. “He usually keeps his antics confined to his teammates or subtle enough to only be a mild nuisance.” His grimace deepened.

Sukea rolled his eyes, resigned.

Minato, to his credit, looked more amused than upset, maybe because he was more used to coaxing apologies out of Kakashi than receiving them on his behalf. “Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to check if my students were the only ones to get off easy.”

“It could have been worse,” Chōza admitted, his shoulders slumping. “But my team’s been pushed into the Chūnin Exams as punishment. Hokage-sama seems to think they’re ready. Personally, I think he just wants this one,” he tipped his chin toward Sukea, “kept busy.”

His frown deepened. “Truthfully, it’s overwhelming. Tsume and I still have the children from Orochimaru’s lab to care for. I’d submitted a report to Hokage-sama, hoping to suggest some kind of truce or plea deal to lure Orochimaru back—to force him to undo what he’s done. Some of the children already have unusual medical needs. Failing that, I wanted to suggest summoning Tsunade. But the closest I’ve managed is this… disciplinary hearing.”

“I could have told you that reports don’t work quickly…” Sukea grumbled and was promptly ignored.

Minato’s expression softened. “That’s a lot to shoulder. If there’s anything I can do, tell me.”

Chōza shook his head. “Training six students would be too much for you, even if you mean it.”

Minato hummed. “Six is a lot, but I was actually planning to take some of your advice for my own team—bring in extra tutors for what I can’t cover. I could help do the same for yours. But I can also help with the other problem…” His expression grew more serious. “I can pass your message along to my sensei.”

Chōza blinked. “Your sensei?”

“Jiraiya.” Minato gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “He was on a team with both Tsunade and Orochimaru, remember?”

Chōza did remember, who wouldn't? For a moment, he simply stared. Then his face softened, almost relieved. “That would… mean a great deal. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Minato’s tone was light, but his gaze was steady. “Consider it thanks for helping me understand my student’s clan needs.”

Despite himself, Chōza looked touched.

Sukea, meanwhile, groaned under the weight of the hand still pinning him down, wishing that he’d planned an escape route earlier.

—

Sukea finally scrambled in through his apartment window, shoulders sagging in relief the moment he touched solid ground. He was tired. But the familiar scent of simmering broth drifting through the air promised comfort. Someone had already started dinner.

“Sukea!” Guy’s voice thundered before Sukea even had time to shut the window. “Did you hear? Kakashi’s team is entering the Chūnin Exams!”

Blinking, startled more by the announcement than by Guy sprawling so comfortably in their home.

“I ran into him on the way home,” Kakashi muttered, appearing in the kitchen doorway. “He’s staying for dinner.”

Sukea had a hunch what “on the way home” meant. Probably the memorial stone. He didn’t press. If Kakashi wasn’t offering, he wouldn’t ask. Instead, he slipped his camera from his shoulder and set his pack down by the door. They’d eaten at the Might household often enough; fair was fair if Guy returned the favour.

He plastered on a smile for Guy’s sake. “Yeah, exciting, right? I actually ran into Rin and Obito earlier—they told me too.”

“Hah!” Guy leapt up, fist clenched with fiery conviction. “Then we must train twice as hard! We can’t let ourselves fall behind. You’ll see, Choza will have no choice but to admit we’re ready!”

Sukea didn’t share the boy’s enthusiasm, but he knew this would make Guy’s night. “Actually… our team’s in too. I just found out. We’ll probably hear officially tomorrow.”

Guy practically vibrated. “Really?! Then we’ll double our training! Triple it! Kakashi, you and I will have challenge after challenge! Push each other to new limits!”

A muffled groan drifted from the kitchen. Sukea almost felt sorry for Kakashi. Almost. He suspected the boy would drag him to the Hatake compound later to demand private training to make up for being thrown into Guy’s clutches.

Chuckling, Sukea leaned back. “Well, I’ll wish you both luck. I’ve got film to develop. Careful barging in, though. The last thing you want is to ruin my film.”

“Photos?” Guy tilted his head, curiosity sparking.

Before Sukea could answer, Kakashi cut in with a low grumble: “Of me. He, Rin and Obito stalked me all evening trying to catch my face.”

Guy’s eyes widened in delight. “A challenge!” He whipped toward Sukea, practically glowing. “Who won?!”

“There isn’t a winner,” Sukea said dryly. “Neither of us managed it.” He left out that it had never been a fair game.

“Then I’ll decide!” Guy declared. “Tomorrow, we’ll consult Kakashi’s teammates and compare your photos. I’ll judge who captured the best shot. That will decide the victor!”

Sukea rolled his eyes and gave a lazy half-salute. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

Leaving Guy to rattle off increasingly outlandish training schemes, Sukea slipped down the hall to the weapons closet, his makeshift darkroom. Cramped, inconvenient, but it worked.

One by one, he hung fresh prints on the line. Some from today: Kakashi at food stalls, mask tugged just low enough to eat, a stray leaf hiding the rest of his face. Obito crouched with his own camera. Rin mid-laughter. A handful from training.

Then his gaze slid to the other line. One strung with photos from salvaged rolls he’d carried into this time. Test photos, mostly. Shots of Konoha. A newer shot of Kakashi on their birthday in his flak jacket. But nestled among them were the treasures he shouldn’t keep: his students. Naruto’s wild grin. Sakura’s focus. Sasuke’s guarded glare. He shouldn’t risk keeping them. Dangerous. Foolish. Yet he couldn’t let them go. Just seeing those faces again steadied something raw inside him. He’d never be their sensei again, but he couldn’t bear to forget them.

A hesitant knock broke the hush.

“Dinner’s ready,” Kakashi’s voice called quietly through the door.

Sukea exhaled, tugged off his gloves, and gave the photos one last look before slipping out.

The sight that greeted him tugged a rare, genuine smile from him. The two boys sat waiting at the table—Kakashi with his mask lowered to eat, Guy so busy chattering he hadn’t even noticed the rare privilege he’d gained. Rin and Obito would have killed for that glimpse. And here Guy was, utterly oblivious.

Sliding into his seat, Sukea picked up his chopsticks. “By the way, Kakashi,” he said suddenly, tone light and casual, “your teammates vetoed my plan earlier to trick you into mouth-to-mouth to try and see your face. Said something like, ‘Kakashi can do that without showing his face.’” He tilted his head, grin sharp. “Tell me, what was that about?”

Guy lit up in interest, and Kakashi shovels food into his mouth, trying to pretend that his mouth was too full to answer.

Chapter Text

“Kakashi, you’ve already saved someone like that? That’s incredible! Proof of your true spirit as a shinobi!” Guy’s eyes sparkled in earnest reverence while Sukea prodded the reluctant story out of Kakashi of how Obito had nearly drowned during training and been dragged back with the ‘kiss of life’.

Kakashi groaned into his bowl. “That’s not—It wasn’t—I was in charge, I had to!”

Sukea’s lips curved in a wry smile. Kakashi had been insisting it had only been his job as the highest-ranking shinobi there, but the way his ears burned betrayed him. The more he squirmed, the more Guy gushed about heroics, youth and noble sacrifice.

Then, mid-ode to Kakashi’s valour, Guy’s gaze snagged on the clock.

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude so long! I should get going!”

“You’re not staying the night?” Sukea asked, half expecting him to. Guy had become a permanent fixture on their futon the last few times he stayed for dinner.

Guy shook his head. “I can’t keep doing that to you. Besides, I’ve been working with Inoichi.” He tugged on his sandals with practised efficiency. “Part of my training is… well, trying to settle into my own home again. I promised him I’d check in if I couldn’t.”

The sincerity stilled Sukea’s amusement.

Guy straightened, thoughtful. “Actually… Sukea? Have you seen Inoichi lately? He asked how you’ve been. And Choza-sensei mentioned you should talk to him too.”

Sukea froze. Just a fraction too long before he covered with a shrug. “It’s on my list.”

Guy’s sharp eyes narrowed. People underestimated him, but he was brighter than most gave him credit for. He knew something was off, even if he didn’t know what. “If you’re nervous, I could come with you?”

“No.” The word came too quick, too sharp. Sukea softened it with a crooked smile. “No. Thanks, but… It’s something I need to do myself. Call it my own training.”

Guy studied him, searching. Then, finally, he nodded. Still, the look in his eye lingered, and Sukea knew—if he didn’t go, Guy would eventually drag him.

He couldn’t have that. He didn’t want Guy anywhere near when he finally spoke with Inoichi. Even the bare minimum—telling Inoichi about the records, the ones that included Duy’s death—was too much to risk letting Guy overhear.

With another burst of energy, Guy made his farewells and bounded off, picking up Sukea’s bad habit of using the window. Quiet settled back over the apartment.

Kakashi’s gaze lingered on the window Guy had vanished through, then flicked toward Sukea in question.

Sukea leaned back, folding his arms, and let out a long sigh through his nose. Finally, he muttered, “Yeah. I’ll… do that tomorrow.”

—

The next day, Team 23 still didn’t have official training, leaving Sukea free to his own devices.

He’d reluctantly stopped by the Yamanaka flower shop to ask after Inoichi. The Yamanaka at the counter, recognising him as one of Chōza’s students, explained that Inoichi was tied up with clan matters alongside Chōza and should come back another time.

Sukea concluded that probably meant Inoichi was with the Inuzuka for the day, and he was halfway through convincing himself it might be worth sneaking into their compound just to get it over with when he nearly collided with Guy barreling down the street.

On closer inspection, Guy wasn’t alone. He had Genma in tow, dragging him along by the wrist like a sack of rice.

“Ah! Here he is!” Guy boomed, eyes lighting up at the sight of Sukea. “I told you I could find our youthful teammate!”

Sukea raised an eyebrow. “Yup. You found me. Need something?”

“I was just telling Genma the great news!” Guy declared, striking a triumphant pose. “We have qualified for the Chūnin Exams! And since Chōza-sensei is consumed by other duties, I have taken it upon myself to prepare us! We will forge our flames of youth through intense training!”

Genma finally wrenched his wrist free, rolling his shoulders, the senbon bobbing lazily between his lips. “Not like I had anything better to do. Everyone else is busy with their own teams anyway.”

“Excellent! Then we begin with strength training!” Guy bellowed, flexing both arms.

Genma grimaced. “Or,” he drawled, “we could try something less insane. Throwing accuracy, normal taijutsu, maybe stealth drills? Or—” his gaze slid toward Sukea, sly—“we could set Sukea loose and snag ourselves a mission.”

“Not happening,” Sukea said with a shake of his head. “I already got hauled up in front of the Hokage for dragging Rin and Obito into the archives. Pretty sure there’ll be eyes on me if I try something like that again.”

That made Genma blink. “You what? Why the hell would you do that?”

Sukea sighed and gave them an edited, more sympathetic version. “Kakashi mentioned Rin and Obito were getting a little too interested in what was under his mask. I figured I’d keep an eye on it before things got out of hand. But… I might’ve let slip that the shinobi registration files would have a photo of him without it, and helped them sneak in—so they didn’t stumble onto my file instead. Next thing I know, ANBU’s dragging us by the scruffs to the Hokage.”

Genma barked a laugh. “That almost sounds like you pulled the whole stunt just to scare them off from trying again.”

Sukea smiled, pleased.

“…That is exactly what you were doing,” Genma realised aloud.

But Guy only looked more inspired, fists trembling with excitement. “A fine feat of cunning! Speaking of great skill, have you yet settled the matter with Obito? The contest to determine who holds the superior photographs of Kakashi after yesterday’s escapades?”

“No.” Sukea pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you, it wasn’t a fair challenge, Guy—”

Genma narrowed his eyes, senbon tilting dangerously. “Wait. Back up. What challenge?”

Guy posed dramatically, fingers framing Sukea like a camera lens. “A contest of youthful artistry! Though neither Sukea nor Obito succeeded in capturing Kakashi’s unmasked visage, I declared it a worthy test of skill! Photography! Timing! Courage under pressure!” His grin nearly split his face. “A contest to determine how well they work together!”

Sukea groaned, pressing a hand over his face.

Genma’s grin sharpened. “So you’re telling me you spent yesterday running around trying to photograph Kakashi with his team, and this guy—” he jabbed a thumb at Guy—“wants to judge it like the Academy arts festival?”

“Yes!” Guy confirmed, utterly missing the sarcasm.

Genma leaned in, eyes glittering. “Actually… not a bad idea.”

Sukea dropped his hand and stared flatly. “…You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Think about it,” Genma pressed, like he’d just invented something brilliant. “We’re heading into the Exams. Teamwork’s everything. Judging photos together? Great practice. And let’s be honest, it’s way more fun than push-ups until we collapse.”

“Push-ups are also fun!” Guy interjected earnestly, missing the jab entirely. “But Genma is right! This could be an excellent teamwork exercise!”

Sukea groaned again, already regretting leaving the apartment that morning. Tracking down Inoichi could wait. The last thing he needed was Guy volunteering himself along for the trip.

—

Team 23 caught up with Team 7 just as their training seemed to be winding down, with how they were milling around.

“Sukea! You’re okay?!” Rin gasped, rushing forward, relief softening her face.

“Shame,” Obito muttered, still sulking. “He nearly got us in trouble.”

“I think you’re both idiots for trusting him,” Kakashi said flatly, rolling his eyes.

Obito’s head whipped around. “Who told you?!”

Before Kakashi could reply, Minato dusted off his hands and walked over. His smile was bright but tinged with confusion. “Do you boys need something?”

Genma straightened, clearly taking charge. “Since Chōza-sensei is occupied, we’re training independently. Today, we thought we’d observe your team.”

Minato’s expression flickered with consideration. “We were just finishing up. But actually… with an even number of students here, why not join us for a few spars?” He tilted his head hopefully.

Guy’s arm shot up instantly. “I’ll fight Kakashi!”

Minato nodded, then glanced over the others. His gaze lingered on Rin and Sukea, hesitating, but he paired Sukea with Obito and left Rin with Genma.

Obito groaned. “Do I have to? Last time one of us fought Sukea, he was… weird.”

“Obito,” Minato warned, “He wasn’t weird. He just… had a normal reaction to, um, blood.” Minato scolded, though his defence was a little clumsy. “Just be careful, and maybe don’t use sharp weapons?”

Sukea sighed in exasperation, tugging his headband free and tying down his wig while making it look like he was just getting his hair out of his face, while everyone prepared themselves.

—

They spread out, pairs taking their corners of the clearing.

Across from Sukea, Obito scowled, stance stiff. Sukea eased into the loosest, most neutral guard he could manage. He only planned to trade lazy blows until time ran out. But that plan faltered when Obito slipped into an Uchiha opening stance—one meant to flow naturally with the Sharingan. Without it, the form left him wide open.

Sukea should probably fix that before it becomes a liability.

He started slow, blocking clumsy punches and overextended kicks. He catalogued every flaw, then mirrored them back—his movements sharper, faster, cleaner. The style was imperfect, but his old memories of Sasuke gave him the scaffolding to reconstruct what Obito’s form should have been… Even though his student’s own form had the unique flaw of his natural left-handedness, making his right-handed stances not flow as well. Still, even that had been more technically correct than Obito’s version.

Obito’s eyes widened when Sukea parried one of his kicks and returned it with unnerving ease.

Sukea only continued the rhythm. Wait for Obito to strike, block, then strike back with the same move.

Frustration burned across Obito’s face. It took longer than Sukea expected, but eventually Obito caught on. He began copying how Sukea was doing it, pulling in his elbows more, overextending his legs less and mimicking Sukea’s dodges. Obito’s pride swelled as he thought he was regaining ground—until Sukea suddenly pushed the pace.

He sped up, testing the boy’s reactions, matching his pace move for move. Not quite the same effect the Sharingan would grant, but close enough to rattle Obito, to give the illusion of foresight.

“How are you doing that?!” Obito yelped, stumbling back.

Sukea kept going.

Panic flickered across Obito’s face. He backpedalled toward the river, then set his jaw and ran through the familiar seals for a fireball justu.

Sukea mirrored instantly, flames colliding midair and exploding in a cloud of smoke. Before it cleared, he barreled through, shoving Obito straight into the shallows of the water behind him and ending the fight.

Obito resurfaced sputtering, furious, and tried to drag him in too—only for Sukea to gain his footing on the water’s surface.

“I thought you were supposed to be bad at fighting!” Obito shouted.

“I just copied you.” Sukea’s tone was maddeningly mild. “Didn’t look that hard.”

Obito’s expression flickered between disbelief and indignation before settling on anger. “You can’t do that!”

“Why not? Copying moves is what the Sharingan does. Hypocritical to complain when I do it without one. Maybe use a style that doesn’t rely on something you don’t have yet.”

Obito froze, then scowled, cheeks burning. “Shut up!”

—

When Minato finally called them back in, Kakashi and Guy looked suitably scuffed after a good challenge. Rin and Genma looked far too pleased for two people who’d supposedly been sparring. Judging by the way Rin was twirling a senbon between her fingers and the two were comparing tiny pinpricks dotting their arms like badges of honour, they had a productive spar.

Obito stormed toward Rin, dripping wet. “Sukea is a liar! He’s not bad at fighting, he just pretends he is!”

Genma snorted around his senbon. “Yeah, he isn’t as good at hiding that as he thinks. He starts to show off when he thinks people won’t notice.”

Obito frowned, caught somewhere between defensive and sulky.

“Maybe what you need is to make him your rival,” Genma offered smugly. “Worked for Guy with Kakashi, didn’t it? Sukea doesn’t have one yet. Whoever bags him might get some of that freakish talent rubbed off on them.”

Obito scowled harder. “Please. Guy was already a freak before that. The rivalry just makes them weird together. I don’t want to be involved with that.”

“Your loss,” Genma muttered.

Minato clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, that’s enough. You all did well. I also have news: If you weren’t already aware, both of our teams have been accepted into the Chūnin Exams.”

Most of them stood a little taller at the reminder. Obito lit up with pride while Kakashi groaned, already rolling his eyes. Sukea elbowed him jokingly.

“This is the start of you gaining the skills to potentially lead your own teams or become elite shinobi,” Minato continued warmly. “And focusing on what kind of shinobi you want to become. Team 7, we’ll discuss your training together. Team 23, I’ll speak with Chōza to ensure you get the right support.”

—

Just as the students began to scatter, Guy thrust a hand skyward. “Before we leave, I have an important request of Kakashi’s youthful teammate!” Jabbing a finger at Obito. “I demand to see the photographs you took of my rival yesterday! We wish to compare their quality in a challenge!”

“What?!” Obito yelped, clutching his satchel. “No way!”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them,” Rin admitted curiously.

Obito turned scarlet. “There’s nothing worth looking at!”

Kakashi groaned. “Just hand them over, Obito. He won’t stop. Besides…” His tone dropped dry. “he’ll probably give you bonus points for all those stalker shots of Rin.”

“WHAT—?!” Obito went scarlet, voice cracking. “That’s not—she just happened to be in front of the camera!”

“You should’ve told me if I was in the way,” Rin added cheerfully, only worsening his mortification.

Both Hatakes leveled identical unimpressed stares at him. Sukea finally sighed, plucked the photos from his bag, which had thankfully stayed safe and dry inside the bag and tossed them to Guy.

Obito squawked in surprise, trying to grab them back, but Guy was already sprinting off to spread them across the nearest flat surface. Rin, Genma, and even Kakashi drifted over to look.

Obito hunched low, eyes teary with mortification. “She’s my best friend,” he muttered weakly. “It’s normal to have photos of her.”

“Normally, people ask first,” Sukea said flatly.

“You didn’t ask Kakashi yesterday!” Obito shot back.

“I did, actually. Kakashi knew we were there the whole time.”

Obito froze, dawning horror creeping across his face. “…So he was avoiding us on purpose?! That’s worse!” He jabbed an accusatory finger. “You tricked us! You got us hauled in front of the Hokage! What if that ruins my chances of becoming Hokage?!”

“You’ll be fine,” Sukea waved him off. “Trust me, I see the Hokage often enough to know where the line is.”

That snagged Obito’s attention. His eyes narrowed. “How often is ‘often enough’?”

Sukea shrugged. “More than most at the mission desk. I’m usually the one shoved in to make him sign paperwork. Guess I’m more willing to push his buttons than the others.”

Obito’s mouth twisted. Jealousy? That was usually reserved for Kakashi, not him. But now Obito was staring at Sukea like he was competition—like he stood between him and his dream. What was Sukea supposed to do with that?

Before he could think it through—

“The best photo has been chosen!” Guy roared, brandishing one aloft. “All the photos show great passion! But alas—the flames of youth shine brightest in this one!”

It was one of Sukea’s.

Obito’s outrage was instant. “That doesn’t count! You’re biased!”

“Nonsense! Every photo was wonderful. Your pictures of Rin’s back were… unique,” Guy said encouragingly. “I nearly chose one! But next time, ask her first—so she can show the true flames of youth!”

Rin laughed, embarrassed. “I was probably just in the way.”

Obito made a strangled noise, snatched the stack back, and buried them deep in his satchel before storming off.

—

Minato had been thinking. If Chōza’s students already trusted him enough to come seeking help, then he owed it to Chōza to follow through. And with how swamped the man had been lately, Minato figured it was better to go directly rather than wait.

On the way, he ran into Kushina. The moment she heard his destination, the Inuzuka compound, she insisted on tagging along. At first, Minato was touched, until he caught her grin and realised her true motive.

“You just want to see Tsume,” he muttered.

“Of course I do,” she said cheerfully, without shame.

Minato didn’t bother arguing. Kushina knew the compound better than he did anyway. She and Tsume often trained together, and he suspected he’d have gotten lost trying to navigate on his own. Sure enough, she led the way with quick steps, darting into a main building and straight to a door. Without hesitation, she shoved it open.

“Tsume! How are you?”

The room was stacked high with precarious piles of paperwork, and scrolls littered everywhere. Tsume and Chōza were both hunched over a desk, brushes moving in weary tandem. Kuromaru barely twitched at Kushina’s entrance, sprawled at Tsume’s feet.

“I want a drink,” Tsume said flatly, not even glancing up.

“There’s tea,” Chōza rumbled, eyes still on his scroll.

“Not what I meant.”

“All you’re getting.”

Only then did Chōza set his brush aside. He looked up at Minato, managing a polite but tired smile. “Tea?” His eyes, though, carried the sharper question: What are you doing here?

Minato clasped his hands behind his back, trying to look more put together than he felt. “You said I could help with training for Team 23. And I promised to send a message to my sensei for you. Since you’ve been busy, I thought I’d come directly.”

Chōza groaned into his palms but exhaled, resigned at the thought of more things that needed to be done. “How are you sending it?”

“Oh! Through our shared summons.” Minato brightened slightly. “Quick, and unlikely to be intercepted.”

That earned him a curt nod. Chōza pulled a clean sheet and began writing in deliberate, heavy strokes. The request was simple: for Jiraiya to find Tsunade, to treat the children Orochimaru had experimented on. At the end, he added that Jiraiya suggest to his sensei that if Orochimaru was ever captured, his punishment could include stabilising the children he’d harmed.

Minato skimmed it, lips pressing thin. He added his own note—a casual greeting, a mention of one of his students befriending one of the rescued children, and a request for whatever help Jiraiya could spare. He bundled both letters, summoned a small toad, and sent it off in a puff of smoke.

“That’s done.” Minato dusted his hands. “Have you made any plans for your students yet?”

Chōza leaned back, his chair creaking. “Vague ones. Didn’t expect them to actually get shoved into the Exams. I was thinking of finding someone to tutor Genma in poisons—or medical ninjutsu to cover the gap in the team. Guy…” he grimaced. “…He used to train with his father. I’ll need someone strong in taijutsu to take over. And Sukea… he’s the difficult one. Claims he doesn’t need a tutor. Tsume’s already swamped. I’m tempted to let him handle himself like he insists, since he’s already got plenty on his plate, but…”

“I could take him!” Kushina piped up instantly, leaning on Tsume’s desk. “I’ll teach him fuinjutsu.”

Chōza blinked. “Why would Sukea want that?”

“What do you mean, why?” she shot back. “The kid loves it! Picked it up faster than pretty boy ever did. Besides, I’m not big on schedules, so I can work around whatever else he has going on, ya’know.”

Chōza looked sceptical, but Minato stepped in gently. “She’s right. He waits by the gates when we come back, and Kushina’s been showing him the basics. He’s learning quickly, even with her… less structured style.”

For once, Chōza looked caught off guard. “He’s bright, but it’s hard to find anything that holds his attention.”

“Yeah, Kakashi’s like that too sometimes,” Minato admitted with a faint laugh. “Though I could just save Kushina the trouble and fold him into Kakashi’s schedule. We were already planning advanced chakra control and elemental work—what’s one more thing they could both benefit from?”

“No.” Tsume’s voice cut across the room, sharp and final. “You’ve already got too many brats. And teaching both Hatakes the same thing is a waste. They’ll trade notes and pick up the skills from each other anyway, so save the effort.”

Chōza shook his head, expression turning grim. “And don’t expect too much from the Hatakes. Sukea is likely going to be buried in this mess—” he gestured at the towers of records around him “—and Kakashi might end up neck-deep beside his brother. Keep that in mind when you make your own plans.”

The reminder landed heavily. Minato nodded, shame twisting in his chest. He’d let himself forget how much weight the boys already carried. Kakashi had slipped back into his efficient, aloof rhythm so quickly it was easy to pretend the ordeal hadn’t happened at all.

“So?” Kushina leaned closer, lips curved in a pout. “C’mon, let me teach the fun Hatake! He actually listens. He’s better at fūinjutsu than your crabby student anyway, ya’know.”

“Fun Hatake?” Minato blinked. “…Wait. You knew?”

“It was a secret?” Kushina tilted her head, all innocence.

Tsume snorted, clearly entertained.

Minato dragged a hand down his face. “…Fine. If Chōza approves, you can train him.”

“I do,” Chōza said immediately. “First time I’ve seen Sukea interested in anything. If he’s serious about fūinjutsu, I’ll take advantage of it. Might give him an outlet.”

“Great.” Minato straightened, relieved to have settled it. “Then I’ll start putting together a schedule for both teams, get them ready for the Exams.”

—

After Obito’s blow-up, the genin finally started to disperse.

Kakashi tilted his head toward Sukea, one eyebrow raised—a silent question. Have you gone to see Inoichi yet?

Sukea’s grimace answered before he could speak. Kakashi’s expression didn’t shift, but when Guy loudly suggested a “post-training challenge,” Kakashi cut him off flatly. “We’ve got our own training to do.” He didn’t wait for protest, just caught Sukea by the sleeve and tugged him away.

On the walk, Sukea muttered, “I heard Inoichi’s probably helping Chōza. If that’s true, he’ll be at the Inuzuka compound.”

Kakashi only nodded, already adjusting their route.

Between the two of them, sniffing out their target wasn’t difficult. Kakashi’s nose found the trail faster than Sukea’s, earning the boy a faint shake of the head. Kids pick things up too fast.

To his surprise, Inoichi Yamanaka was with Tenzo.

Tenzo had been moved to a quieter room now. The steady hum of chakra beyond the wall told Sukea that most of the medics were tied up elsewhere, clustered around another room where the chakra fluctuated erratically. For as much as he wanted to satisfy that curiosity, he forced his attention back to his own priorities.

Inoichi sat on the edge of Tenzo’s bed, with his own long blond hair loose, comb in hand, as he demonstrated how to brush and tie it back. Tenzo sat, watching intently, mirroring the motions as best he could with the man’s large hand occasionally moving carefully through the boy’s thick brown hair, helping to untangle stubborn knots with a gentleness Sukea hadn’t expected when the boy got stuck. He was murmuring something low, words too soft for Sukea to catch.

Sukea hesitated in the doorway. It felt like intruding. He almost turned to leave, but Tenzo spotted him first. The boy’s face lit up.

Inoichi glanced up, surprise flickering across his features before he smiled faintly. “Sukea. Kakashi. What are you two doing here?” His voice held a low note of reproach, not unkind, but pointed. “Sneaking in to see Tenzo?”

Sukea huffed, crossing his arms. “Actually, I came to talk to you. But clearly you’re too busy.” He started to turn on his heel as he found an opportunity to run.

“Wait—” Inoichi’s tone sharpened with urgency. He gestured them in. “I’m not too busy. I was just finishing evaluating how the children are adapting and preparing them for reintegration when the time comes. Tenzo is probably the closest to needing a permanent placement, so this is good timing.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, then looked back at Sukea. “And I wanted to talk to you as well. About the Hokage’s request, and everything that’s been happening lately.”

The bottom dropped out of Sukea’s stomach. He forced his expression neutral, wandered over, and crouched by Tenzo’s bed. “Hey, Tenzo.”

The boy’s eyes lit up at the greeting, and he waved. The simple gesture nearly unravelled the tight knot in Sukea’s chest.

But Inoichi cleared his throat, pulling them back to the present. “Chōza has been looking into housing. There’s an apartment available in your building, right next door. A two-bedroom. His thought was that, on paper, you might trade apartments with Tenzo. That way, you and Kakashi would have a two-bedroom, and Tenzo could take the one-bedroom, covered by his stipend. Chōza will handle the extra costs, so you won’t need to worry about that.”

Sukea blinked at him, then traded a glance with Kakashi. The boy shrugged minutely. Reluctant or not, there wasn’t much room to argue.

“…Fine,” Sukea muttered. “We’ll make it work.”

Inoichi smiled faintly, satisfied. Then his expression sobered. “Now—Kakashi, would you mind keeping Tenzo company while Sukea and I step aside for a word?”

Sukea’s stomach plummeted like a stone. He’d known this was coming, but knowing didn’t make it easier. He had to treat this like a mission. Something to be endured, not avoided. His hand twitched near his throat before tugging his mask up. He needed the barrier. At the same time, he tried to shore up his genjutsu defences, closing off his mind in pieces. He had no idea if it would help—but he couldn’t go in unshielded.

Inoichi’s curious glance lingered on the movement, but he let it pass. “Come,” he said simply, gesturing toward the back room. His voice was calm, almost casual—like he was inviting a guest to tea instead of asking a wary boy to bare evidence of a crime that had rotted Konoha for years.

Sukea followed stiffly. No grin this time, no mask of ease. He sat rigid once inside, every line of him radiating distrust.

“I know you don’t like me—or trust me,” Inoichi began without pretence, his voice low but steady. “But I want to help take Danzō down. He wasn’t just targeting you and Kakashi. My clan has been under his grip far longer than I care to admit.”

Sukea narrowed his eyes, silent. He had always suspected the Yamanaka clan’s involvement with Danzō. In the future, they had played a pivotal role in dismantling the man’s schemes, but the question of which side they had stood remained a mystery.

“I’m glad you came now,” Inoichi continued, relief flickering across his face. “If you’d waited until the trial, your memories might have degraded too much to use. Yamanaka verification usually only applies in Uchiha cases—their Sharingan preserves clarity. Normal minds blur and prune details. Small things vanish. What remains is harder to share.”

That gave Sukea pause. His mask of indifference cracked for a moment. So that’s why Yamanaka testimony fell out of use in the future… Without the Uchiha, without that clarity, memory evidence became unreliable. Besides, the Uchiha mostly only worked in civilian criminal investigations. The Hokage’s request had been far more unreasonable than he’d realised.

The realisation curdled in his stomach, but it was far too late to back out now.

“I just want this over with,” he muttered, posture tightening as if bracing for battle.

Inoichi folded his hands together, gentling his tone. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll mindwalk with you. You focus on every time you think Danzō acted against the village’s best interests—anything you saw, anything you suspected. I’ll only look where you let me. Nothing more.”

Sukea’s jaw locked, but after a long beat, he gave a short, clipped nod.

“When you’re ready,” Inoichi said softly, forming the seal.

Sukea drew in a breath, steadying himself, heart hammering in his chest. He had gone into battle more times than he could count, but this—this felt different.

Preparing for war, he closed his eyes.

“You may start,” Sukea commanded.

-

Memories surged.

Paperwork in his hands. Delivering forms to the Hokage. Passing Danzō in the hall, the man not even glancing his way. Invisible. Forgettable. The perfect camouflage.

A flash of ROOT transfer requests half-buried on the Hokage’s desk. His own mission slips now stacked on top.

A masked figure moving through alleys at the wrong hour. Not ANBU. ROOT. Sukea melting into shadow, trailing unseen.

Danzō’s gaze on him in the council chamber. Then coming home to an empty apartment. Kakashi sent on a mission... alone, without his team. Sukea vaulting over the village wall, hounds at his side. Subduing guards, tearing away masks. Tongues sealed. ROOT.

Kakashi pale in Orochimaru’s lab. His tongue unmarked—relief sharp enough to hurt.

“Danzō gave me a mission…” Kakashi’s voice breaking. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was this.”

Tenzo’s wide eyes, glass between them. Floating. Trapped.

“Why?” Sukea demanded.

Orochimaru’s soft, almost bored reply: “Orders. For the greater good of the village.”

“Whose orders?”

The flick of a tongue. ROOT seal.

His clone in the hidden ROOT archives, racing Danzō’s hand. Files skimmed. Names. Sabotaged missions. Lives buried.

And then—

Duy.

Duy!

It was nearly too much. Danzo did it. Danzo planned it! Duy never had a chance!

.
.
.

He couldn’t stop. Evidence needed to be hidden. Protected. Before Danzō’s agents burned it all away.

There were flashes of holes being dug with jutsu and files being hidden away in a hurry before ROOT agents flooded the room and Sukea made a last-ditch attempt to hide one last piece of evidence, before—

POOF.

-

Sukea ripped free of the mindwalk with a ragged gasp, shoving Inoichi back on instinct. His throat locked tight. Nausea swelled, choking. So many things he had shoved down were suddenly dragged up, raw and burning at the surface.

The left side of his face was wet. Tears—silent, unbidden. He swiped at them furiously. Red streaked across his fingers, and his pulse spiked before he realised—paint, not blood.

Inoichi startled at the outburst but masked it quickly, producing a folded tissue with practised calm. He politely averted his eyes as Sukea shook, shoulders jerking without a sound. Piece by piece, the boy forced himself back together, scrubbing his face until only faint streaks of red lingered. His mask slid back into place—both the one on his skin and the one inside.

“You did well,” Inoichi said softly, careful, his tone skirting between coaxing and comfort.

Sukea’s glare was immediate, almost defensive. Comfort was the last thing he wanted.

Inoichi’s mouth pressed thin, thinking something over, then—credit to him—he shifted gears. His voice hardened into a brisk snap of command. “Report. The evidence you hid—where is it?”

The shift grounded him. Orders he could handle. His spine straightened, and the reply came crisp, exact: a string of coordinates, rattled off without hesitation.

Inoichi blinked, caught off guard. It took Sukea a moment to realise why. Most genin described landmarks or streets. Coordinates were for soldiers.

He refused to care. Let them see what they wanted. Beneath the paint and the grin, he was every inch the soldier Konoha had made him.

But Inoichi didn’t linger on it. He couldn’t. “Good work. I need to get this to my team. Sit tight—I’ll send your brother to collect you.” Urgency pulled Inoichi to his feet, though he hesitated for half a beat at the door, a flicker of temptation to pry at the cracks he’d seen. Duty won out. He left in a rush.

Moments later, Kakashi barreled through the door, panic sharp in his movements. He dropped to Sukea’s side without hesitation, hands twitching as though he wasn’t sure where to start, only certain he needed to.

“Inoichi said—you—he said I should—” Kakashi cut himself off, eyes raking over him in frantic search. “...You’re not broken, right?”

The question nearly dragged a laugh out of Sukea.

He reached out, steadying his younger self with a hand to the shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, but with enough certainty to ground them both. “Just a little raw.”

Kakashi’s mouth pressed into a tight line, but the edge of panic dulled. Even so, his eyes lingered, studying him like a shinobi running inventory on gear.

Sukea considered that he kind of felt like a kunai that needed sharpening after what he just went through and let the kid do what he needed.